They say the first sign on insanity was doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results. According to this definition, I am insane. To many other definitions, I am still insane. To every definition, I am insane. I guess I really shouldn't be that surprised. I mean, have you met my parents? It would be a miracle if I came out normal. I'm absolutely certifiable at this point.

Maybe Molly could come out normal. Unlikely, though.

So, here I was. Sitting on the floor of the Head Girl bathroom. I tapped the stick that was determining my future once again.

Pregnant.

Just the thought of it made all the air leave my chest. I tapped it again.

Pregnant.

Again. Pregnant. Again. Pregnant. Again. Pregnant. It wasn't changing. I was definitely pregnant. I bought five tests to be sure, and all five were sure.

I was most definitely fitting the definition of insane. I looked down, staring at my stomach. I felt like throwing up, but I wasn't sure if that was the morning sickness or not. Morning sickness. I buried my hand into my face. I felt the word ringing in my ear. Pregnant. Me. Lucy Weasley, pregnant.

I couldn't be pregnant! My dad would actually murder me! I felt my entire body stiffen. Oh Merlin, my dad. What if he kicked me out? He would totally do that. I mean, he separated himself from the rest of the Weasley clan for how long again? I made a grab for the toilet, heaving the content of my stomach into it. I was the apple of my parents eyes. I was supposed to be perfect. I had made head girl, I was a wonderful cook, I was a ballerina prodigy, and now I'm talking about myself in past tense. I was acting like I was dying or something, not harboring life inside of my body. Although my life is probably over. I'm going to die in a ditch on the side of a muggle road.

I would make a horrible mother. I'm mentally unstable, and I really don't think that's a good thing to pass on to my unborn child. Unborn child. Unborn child. Well shit. I mean, I've seen those muggle shows about serial killers. Someone had to give birth to them, right? What if my kid ends up a serial killer? And don't a lot of them have unstable mothers? My child could end up killing me. Next thing you know, I could end up decomposing in a rocking chair while my son dresses in my clothes and murders woman in their shower! I could end up like the mother in that muggle movie. I don't want my child to don a wig and feel guilty about feeling sexual attraction to anyone. If they did, they might end up like me.

So that's how I got here. I repressed my sexuality, my hormones, my urges. Now I'm pregnant at 18. I'm going to end up on one of those cautionary documentaries about how my life got ruined by getting pregnant as a teenager. Merlin, I am so dead.

Oh merlin, what if I forget to feed my kid? That would totally happen to me. I forget to feed myself sometimes, what if I forget to feed it? It. I was calling the life inside me an it. When did I get like this? I ran my hands through my hair, and I felt like I had to keep them there so my head doesn't just roll off my body. My child could end up dead. I could end up dead. What am I going to do?

How did this even happen? How could I do this? I had sex one bloody time. Once! I glared down at my crotch angrily. What did I do to deserve this? Is this life getting back at me for tripping Molly, and causing a chain of events that gave her her first broken bone? It probably is. Oh, Merlin, I'm a horrible person. I'd probably end up giving my own kid a broken bone, and they'll resent me forever. They'll probably count down the days till they can leave the house. Maybe they'll end up just like me. I really hope that doesn't happen. This poor child didn't do anything, it doesn't deserve to turn out like me.

Of course, they'll already resent me for having a child at 18 years old, being kicked out of my house, quitting Hogwarts, thusly getting no job and ending up homeless and thus ruining my life and thus ruining theirs.

My dad will probably end up committing suicide from being unable to bear the burden of the shame of it all, especially because he will be unable to face his coworkers ever again, and mum will fall down a spiral of depression from her husband's death. She'll probably become addicted to drugs or alcohol, or both. Probably both. Molly will throw herself into work and possibly end up like me, setting up cardboard boxes next to each other in Knockturn Alley begging for coins to feed our children.

I just can't do that to my family. I don't want to even think about what would happen to the rest of the Weasley clan.

I can't do this. I just can't do this. I'm not wired to this. I don't do well with kids! I babysat once and I just sat there awkwardly, waiting for the girl to tell me what she wanted to do. It was horrible. Let's just say I was never invited to babysit there again.

. . . What about Lorcan?

Oh, merlin, what about Lorcan? I can't do this! I felt my breathing getting heavier. I couldn't get the oxygen to my brain and I felt dizzy and I could feel tears pricking at my eyes, and I let out a tiny sob.

Who do I even tell first? Lorcan? My parents? The school?

This wasn't supposed to happen! I had a plan!

My child is going to be a serial killer.