Chapter Two: The Morning After

"My God, James – what in the world?!"

At the sound of someone calling out his name, their voice decorated with a healthy dose of alarm, James drew himself out of the dazed state he'd been in for the past few hours. A quick glance around the Entrance Hall revealed to him two thoroughly familiar wizards, standing side-by-side and gazing up at him questioningly. It would be a fair guess to assume that Professor Harry Potter and Professor Neville Longbottom had been enjoying a spot of breakfast in the Great Hall and were about head upstairs. They would probably settle down for the morning in one of their private quarters over a kettle of tea. Grade papers for the week. Trade stories about their beloved and respective families. Fondly lament over how, even after nearly twenty-five years of teaching and six teenaged children between them, they still hadn't gotten used to dealing with young wizards and witches day-in and day-out.

But, in all honesty, James could care less about what his father and honorary uncle were about to get up to.

From the moment he had collapsed in his bed, after sneaking back into his dormitory, James had been tossing and turning, his thoughts thrashing about his numbed mind like rogue Bludgers, his body tensing up so badly with each passing out that by now, it felt like nothing more than a tightly wound knot. The entire night had been spent in a daze, his mind desperately trying to process the fact that his girlfriend was expecting his baby. And, by the time he'd finally dozed off, his mind having exhausted itself to the point of total numbness, it was daybreak. For a couple of hours more, James had lain in bed, trying to doze off once more, but it wasn't any use. As the dormitory had lightened, his anxiety had reached a fever-pitch, and suddenly, he couldn't stand simply lying there.

Now, as he stood tensely at the top of the staircase gazing downwards at his father and honorary uncle, he was practically ready to burst with tension and restlessness. He felt like had swallowed a mouthful of doxies, his anxiety was so thick and frenzied, and he knew the only thing that would ease the sensation was talking to Mia.

Yet, the look that his dad carried on his face – the narrowed eyes, the tensed jaw, the pinched lips – said that his trip down to the Hufflepuff Common Room would probably be delayed by a good while yet. James was quite thoroughly acquainted with The Look, as he and his siblings had listlessly dubbed it. It was the look that had overtaken Harry's face each time he, Albus, or Lily had somehow hurt themselves, were discontent with something, or more often, when they were small children, had wandered off and out of his eyesight. After losing nearly everything he held dear during the Second Wizarding World, James could understand Harry's deeply rooted fear of the happiness he had finally achieved being snatched away from him or tarnished.

Truly, he understood this, and idolized his father's resilience. James couldn't imagine having the strength and courage to go through half of the things his father went through. But, there were times – and Albus and Lily fully agreed with him – that James wished his dad would ease up a little. This was one of those times.

Grinding the heels of his hands into his itchy, exhausted eyes, James trudged down the remaining stairs in order to meet his father. Harry was already waiting for him, with Neville standing right alongside him, and as James got closer, their expressions changed from questioning to shocked. James winced, forgetting that he hadn't done a single thing to heal the damage done to his face last night.

"My God," Harry repeated, his brilliant jade green eyes rounded. "Son, you look absolutely terrible! What happened to you?"

Well, wasn't that a shining and flattering complement? "Good morning to you, too, Dad." James said, aware enough of himself to drudge up a bit of falsely sugary sarcasm. "You're looking quite healthy and vibrant this morning, as well."

Neville whistled, as his warm, ocean-blue eyes took in exactly how rough James looked. "You're dad is right, Jamie. You looked as though you've kissed a Bludger or two this morning, or last night, possibly."

"And, you as well, Uncle Nev." James turned his gaze on the professor of Herbology. "Your devastatingly gorgeous face is simply too overwhelming for us mere mortals."

"We aren't joking around, James." Harry said. "What the bloody hell happened to you?" Without waiting for an answer, Harry reached out and grasped his son's chin, intending to examine the damage more closely. James, however, hissed in pain, and roughly jerked away.

Tenderly, the young wizard touched his battered face. "Damn it, Dad – that hurts!"

"Watch your mouth," warned Harry, absently. "I'm only trying to get a better look."

"Well, be easier," mumbled James.

Harry repeated his previous action, though with much more care and caution than before, and examined the state of his first-born's face. The entire left side of his face had bruised slightly, the abrasion boasting a short, raised welt through near the center. The other side of his face was in worse shape, though, with four rather deep lines curving downwards, starting at his temple and ending abruptly at the corner of his mouth; each curved mark was irritated, reddened, and crusted over with flakes of dried blood. It wasn't a gigantic leap to suppose that if his face looked like this, then the rest of him must look equally as terrible, if not worse.

