FAGEY McFAGEINGTON THE 5th

Title: My Neighbor, the Pig

Written for: Nicia

Written By: Scarlett Play

Rating: M

Beta: Sunflower Fanfiction

Summary/ Fage Prompt used: HP non-canon. An arranged marriage—to the one you love. Why did the pig cross the road? To meet his new neighbor, while he was undercover as an Auror, pretending to be a cop, when he was really trying to catch an evasive thief that's using magic to rob banks. Why else would he cross that damned trite road? Oh, yeah, and because his neighbor's hot. Ginny/Harry

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Harry stared at the last box. What was the point, really? Why was he doing this? His job as an undercover Auror, disguised as a copy, was ridiculous. They were never going to catch this guy, and he really didn't care anymore. After two years of hunting this wizard that was systematically robbing all the banks in southern England, he was tired.

And now he was supposed to marry some woman he never met, to make this seem even more real. This was his post.

He sighed and kicked the offensive box.

Most of this stuff wasn't even his.

Rrrrrrr . . . Rrrrrr . . . Rrrrr . . .

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and groaned. "Yeah?"

"Is that any way to greet your boss?" Lavender Brown asked.

Harry snorted. "It's the perfect way to greet you."

"Now, now, don't be like that," she mocked him. "You know this is the best we can do."

"The house is fine. That's not my problem. What I struggle to grasp is why I'm still looking for this thief. We're never gonna catch him." He stretched his neck from side to side. Where were all the people she'd promised would come and help him move into this home anyway?

"Who ever said it was a man?" She chuckled.

"C'mon. Don't waste my time with this rubbish. It's a bloke, and you know it." He poked at the couch. It was decent enough, but definitely used. There were a few stains on it. "And when am I supposed to meet my future bride?"

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Not until two weeks from today at the actual wedding."

"It's not a wedding. It's a marriage for this job," he corrected her.

"And to get your inheritance. Stop pretending like you don't need this as much as we need you to do it," she lectured.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He sighed. "In the meantime, I'm supposed to, what, exactly?"

"Keep going to work. Keep searching for clues. Get to know your neighbors. I'm sure some of them might have heard something. The last bank was hit not too far from your new neighborhood. We think they'll stick in that area for a while, and then move on to the next one south of it."

"Okay. Yeah. I can do that—play nice with the nosey neighbors." He chuckled. "You really think they're gonna talk to a cop?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

He laughed harder. "You're entirely too sheltered with your job if you think they'll talk to me. I expect they'll lock the doors and hide." He pushed his hair out of his face. That was his one stipulation with this job. He wasn't going to get his hair cut and look like a clean-cut officer. His godfather Sirius, was a rebel, and so was he. His hair was already longer than Sirius' ever was, and way more unruly.

"Call me tomorrow after you've settled in. Then be back at work on Monday."

Four day weekend was normally something he looked forward to, but canvassing the neighborhood was sure to be dull and sheer drudgery.

The call ended, he pocked the phone and unpacked that last box of flowery-looking pink towels.

"Brilliant. Who the hell are they marrying me to?" he asked himself.

He shoved them in the hall cupboard, and walked away.

How the devil was he going to play the married charade for a whole year, and would this wife of his, keep his cover?

Regardless, he was buying new linens. Pink was not going to be allowed in his loo.

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Harry slept poorly the entire night.

After a long hot shower, and glaring at those hideous towels he refused to use, he struggled to get his clothes on since his skin was still damp.

His uniform was crisp, and pressed. He'd wear it if for no other reason than to force his boss to see how futile this exercise was going to be. She never listened to him.

He stepped outside, not bothering to lock the door, and squinted in the sunlight. It was a bright, hot summer day.

There were few people outside, and most of them were at work since it was a Friday; not to mention he slept in, since he could.

He left his hair down; made sure his tattoo on his right arm was visible by rolling up his sleeves. His neighbors were going to think this was a sham, since he looked more like the guys usually put away by the police.

His neighbor pulled up in the driveway, and Harry waved with a smile.

The driver smiled back, parked and exited their vehicle . . .

Oh. My. God.

He stared in shock; his mouth hanging open, eyes wide and feeling so dry, he wondered if he blinked if they'd seal shut permanently.

What were the odds . . . ?

"Ginny?" His voice cracked.

