A Sponsor & A Gentleman

Part II

Part II:

Word of her pregnancy spread like wildfire. It was quicker than when it was secret. There had been questions as to Hermione's removal from Gryffindor Tower as to what had happened. A school-wide announcement was made to address it which had been more uplifting than embarrassing. Gryffindor, too, had been privately gathered and admonished for their behavior against a student in need. Professor McGonagall made certain that her disappointment was known in her own personal gaggle of students.

What spread on the underside of that was the fact that Draco Malfoy now lingered around. Belief of his siring of the offspring raised focus. There were whispers of one-night stands and ongoing secret relations beneath the nose of Ron Weasley.

It was only a week since the declaration of her pregnancy throughout the school. She was still given a wide berth by the other students.

All except Slytherin who had silently folded her inside their ranks. Pansy started finding her out in the library, studying alongside her, silent but pleasant. Crabbe, whose name was Vincent, saved a lemon blueberry tart when she missed breakfast because he knew they were her favorite. She'd burst into tears when he handed it over.

Things in her body were not as wonderful.

It was the first day of her fourth month trapped as a human incubator and the moment her head raised, she was overcome with a worsening urge to vomit. Her head was unable to leave the comfort of the cold stone floor without forcing her to repeatedly dry heave.

If the entire pregnancy continued in a similar fashion, the will to live will have drained away before the baby was born. Her mind did not allow thoughts of the future to linger. It would be hard. Harder than she wished for herself. The creation of a person from her own body was beyond comprehension.

It was happening. Her body changed. One day she'd awoke with nipples tender and swollen. Then it never receded. They were large. And ached. When she was cold, tingles spread throughout her breast, which used to be her chest, as the cold climbed through the flesh like a numbing pain.

Nothing was worse than the morning sickness. This morning was the worst it ever was. She laid against the floor, dressed in pajamas, and in need of the toilet, but the slightest tilt of her head had her over the edge of the toilet bowl.

A clock on the wall showed the time. Breakfast ended in a minute. She could make it if she skipped a morning shower. A spell worked just as well.

She groaned against the ivory tile of the loo floor. Her wand was across the room!

Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA, was first in the day. Nonverbal spells were important. One missed lesson set back weeks of other lessons. She could NOT miss it.

Hermione raised from the floor. A strong wave of nausea went straight for her head, as she expected. The stomach-head tag team proved powerful as she struggled across the room like a newborn foal. Salvia surged in thick globs. She felt a tide rise. The stench of bile escaped through her nose, a signal of the pending vomit yet to surface.

The harder she swallowed it back, the harder it resurfaced at the back of her throat demanding let through.

She was not going to let this get the better of her. She'd drag the toilet there if she had to.

A flurry of morning sickness and half buttoned shirt left her against the tile floor, yet again, allowing the cold seep through her pores into the buried surface of her flesh where heat from the constant retching lived. It eased the throbbing headache. That lived behind her forehead impossible to get to.

Her face smashed against the floor in the hopes it might bring some comfort. What little there was, she'd fight for it. It was all she had.

She lost track of time. It traveled differently so low to the ground. Or perhaps, she'd drifted into a light sleep.