Your Baby is the Size of A...

16 Weeks - Your baby is the size of an avocado

Standing in his office, glowering at the pile of papers loitering on the desk, Severus slowly removed his outer robes – they were too stifling for the menial task at hand – and settled in the hard desk chair. Since no one would be by, he figured he could forgo the imposing façade. Chamomile tea cooled on the blotter.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he rested his hand along the slight curve of his stomach – Bump was the size of an avocado and could hear him, Poppy had said.

"Shall we see what the brats have to say this week," he asked Bump, giving it a little rub. The nausea had begun to slacken marginally, but it seemed the little one stilled most at touch. Glancing downward, he beat back the feelings of body dysmorphia – which had only begun to increase fervently as his shirts and vests stretched tight against his torso. He had always been lanky, nearly bordering on emaciated, so the extra weight – fullness rather – was a completely foreign feeling. Though not necessarily unpleasant. But definitely not what he wanted, missing that whetted sharpness of cut-glass edges and razorblade lines his body had had for so long.

But Severus just offered up another sigh, shifting his body around in his desk chair and lifting his quill, rolling it between his fingers mindlessly as he pulled the essays closer. Taking a sip of his tea and grimacing at the taste, he dipped his quill and began grading essays.

"Oh. Listen to this drivel," he said with a snort a short time later, his hand slipping down to cup the underside of the bump. "I think the best potion type is bone regrowth serum. Without it I couldn't play quidditch, because I fall off too much." Rolling his eyes, Severus shook his head. "Really though. Granted, bone regrowth serums are incredibly useful, Bump. But for quidditch – idiotic. The Crabbe lineage should have died out long ago."

Bump twisted under his fingers, seemingly in agreement. As he scrawled hastily across the essay, red ink bleeding all over the unsuspecting parchment; a knock banged on the door, thoroughly startling him. Severus jerked, marring the essay where he hadn't intended.

"Damn," he growled.

The knocking – banging rather – continued, causing the nausea to flare up. He sipped the now cold tea, praying whoever was at his door would go away. Would-be visitors normally did, if he ignored them long enough. However, Severus briefly considered putting his robes on once more – just in case, but then the knocking stopped. And he breathed a sigh of relief as he returned his attention to the task at hand – only for the fireplace to belch out green fumes and for one Remus Lupin – current bane of his existence – to stumble out awkwardly into the room.

"Severus, you have got to eat at some point – stop being a child. You don't have to avoid me! I'm not going to jump you in the Great Hall, tempting as that may be," Lupin grumbled playfully, as he brushed soot off his slightly worse-for-wear robes. "I would have brought you dinner, but I was unsure I'd get this far without you kicking me out on my arse fast as anything."

The look on Lupin's face should have been comical as he came around the desk and took note of Severus's stomach. Comical – if the whole situation weren't somewhat serious. Not that he was afraid of Lupin, but simply he was aware that the situation could have several outcomes. Unthinkingly, Severus moved his hand just slightly, in a protective motion over Bump.

"Sev . . . ah," Lupin started and lazily trailed off only to resume. "Are you . . . Is it . . . But why . . ."

"Articulate as ever, Lupin. If you would finish a damn question, perhaps I would feel generous enough to give you an answer," he bit out silkily. That fuzzy trace of Lupin's feelings at the back of his skull gave off muted vibes of confusion, keeping a hold on Lupin's tongue.