He approached her quicker than he probably should've, because she jumped with a startle and yelped when his hand landed on her shoulder.

She was unloading groceries from the car.

"Hiya, Harry," she said. She smiled and ducked her head into her right shoulder.

"What're ya, I mean . . . Wow. You look amazing," he said, his eyes roaming over her very mature, very voluptuous body.

He never would've guessed she'd turn out like this.

Sirius removed Harry from Hogwarts after his third year, thinking they would run together. It didn't work.

The Death Eaters found them, killed Sirius, and Harry was on the run for years, until he finally killed Voldemort on his own. He thought he'd died in the process, but woke up in the dark forest, all by himself—the Dark Lord missing.

It was like he evaporated into smoke and was scattered in the wind.

Harry touched his scar. It never tingled anymore. Yes, Voldemort was dead.

But he never went back to school. He studied on his own, passed the exams and became the youngest Auror ever on record. His vow was to pick off the Death Eaters one by one, and stop those who would use magic for evil purposes.

So far he'd been successful, except for this last one—the evasive robber.

"When'd you become a pig?" she asked, staring at him.

"A what?"

She swept her hand up and down, signaling his uniform. "Isn't that what Americans call policemen? Pigs?" She smiled.

"Uh, yeah, somethin' like that."

She sucked in her lips to hide a smirk, and then motioned toward the door. "Be a good neighbor, oinky, and help me bring in my food." She jerked her heard in the direction he was supposed to go.

He grabbed two bags that felt loaded down with bricks and took the opportunity to ogle her from behind as she unlocked and then opened the door to her place.

It smelled like lavender when he walked inside, and her kitchen was—oh great. Pink.

Didn't women have some other color they could obsess over? Nobody really liked this hue, did they? It was Pepto Bismol pink.

He cringed. "Nice place."

"Thanks. I just moved in about two weeks ago. I'm going to University in the fall." She plopped her bags down on the counter.

Harry followed suit.

"Go get the rest of my groceries, will ya?" She swept her hair over her shoulders.

It was long, scarlet colored, and straight as could be. The shine on it—wow. It somehow muted the horrific eyesore that was her kitchen.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbled, managed to tear his eyes off her and exit her house.

When he stepped back inside, she was on the phone.

"That's what I said—my neighbor's a pig." Ginny snorted a laugh and paced her living room.

He smacked the groceries down next to the others and left.

Screw this.

He wasn't here to be made a fool of.

His job was to catch somebody, and this was slowing him down.

He tromped back over to his house, tore off his clothes and threw himself down on his bed.

"I'll find you," he said and then shut his eyes.

Ginny could be a bloody model, and it wouldn't matter. He didn't date. He didn't want to, and he was going to marry some woman soon.

His fingers sought out the sodding ring on his finger. At least she'd see he was taken and then he could ignore her without a problem.

He never wanted to see a Weasley again. Not after how he'd arrived too late to stop the Death Eaters from killing their parents and decimating their farm.

His cheek was suddenly wet, and he brushed away the traitorous tear.

Move now. You're never gonna find this thief . . .

"Shut up," he growled to himself.

He popped off the bed, threw on some jeans, a ratty-old shirt and left on his motorcycle. The one Sirius helped him restore before he met his untimely end.

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"Knock, knock, neighbor," Ginny said and entered his house without his permission several hours later.

"Whattaya want?" he slurred.

He'd been drinking. A lot, and she had no right to be here.

"You look like hell," she said, and dropped down on the couch next to him.

He sat there staring at her, in nothing but his boxers.

"Did I invite you in? Go home," he said, his head sagging and lolling from side to side.

"You didn't need to. You obviously need somebody to welcome you to the neighborhood, and since you're a pig, nobody else around here's gonna do it but me." She smiled and patted his leg.

"Ginny—you talk too much, and I don't want you here." He shoved her hand off him.

"I brought you dinner," she sang the end of the sentence.

"Unless you're selling world peace, I don't want anything you have." He moved his leg to stand up.

Clank, clank.

A few of the empty bottles on the ground tipped over, hitting the ground.

"Ron called. He wants to see you," she continued as if he'd been nothing but cordial with her.

"Godammit, woman, I said leave. Are you deaf?" He heaved himself up, and when he pointed at the door, he lost his balance and stumbled.

