Fatherhood | drarry teen adoptive parents au

five | harry's shiny toy

The more time passed, the more disgusting and toxic-looking the potion on the windowsill by Hermione's bed became, until ten days had gone by and she forced herself to just throw the damn thing out.

She knew there was still chance to go back to Madam Pomfrey for another, but the Matron was pretty intimidating and Hermione didn't feel like explaining that she'd basically wimped out of taking the treatment.

That's not a good reason to continue an unwanted pregnancy, the little voice in her head told her meanly, and Hermione sighed. It hadn't been at all that she was opposed to abortion - she'd always been of the opinion that women should have the rights to their own bodies without question.

(Besides, it seemed completely insane to Hermione to think of having a baby at her age, at school, with no partner on the scene and her O.W.L.s rapidly approaching. Literally the worst possible timing.)

But something mentally stopped her every time she began to consider terminating the pregnancy. And it felt like time was running out; it was something that really should be done sooner rather than later, if at all.

She was 13 weeks along now and her morning sickness was gradually subsiding. This was definitely a relief, but it still felt like every day she was more aware of the tiny human her body was growing, and every day she lost an opportunity to decide to end it.

"Why can't I hate you?!" she hissed at her tiny bump in the shower one morning. "I don't want you, I don't want to want you. I don't even know you! Why can't I just get rid of you?!"

But it was no use. More than anything, Hermione really hated the uncertainty of not knowing exactly what to do. It wasn't a struggle she was used to - Hermione was the girl who always had the answers, could find a solution to anything in minutes.

Just not this.

Small distractions were helpful though, and Hermione was certainly glad she'd made the decision to come to Hogwarts this term. There was a Quidditch match on that evening which she was looking forward to, for example, and little things like that helped her to forget about how terrible she was feeling almost 100% of the time.

The match tonight was Griffyndor v Slytherin, which would mean basically 90 minutes of watching both teams' Seekers flirting and showing off outrageously to one another on their brooms, but hey, entertainment was entertainment!

Hermione smiled a little smile to herself in anticipation, pulled an extra jumper on under her robes, and then made her way down to meet the other Griffyndors for dinner. This was exactly the sort of evening she needed.

***

Harry and Draco had been winding each other up all day about the impending match, and by dinner time they were so worked up that it was almost intolerable to be in the Great Hall with them hurling insults across the House tables to one another.

They loved an excuse to pretend they still hated each other even after two years together, and what better excuse than House Quidditch?

"Hope you like losing, Potter," Draco called
over from the Slytherin side of the Hall. "Don't worry though, I'll dry your tears after the match. I'll treat you right, if you know what I mean."

He winked and licked his lips, and Harry's stomach fluttered.

"Don't kid yourself, Malfoy," he snapped back, ignoring the increasing butterflies. "I just hope you don't hurt your pretty little arse trying to keep up with me. Because that would be a great shame for both of us."

Ron fake retched next to Harry, and several other Griffyndors chuckled. Draco's cheekbones had flushed just the tiniest bit pink, but he wasn't stuck for words by any means. It would take more than that to leave him tongue tied.