The bathroom on the sixth floor was freezing, the mirrors fogged over by your shaky breath. You stared down at the small glass vial on the vanity—a Potion-Induced Reveal. The liquid had turned a shimmering, undeniable gold. You were pregnant. You were seventeen, a month away from your N.E.W.T.s, and the father was Mattheo Riddle Do you try to play it off as a friendship drama, or does one of the boys step in with a distraction?