"Whoa, whoa," she said, suddenly at his side, her hands all over him as she tried to steady him.

"I hate pink. It's hideous, and you have it all over your kitchen—the one that makes me want to puke," he confessed.

She laughed. "And your hair looks worse than ever. Is that a wig? Because you couldn't possibly be serious about this?" She pinched a clump of it. "Dreads look better than this. When's the last time you cut it?"

"The last time you saw me," he said, his words getting jumbled up, because his head was spinning.

His feet were moving, but not because he was doing it.

She was practically dragging him back to his bedroom.

"Get out!" he screeched.

She only laughed and tugged on him harder.

"You're not a woman—you're a bloody be-east," he hiccupped through his words.

"Yep, that's me." She nodded.

He was tossed onto his bed, and Ginny climbed onto the mattress, laying down next to him.

"Harry, it's not your fault."

"Shut up!" he cried. He covered his ears and groaned.

His fingers were pried off, and right as he was about to shove her off his bed, her lips landed on his.

He wanted to fight her off, but at the moment she felt was so soft, warm, and not to mention . . . insanely strong as she gripped his chest and straddled him.

Her fingers plunged into his hair, and though it was pulling his hair the way she was struggling to grip his head almost stuck to the pillow, he loved it.

He bit her lip, and clawed at her hips.

She ground into him, and when she broke away, he was sweaty, panting, and could barely see. His head pounded furiously.

"God, woman, do that again," he said, lifting his chest up to get closer.

Slaaaaack!

His cheek stung.

"You hit me?" he barked.

"You deserved it. You left without a word all those years ago, and you never sent any word. Now, you're here. I've got nothin' to lose. You're mine, and I don't wanna hear the word no." She ripped her shirt off.

Before Harry knew what was happening, his boxers were off, and he was inside her, molding her body into his lumpy mattress.

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"No, he said no. Forget it," Ginny said two days later.

"He doesn't want to see you either. Stop going over there," Ron told her over the phone.

"I know I'm doing." She giggled as she stared at the bite mark on her navel. The man was a God in the sheets, even when he was drunk.

Who'd taught him that thing he did with his tongue during oral? It tipped her over the edge all three times they'd been together.

"What's he doing here anyway?" Ron asked.

"He's getting married."

"He's what? And you've shagged him repeatedly?" His voice rose.

"Only three times," she said, shrugging and smiling.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I've been searching for him, and he's finally here. He doesn't even know who he's marrying yet."

"And you didn't tell him?"

"Nope. I've got a plan . . . And besides, he wants me too. You should see the look on his face when I—"

"Ewww! I don't wanna hear it!" he howled.

"I was only gonna say when I walked in his door."

"Like a prostitute?"

She chuckled. "Shut it. I'm not like that."

"Except with him, apparently." He huffed. "So, I wanna see him. I've gotta—"

"I said no. He's said no. End of story. I can handle this."

Click.

No way was Ron dealing with this one.

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Harry lit up and ran his hands over the multiple scratch marks he now had on his chest. Damn, that woman was trying to kill him through animalistic sex.

He stared at the pink towel hanging on the hook.

"You're out of soap," she called from inside his shower.

"Yeah. I'm sure I am," he said.

She showered here all the time.

After a week of constant shagging and showering, he wasn't surprised the soap was gone.

"Use your shampoo?" she asked.

"Sure."

"You joining me, or what?"

He could hear her shaving with his razor.

"Nah. I'll shower later." He loved smelling like her, and besides . . . Watching her step out of his shower, trying to cover herself with one of his dinky pink towels, was hilarious.

He leaned against the bathroom sink and puffed away.

She hated it when he smoked in enclosed spaces.

So what? It was his house.

He flicked the ashes into the sink.

Another thing she'd complain about.

The shower turned off, and like clockwork, she reached for the towel, trying to say hidden.

He moved it as far away as possible so she'd have to walk around in the buff to get it.

"Harry, you bastard," she said, chuckling as she ventured out.

He grinned. "I didn't do anything that you didn't deserve."

"How do I deserve this?" She yanked the towel from behind him, and it was caught between his ass and the counter.

"Will you move?" She tugged several more times, her towel staying put.

He reached out and groped her wherever he pleased.

"How did you get so beautiful? Hmm?" He bit his lip and his eyes followed the curve and bounce of her chest as she continued to fight for the stupid towel.