Knowing his son and knowing him well, Harry narrowed his brilliant jade green eyes, and pierced the young wizard with a glare. "James Sirius Potter, have you been fighting again?"

James sighed, annoyed.

He hadn't been in a proper Muggle duel since fourth-year, when he and Vincent had double-teamed Connor McLaggen and his brother, Courtland, for cheating them out of money they'd rightfully won through a bet. And, at seventeen, it was beginning to grate on his nerves that each time he turned up with an injury that wasn't related to Quidditch, his father always assumed he'd punched someone out. Yes, knocking the hell out someone was a good stress-reliever, and far more satisfying than simply hexing someone. But, he'd eventually learned that it got you in more trouble than a wizard's duel. A Muggle duel left quite obvious evidence on the other wizard, as well as you, whereas if you were crafty enough and there were no witnesses, you couldn't readily be blamed for a wizard's duel.

"Well, have you?" demanded Harry, firmly.

His agitation rising at being treated like a child, James dismissively answered, "Yeah, Dad, something like that."

For the most part, it was the truth. But, James figured that the more accurate question was "Have you been beaten down?" After all, in order for it to be a proper fight, he would have had to strike back. But, no matter how angry he was, he would have never put his hands on Mia or any other witch. He had been taught far better than that. As it stood already, he felt terrible for grabbing at Mia as he had, in addition to shaking her twice times over. He would have probably skinned himself alive if he'd actually given into his shocked anger and hit her back.

Neville snorted, amused. "Well, Jamie, either you have or you haven't. Unless, of course, you simply stood there while someone slapped you silly."

James snorted, too, but in derision as opposed to amusement. "When flobberworms grow teeth. Come now, Uncle Nev, you know me far better than that to think that I'd simply stand there while someone belted me in the chops."

"Yes, well, we're all well aware of your prowess when it comes to Muggle dueling." Harry rolled his eyes. Even after all these years, he couldn't understand where his firstborn had gotten the tendency to punch someone out whenever he was pissed off. "Who was it this time that affronted you so terribly, you felt that knocking his block off was appropriate?"

James hesitated. He wasn't about to tell his father and uncle that he'd been roughed up by a witch, least of all a witch who was supposed to be his girlfriend. That would not only make him look like a nancy, seeing as he hadn't been able to fend her off fast enough to keep her from doing this much damage, but it would also make him look like a complete nutter, to be with a girl who "abused" him.

So, instead, James vaguely waved his hand around in the air. "Oh, you know…someone around these parts."

Neville rolled his eyes, while Harry narrowed his. "Son, there are over a six hundred people in this castle." Harry arched an eyebrow as he continued, "Are you meaning to tell me that all six hundred some odd wizards in this castle converged on you at once and smacked you around as such?"

James hadn't expected that answer to fly, but this didn't stop him from sighing tiredly. "Dad, what does it matter who belted me one good? I walked away, didn't I?"

"Just barely," muttered Harry.

James scoffed. "Oh, come on, Dad. I don't look that bad." However, almost on its own accord, James felt his hand rise, and gingerly, he touched the claw marks going down his face. He winced at the contact. "Okay, it might look bad, but it's nothing, really. Just a few bruises and scratches. They'll probably be gone by sunset."

Harry's eyes narrowed at the mention of "a few bruises", but decided it wasn't worth the effort to explore what caused those. He'd figured as much anyhow. "Too right they'll be gone by the evening, because I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey – "

"Dad, no!"

At the mere mention of the elderly matron, James felt a surge of panic explode in his stomach and his heart seemed to stop.

He hadn't exactly asked, but he was rather certain Mia had visited Madame Pomfrey recently, and it was there that her pregnancy was confirmed. The absolute last thing on earth that James wanted for this dilemma to be revealed to his father. Not only was the situation so raw and unexpected that he was barely beginning to process it, but he and Mia had scarcely discussed it, let alone figured out what to do. And, something told him that before they even thought of approaching Harry or the Zabinis, they would do well to have all their ducks in a row.

The thought of what his father would do to him was almost half as terrifying at the thought of having to look the formidable Blaise Zabini in the eye and admit that it was him who had knocked up his precious, beloved only daughter.

"No, no," declared James, with a slight shudder. Images of being tortured within an inch of his life under the chilled gaze of the Zabini wizard flitted uncontrollably through his mind. "I really don't need the Hospital Wing."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Neville. "You can scarcely bear to be touched as it stands, and I'm sure that you've got one nasty headache there. A couple of waves of Poppy's wand and you'll probably feel loads better."

"I'm fine, Uncle Nev." James said, firmly.

"You may feel fine now," said Harry, "but there a chance you might have a concussion, and if that's the case, you certainly don't need to be dallying about all over Hogsmeade. You could very well collapse."

