On the Rag

by alloy (Beta: Sandy)

(With apologies to all the ladies)

I wake up feeling sick, nauseous.

The naked, red haired giant next to me sleeps blissfully on. He's a prat.

My stomach is bloated, my breasts hurt, and I need to get to the bathroom before there's an embarrassing accident. Well embarrassing for me, my ‘dick’ probably wouldn't notice, and neither would the other.

Fuck It! I didn't buy any.

I try to shake him awake,

"Ron! Ron!"

"...Mione," he reaches for me, and I slide away; there'll be none of that today!

"Get up you pillock! I need you to go to the store."

"Mione, I feel awful."

"I don't care! You should have thought of that before you drank yourself into a stupor last night."

"It was only two, and we were home early," he protests. Well I think he doth protest too fucking much!

A cramp in my stomach tells me I need to hurry this up.

"Listen you prat, I need you to Apparate to the store..."

"Why can't you Apparate to the store? My tummy hurts."

"Because I can't Apparate right now, and it'll be more than your fucking tummy that'll be hurting if you don't."

A box lands on the bed between us. The other ‘dick’ is standing in the doorway; at least he's not grinning. In fact, he looks a bit queasy, too. Good! The conceited shit even knows what brand I buy. Let him feel queasy.

"I'll make breakfast," he says and goes through to the kitchen.

My ‘dick’ sees the box; his eyes widen, “Oh shit,” he says, and stands up. He's naked with an erection. I'm not impressed; it's pisshard, though I normally like to refer to it as his morning glory.

Not this morning mate.

Shit! He's trying to get to the loo before me. I ignore the cramps and make a dash for it, slamming the door in his face.

Lucky for me he's still half-asleep.

"Mione, I need the loo."

"Use Harry's." Harry's is actually the main bathroom; ours is en suite, and we normally share.

I hear the other toilet flush, and the sound of the shower. I wait another three minutes and flush mine...

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKK!"

I feel much better, and they wondered why I read the plumbing book.

Harry's made toast. He's actually a good little cook for a ‘dick’; better than me, but toast is about all we can handle this morning.

There's juice next to our plates, and he puts a brown tablet down in front of me.

"Iron," he says.

Arsehole! I love him.

My ‘dick’ comes into the kitchen; he's wearing jeans, but he hasn't put on his shirt. His shoulders are bright red; I can hardly see the freckles. He sits down and keeps quiet.

Wise move. The poor dear's tummy does look a bit bloated.

None of us exactly climb into our toast.

The other ‘dick's’ done his best, though. He's remembered my favorite jam; keeps it hidden in the back of cupboard, thinks I don't notice, for days like today. I'm a cunt today; I'll thank him tomorrow.

He drops two white tablets on my plate, "For the cramps." I just growl at him. Swallows two himself when I'm not looking, and puts the bottle down near my ‘dick's’ plate.

"Mmmm, Mione," he talks. Hurrah! He talks… now if he would just learn to talk without his ruddy mouth full!

"We've got Quidditch practice this afternoon, do you think you could..." he doesn't finish sentence.

"Cook?" The ‘dick’ behind me is doing animated throat slashing motions. I can see his reflection in the kitchen tiles.

"Come on," he says, "It's Friday, lets do.... Pizza." All our stomachs lurch.

By teatime I've told Arthur Weasley at least five times what a useless prat his youngest son is. He came into the office looking a bit wary. As far as I know, I've been in sync with Molly and Ginny for at least five years now…. so he was forewarned.

The Weasley's are the closest thing to real family that Harry has, so I give him a few choice words about the other ‘dick’ too.

Arthur's an old hand, he rolls with the punches, but I heard him order take-out for dinner.

The new intern thinks I'm about to be fired, but Arthur Weasley's never fired anyone in his life, and he's not about to fire his only chance at grandchildren. The only chance at least until Ginny gets off her sweet little red fanny and shags Harry's balls off. Frankly it'll solve half my problems, though I'd like to keep him around to cook.

That new intern thinks he's God's gift to witches. He had better watch out, though; if Ron catches him looking at me like that, he'll be drinking pea soup through a straw.