"One more kiss, and maybe I'll consider it," he said.

"Fine," she growled.

He placed her hand where he wanted it on him, nipped at her neck and the second he moved, she dashed out of the room.

He followed after her, picking up her obnoxious matching bra and panty set—the same color as her kitchen.

Though it wasn't a good color on her, he still kinda liked them.

The things they did to her body. Enhancement was an understatement.

He flung her pink G-string at her like it was on a sling.

She caught it and smiled.

"One more week until you're a married man," she reminded him, slipping into her tiny knickers.

He loved watching the jiggling action. How could he resist. He walked up behind her and ran his hands over the backs of her thighs.

She turned her head, kissed his tattoo of the deathly hallows on his shoulder and then bit it.

"Brat," he said.

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was biting you in other places," she replied with a wink.

He smacked her ass. "You know, you should probably stop marking me like that. In a week, somebody else might have something to say about my marred body. And I need time for these to heal." He pointed at the one on his left nipple.

"Why? You're not going to have sex with her." Her eyebrows shot up.

He shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? If she wants to . . ." he trailed off.

This was a bad conversation to be caught in. Women didn't get it when it was just sex.

"You're serious?"

Oh no—hands on her hips and her mouth tighter than his chest.

"Unbelievable." She threw her hands up in the hair and stalked toward him. "You men are all the same." She shook her head and looked deep in thought. "You know . . . I was engaged once."

His gut dropped, but he remained expressionless.

"He was a real pig." She put the rest of her clothes on in a hurry. Hostility radiated off her with every movement.

He inhaled sharply. "You mean, as in he was a cop?"

"Both." She pointed in his face. "He was a pig, because of his uniform and because of the way he treated me." She lowered her finger and jammed it into his shoulder. "He thought it was perfectly acceptable to ignore me. It was unspoken, but he obviously thought once I moved in with him that it was my job to be his cleaning lady and his personal cook. Afterward, he expected me to come to his bed, glowing, naked and ready to get sweaty in his sheets, all after serving him without even a shred of conversation."

She poked his shoulder again. He stepped back and rubbed the spot, even though it really didn't hurt physically. It was the things she was saying that felt like a stab to the soul.

"I don't expect her to do those things . . . I only thought—"

"What? That it would be mutually beneficial for you both to shag? Psht! I'm sure she'll love feeling used." She stepped closer, her face an inch from his. "You've already told me you figured you'd live with her like strangers that are roommates. Has that changed? Is she now your roommate with benefits, because I figured we'd continue what we've started here? Did you have a different plan?" She cocked her head.

"N-no . . . No plan, really, just figured if she was feeling like she wanted to . . . you know, then I'd help her out." He lowered his head. "And we can't do this after I'm married."

"We sure the hell can," she argued. "Why wouldn't we? We'll still be neighbors, and she'll be working, right? How would she know?" She ran her fingertip across his lips. "This doesn't end."

She dropped her hand, straightened her shirt and walked straight out the room.

"I'm not your damn sex toy," he yelled.

"Are too. Get over it," she hollered back.

Slaaaam.

At least she closed his front door this time . . .

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"Aren't grooms supposed to be nervous? You look bored," Lavender said.

"That's because my boss is in my face," he said, yawning.

"Don't tell me . . . couldn't sleep last night?" She chuckled.

Yeah, she had no idea it was because Ginny wouldn't let him. And he could barely walk when she was done with him. Not to mention, he swore she'd bruised a few ribs. He had to use a few reparation spells to make sure he wasn't wincing as he moved today.

"Let's get this over with, all right?" he said. He arched his back, stretching out a few residual kinks. Ginny really was wiry for such a small, curvy woman. He looked at his phone. "Where is she, anyway?" It was five past three. They should be married already.

"She's on her way. Stuck in traffic," Lavender replied.

The priest stood in front of them, looking more bored and annoyed than Harry, and that was hard to do.

Claaaack!

A front door flew open and in walked Ginny.

Harry's breath caught somewhere between his stomach and his throat. "What in the . . . ?"

"Okay, we can get started now." Ginny smiled.

Harry marched straight over to her, pulled her aside. "What are you doing? I'm getting married."

"I know. To me." She patted his cheek, pinched it then walked directly to her spot.

