Your Baby is the Size of A...

17 Weeks - Your baby is the size of a pomegranate

He was rather firmly in the four-month mark, and Severus found he had less desire than ever before to see his body in any state of undress. Sitting next to his fireplace, Severus spread a long-fingered hand on Bump and pursed his lips. The fabric of his shirt had stretched tightly around the swell of Bump, the buttons pushed out like barbs.

"You had better be worth this," he ground out.

The steady pain around his lower back, resting heavy on his hipbones, cinched tightly around his spine. It choked a groan from his chest, making him grit his teeth. He squirmed in his seat, trying to find a comfortable spot and unable to. Apparently, boniness and pregnancy didn't mix well. Behind him, his doors charmed open, and he waited patiently for Poppy to find him.

"Really – you're making me perform house calls now?" She sighed, sounding very put-upon. Although the smile she graced him with as she entered the sitting room was of the exact opposite emotion. "You're very lucky you're my favorite Slytherin, Mister Snape," Poppy quipped, hands on her hips as she regarded him.

"It's starting to hurt if I stand too long, move too much," he grumbled, running palms along Bump anxiously.

"Already?" Poppy tutted, gesturing for him to stand and strip.

"That's not normal," he asked, as he charmed his robes and underclothes open. Flinching as a sharp pain tore at his side, Severus went about slowly removing the opened layers.

"I would think your body would be getting used to the extra weight by now," she muttered, urging him back onto the couch.

The quiet pulled long and taunt between them as Poppy looked down at him, and Severus resisted the urge to curl up on himself. "I thought you'd managed to keep some food down," she quietly uttered, the sadness apparent on her face.

"Take it up with Bump – I try, and it either tastes like ash or the texture is wrong or the smell is too much or," and he covered his face in his hands. Because he knew he was filling out, that the baby was pushing the wall of his abdomen out – but that didn't necessarily equate to weight gain. And seeing as the most substantial foodstuffs he had on most days was tea, he doubted there was any substantial weight gain. Her fingers were suddenly on his stomach, chasing the sharpness of ribs, the hollow spot at his sternum, the thinly stretched skin of his midriff. Finally, her finger traced – what he knew was a stretchmark – a dark line that arced up from his hip, reaching over the bottom swell of Bump.

"Feeling sick or anything," Poppy finally asked, her face pulled taunt in her nervousness.

"No. Should I?"

"Severus," she pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squinted shut. "The baby is receiving nutrition somewhere, somehow. It wouldn't be growing like this, usual as expected if it wasn't."

He gave her a dark look – because he could see the points, see the logic she was using to string her points together.

"I don't want the baby sucking the nutrients from you. It could make you sick, love. It will make you sick." Poppy sighed, her soft eyes searching his for any sign of distress. "Maybe those Muggle protein shakes?"

"Poppy," he started, pushing himself into a sitting position, his palm automatically covering the vibrantly dark line against his pale skin. "If I can barely keep watered down tea down, what makes you think I can stomach a thick, chalky substance."

She sighed, ran her fingers through her hair. "I just . . ." she gave him a look, distraught. "I'm just losing, Severus. I want to keep you healthy, but Bump has the exact opposite idea. It's roughly the size of a pomegranate, and it just . . . it bothers me."