Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything to do with Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling is the genius behind this magical world we all love so much!
Rating: I'm going to keep it M for later chapters.

Ten Months - Chapter One

As soon as his feet touched solid ground, he was running. His broom was left abandoned on the pitch, tossed aside in his haste. There was only one thing on his mind in that moment. He had to get to a restroom, now!

The door to the locker rooms was still swinging shut when he threw open the door to one of the three stalls in their small loo. He didn't bother with the latch, didn't have the time. As soon as the toilet was in sight, he was crouching and expelling everything that he had eaten that day. The sound of his retching was sickening to his ears, and it brought about a whole new round of expulsion as he hunched forward with a whimpered sound.

He stayed like that for long minutes, heaving and hacking out everything inside of his stomach until nothing but acid was working its way up and out of his body, burning his throat raw. Coughing hoarsely, he waited to be sure it was over before shakily rising to his feet and existing the unlatched stall.

No one had followed him from the pitch. No one had come to see why he'd abandoned practice so suddenly or to check and make sure he was okay. Part of him was thankful for that. He wasn't fond of the idea of someone discovering him puking his lungs out. After what had happened only weeks before, he was still out of favor with pretty much every living witch and wizard and most magical creatures. He wouldn't give them anything else to use against him.

Smirking at his own reflection, he found the irony in his own thoughts. He had never been in favor with the wizarding community, not since he was young and his father still had influence. At this moment, he was just more disliked than before, but other than that, his life was exactly as it had always been.

Even joining the Chudley Cannons hadn't improved his standings, and it was just his rotten luck that-

"Oi! Malfoy, what the hell are you thinking? We play the Wasps in two weeks," seethed a red face Ronald Weasley, hands clenched tightly at his sides as he shoved his way into the restroom.

Biting his tongue, he gave his own relfection an exasperated look. Oh, there were so many things he wanted to say in that one moment. He had over a dozen stingy, rude, and hurtful remarks lined up in a neat, little row. They were just waiting for his permission to jump out of his mouth and set the stupid Gryffindor idiot on fire, but he also knew that one more altercation, no matter whose fault, and he was off of the team.

So, gripping the edges of the sink that he'd just used to wash himself clean of his previous venture, he drew in a stablizing breath before saying, "Yes, Weasley." It almost hurt to use the name correctly, so inside of his head, he took up a mantra of Weasel! Weasel! Red-headed, shit eating Weasel!It calmed his nerves enough for him to continue. "I am quite aware of the upcoming match, but my stomach seemed to feel like rebeling against me this morning. I give you my word that I have no intention of skirting practice to lounge about in some dirty loo."

A scoffing sound answered his words, causing him to shift his eyes away from his own face and to the man standing to his left. The team's Keeper wore a sour and disbelieving look as he watched Draco. It was probably also to Draco's disadvantage that Ron was the team's captain and being friends with the Boy-Who-Lived gave him great sway with the team manager and owner. While Draco's recent stunts had gotten him nearly shunned from London herself, so he forced himself to remain calm and silent as he waited for whatever accusation was going to be given this time.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm no happier with you than anyone else is right now. To tell you the truth, the owner wants you benched until everything really blows over." Ron's face twisted and contorted between furious and something that could almost be sympathetic, but Draco knew the sympathy wasn't for him. The Weasley cared more for this team than most everything else. "But you're the best Seeker we have right now, and if we are going to have a chance at winning this season, we'll need you." Wow, that seemed to hurt Ron as much as saying his name had hurt Draco. "So, stop brooding over this while you're here, and do your job like the rest of us." Oh, he just had to end it there.

"I am not brooding!" Draco snarled, turning around to face Ron. "And I always do my fucking job! Name one time, one bloody time, that I did not do as I was supposed to when it came to being this team's Seeker?"

His anger only helped to fuel Ron's if the darkening of his face and eyes was any indication. "You want me to name one time you screwed this team over?" Ron snarled back, taking a step closer to the angry Malfoy currently glaring venomously at him. A sharp nod from the blond had him saying, "Okay! How about sleeping with my best friend who happens to be married to my little sister? Don't you think that caused a little team issue?"

Draco nearly growled at those words, hating the fact that everyone seemed to be blaming him for tainting the innocent hero. It hadn't been anyone's fault. The team had thrown a party, in which Harry and his wife had attended to support Ron, and drinks had been served and consumed in record amounts. What followed had been an unplanned mistake, and of course, being the Gryffindor that he was, Harry instantly ran to his friends whining about his lapse of judgement. All fingers had quickly pointed to the same culprit. Draco Malfoy, the former Death Eater and son to a man in Azkaban. He always seemed to make the perfect target.

"I won't apologize for that," he seethed quietly, lowering his head like a coiled snake ready to spring. "I barely even remember anything from that night, and I promise you that if I hadn't been drunk, I never would have touched that attention-seeking whore you call a friend."

