Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. I do not make any profit off of the writing of this fanfiction.

Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson and the Adventure in England


Harry-Joe-Bob Greyback, formerly Harry-Joe-Bob Johnson, formerly Harry Potter, sat at the kitchen table mixing cornmeal for Hush Puppies. Really, the best Hush Puppies came when you took corn you had grown yourself and then ground on your own, too, but there were just some things that had to be forgiven. Like sitting down to mix the cornmeal because his ankles were swollen; and anyway standing made his knees hurt, damnit. Though now, come to think of it, sitting may not have been the best idea, as the tray was all the way across the kitchen, and sitting down and getting up was a bit of an issue at this point, considering he was 34 weeks pregnant.

Sighing, Harry-Joe-Bob, or just Harry for short, continued to mix until his arms got tired. Resigned that he would have to haul himself out of the chair at some point, but resolved that it would not be anytime soon, Harry stared out the kitchen window. It was it was hotter'n a June bride outside, as it had been for the past week. The sun shone brightly, and Harry cursed it. It made everything all hot. And being pregnant, he couldn't use magic. Harry felt like a big, sweaty, pregnant pig. No, a whale. A sweaty, pregnant whale… Did whales sweat? Okay, a sweaty, pregnant pig-whale.

Besides that, it was a beautiful day—though Harry really didn't like to admit that, as he was not in a good mood. Where the hell was his husband?

Harry flexed his swollen toes irritably. Being inside, he felt free to be as barefooted as a yard dog. His feet were so swollen that he could hardly fit them in his shoes anymore, not like he could see his feet anyway. He should have waved goodbye to them when he had a chance.

Harry was dressed for comfort. He was the epitome of 'barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen,' if he did say so himself. He was even wearing dungaree overalls that were big enough to stretch over his heavily pregnant belly. Screw anyone that laughed at him. He'd sure let his husband maim them. The overalls were the only thing that he could wear without wearing a belt, or feeling like a high-falutin' woman in elastic-waist banded pants. He didn't need to feel like even more of a woman, now that he had to sit down to pee because he couldn't tell if he was aiming at the toilet correctly around his belly. That was plumb embarrassing the first couple of times…

Anyway, he was hot, damnit, and wearing overalls with no shirt both kept him cool and didn't show off his stomach obscenely. Fenrir told him that the bulge was a beautiful sight, but no matter how much he adored the child inside of him, he still couldn't help but thinking that was a load of horse pucky. He felt so uncomfortable, unnatural, even, with no top on at all.

Sighing, Harry shoved himself up out of the chair and waddled the batter to the counter. It was maybe a little too watery, but whatever. He blamed the corn.

As he began to roll the Hush Puppies, Harry's thoughts drifted to his parents. He wished he would be with his Ma and Pa, but at this point it was pretty darn near impossible. It was the first place they would have looked for him. From what little he had seen outside of their cottage, where they were now was a nice enough place, but it just wasn't home, with Ma and Pa.

Harry had turned to retrieve another tray for the rolled Hush Puppies when his stomach collided with the cornmeal mix and sent the entire bowl, contents and all, crashing to the floor.

Harry stared at it in horror. Yes, it hadn't been the best batch he had made, but now it was on the floor. After the initial shock wore away, he was left only feeling pissed off. He was so fat, he couldn't even bend down to wipe off the Gol-darned floor. He couldn't even fucking tie his own shoes anymore, and even sitting down and getting up had become a chore. He was always calling Fenrir for help: help out of a chair, putting on shoes and socks, getting something from a high shelf, and picking up things from the ground. Fenrir even had to get all the food and necessities, in case Harry was noticed in town. And Fenrir ended up going often, due to Harry's nagging cravings. And all that on top of his own responsibilities. Hell's bells.

Harry stared at the fallen cornmeal, contemplating picking it up with his toes, when it occurred to him, just how helpless he was. For Harry, who had always prided himself in being hard-working and strong (though his muscles had never been defined like a model's) being so helpless was a tough blow.

Harry could feel the pressure building behind his eyes before he burst out crying.

Oh yeah, and he hated the mood swings.

The idea that he was crying because he hated crying both made Harry laugh and cry all the harder. He felt so angry and helpless and frustrated all at once.

Harry heard the floo activate, and tried to stifle his sobs with a mealy hand, though all he ended up accomplishing was smearing corn meal on his face.

A couple seconds later, Fenrir strode into the kitchen, a large smile on his face. Though as soon as he saw Harry, standing at the counter sobbing and with cornmeal smeared on his face, the smile dropped, fast as all get-out.

"What's wrong, Sweet Pea?"

Harry pointed at the fallen cornmeal with a grubby hand and tried to explain, though it came out more like, "Hush…Pu-pu-pu-puhuppies-- roon'd anI re-re-rehealized… I ca-candooanyfing and yor… al-haways havinta help me-hee… anI juss feelso he-heh-helpless! Ah-hall the time!"


Fenrir had, by much trial and error, come to realize that at times like these it was best to not do or say anything (the words "Don't touch that! That's exactly what got me this-- this Gol-darn fat in the first place! I-- I'm not just some thing you can fuck and get pregnant! I can't believe you…!" came to mind). Sparing a quick glare at the fallen Hush Puppies, for that was pretty much the only part of Harry's rant he had understood and therefore it was surely at fault, Fenrir did the only thing he could--held Harry. He folded the heavily pregnant and sobbing male into his arms and rubbed his back.

Knowing he could do nothing, for now, he whispered comforting words into his mate's ear. Luckily, the words "Don't worry, it's just cornmeal," didn't make it out of his mouth, though it was a near thing.

When Harry had calmed, the werewolf pulled away and tilted his mate's head up, wiping away tears.

Harry's face was red, his eyes and nose especially blotchy. Fenrir wiped away the snot running down his mate's nose and looked at the sheepish expression on his face.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, much. I'm sorry," Harry replied shamefacedly.

"No, you don't have to be sorry," Fenrir said, and took the pregnant man by the hand. "C'mon, I'll give you a foot rub."

Fenrir led his now completely happy and smiling mate to the couch. Inwardly he rolled his eyes fondly at the sudden change in emotion.

As he rubbed his pregnant mate's feet, Fenrir contemplated the best way to transition to the reason he had come home so happy. It was probably best to do it gently, as Harry had already had an emotional day. He glanced at Harry, noticing the male drifting off, his head nodding forward and eyes closed. Much to Fenrir's horror, before he could stop himself, the words had somehow blurted themselves out of his mouth.

"It's done. The war is over."

Fenrir realized, as Harry kicked him hard in the chin in surprise, that he never was good at transitions.

Anyone seen the new HP movie? How did they make such a hot actor into such an ugly werewolf??

Anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY AISLING-SIOBHAN!! Here's the hillbilly!Harry fic you've been bugging me about. I hope you like it. To everyone else: blame her for no updates in Non!

**ETA: This will be a short multi-chaptered fic (yes, they do exist, evidently) because it was supposed to be a one-shot and decided not to be. Therefore don't complain if there isn't as much character development as you'd like!

REVIEW, please!!