Velvet Underworld

By Chyna Rose

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K.R. Weiss Kreuz belongs to Project W. I am neither, therefore I don't own either series.

Rating: PG-13

Status: 2/?

Warning: AU, Mpreg, slash, borderline chan, dark!Harry, language, adult situations.

Spoilers: Harry Potter – up to GoF. Weiss Kreuz – episode 18.

Summary:

Archive: FFN, the archive of the groups this is posted in, and the Void. Anyone else just ask.

Author's Note: This is in response to Blaise's challenge on the harrypottermpreg ML: a What If, if Harry was raised by a family from another book/movie/series. All you need to know about Weiss Kreuz is that Crawford's clairvoyant, Schuldig's a telepath, Farfarello's a psychotic who can't feel physical pain, Nagi is a telekinetic, and the four of them work as a mercenary/assassin team. Anything between two 's denote telepathic communication. Feedback is appreciated. Flames are laughed at.

Morning sickness. There's nothing else quite like it in the world. The nausea and vomiting hitting you randomly throughout the day; triggered by common and often unavoidable things. And there is nothing to stop it. If there was a way, it would've been discovered ages ago. Not that I got any sympathy from my dormmates. They seem to take delight in my suffering; seeing what will set off a bout of morning sickness, then laughing when I make a run for the bathroom. Of course these are the same immature jerks who make fun of the girls when they're having their period, so it's not just me. Let's just say that they are lucky that I promised Crawford that I wouldn't curse them. Not that I'm not sorely tempted to.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Pride of Slytherin."

"Hello Weasley. I'd love to stop and chat, but as you can see, I'm a little busy right now. Maybe we could do this when I'm not puking my guts out – say some time in February."

Ronald Weasley. In another life, we might've been friends. He's one of the most friendly and outgoing people I've ever met – even if he does act immature most of the time. Unfortunately, he has one of the worst prejudices I've ever seen. That, or he's living in his own little world; separate from the rest of us. Back in first year, I met Ron and his family while waiting for the train that would take us to Hogwarts. During the train ride, Ron and I got to talking about pretty much everything. He seemed pretty amazed that I didn't know much of anything about the Wizarding world; being raised by Muggles and all. We got along like a house on fire; telling each other everything we could think of about our respective lives. That was until the Sorting Ceremony. Ron seemed to take my being sorted into Slytherin as a personal affront. Like I did it on purpose to make him look bad. Never mind that it was an impartial third party that made the decision.

Ever since then, he has been trying to get back at me for my 'betrayal'. After about the hundredth time he got hit with his own hexes (thanks to a nifty little charm I found that reflects hexes and curses back to the caster), he stopped trying to use magic against me and resorted to insults. I still one up him on a regular basis (which drives him completely mad; as short a trip as it might be), and he's still convinced that I'm using dark magic to do so. Apparently he still hasn't grasped the concept of instant karma – or the fact that he's the one responsible for making himself look like an idiot and an asshole.

"That's too bad. Just too, too bad. 'Course that's what's to be expected from a filthy little faggot."

There are time when I wonder how Ron manages to function. Case in point. He gives me flack for being gay – and then turns around and accuses me of sleeping with his sister (as lovely a girl as Ginny is, she just isn't my type. Nor am I hers). In his head, strangely it works out. However, it completely defies logic in the real world.

"And how is Bill doing these days?"

"Don't you dare say things about my brother!" Ron pretty much shouted – ignoring the fact that I hadn't actually said anything about him. Not that I designed to point this out to him. For some reason (lack of intelligence perhaps), Ron does not do well with semantics. Few things will cause him to loose his temper faster. Coupled with the implied 'slight' against his family…

"So what brings you here Weasley? It's obviously not to use the facilities. Unless you have a kink you wish to confess."

Unfortunately, the jest (which I couldn't help saying. I just can't ignore an opening like that) flew right over Ron's head. He didn't even have the courtesy to fly into a rage on the general principle. Quite disappointing really. But then, this was Ron we were talking about.

"I just wanted to thank you for getting Snape sacked. High time the greasy git got what he dissevered; Dumbledore should've let him rot in Azkaban if you ask me."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. I didn't ask him. Hell, I never ask him. And it's not even like he's been telling me something new. Ron's dislike of Professor Snape was legendary. Not helped by the fact that Professor Snape didn't suffer fools in any capacity, and Ron was often a fool. Not that I blame him. Potions is a lot like Muggle chemistry; a lot can go wrong and kill you if you aren't careful. Ron, along with most of the other Gryffindor fifth years can't seem to grasp this. Which I guess says something about Gryffindor. Not that I think that all Gryffindors are brainless idiots now and forever in propriety. But it does make one wonder if there's something in the air in their vaunted tower.

With a flush I stood while Ron just gloated in imagined triumph over his most hated of teachers. In fact, he was still standing there with that insipid grin on his face when I headed off for class. Sometimes (make that most of the time), I wonder how Hermione puts up with him.

By some odd twist of fate, I wasn't the only one pregnant. True, I was the only guy, but about a score of girls also found themselves in a 'delicate situation'. It all boils down to a bowl of mulled cider and someone's nasty idea of a joke. At some point during the night, and unknown party had slipped an unknown substance into the mulled cider that was being served as punch at the Halloween Dance. The cider, whether by intent or miscalculation, had become a fertility enhancer; working its magic on whoever drank it and then had sex that night. It had overcome every single form of contraception from spells, to potions, to Muggle inventions like the condom. It even managed to overcome the stranglehold of biology. Had any other guy who drank the cider decided to play bottom that night, then I'm sure that I wouldn't be the only pregnant guy. A quirk of fate as it were.

