Your Baby is the Size of A...

33 Weeks - Your baby is the size of a head of celery

If anyone ever asked – and they wouldn't, if they valued their personal safety – Severus would blame the entire thing on pregnancy brain.

As it was, he was lucky if his attitude was a quarter amount of the scathing he used to possess, so it wasn't that big of a shock that he would forget more important things – such as the lunar cycle and what followed it, even as he brewed the damned potion. His hand splayed on his stomach to mask his irritation, mostly at himself because he should have seen it coming and should have made accommodations for it. But Bump was decidedly making his mind a little soft.

"I can . . . go back to my rooms," Lupin offered, looking just as miserable as Severus felt because they were in a somewhat dangerous predicament.

While the Wolfsbane should keep Lupin a mild-mannered wolf, there were always what-ifs involved.

"There's not enough time, Lupin. Surely you know that. Even if you were to Floo, there's a chance you'd change in the middle of it." Heaving a much put-upon sigh, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as his other hand splayed on Bump protectively. Already nerves were roiling in his guts, his saliva glands kicking up a fuss.

"You'll lock yourself in the bathroom."

"What if you need it? You use the bathroom quite a bit Severus," the werewolf mumbled, running his hands nervously through his hair.

"I've a washroom off my private lab. I can use that if I need." Severus began pushing the lighter man toward the bathroom, muttering nox so the mirror wouldn't see. Because the last thing he needed was that damn enchanted glass getting involved, and they'd been rather lucky so far. The door shut heavily behind Lupin, and Severus found himself scrambling for the kitchen.

He grasped the edges of the sink, his whole-body curving with the force of the retch. Tears prickled just under his lashes, and Severus ignored them as they crawled lethargically down his cheeks. He retched until his stomach was empty, until his throat was raw, until there was blood and bile-thick spit in the sink. Leaning back, Severus sucked in as deep a breath he could, smelling the soured tea and bile scent in his nostrils, tasting it at the back of his tongue. He turned on the faucet and sucked in great mouthfuls of water, letting the cold liquid torrent from waxy lips. Hurting, he made his way back to bed. Severus crawled into his nest of bedclothes, trying not to focus on how empty and cold the bed felt. He stared at the bathroom door, feeling very exhausted and more so apprehensive.

Of course, after the moon rose and Lupin had succumbed to its call, the sucking, popping, breaking sounds having echoed dully in the bathroom – it was impossible for Severus to sleep. Sleeping, as it was, had become a novelty anyway, but even more so with a fucking werewolf trapped inside his chambers. Instead, Severus laid on his side, watching the closed bathroom door while his hand idly rubbed Bump.

There came a high-pitched whine, and the scrabble of sharp nails scratching at the bathroom door.

"No Lupin," Severus ground out, feeling the baby twist in his guts, as if called awake by Lupin's actions. He kneaded the swell of his stomach, humming softly under his breath as he tried to soothe the baby.

Silence for a moment, and Severus watched the arms of the clock twitch by, counting the seconds as they passed. He wished for some blended malt to pass the time; the old tradition put on hold. Instead, Severus swept his hand along his side, feeling the furrows of his ribs, the taunt swell of Bump, the shallowed cut of his hip before his hand drifted back upward to follow the path again.

Fifteen minutes came and went – droplets of time in the dark pool of the night – before the whine came again, nails scratching incessantly at the door.