AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whew. This one's a doozie. I don't care how I spell doozie, it's still bleeped-up. So...here's chapter six, it's long, it's gruelling, it's going to make you want to jump out the nearest window. For those of you on first floors, I'm terribly sorry, please send your hospital bills to the american government and try getting some money from them. Right, so the other hospital visit you've all been waiting for...

DISCLAIMER: Not mine unless it is, you know what isn't, because it's good and belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Mistakes Made

Chapter Six: You're What? We're What? The Twins Did What?

"No."

The bespectacled St. Mungo's healer who brought to mind a mummified McGonagall-Flitwick lovechild glanced up from her chart, blinking owlishly at Ginny through her glasses. "No?" she queried, rummaging through her pockets for a handkerchief.

"No," Draco reinforced with a tight smile, leaning over Ginny's shoulder.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the old bat murmured, blowing her nose noisily, ", but 'no' is not a viable answer at the moment. You are pregnant."

Ginny shook her head again, her hair brushing over the sleeves of her hospital gown. "No. You don't understand. It's just impossible," she protested, trying to slide off the examining table. The woman somehow managed to stop her. How she accomplished it was beyond Draco; Ginny could have squashed her with her spatula in seconds. That woman had a way with kitchen utensils that was downright scary.

"Now, miss, you need to sit down," the Triassic Period relic crooned. "Pregnancy is a great responsibility and we can't have you hurting yourself now, can we? Not when you're living for two, now." It was rather a good thing the old crone had pushed Ginny back on the table, because the girl's knees buckled and her shoulders slumped and she got that look on her face that Draco knew so well by now. That 'look out I'm going to blow chunks' look.

As if this body language coupled with Ginny's protests weren't warning enough, the old cow finally noticed Draco, whose jaw had unhinged and dropped into the hospital room's tile floor some time back when she'd come back with the tests she'd run on Ginny.

"Oh," dinosaur-woman said slowly, blinking. "I take it this wasn't a planned pregnancy?" she asked in a disapproving tone. Ginny resisted throwing herself off the table. "Lady, this wasn't even a planned one-night-stand," Ginny growled, "I can't be pregnant!"

"Dear, you are. Aren't you happy?"

Ginny's hand was inching for the rectal thermometer, murder in her eyes. Draco felt this was a good time to intercede. "Er, we used a Contraception Charm," he broke in. Ginny's eye twitched as she straightened up, pointing excitedly at Draco. "Ooh, yes, listen to Greasy Git Man over there; we used a Contraception Charm, so…it just…I can't be pregnant, so there…just…write it down on your little chart thing and I can go home."

The woman adjusted her glasses, looking a good deal nervous. "I'm sorry dear, but you are very much pregnant. The spell I cast does not lie."

"Neither do Contraception Charms, and they say that I can't be pregnant," Ginny glowered violently. Wonderless Woman was at a loss. "I don't know what to say. But you are pregnant. If you want to change that, you need to decide now."

Draco watched the woman slip cruelly through the door, leaving him alone with Ginny and the rectal thermometer. Sneaky little shrew. Draco had to restrain himself from throwing something large and heavy at her. Like Ginny.

"Well?"

Ginny glanced up, toying with the band around her wrist. "Well, what?" she asked. Draco swallowed nervously, eyeing the rectal thermometer. "Are you going to keep it?" he whispered, letting his eyes flicker to her stomach. To think…there was a little Malfoy alien growing in there…the thought frightened him more than he or his nearly wetted underpants would like to admit.

Ginny's head shot up and she glared at him for a full minute, in which Draco thought he was going to die no less than fourteen times, before she dropped her gaze with a sigh. "Yes, you idiot," she said, staring off in the distance, cradling her stomach. "Of course I'm going to keep it."

………………………………………………………………..

Pansy stumbled from her room hours after…well…actually, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been conscious. In that case there was only one thing to do. "Blaaaaaiiiiiise," she whined, falling onto the couch in a pitiful pose sure to elicit sympathy from the most cruel-hearted. Unfortunately, Blaise had already been sitting there.

"Pansy, I didn't think I'd ever have to say this again, considering that one terrifying episode on Christmas Eve in our seventh year, but will you please get your bum off me?"

Pansy rolled rather pathetically about two inches to the left. "Blaise," she called again, wrapping her arms around his waist, "will you make me a ham sandwich?" she pouted, nuzzling her nose in his stomach.