James blinked in surprise. He'd forgotten that this would be the last Hogsmeade visit before the Easter holidays, in another two weeks. As of a week ago, he and Mia were going to get together with a rather big group of their mates, and spend the day relaxing in various establishment in the all-Wizarding village. But, now…James didn't think he could stand to be around anyone other than Mia.

James knew he sounded pleading, but he didn't quite care at the moment. He really didn't want to take the chance that Madame Pomfrey would reveal his and Mia's secret. "Dad, come on – I really don't feel like having Poppy clucking over me and reminding how much I'm like you and Granddad James. All I want is to go down to the Hufflepuff dormitories and wait outside the cellar for Mia."

"And you'll certainly be welcomed to do that, just as soon as Poppy gives you the all clear." Harry declared. The tone of his voice suggested that the matter was settled and any more protestations would fall on deliberately deaf ears. He placed a hand on James's shoulder – which drew a wince from the teenager – and directed him towards the staircase. "Maybe next time, you'll consider doing the normal thing and hexing someone, instead of punching the bloody hell out of them."

As they all traveled up the marble staircase and made their way towards the seventh floor, Harry and Neville resumed their previous conversation. But, James could care less about what they were discussing. The only thing on his mind on the moment was the very real possibility that a situation he hadn't even properly digested yet could be revealed, and everything would go even deeper into Hell than it already was.

:-:-:-:-:-:

"Hey, Amelia."

Mia had been so caught up in her own tumultuous thoughts, the sound of James Potter's voice made her flinch in surprise. She hadn't been expecting him to be waiting for her, casually leaned against the stone wall outside the oak door that lead down to the Common Room. In all honesty, she hadn't expected him to come near her at all.

Though she had desperately held onto him for a long while after she'd broken the news to him, James hadn't been all that responsive. The only time she could remember him touching her was to cradle her loosely, when she'd crawled in his lap and began crying all over again. His reluctance to touch her was one of the many things that had kept her tossing and turning all throughout the night, and by the time her roommates had started moving around, and she realized that was morning, she'd resolved herself to the fact that she'd probably scared James away from her for good.

But, here he was, waiting for her.

For a long moment, Mia studied him, taking in everything about him. Everything about him – from his cloudy honey brown eyes, to his paled tanned complexion, to the weary, worried slouch of his broad shoulders – said that his night had been almost as tumultuous as her own, and Mia found this disconcerting. She hadn't expected him to simply accept this and break into a backflip, as he was wont to do sometimes. But, she hadn't expected him to be completely shaken by the news, either.

James Potter was not one to allow the events of life knock him over, and to see him looking…well, defeated, for a lack of a better word, instantly put her at disease.

"Hello."

Uncertain of what would happen next, Mia simply stood there, her eyes roving over the handsome Gryffindor wizard nervously. When it didn't seem that he was going to do anything other than stand there, Mia took the initiative and spoke first.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, tonelessly.

James didn't seem to have heard her, he was gazing at her so intently. His eyes roved over her, searchingly, and with a deep inhalation of breath, they finally came to rest on her midsection. It wasn't the first time that Mia had thanked the heavens that she had inherited the alluring curves and enticing fullness that the Zabini women were famed for. Anyone who didn't know her secret would simply assume that she was putting on a little weight.

But, James was completely in on the secret, and the way he was starting at her – almost as if he believed an intense enough gaze would allow him to see the tiny life blossoming in her womb – suddenly made her self-conscious. Protectively, she crossed her hands over her abdomen and narrowed her eyes at James.

"Will you stop staring at me like that?" hissed Mia, through her teeth.

Blinking, James tore his gaze away from her, his eyes darting about as thought he felt guilty for doing such a thing. "Sorry," he coughed. Almost against his will, he glanced downwards again, but quickly looked away.

Mia frowned at him slightly. "What are you doing here?" she asked, again.

"Oh. I…um, I…I don't quite know, to be honest. Just kind of wandered down here, I suppose." James ran a hand through his messy hair. Unlike his father and brother, his own hair hadn't been cursed with the fate of constantly impersonating a bird's nest. But, still, James thought the just-rolled-out-of-bed look was rather cool, and rarely made a point to disturb it with a brush or comb. After a moment of silence, he abruptly demanded, "You want to go for a walk?"

Mia blinked. A bit stupidly, she repeated, "A walk?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know we were supposed to go to Hogsmeade today, but I don't…I don't much feel like being around other people. Vince and the rest of the boys, especially." James shrugged, for lack of anything else to do. "Besides, I think that…I think we've a great deal to talk about, and I always think better on my feet. Literally."

