Paternity

Chapter Twenty-one
Empathy

Two weeks later, at the end of July, Professor Flitwick had a chance to take a trip to Ireland (Ron whispered that it was probably to visit some distant leprechaun relations). With only a half-dozen students, it was decided that the remaining adults could easily handle things. Snape had been intending to remain on campus, and McGonnagle was just going to take weekend trips away. Dumbledore had intended to leave for the last two weeks in August, and Madame Pomfrey wasn't about to leave Ron. When he tried to protest, she shushed him, saying that her sister could just keep going to bingo by herself till the Christmas holidays. Then she gave Ron a stern look and said that was IF he was going home himself.

"Pommy, you've met my Mum, haven't you?" said Ron. "You don't honestly think she'd let any child of hers who wasn't in Ahzkaban or doing undercover work for the Ministry of Magic pass up a family Christmas?"

That evening they were lounging in the Gryffindor common room, as they usually did these days. The only Slytherins left besides Draco were Condon Prinks, Thaddeus Thistlewhistle, and Bram Rooker. The latter three boys were great chums, so they kept each other company. Harry observed, however, that there were gradients of approval, even among 'the right sort' of Purebloods, and Draco Malfoy didn't quite consider the trio on his exalted plain. He spent most of his time either alone, or in Hogsmeade these days. "I'd feel sorry for him," said Harry, "if I didn't know for certain what a bloody minded git he is."

"That's a big 'if', Harry," Ron agreed. "You know, this summer COULD do Malfoy a little good, if he lets it."

"How so?"

"He's getting a bit of a taste of what it's like to be alone, and... Well, not ostracized, but not freely welcomed. His blood may be as pure as driven snow, and his lineage may be as long as the Amazon and as shiny as a new minted galleon, but that doesn't get him in with Prinks, Thistlewhistle, and Rooker. They're tight--maybe as tight as you, me, and 'Minie. He can't buy his way in with money or influence, and they know him too well to fall for charm."

Golwoggle trotted into the room. "Hullo, hullo." He went to the table holding their dinner trays and examined the near empty dishes. "Young sir drank all his milk and ate the nasty green-greens Professor snape said to make instead of nice potatos?"

Ron made a face. "So he's the one I thank for the spinach. Is Twitchet having to eat a lot of rabbit food, too, Golwoggle?"

"Oh, no, sir. House elves bellies stronger than human, and our women don't need what yours do. No, Twitchet has tea and cream buns..."

"Wish that was my recommended diet," muttered Ron.

Golwoggle was continuing, "With plenty of pepper and garlic in the cream. That make elf kit strong, but why she'd want to eat chutney with it, I don't know. Sir, can Twitchet come up? She be wanting to speak with another who be with child. She be feeling lonely. Professor Snape says it's..." He frowned. "Harmony? That don't sound right. She ain't been harmonius."

"Hormones?" suggested Harry.

Golwoggles expression cleared. "That be it--her-moans. Her moans somthing fierce these days, if her don't get her way." He disappeared.

Harry burst out laughing, but Ron rolled his eyes. "Well you can laugh. Is that what I have to look forward to--moodiness and weird food cravings?"

"I have news for you, Ron--you don't have to wait for those--they're here. Or don't you remember searching that last bag of Bertie Bott's Beans, looking for Limburger?"

Twitchet appeared near the door, and came over to where the boys were sitting, moving with a distinct waddle. Ron's eyes got round as he got a look at the female house elf's belly tenting the front of the flour sack she was wearing. Twtichet was walking sway backed, one hand on the base of her spine, as if for support. Harry quickly got up and pulled a footstool up for her, then took her arms and gently lifted her to sit on it. "Is that all right, or do you need something to support your feet? I can get a cushion off the couch."

"No, no, young Potter. This be fine, for a little while." She tried to clasp her hands below the swell of her belly, and couldn't quite reach. "Too long and Twitchet's feet swells up, they do."

Ron was staring. He said faintly. "Twitchet? Should you be up here, at your advanced stage of pregnancy?"

"Advanced? La, Mister Weasley. I do have a good month to go."

"Are you sure? You look..."

"Oh." Twitchet looked down at her belly fondly, patting it. "Talked with Pom-nursey, I did." Twitchet grinned and held up her hand, two fingers spread in a Vee.

"You don't mean it!" said Harry. "Twins?"

Twitchet nodded. "Very, very rare," she said proudly. "Potion Master says probably because of the fecundus." Ron glanced in fascinated near horror down at his own belly. "Oh, don't you worry, sir. Golwoggle's great-great-great grandam had two babies, so unless there be twins in your family..." She trailed off, covering her mouth as Ron groaned.

"Just when I think I'm getting used to the idea," said Ron faintly.

"Don't worry about it, Ron," said Harry. "How much more trouble can two babies be than one?"

"Ask my mother about how it was with Fred and George some time, Harry. If you don't go out and get a vasectomy after that, you can be really sure you're ready for parenthood."

"Twitchet was wondering, Mister Ron, if you be needing clothes for baby," said Twitchett. "House elves be right skilled with embroidery an' knitting an' whatnot. Twitchet has big box of kit clothes finished already, an' she'd be proud to make a thing or twenty." She frowned. "Though Twitchet might need to see a few wizard babies to get size right. They do be awful big."