With so many students pregnant, a new class was created. Oh, we still slept in our usual dorms and ate (when the very thought of food didn't turn our stomachs) with our houses, but our classes were taken together. Certain precautions had to be taken. Lessons formulated so as not to hurt our unborn children in the thousands of seemingly innocuous ways that existed. Theory replaced practicals when the chance of something going wrong was a major factor. And all subjects had one glaring thing in common; our pregnancy and impending motherhood. We learned which potion was used to ease a baby's teething, how to transform a dish towel into a bib, how to charm a dirty diaper clean, and why you hid a small lump of iron somewhere in the cradle. We were also given lessons that I can only describe as a mutated Home Ec. and health class; what to expect from the pregnancy, the birth, how to care for the baby and the home. Things my mother would've taught me had I been a girl born to a traditionalist. And then I'd get private instruction during my much longer check ups with the midwife and Madame Pomphrey (the resident mediwitch) because I was a boy, and it's different for boys.

"So how did your meeting with the Headmaster go?" Hermione asked me. In a move that has been labeled as classic Gryffindor, Hermione has set aside House rivalries in the name of Shared Experiences and befriended me. After all, it was the noble thing to do since I had no friends and had been at the mercy of a professor.

"About as well as can be expected."

I think some of Ron's hatred towards me, at this point anyway, is the fact that I get on reasonably well with his girlfriend. That is to say, I don't follow the (supposed) Slytherin prejudices when it comes to her. Hermione, you see, is what is known as a Muggle born witch. That is to say that she was born into a Muggle family. Slytherin is the house of the blood elite; those who think that the further back your magical ancestry goes, the better. It is not a philosophy that I hold any weight with, but because I'm in Slytherin, it is assumed that I do.

It is an odd thing, this purity and importance of blood. Both my biological parents were wizards, yet I was raised by Muggles. As far as Wizarding society is concerned, I'm a half-blood as my mother was a Muggle born. And that still doesn't explain the why. Oh there are muttered references to the intolerance and hatred of the Middle Ages; the burnings and inquisitions. But that doesn't explain the whys. A witch is a witch is a witch. And the other persecuted groups from that time – the homosexuals, the Jews, the pagans, and the Satanists – don't share this historic arrogance and hatred. Maybe it's a class thing. But that doesn't seem right either. Or maybe the answer's right in front of me and I just didn't have the right upbringing or pedigree to see it.

"So they're ok with this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at my midsection. One of the problems with Hermione is that she expects everything to fall into a set pattern. I am a guy. What passes for my parents are Muggles. I am pregnant. This is impossible in the Muggle world. Therefore they had reacted badly and went into a panic of denial when they were told that I was pregnant.

"Well, they weren't exactly happy about it if that's what you mean. After all, I'm only fifteen; still just a child myself really."

Hermione just nodded even though her expression said 'that wasn't what I meant and you know it'. Muggle or wizard, teen pregnancy was a touchy issue. Even the purest of the purebloods – the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Zambinins, the Goyles – waited until the youngest of the pair had finished their primary schooling before finalizing the arranged marriage with a wedding. There are some things that are truly universal.

I had of course heard the rumors. In a place like this, it was virtually impossible not to. If a lie can travel around the world before the truth can even get its boots on, then a rumor's already back sipping tea before a lie can close the front door. The Grangers, Hermione's parents, are Muggles, and subsequently know little to nothing about Wizarding culture – which seems to sometimes be stuck in the Victorian era. Mr. and Mrs. Granger grew up in nineteen sixties London. So when they learned that their teenaged daughter had gotten herself pregnant, they did what any sensible Muggle parent would do. They offered to take her to the local health clinic for an abortion.

You could guess what kind of an uproar this caused. In a population with such a low birth rate – especially amongst the pure bloods – every child is precious. Even thinking about doing such a thing can get you labeled a murderer. But as I said, Mr. and Mrs. Granger are Muggles and can be forgiven for not understanding. They just wanted what was best for their daughter – and that meant knowing all the options open to her. She agreed to marry Weasley, although I'm sure she has plenty of second thoughts about that. Why she ever agreed to sleep with him in the first place…

Hermione kept looking at me in a battle of wills. Like I'd actually cave under her stare. I've held my own against Dumbledore and Crawford. Why wouldn't I hold against a fifteen-year-old witch.

Before the staring contest that was our battle of wills could drag on any further, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil burst in all excited. This wasn't unusual; both girls had a tendency to over dramatize silly little things. But it was enough to distract Hermione into rolling her eyes. Parvati and Lavender are the kind of girls that make me glad to be gay.

"You'll never believe what we just saw in the Great Hall!" Parvati (or was it Lavender?) exclaimed excitedly.

"Strangers! Two of them. They were just standing there, gawking at the ceiling like they'd never saw magic before" Lavender (or was it Parvati?) continued.

They didn't… They wouldn't… Dread began to fill my stomach. Ignoring the fact that class was about to start, I tore out of there towards the Great Hall. I had to find out for myself. I mean, Lavender and Parvati were known to blow things out of proportion. And the ceiling in the Great Hall is one impressive bit of enchantment.

"The vault of heaven brought into mortal reach; the work of God created by man. The wonder of it to all privileged enough to gaze upon its splendor. My Angelic Death is truly blessed."

Oh hell no.

After Note: The bit about the truth, a lie, and rumor was inspired by a line in The Truth by Terry Pratchett. Mostly it was me adding the bit about rumor.