Disclaimer: I don't own anything of JKR's.
Author's Note: This is a plotbunny adopted from XFaerieDustX on Fictionalley, because it was much too cute to pass up:D
When I wake up in the mornings, I expect a few things. And those things are usually just as I expect them to be.
'Usually' being the key word.
You know, I suspect this wouldn't happen if I lived in a normal household. Granted, it's pretty hard to be normal when you're a teenage witch, but still—the possibility is there. And do I take advantage of it? Of course not. My nutty family helps with that.
It has to be said, I strive to have some sort of normalcy. Every morning, I follow my routine down to the letter— a shriek or two from mum to wake me up, followed by fighting tooth and nail with my brothers for the loo. Though that one sometimes does upset my routine; just last week George ducked my Bat-Bogey hex (I love living in such a large family— no one cares about underage magic) and stalled my shower for three quarters of an hour.
None of that today, however. As per usual, I won loo rights first and took my much-desired long, hot shower. The experience was only slightly marred by the constant thumping on the door and shouts of, "Hurry the bloody hell up!"
Caring? What's that?
After the shower came the standard magical drying-of-hair (resulting in profound static, I might add— the one thing I resent about that spell), wrapping my towel around myself with a great deal of dignity, and going back to my room, which I was at the time sharing with Hermione. Hermione, being the nutcase she is, had already gone down to breakfast by the time I sidled in there. And her side of the place was very neat and organised, as well.
It goes without saying that I took great pleasure in re-arranging several stacks of books, which she had oh-so-carefully alphabetised.
Then I went on to the customary after-shower details: gathering a shirt, shorts, and trainers.
The problem all stared when I went for my knickers.
In retrospect, the fact that Arnold had gone missing for a few days should have tipped me off something was out of the ordinary. Along with Delilah, his "lovely lady friend." I had her ordered specially from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, as even Pygmy Puffs need a bit of action, don't they? She's really adorable, all pink and fluffy and whatnot. I think Arnold has found himself a lifelong mate.
Where was I? Oh, yes, the knickers. As any normal girl would, I bopped on over to my chest of drawers and pulled one open.
Where I was greeted with a Pygmy Porn Fest.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the whole bloody thing started.
I like to think I handled it well.
That is what I like to think.
If 'handling it well' means slamming the knicker drawer shut, whirling around, and shrieking, "Oh my God, the Pygmy Puffs are fornicating in my knicker drawer! What do I do?!"
Apparently my shriek was rather loud (imagine that), because not a minute after that there was a soft knock on my bedroom drawer.
"Gin? Are you okay?"
Oh, of course. Right when my virgin eyes have been deflowered, that is when Harry comes into the picture.
"Fine!" I screamed at him through the door, though it must not have sounded too convincing, as he responded with,
"I'm coming in, all right?"
Why do I never lock my door? People just barge in at all hours of the day, demanding random things. Though Harry has got a little leeway in the department, I suppose, as he was just coming to check on my well being.
Anyway, Harry pushed open the door, and as soon as he did the whole freakish ordeal came back to me, and I flung myself at him and clutched his arm. Which, no doubt, made him a little unsure as to why he had even opened the door.
"Harry, quick!" I cried. "I need your hero complex and tendency to rush to the rescue!"
He looked on blankly. Honestly, he is absolutely useless.
"Um, Ginny?" he asked tentatively.
"Is there any reason you aren't wearing any clothes?"
Damndamndamn. Bath towel around me, slipping bath towel I might add. A few more inches and I would have flashed the Boy-Who-Lived. I hitched it up without too much of a flush and went on. "Yes, Harry, there is a reason for that! Do you know how difficult it is to get dressed when there are two Pygmy Puffs getting it on in your knicker drawer? Do you?"
He stared at me. "Er . . . no."
I should have expected as much.
With a bit of a peeved glare at him, I said, "Well, I do! That is because it is happening! I need your help, Harry!"
"With . . . ?" he questioned, leaning tiredly against the wall. I felt the urge to kick his shin rather violently then.
"Bugger! Ginny, what the hell was that for?!" he yelped, hopping up and down in a very wimpy way.
"You are missing the point, Harry!" I told him irritably. "Arnold and Delilah have made a love shack in the place where I keep my under things! I. Need. Your. Help!" He just looked at me. Really, that boy does a lot of pointless looking.
"So," he finally said. "You want me . . . to stop your pets . . . from shagging?" I nodded vehemently.
"Yes, yes, that is it! Now, hop to it!"
Harry sort of stared at me, then sighed. "What do you want me to do?" Grinning, I dragged him over to the Drawer of Doom, as I had so aptly named it in the five or so minutes after opening it.
I leaned towards him. "Open that drawer right there. Then break apart the Pygmy Puffs, who are probably having some weird Pygmy orgasm. I wouldn't know. Just get them out of my knicker drawer."