"I know." Mia said, with a sigh. "I completely forgot about the weekend being a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Considering, that's rather understandable." James muttered. He paused for a brief moment, before titling his head downwards, gazing at her through his dark lashes, and wondering aloud, "So, is that a yes?"

If Mia wasn't mistaken, the look that he was giving her could be classified as…bashful. How surreal this was to see James Potter – the same James Potter who was quite firmly certain of his innate and undeniable greatness and had no qualms about letting everyone know constantly – looking so bloody unsure of himself. To be honest, Mia found it a relief from the force of the Gryffindor's arrogance, and only the slightest bit endearing. The smallest of smiles curved her lips when James took it a step further and began scuffing his foot against the stone ground.

However, she considered his words, she realized that he was indeed right. There was everything in the world to talk about, and putting it off wouldn't make it go away. Her smile slipped from her face, and unexpectedly, Mia found her eyes misting.

Not right now, Zabini, Mia scolded herself, firmly. You've spent enough of the past two weeks doing this, and by now, you should be all cried out. Now, suck it up and get it together.

"I guess, I – I suppose – " Mia cursed herself silently as her words tumbling uncoordinatedly from her mouth. As a small child, she'd been unfortunate enough to develop a stutter, and it had taken years of mimicking as exactly as she could her aristocratic father's precise and cultured lilt to shake the habit. Taking a deep breath and pausing to gather her words, as her mother had encourage her to do, Mia attempted to answer James again. "I think that going for a walk would be a splendid idea."

James nodded, seeming relieved. For a brief moment, they stood without speaking, not meeting each other's eyes, obviously waiting for the other to make a move. The impasse, however, was broken when the rounded oak door swung open, and quite nearly knocked James off his feet. With a glare, James righted himself, and tensed up, intending to take a bite out of whatever prat had almost knocked him over.

But, when the prat was revealed to be his younger cousin, Hugo, his face relaxed, and he merely settled for rolling his eyes.

"Oh, sorry, Jamie." Hugo grinned, the gesture both an apology and a greeting. "What're you doing down here?" James nodded silently at Mia, and the first-year Hufflepuff grinned, knowingly. "Ah, I see. Hello, Mia."

Mia attempted a smile at the perpetually cheerful Weasley, but failed miserably. She settled for quietly murmuring, "Hi, Hugo."

"You two headed to breakfast?" wondered Hugo. He stepped off to the side, as more of his fellow Hufflepuffs exited the Common Room, all nodding at the group of them.

"Eh, no, I don't think." James said, locking eyes with Mia, and then flittingly glancing at her midsection again. "At least, I'm not particularly hungry."

Mia looked away, not meeting his gaze.

"Well, knock me over with a feather." Hugo continued to grin. "Sometimes, you're worse than Dad and Uncle Charlie when it comes to eating. Mum is constantly saying how you're going to eat Uncle Harry out of house and home one of these days."

"Huh," James snorted. "That coming from the same witch I've seen clearing out the entire sweet shelf once at a certain time of the month, without fail."

Hugo snickered. He eyed James, and said, "You don't think by any chance that Vince hexed you in your sleep? Maybe jinxed your appetite away? Or, maybe he slipped something in your drink last night at dinner; the sly git was looking particularly devilish – "

"Oh, for the sake of magic, Hugo. There isn't anything wrong with me." James snapped, without meaning to. "I'm just not hungry this morning. That isn't something that you'll have to firecall and report to you dad at the Ministry, is it?"

Hugo blinked, surprised. "Well, who pissed in your pumpkin juice this morning?"

Unwillingly, his temper and irritation combined, flaring to life fiercely. With narrowed eyes, James retorted, "Your mother."

"Hey, you wanker!" Hugo was instantly furious and more than a little bit indignant that James would say something like that about his mum – and his own aunt-godmother, to boot. "I don't care how pissy you are right now, don't say something like that about Mum!"

Mia sighed, her hands going to her temples in a weary gesture. It wasn't unusual for James to pick a fight with someone, but doing so over something of his own doing was simply annoying. "Hugo, he didn't mean it, really. He simply has his knickers in a knot because he…because he's a bent out of shape about something that happened last night."

Hugo pinned his older cousin with a dirty look. "Well, he says something like that again, and I'll be more than happy to straighten him out."

"I wish you would try to hex me," James declared. "You can pull your wand on me if you want, but I promise by the end of it, Rosie'll have a little sister instead of a brother."