By this point, Ron was doing a good impression of the red color of Gryffindor as he stood frozen, rooted to the spot with wide, murderous eyes. The look of pure hatred was normal to see directed at him, but this was harder, sharper than any of the others. It actually had Draco judging the gap between Weasley and the door. If he was quick and cast the right curses, he might just make it out before Ron managed to get his hands around his throat. He would lose his job, but he might just keep his life.

"Is that really what you think of Harry?" Ron said finally, still giving Draco the same look.

Watching the other man cautiously, Draco considered his options. He could lie, go with the Weasley's idiotic idea of brooding over the hero. Or, he could tell the truth, which was exactly what he'd already said. In the end, he refused to back down.

"Yes, it is."

The look finally left Ron's face as he glanced to his right, seeming to see something that wasn't there. "Whatever. Think whatever you want to. It doesn't matter," he said softly, shaking his head in an almost sad way.

"Thank you for your permission," Draco bit out, not wanting to pay the new look any more attention, but as he took a step with the intention of walking out of the restroom and away from the obviously demented man, his world decided to lurch and twirl in every possible direction. His stomach seemed to want to tag along, which had only one result.

He didn't make it back into the stall quick enough. He coughed up a ridiculous amount of bile onto the tiled floor of the restroom, between himself and Weasley before racing / stumbling blindly to a toilet to complete the job.

"The hell..! D'you just try and puke on me?" Ron screamed, hurriedly backing away from the hacking Malfoy and avoiding the first wave of nausea that now coated the floor.

As he heard the continued sounds of both wet and dry gagging, he carefully stepped around the spreading puddle, holding his breath and wishing for death, and stood just outside Draco's stall. He watched the jerking motions of the blond's shoulders for a few minutes before sighing and walking over to him.

"You weren't lying, huh?" Ron said in annoyance, looking at the wall before crouching down beside Malfoy and reaching to pull his hair away from his face.

Draco flinched away from the contact, turning a hateful glare on the Weasley. "One person to a stall, Weasley," he said, lacking any infliction as he doubled over the porcelain once more.

"Yeah, yeah. Just shut up," was muttered in answer. This was easier when Hermione was sick like this. She was practical and polished even when emptying her stomach contents into a bowl. Of course, she had only been like this before Rose was born, and she'd taken prenatal, nausea potions that helped curb the impulse. Thinking back to Hermione's pregnancy brought a sick feeling to his own stomach.

"Hey, Malfoy, how long have you been sick?" he ventured carefully, already counting and adding the days in his head.

Coughing hoarsely again, Draco glared at the back of the toilet before answering. "Not that it's any of your bussiness, Weasley, but for about two weeks. It comes and goes. Maybe someone's poisoning me," he said, smiling at the notion. No one could poison him. Having had a potion's master for a godfather had assured him of that much. He could detect the smell, flavor, color, or even texture of any potion before it could do him harm.

Six weeks had passed since the incident at the party. Malfoy had been randomly ill for two weeks. It was a tight fit, but it was enough to make Ron want to ask to share Malfoy's toilet.

"Maybe we should get the team doctor to look at you. Just to be safe," he said weakly, hoping that someone was actually poisoning Malfoy. That would solve so many problems.

However, as the medi-witch that was under employment by the team repeated the same spell twice, with a result that Ron remembered from that first doctor visit with Hermione, he had to grip the counter at his back to keep from falling to the floor. This couldn't be happening.

"Well, what's wrong with me?" Draco asked impatiently, looking from the curious face of the witch to the stricken look on Weasley. Well, judging by Ron's reaction, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to die. He wouldn't look so upset otherwise.

"Mr. Malfoy, I suggest that you put in for a ten month's leave. You are not to be on a broom within that period, no apparating, and only short distant floo travel," the witch said calmly, jotting something down in his file.

"Ten months? What's wrong with me?" he demanded for a second time, ignoring the pained whimper that issued from the now crouching Weasley. If he glanced over, he would see Ron gripping his hair tightly in each hand while shaking his head and mouthing noover and over.

"You'll need to make regular appointments with your usual medi-wizard," she continued, seeming to ignore them both as she continued writing. "And under the Right's of Knowledge Act in 1904, you will have to notify the other party."

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Draco asked for the third time, leaning away from the bench he'd been asked to sit on. The Right's of Knowledge act had to do with some witch that refused to tell the father of her child that he even had a child. The pureblood family of the man's was so outraged to find out later that there'd been an heir that they hadn't been allowed to properly raise, that they took it to the highest courts which had resulted in the law.

What did that have to do with him? Was there an addition to the law that he hadn't known about? Had he caught something from Harry that he would now have to tell any other lovers, not that he'd had any since, about? If that was the case, that hero was dead!

"You're pregnant, Mr. Malfoy. Congratulations," the woman's tone never changed as she shut his file and looked right at him.

For the third time that day, his world decided to shift out from under his feet, but this nausea was different. It was terrifying.

A/N : A new fic for the new year! The plot is still under-work, but I like it so far. I hope you will, too. Well, let me know.

Reviews = a happy chimera