"Thanks, Twitchet, but I can be pretty sure that Mum's already been buying out the yarn shop. She'll have a complete wardrobe for each gender, and one that can work for both, if I know her," said Ron. "And her feelings would be hurt if I showed up with a layette."

Twitchet nodded. "Yus. Mums be possessive when it's time to be grandmums. Know how I was with my first. He..."

Harry gaped at the little female. "Twitchet--a grandchild?"

Twitchet gave him a puzzled look. "Of course, sir. If Twitchet was without grandkits an' greatgrandkits at her age 'twould be a shame. My Mum fussed at me something fierce for waiting till I was ten to have my first. Said what was I waiting for--a Muggle head of the Ministry of Magic?"

Ron elbowed Harry. "Harry, house elves have a different life span." He pointed at Twitchet's bulging belly. "That should give you a hint. They mature faster than we do, hitting puberty at about, oh, six or seven. Then it's a long young adulthood. They don't reach anything like middle age till they hit the century mark, and they're fertile right up till then."

"That's probably why they have a low birth rate," said Harry. "Since they live so long, it's nature's way of keeping them from procreating beyond the environment's ability to support them."

"You're listening too closely to Hermionie. Hey, Twitchet, what else can you eat on your pregnancy diet? I'd like to know what I'm missing. Pomfrey hinted that I needed to cut down on candy and get most of my sweets from fresh fruit..." he wrinkled his nose, "which I love, but being told I SHOULD eat it puts me off. I expect if they get to the 'you HAVE to eat it' stage I'll develope an aversion."

"Oh, house elf NEED to have sweets when with kits," Twitchet assured him. "Breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner, an' betweens. Us keeps a bit with us for when we're peckish."

Ron closed his eyes. "A dream come true. What's your favorite kind?"

"You're torturing yourself, Ron," said Harry.

Twitchet said, "I have some with me. Would sir like a bit?"

Ron sat forward eagerly, and Harry said warningly, "Ron, you just had cake."

"A little won't hurt..."

Twitchet had pulled a pouch from somewhere and opened it. She held out a creamy looking white square. "Here, sir."

Ron started to reach for it eagerly. "Are those flakes coconut?"

"No. This be tunafish fudge." Ron's hand dropped. "Best white albacore," she said coaxingly.

Ron was obviously torn between hurting the elf's feelings by refusing her offering, and the thought of actually having to eat it. Harry took pity and said, "Thank you so much Twitchet, but Ron's boycotted tuna until they stop the slaughter of dolphins."

"Dolphins killed for tuna?" Twitchet glared at the candy, then stuffed it back into the pouch. "Well, next time we just use pickled herring. If sir would help Twitchet down?"

Ron started to stand up, and Harry said sharply, "You aren't actually considering lifting her, are you?" Ron sat back. "Thought not." Harry helped Twitchet down. "It was nice of you to come visit."

"Sirs were very kind to let Twitchet come. Her do get lonely for someone who knows what it's like." She started to waddle toward the door, then stopped and turned back, looking at Ron. "Wheezy, sir, be you going to put your baby on the tit?"

Ron gaped, a red tide sweeping up to color his face. His mouth worked, but he didn't seem to be able to get anything out. Finally Harry said, "We haven't decided yet."

"Is Nature's way." She made a face. "Much better for baby than nasty can-bottle-mix." She patted her own chest. "Makes you nice and plump." She winked. "Don't know about Mister Harry, but Golwoggle likes it just fine." She left.

Harry, watching his lover wryly, said, "Breathe, Ron."

Ron sucked in a deep breath, then stared down at his chest in horror. "Harry, you don't really think...?"

Harry considered teasing him--saying something about wasn't it a good thing that Ron was so smooth chested, because the baby wouldn't have to worry about rooting through a thicket when it wanted dinner. He didn't, though. Instead he went over and slipped an arm around Ron's neck, kissing him on the cheek. "Look at it this way, Ron--there are a lot of guys who have breasts. Have you ever looked at Goyle in the shower?"

Ron's expression became even more horrorstruck. "Harry, my stomach! As if morning sickness wasn't bad enough, you have to give me THAT mental image? Are you TRYING to mark the baby?"

"Anyway, it might not happen. I suppose that's something else we need to ask Snape or Pomfry about."

Ron groaned. "I can't decide which would be marginally less embarrassing." He sighed. "Well, if it happens, at least it will be for a good reason, and not because I've let myself go." He cocked his head. "I just thought of something. Hermionie sometimes goes on about putting yourself in someone else's shoes, being empathetic, trying to imagine how they feel."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm about to experience something of what it's like for an adolescent girl, except I'm damn sure not going to be as pleased to see them sprout as most people. If it DOES happen, it's going to be bloody hard to keep this thing quiet. I s'pose you could stand watch while I bathe, but damn it, even the bloody tent robes aren't going to conceal things if they get TOO big."

"Maybe you can get hold of a sports bra."

"Just my luck someone would find out. The last thing I need is Draco Malfoy snapping my brassier." Ron suddenly got an intense look on his face. "Oh, hell." He got up quickly and headed for the door.

"What is it?"

"I'm telling you, Harry, that my bladder has SHRUNK. I'm going to the loo, and then I'm going to talk to one of the house elves about getting a sodding chamber pot. I do NOT want to wear myself out trotting back and forth to the bog ever twenty minutes."