Blaise was unappreciative of being used as a human tissue. "Only this once, and only because you're sick and you're getting your nasty, filthy bogies all over me," he warned, getting up. Pansy smiled and hugged the pillow he'd been sitting on. "Lovely," she called. "Ooh, and can you put some brie on it?"

"Yes," Blaise yelled from the kitchen.

"And onion?"

Pause. "I suppose."

"Thanks."

Pansy thought for a moment.

"And honey?"

Blaise's head popped around the corner. "Honey?" he asked. Pansy nodded. "And if we have any, some lox?" Blaise was beginning to look sick now, so it was probably a good thing that two loud pops announced Draco and Ginny's return.

Blaise rounded the corner completely. "So, how'd it go?" he asked curiously. Pansy wasn't as curious, owing to the fact that she was a snore away from being comatose. Ginny opened her mouth resolutely, to explain that there was currently a future apocalypse-in-a-diaper incubating in her stomach in a highly disgusting and squelchy Malfoy manner, but nothing came out. Her lip quivered and she closed her mouth, afraid that if words didn't come out, something else would, and considering she'd emptied her stomach at least seven times, the next thing to go would be internal organs and she probably needed those. Blaise and Pansy were still waiting expectantly, so Draco decided to be benevolent for once and give her a little help.

"We just got back from the hospital. Ginny's fine. We're going to get married."

Ginny sighed in relief. "Yes, we're….what?" She exclaimed, turning to Draco questioningly. Blaise and Pansy were gaping like mutant goldfish, or in Pansy's case, a nearly comatose mutant goldfish, which is quite a sight indeed. Draco turned to Ginny. "Well, it's the only thing, isn't it? You're pregnant-" Blaise blinked, "you're pregnant?" "-and you can't have a baby on your own. Besides," Draco paused, suddenly looking hesitant "wait, it is mine, isn't it?"

Ginny glared. "Of course it's yours, who do you think I am…Pansy?"

"Easy," Pansy warned.

"So it is mine?"

"Is Snape a slimy greasebat? Yes, it's yours," Ginny's exasperation seeped through her voice. "Oh," Draco coughed nervously. "Right."

Silence.

Blaise blinked. "You're pregnant?"

………………………………………………………………………

"So," Blaise asked, some hours later, "the big question is…who's going to tell the Weasleys?"

Draco would have answered, but there seemed to be a Firewhiskey bottle down his throat. At this point, he probably needed it there, so he sacrificed his oxygen intake for the sake of getting hammered to the point of severe amnesia.

"I take it you're going to let her tell them the happy news?" Blaise prodded. Draco growled, Firewhiskey dribbling down his chin. "Good idea," Blaise nodded "they wouldn't hurt a pregnant woman."

Draco made some interesting gargling noises that Blaise took to mean 'yes, Blaise, brilliant idea, please keep talking, I'm so glad you've taken an interest in how my life is like a good friend, will you go check on dinner?'

"I'll go check on dinner, then, shall I?" Blaise said randomly, standing and making his way to the kitchen. Draco eyed him warily, finally removing the bottle. "Did Weasley actually ever say whether or not she'd marry me?" he slurred. Blaise glanced out of the kitchen. "I can't remember what she said; I was too busy trying to dodge the frying pan."

"So that could be construed as a 'no, I won't marry you, Malfoy', right?" Draco asked hopefully. Blaise scoffed in the kitchen. "Malfoy, you got the poor girl pregnant. You've either got to marry her or kill her and make it look like an accident, and you," he began, as Draco had started to contemplate option number two, "will not kill your fiancé, right?"

"Well, why can't she just have the damn thing and live here? I could help, she wouldn't have to deal with being called Mrs. Malfoy, which is just wrong, and I won't have her brothers trying to cut my you-know-whos off," Draco reasoned. "Draco, you know the wizarding world still doesn't approve of unwed mothers. I mean, as much as it would make for a hilarious Wizarding Wireless program, I don't think you should let her tough it out on her own. Think of the copyright mess and all the press shite she'd have to deal with. Hell, I'd-" Blaise broke off uneasily, and silence resounded through the rooms. Draco was about to ask what Blaise was going to say, but he found himself unconscious.

………………………………………………………………………….

"So, you did say yes, didn't you?"

Ginny glanced up from experimentally and systematically prodding her stomach with the tip of her wand. "Er, I believe my exact words were 'back off ferret-man, I have a frying pan'," she said. Pansy winced. "Not good," she sighed. "Catchy, but not good."

