Your Baby is the Size of A...

12 Weeks - Your baby is the size of a plum

ffs - this might be the shortest chapter ever posted. apologies!

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Severus stretched, which was hard to do while keeping his left arm straight – and less satisfactory than if he had been able to stretch fully across the bed. The motion seemed to stir Bump to life, a cramp tearing at his insides sharply.

Gritting his teeth, Severus pressed against his belly. "You're the size of a bloody plum," he bit out, voice tight. He glowered down at the soft swell of his abdomen, framed by sharp hipbones and rib bones. "Being so small, you ought to be more pleasant to me," he grumbled, giving the bump a harsh rub.

The cramp became an almost bearable ache.

"Maybe toast today," he said, pushing himself into a seated position, scowling as he went. He hated how his mouth ached and salivated at the mere mention of solid food – it was simply toast.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Severus looked down at the small – but somehow intrusive – bump of his stomach. His body had always bordered on lankiness, so the swell of his stomach was taking more time to get used to than he would have liked. The body change caused shameful feelings to stir restlessly in his chest. He had always tried hard to be as noninvasive, as invisible as possible. With the growing girth around his middle, that sentiment felt impossible.

Severus cupped his belly, running his palms up over the swell. "You're going to be a bother, aren't you. Just like all the other brats in this castle." Another cramp settled in his abdomen, twisting his guts painfully. "My brat," he clarified, fingers spreading on his stomach.

Getting to his feet, Severus moved to take a step – stilling as dizziness swamped him, nearly blotting out his vision. His fingers grabbed at the messy bedclothes, even as the vertigo drove him to the floor. His vision swayed, doubled, righted, greyed. His fingers knotted painfully in the sheets, waiting for it to pass.

"Ah," he managed, letting out a puff of breath, swaying where he sat on the floor. "No toast then," Severus finally whispered, pulling himself to his feet as the dizziness finally abated. "Just tea, perhaps," he told Bump.

Heading into the kitchenette, he tried to ignore the equal parts of hunger and nausea snapping at his all too empty stomach. Putting the kettle on, Severus leaned against the counter, barely managing to hold himself up. He mulled over the days of wasted meals and wondered if it would be easier to just forgo. Which then, of course, begged the question of just how many meals he could miss before his body gave up.

Severus scowled, watching the kettle as it began to steam and whistle. He poured himself a cup and blew on the scalding liquid. The tea would make him feel full, would trick his body into feeling fed – would offer up a gentler option when he promptly hurled his guts out sometime in the next few hours. Tea would make his throat infinitely less raw than real food.

Sighing, Severus took a tentative sip – suddenly feeling much more exhausted than he had in the previous weeks, his hand sliding down to palm his belly.

"You better be worth this," he grumbled.