He gawked at her. She was wearing a pink dress, had pink flowers in her hair and the most hideous gold stilettos he'd ever seen.

"Meet your blushing bride—Ginny," Lavender said, grinning so wide, it was evident she was enjoying his humiliation.

Harry's head tipped back; he fought to take in enough air to make his head stop spinning. This . . . was this really happening?

"You didn't think I was going to let you marry somebody else, did you?" Ginny chuckled. "I told you it wasn't going to end."

"And you know why I'm doing this, so it's not real," he said, spine stiffer than his wand tucked in his pocket.

"I don't care. It's real to me," she said. She extended her hand out to him.

He took it and with enough confusion flooding him, to choke the lot of them, he managed a tightlipped smile. "Fine. As long as you get this is only for a year, and not a day more."

"Now hold on . . ." the priest started.

"No. Do it. We're in love, or at least we're kind of together already," Harry said. "Just marry us so I can get outta here."

Harry attempted to roll his eyes the second the priest started his spiel, but Ginny pinched the side of his leg. When he did it again, he received the same treatment.

"And in these troubling times, marriage means so much more than a simple—"

The priest jumped when Harry interrupted with, "Should I be alarmed my bride is abusing me right now, and I haven't even said I do?"

"You love it," Ginny said, and kicked her leg back behind him, nailing him in the butt with her heal.

"It's the only reason I'm going along with this," Harry said, leaning over and kissing her.

"Hey, this isn't how it's supposed to go," the priest said.

"Oh, what's the harm," Lavender said, looking star struck, her right hand over her heart.

"I must say, this is the most unorthodox marriage ceremony I've ever officiated," the priest said, bristling.

"Okay, we're ready now. No more interruptions," Harry promised and pinched Ginny's side to shut her up, because he could tell by the look in her eye, she was about to spout off some sarcastic rubbish, all to annoy the guy.

The priest rambled off the rest of his lines; they did their part with minimal disturbances, and very few gropes, then left, smiling like a bunch of lunatics.

That night, Ginny unleashed. He had no idea she was holding back before.

This time, he would up with a rope mark around both wrists, too many bite marks to count, and a broken toe. But the last one was his fault. He'd have to remember in the future—not a good idea to pick up his woman while inside her and shove them both against the shower wall without looking, especially now when she was wearing those god-awful gold stilettos.

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Harry woke up with his head tingling.

He felt around the pillow and there were braided strands all around him.

When he picked one up and examined it, he realized his wife of two weeks, had styled his hair in several braids and had the nerve to use pink rubber bands on the ends.

Oink . . . Oink . . . Oink . . .

His phone snorted on the nightstand.

He rolled his eyes back in his head and stayed in bed.

Ginny's ring tone she'd chosen for herself was obnoxious, but in an odd way, it amused him—kind of like her talent for sneaking into the wardrobe and replacing all his white tee shirts with pink ones.

Speaking of which . . . he was running out of clothes, because he'd be damned if he ever wore those.

Well, other than in the bedroom. She loved it when he wore one with his officer's hat, and nothing else.

The oinking rings ended, but a few seconds later, started up again.

He flung his arm out, his hand landing right on top of his phone, and he snatched it up.

"What?" he spat, answering the call.

"Harry, it's happening. Right now," she whispered.

"What is? A flock of pink flamingos are finally chasing you down for trying to look like them?" He laughed.

"No!" She gasped, and he heard men hissing behind her in a menacing way. "I'm in the bank. There's a robbery in progress. You have to get down here. Only you can help me," she whimpered.

"Which bank?" He was out of bed, throwing on some jeans and a damned pink shirt before he even had time to consider what he was wearing. His shoes slipped right on, he had keys in hand, his wand jammed into his pocket, and before she could finish telling him which bank it was, he was on his motorcycle, thundering down the road.

"I'm coming, honey. Just hold on . . ."

The phone was already dead.

He throttled hard, and jettisoned past the morning traffic, whizzing in and out of lanes and breaking all sorts of laws. He wished he was wearing his police uniform so people would move out of his way, thinking he was on official police business.

Harry cut what should have been a fifteen minute trip, into a three minute ride.

He parked the motorcycle far enough away so the people inside wouldn't hear the rumbling engine.

His feet were heavy and slower than he wanted as he raced through the parking lot to get to her.

