Your Baby is the Size of A...

30 Weeks - Your baby is the size of a zucchini

"It's the size of a zucchini," Poppy told him, her tone bright. "You're getting close. Just about ten more weeks."

"Thank Circe," he groaned, pushing himself into a seated position. Severus felt beyond bloated, like his body had swollen well past its capacity. As was now his custom, he sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for the sense of vertigo to pass. His vision faded through a series of black dots, clumping together and then bursting open in a soft flash of white.

"All of the baby's senses are developed," Poppy continued from across the room.

"How lovely," he said drolly. Slowly, Severus slipped off the bed, fingers splayed on the edge for a few seconds before he stepped forward, reaching for his shirt. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, fighting back the nausea that swelled in his stomach, pushing upward with each roil.

"Severus . . . are you all right," Poppy asked from somewhere over his shoulder. Admittedly, he was having a bit of trouble buttoning his shirt, the buttons were off somewhere so he charmed them open wordlessly and restarted.

"Hmm? Yes, fine." Severus focused overly much on the task at hand, drawing the open sides of his shirt down until they were even and started buttoning from the bottom up. His thoughts had begun to spin dangerously, so he paid a great deal of attention to buttoning his shirt. His fingers quivered, and Severus simply gripped the shirt and button tighter. There was a slight sway in his shoulders, but he refused to lean against the desk like an invalid.

"Severus. Are you sure you're all right," Poppy asked again, though she sounded very far away. "You look pale, my dear."

He opened his mouth to retort, but the ground seemed to fall out from under him as darkness tinged his vision, approaching much more quickly than he would have liked. There were fleeting moments where he was almost able to open his eyes – when he felt fingers brush his forehead or grip his hand; a wet cloth wiping softly along his face; his name whispered against his skin. But the moments between them were blissfully, silently black.

He could feel the baby twisting in his guts, the walls of his abdomen cramping exceedingly hard. Severus groaned, rolling onto his side just enough to press his face into the pillow.

"Are you finally awake," Minerva's voice came, tone lilting in its soft teasing. "Had enough beauty sleep, have you?"

Severus rolled back over, rubbing a hand callously over his face. "How long was I out." He tried to sit up but found his arms wouldn't hold his weight. Instead, he laid in the bed – miserable.

"Ah well – today is Friday, if that answers the question."

He groaned – four fucking days.

The last time he'd spent four days in the Infirmary had been after a rather long meeting with the Dark Lord and Malfoy Senior wherein things had happened that he tried to forget.

"Tell me you're joking."

"Afraid not, Severus." Minerva moved from the chair at his bedside to sit on the edge of the bed. They stared at each other for a moment, before the older witch spoke again. "I'm surprised to find you alone, actually. Remus has been rather attentive. Poppy had to run him out a few times, I'm told."

He snorted. "How insufferable of him."

A long, put-upon sigh. "Yes, well. He cares for you, though Merlin knows why," she teased. Severus gave her a caustic glare and moved to cover his face with the blankets, but there was a subtle shift in Minerva's demeanor – playfulness canting decidedly downward into something more somber.

"What."

A moment of quiet hesitation.

"Albus mentioned your ah, situation in the staff meeting," Minerva finally said, her gaze slipping from him to focus on watching her hands smooth the wrinkles in her robes, pulling the fabric tight against her legs.