Malediction: the love and life of Astoria Malfoy

Chapter Twenty Five

Many women don't like the way they look while pregnant (after all, their bellies are huge compared to normal so can you blame them?). But I personally thought I never looked more beautiful.

I was always so skinny. Boney and gaunt. Sure, my waist was noticeably tapered compared to my slightly widened hips, but my arms and legs were frail and shapeless. Not to mention my ghostly pale complexion (something in between bad genes and blood malediction induced anemia).

But now, I was filled out more, my arms and legs had some much needed weight to them. My skin took on a healthy peach color, my cheeks flushed and glowing. Despite the growing bump in my belly, I never felt prettier. I never felt happier. I never felt more tired.

By Merlin was I tired. I spent half the day dozing off, and half the night tossing and turning, unable to find a possible way to comfort. My stomach was enormous, and not well suited for laying down easily. However the morning sickness would always signal and end the restlessness of the night (at least sometimes it was morning sickness, other times the usual blood -- a fun surprise each time; not).

The summer's heat was particularly difficult to navigate during pregnancy. One late July afternoon, I sat Draco down, a quill and roll of parchment in hand.

"We need to think of names," I said, drawing a T-chart on the page, one side reading girl, the other, boy.

"You mean you need to think of names," he said, smirking. I looked at him quizzically, but he didn't elaborate, and said, relaxing his shoulders, still sporting a lofty smile, "Okay, okay. What'd you have in mind?"

"Well I think I have the middle names covered. If it's a girl, Daphne" -- I scribbled the name down on the parchment -- "a boy. . . Hyperion." I looked up at him, awaiting a sarcastic response to the name.

He was stifling a laugh. "Hyperion?"

I scrunched up my nose at him. "Yeah, it means the lights of heaven -- the Titan god of heavenly light." He was smirking, still holding in a laugh, and nodded.

"Oh, fine then, what'd you have in mind?"

"No, no, Hyperion, it's -- unique."

"Well, anyways, the first names are all open." I wrote Hyperion down on the boy's side.

I looked back up at him, his gaze expectant, as was mine. A pause. "Well?" he asked. I shrugged.

"I didn't think of any yet. I thought you might want to. . . ."

His entire expression changed, and he leaned over the table a little bit, a childlike giddiness in his eyes. "Really? Cause, well -- wait here." He stood up and dashed over to the book shelf in the sitting room. He came back, a book propped in his one hand, the other flitting through the pages.

"So there's this tradition in my mum's family which, well, I know it's probably not the best thing in the world to carry out Black family customs, but, here --" he sat down again.

"So there were two I really liked --" he was still shuffling through the pages when he found what he'd been searching for, turning the book to me.

"The Lyra constellation, it's supposed to be Orpheus's lyre, and I dunno, I thought it was a nice name. . . ." He was still flipping through the pages, eyes fixed on the book, and I couldn't help but smile, finding his sudden excitement adorable.

"Then, for a boy, I thought the name Scorpius was really interesting. . . ." The book plopped open to a page bearing a swirly sort of hooked constellation.