All the blinds were closed on the bank, and there were few cars in the parking lot, but he did see Ginny's.

After taking a deep breath, he Apparated and aimed for the area behind the front desk.

It was risky to do it blind like this, but he had no choice.

His toes tingled, and a fire ripped up his calves until his whole body felt on fire.

White. Everything was blank, and his senses were all gone—no sight, no sound, no touch, no taste, and no smell.

Whhuuuuup!

He landed on his feet, louder than he would've liked, and the second he was completely particulated in place, he thrust his right hand in his pocket to retrieve his wand.

Shiiiiiiiif!

His wand flew out of his hand without a sound, and when he looked up, there stood Ron, his wand aimed at Harry.

"Maybe next time he'll invite me to the wedding," Ron said to somebody behind him.

"Ginny!" Harry yelled.

No answer.

"She's fine," he said.

Harry glanced around. Where were the hostages? And what the hell was going on?

"Get the money, Gin. We're done here," Ron said, staring at Harry.

Harry's heart froze.

She stepped around her brother, black duffle in hand. "Don't erase his memories while I'm wiping everyone else's," she told her brother.

Ron shook his head and smiled. "He's not gonna stand for this. He's an Auror, and even pretending to be a cop." He picked up Harry's wand and handed it to Ginny.

"It's fine, really. Just go. You go deal with the people in back. I need to talk to my husband and make sure he understands how this is gonna go," Ginny said.

Harry glared at Ron as he left.

This was who he was searching for.

"How long?" Harry asked her once they were alone.

"We've been doing this since Mum and Dad died. We had to survive somehow, and in order to protect ourselves from Death Eaters, we had to have money." She sidled up to him and slung her arm around his shoulder.

Oddly, it relaxed him. He exhaled. "Why do it now, though. I mean, you've robbed several. You can't be desperate for cash anymore."

"Do you know how much student loans cost these days? The twins started their own shop, Percy just finished medical school, and Ron, well . . . he's got expensive tastes." She snorted in a muffled way, like she was stifling a riotous cackle.

"This is wrong in so many ways, I can't even stand to think about it," he gritted.

She pivoted on her toe until she swerved herself right in front of him. "Yes, but you're stuck as my husband for one year. You signed the contract, and so did I. And the magical laws dictate, you cannot ever turn on your spouse when you take on the binding marriage hom."

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. One of the braids fell forward.

God, he was a freak wearing a pink shirt, his hair in braids and he was married to a criminal he'd been chasing for well over a year now.

"I'm gonna . . . we're annulling this," he said.

Her free hand smacked him in the center of his chest. iHiHhhhiouoi "It's impossible, as you well know. For now, you pretend you love me. You keep having sex with me, and I think we're gonna have some fun. You'll do both our laundry, cook our meals, and I'll proceed to ignore you."

His eyes flew open. "Ex-cuse me? I don't think so . . ."

She threw her head back and laughed. "I was just taking the piss." Her head straightened and she pretended to glare at him as she pursed her lips. "No, we won't be doing that. Your cooking is worse than Ron's." She glanced over at the door he went through, and Harry could hear the twins back there bantering about something. "But the sex is about to get wilder."

"Wilder? What now? Should I expect piercings and fire play?"

"Not that, per se, but I was thinking we might throw in a few whips and chains." She grabbed his hair at the nape of his neck. "Kneel, honey. Kiss my boot, and I'll consider allowing you to join us as we rob a few more."

"Why would I do that?"

She pushed him down to her feet. "Because you suck at your job, you hate your boss, and because I've had you eating out of the palm of my hand for weeks."

He slumped over on the ground.

"Oh, and, darling?" she cooed all sugary, making him almost nauseous. She bent over, gripped his chin and made him look up at her. Her other hand landed on her lower abs. "I'm pregnant. Just thought you should know."

His jaw fell open.

"Yep, it's yours. Magic condoms you create out of thin air? Just a hint—they never work." She smiled.

His lips went to her boot, and he smiled too. Being this close to his own boot, he was able to slip out his backup wand.

Who said he was gonna play nice?

THE END

A/N:

Took some writer's liberties here by making up some stuff and obviously rearranging his history. The marriage hom vow? That was all mine, so you don't have to roll your eyes at J.K. Rowling. I'm sure she would've come up with something more creative.

Thanks for reading!

Scarlett