Your private dormitory sat at the end of the girls' corridor, a small but comfortable space you'd been granted after your O.W.L.s. The green silk curtains were drawn, casting everything in an emerald glow.

You'd been sitting on the edge of your bed for what felt like hours. Your fingers were cold. Your heart was racing.

Back and chest pains. Mood swings. The way even the smell of the Great Hall made you nauseous this morning.

A calendar on your nightstand. You counted back. Two months. Two full months.

Your hands were shaking as you reached under your bed, pulling out the small emergency kit your mum had packed you last summer. Tucked inside, unopened, was a muggle pregnancy test.

The first one was positive.

The second one, which you'd Transfigured from a quill in a panic, said the same thing.

A third. A fourth. You lost count.

All of them.

Positive.