The two pink lines are unmistakable. Bold. Bright. Blatantly real.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, knees pressed together, the faint hum of the bathroom fan the only sound in your tiny apartment. The test is resting on the counter, propped against the faucet like some kind of twisted trophy.

You think back, trying to pinpoint the exact moment this became your reality.

That party. Three weeks ago. The one you almost didn’t go to because you had an early class the next morning. The one where you had too much to drink and ended up in a bedroom you had no business being in.

With him.

Draco Malfoy.

You remember the way he looked at you that night — not like you were just another person at a party, but like he actually saw you. Like you weren’t invisible. Like you mattered.

And then you remember the morning after. The awkward silence. The mutual agreement that it never happened. The way you both pretended you didn’t exist when you passed each other on campus.

You told yourself it was fine. A mistake. One night. No feelings. No strings.

Except now you’re sitting on your bathroom floor at two in the morning, staring at a positive pregnancy test, and suddenly everything is very, very far from fine.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You almost don't want to look.