"Well, I don't want to marry the cheeky sod, now, do I?" Ginny objected, raising herself up on her elbows. Pansy smirked. "No, I can understand that. But…well, you're keeping the baby, aren't you?" At the Medusian death glare Ginny was firing at her, Pansy continued hastily. "Right, of course you are. Well, you remember the girl that graduated a year ahead of us at Hogwarts? The one who had her baby a few months later? Do you remember the scandal? Not to mention you're the scintillating ex of the Boy-Who-Sells-Newspapers. If Rita Skeeter found out, she'd tear you down and then you'd have to have her killed. I mean, not that it wouldn't make for a really good autobiography- 'How My Baby Changed the World and Murdered Rita Skeeter Too'-because it probably would, but think of all the corporate mess and copyright issues you'd have to deal with. Not to mention book tours. You don't want to follow in the footsteps of Lockheart, do you?"

Ginny frowned. "Not to put a damper on things, but unfortunately, what I want doesn't really matter right now. I made a rather awful mistake, and now I've got to do what I have to. I'm going to have to marry Draco Malfoy. I don't want to. But I will," she poked her stomach with a glare that said 'this is all your fault'.

Pansy nodded, a frown stealing between her lips. "Anyway, how did you get pregnant?" she asked curiously. Ginny smiled quirkily. "Well you see, when a man and a woman get very, very randy…" "Come off it, Gin. Really, how on earth did you manage to get pregnant?" Ginny turned her head to the side, absentmindedly running a hand over her navel. "You know, I'm not entirely sure. Draco swore he used his Contraception Charm, and I do believe him, because he was rather upset that he'd used it on 'a dirt-poor filthy Weasel with a fat arse'. Not only that, but I think I used mine as well, so there should have been twice the reassurance, and yet still I'm up the duff." She shook her head.

Pansy wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little. "I've got a bad feeling about this," she whispered. "You're pregnant. This doesn't bode well for the good of mankind." Ginny nodded. "I know. But Contraception Charms have to work. There's no faulty product, there's no problems, they must work. There is no other option. But…" she trailed off, her face frozen. A slow look of horror crossed her face. "Oh, no," she breathed, sitting up suddenly.

"What?" Pansy asked. Ginny clutched her stomach, terror streaking her features. "What? Is it the baby?" Pansy asked in concern. Ginny shook her head. "No, it's worse," she whispered. Pansy jumped as the red-head slammed her fist on the wall.

"I'M GOING TO KILL THEM!"

In the kitchen, Blaise broke his toe on the dish of meticulously-prepared lasagne he dropped on it, and in the living room, a tipsy Draco broke his nose on his kneecap falling off the sofa, both under the impression that their lives were going to end in a few short moments.

Fortunately for them, Ginny wasn't out for their blood. This same fact was, however, most unfortunate for two of her dim-witted brothers with near-illegible handwriting.

………………………………………………………………………..

"Oh, George, go answer the door, will you?"

George Weasley shook a fist at his brother as he complied. Sure, the doorbell had been ringing steadily for the past five minutes, but it was probably just a body pressed up against it like it had been that time he'd caught Ron and Hermione snogging in the hallway.

George stuck his head out the door, eyes shut. "If you're doing anything involving the exchange of bodily fluids, please decease. Unless you're two women. Then wait for me to get my brother."

Something barrelled into him, knocking him on his arse. "Oh, Gin, it's you. Do come in," he said, standing and closing the door. He turned around to find that it was, indeed, his little sister, and she did, indeed, look like she was going to kill him. Good, everything was normal, then.

Ginny was glaring daggers at him, but had traded in her ragged breathing for a calm mask that would have put Snape to shame. "Hello, George, how are you?" she asked coolly. George nodded. "Brilliant. Sales are up. Business is good, and my sex life is-"

"Actually, I don't give a tingle about your life, sex or otherwise. What I'm interested in is those Contraception Charms you got for me."

George grinned. "Yeah. How'd you like those? Still can't believe my little sister's shagging blokes," he nodded his head, still grinning stupidly as he and Fred were liable to do. Ginny frowned.

"Yes, well, unfortunately your little sister's not going to be shagging blokes for a very long time, now. Well, to be more precise, I can shag blokes, but only up to the third trimester."

George froze mid-grin. "Trimester?" he asked, as though she'd spoken some horribly taboo and completely unspeakable word of doom, which, considering he was male, she might just have.

"Trimester," Ginny repeated. "Apparently, gitwit, I'm pregnant."

George proceeded to babble incoherently for a while. "But-but-but…the Charms!" he exclaimed. "I used them." "So you can't be pregnant!" Ginny nodded grimly. "I know. But I am," she growled menacingly. "You have some explaining to do."