He sighed again. "I cannot believe I am doing this." Then he slid the drawer open and reached inside, trying very, very hard not to look in.
This was wise on his part, both because sexual Pygmy Puffs are not something he really should see, and because my knickers with the orange polka dots were in there, and I doubt Harry would want to see those either.
He fumbled around inside for a moment before shrieking in a very girlish way and withdrawing his hand. "Something bloody bit me!"
"Was it Arnold? He can be quite violent if you take away his biscuits. I feed him bits of biscuits and he secretes them about my room. Do you suppose he hid some in his love shack to share with Delilah?"
"I don't know!" Harry yelled, rather more loudly than necessary, I might add. "Who cares?"
I was very tetchy by then. "I care, Harry, Arnold is very dear to me, and I love him with all my soul and bits of my heart, too."
Harry just gave one of his all-suffering, 'I-carry-the-weight-of-the-world' sighs. "Gin, you aren't making sense. Are you sure you saw Arnold and Delilah in there?" Now he's doubting me too?
"Yes, I am sure," I said irritably. "Or are you suggesting that I am in the habit of hallucinating Pygmy Puffs shagging where I keep my knickers?"
He was in full-on guilt mode now. "Of course not. I just mean—"
"—that you are a prat and won't look for yourself."
"Well, that is what you are insinuating," I told him patiently, prodding at his back. "Go on now."
"The things I do for you," he muttered when he thought I couldn't hear him. That earned him a swift jab in his kidney by my rather sharp fingernail. "Dear Merlin! Would you please stop abusing me?!"
"Baby," I said matter-of-factly, pulling open the drawer for him. "Look."
Mumbling rather rude things under his breath, Harry peered inside the drawer. "I can't see any— oh, wait, what's that? Something's back there . . ." He stared for a few more seconds before biting his lip. "Er, Ginny?"
"How long have you had Delilah?"
"A couple of weeks. Why?"
"Well, I've finally found a use for all the useless information that Hermione insisted on shoving into my mind." I rolled my eyes at him.
"Get to the point, please," I said, tapping my foot impatiently.
"She told me that the gestation period of a Pygmy Puff is seven days, exactly."
"What does that have to do with—" I stopped suddenly and let my jaw hang open. "Oh dear Merlin! You don't mean . . ." Harry nodded and I could tell he was desperately trying not to laugh.
"They're like rabbits!" I exclaimed, shoving Harry aside so I could have a look. Feeling rather brave, I pushed my hand to the back of the drawer and felt several furry bodies graze my fingers. I deftly picked each one of them up and brought them into the light.
"Aw!" I squealed, shoving them in Harry's face. "Oh, aren't they darling?" They were—little balls of fluff, rolling about in circles on my palm. "I could just eat them up."
Harry looked at me oddly. "Are you saying you've resorted to Pygmy cannibalism?"
God, he can be so thick. "It's a Muggle expression Hermione told me," I explained, forcing one of the baby Pygmies into his hand. "Hold them."
"Don't be an idiot. Just wook at its wittle face!" I cried, resorting to baby talk to entice him. Harry looked on skeptically.
"It's nice," he deadpanned.
"You know you wanna smile!" I told him, pressing the baby Pygmy so close to his face it was touching his nose.
"Not real—Ginny!" Oh, my, I do love that Pygmy Puff; it stuck its tiny tongue out and licked Harry's nose.
"Too late!" I said triumphantly. "It loves you and it's never going to leave. It is bound to you forever— you are its father."
He raised his eyebrows at me. "Are you suggesting I fathered that ball of fluff?"
"No, but since its natural father is still in his love shack— most likely shagging its natural mother, actually— it needs parents. You can be the dad, and I'll be the mum."
Harry laughed. "All right, then, I'll go along with it." I laughed, too, and we were both happy and smiley for a few more moments. I guess it was the side effects of just becoming parents.
Y'know, disregarding the fact our baby wasn't human, but still.
Of course, our lovely moment was interrupted when my idiot of a brother (otherwise known as Ron) poked his head into my room. "Harry? You've been in here awhile, is everything oka— what have you got in your hand? Ginny, why aren't you wearing any clothes?" He had his patented bemused look on his face. Harry and I glanced at each other and grinned, then I took the baby Pygmy from him and stepped towards Ron.
"I am pleased to say that at," – I glanced surreptitiously at the clock by my window – "approximately nine o' clock this morning, Harry and I became the proud parents of a baby Pygmy Puff," I finished proudly, holding out our 'child' for Ron to see.
He stared at the fluffy sphere rolling around contentedly in my hand, then at Harry, who was beaming, and finally shook his head. "I don't want to know," he said, waving his hands and leaving the room.