The cramps come back at lunchtime, so I check my lunch box; two little pills are tucked away amongst the digestive biscuits. Fuck Ginny, I'm keeping Harry as a House Elf. He'll look cute in a tea towel.

Mr. 'wonderful' slinks over and I try to catch a glimpse of his school ring. Ah, Slytherin- that explains a lot.

He peers into my lunch box, "Not very appetizing," he says.

I give him the stare that made Draco Malfoy wet his pants. This one's not as bright as Malfoy.

"When, one's lunch has been prepared with love…" With love, but not by my lover, "It behooves one to eat It." That's right, and those little pills are going to be first!

"Let me take you to Le Petit Café. Its a little Muggle establishment...."

Hell no, and get interrogated about marriage plans and babies.

"Where Mr. Weasley is having lunch with my father.”

I grab the pills and chug them with a glass of water. The twit's still hanging around, dense as hippogriff shit. I need to end this; he's beginning to seriously annoy me.

"Listen,” I say. "My fiancé and his best friend are currently in practice with the Chudley Cannons, and afterward, they're meeting me here. If you're still there," I point to his feet and the floor beneath, "I suggest you book your bed in St Mungo's this afternoon."

Of course I didn't tell him that they played for the social team, full of retired players with butterbeer bellies, and a head full of memories and dirty tricks. Quidditch practice, where the other ‘dick’ comes home with a bloody nose and concussion from a failed fucking Wronski Feint, and my ‘dick’ sported a broken rib, making him useless to man or woman for a week, a week during which I had to COOK!

Ah success! I'd just got him shuffling backward when the pain started.

It felt as if Hagrid had kicked me in the stomach. The lingering pain that won't go away if you've been hit on a breast or the balls I suppose. I keeled over my desk choking, tears in my eyes. The idiot tried to touch me. He found himself on the other side of the office; didn't even have to hex him, natural reaction. Then there was a searing pain in my arm. I wanted to faint, to succumb to the darkness, but I didn't. I'm a stubborn bitch when I want to be.

Chester Wrigglebody, the Cannon's coach, Apparated into the office. He paused for a moment, stared blankly at the Slytherin git still hanging from the wall partitions and came over to me.

"Hermione! There's been an accident. Ron and Harry are at St Mungo's."

I stepped out of the public fire at St, Mungo's with tears in my eyes. The things I had called them this morning, the dirty trick I played with the shower.... If they had serious been hurt I'd never forgive myself.

I saw Harry first; he was sitting in the corridor with his arm in a sling. That explained the pain in the arm.

"What happened?" I whisper.

"Fell off my broom," he said, smiling his silly grin.

"What?" Harry was natural flyer, he didn't just fall off his broom; it took Dementors to get Harry off his broom.

"When Ron got hit in the stomach by the bludger."

"Oooh! So that's what I felt." Fuck and I was feeling so shitty too. If Ron had been cramping half as badly as I was....

"Yeah, bloody sore wasn't it." Then Harry must have been feeling it as well.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"I think so. His tummy's a bit sensitive, it'll be alright tomorrow," he paused, and rested his fingers lightly on my own bloated stomach. "And you?"

"It'll be better tomorrow."

"First day is always the worse," he said

Fuck! Harry's sensitive!

They wheeled Ron through then, and I caught the concern in his eyes as he saw Harry's fingers on my tummy.

"Are you alright, Love?"

Harry moved his hand away to swing at the back of Ron's head. "She'd be a darn sight better without a bludger to the tummy, you git! And so would I!"

Ron ducked and winced, and I pulled up his shirt to see his bruises, and to rub his tummy (didn't really need an excuse for that).

"You shouldn't have been practicing today," I say, but they wouldn't be the men they are if they hadn't been.

They're ‘dicks’, but they're my ‘dicks’, and tomorrow they might even be human again. And I'll hex any witch who looks at them strangely into tomorrow…except maybe for Ginny.

Ginny can have Harry, but she'd better hurry. The idea of him in a tea towel is growing strangely appealing.

***

Authors note:

I don't really approve of the term, "On the Rag", but it seemed appropriate. I hope not too many ladies take offense.