"Oh, you think you're something do you?" demanded Hugo. He drew himself to his full height, and became even more furious at the fact that he practically had to crane his neck to meet his older cousin's eye. He was considered tall for his age, but he was no match for a nearly grown wizard of seventeen. "Well, I'll have you know, you bloody prat, that – "

"Well, isn't this a simply splendid start to the morning," announced a dry and exasperated voice from rounded opening of the Common Room. Candice Weasley was in the processes of twirling her long, auburn hair into a messy bun atop her head, as she looked back and forth between her two younger cousins. Noticing the looks each of the boys wore, she eyed James and questioned, "The day has barely started, and already, you're antagonizing the piss out of someone, James?"

"What!" James glared indignantly at his cousin. "How do you figure it was me who started it and not this little zit?"

Candice looked at James, her lips pursed knowingly. "I'm quite certain it was you, because Hugo is simply too damned pleasant to rile someone up, unlike you, who lives for provoking anyone with a pulse."

James wanted to say something to counter this, but could find nothing suitable, for she spoke the truth. Instead, he settled for the most mature response he could think of. "Oh, shove it, you ugly gits."

"Right back at you," Hugo declared cheerfully. He ignored the incredibly rude twitch of James's finger, and turned to Candice. "Going down to breakfast, cuz?"

"Yes, but it'll have to be something quick." Candice replied. The seventh-year Hufflepuff and this year's Head Girl – surprising, considering which Weasley brother her father was – tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, as she explained, "I want to get back here and finish up my Charms essay. Then, Carina and I wanted to go up to the library and see what's what with Nick Chang-Corner's study group. How come?"

Hugo shrugged, pleasantly. "Just asking. I was going to walk down with Mia and this git, but considering how tightly his knickers are twisted, I won't put it past him to stab me with a fork, if he thinks I'm looking too closely at him."

Candice snickered. Affectionately ruffling her cousin's mop of curly brown hair, she smiled and announced, "Well, little cousin, I'd love to have your company. I hope they've got sweet rolls, this morning…"

Together, with a half-hearted glare from Hugo and a fond grin from Candice, the two Hufflepuff Weasleys walked up the curved staircase that led to the Entrance Hall, their companionable chatter gradually fading away. Agitated over being bested by his cousin, regardless of how small the besting had been, James continued to glare at the staircase.

"Bloody gits." James grumbled. "I ought have done just as Dad suggested and hexed him."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Professor Potter suggested that you hex someone? Your cousin, especially?"

"Well, not in so many words, no." James said. "But, he saw what you did to me yesterday evening, and assumed that I'd gotten into a scuffle with someone. He told me that instead of knocking the hell out someone like a Muggle would, I should just do the normal thing, and hex them."

At the mention of her hysterical attack on him, as well as the fact that her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had seen it, Mia flushed deeply, her copper brown complexion practically glowing. While she was completely unapologetic about backslapping him – the git deserved it completely, suggesting that she was sleeping around on him – she was rather ashamed and sorry that she had attacked him as she had. Never before had she allowed herself to become to so overtaken by her emotions that she simply erupted as she had last night. Honestly, she didn't know what had gotten into her.

Not for the first time, she was glad that no one had seen that – especially of all, her parents. Blaise would have been thoroughly disgusted at such a barbaric and plebian show of emotion and quite displeased that she'd rid herself of it by way of Muggle dueling. Susan Bones-Zabini would have been more than a little aghast that she'd behaved like in such an unladylike manner. And, neither one of them would have let her hear the end of it for a long while.

Ashamed and disgusted with her own self, Mia shifted her arms from where they rested across her stomach and moved them upwards, crossing them over her chest.

"Yes, about that…" Uncomfortably, Mia cleared her throat. "I apologize, James, for losing my head on you, as I did. I had thought that I could control myself, but then you made that remark, and it was like the last straw. I just – "

"Ah, don't worry about it." James said, shrugging dismissively. He, too, was unable to meet her eyes, but for a different set of reasons. "I kind of deserved it. Well, not all the other stuff, but certainly the smack upside the head. You know I didn't mean that, right?"

The mere memory of that comment sent a simmering lick of anger down her spine. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Well, you certainly thinking it, weren't you?"

James flushed, guiltily. "Well, I – I mean, come on, Mia. You had just told me you're – that you were – " He couldn't bring himself to voice the situation out loud, so instead continued, "Look, I'm not proud of it, okay, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And, you know me. If it's here" – he pressed his hand to his forehead – "then it's here." He moved his hand downwards, briefly touching his mouth.

Mia sighed, knowing that this was as close to an apology that she would get with James Potter. She looked upwards, searching his face and expecting to see the remnants of her little fit. But, she was surprised to see that with the exception of two thin, pale lines running down his face, there wasn't any evidence of her having turned into a madwoman on him.

"These scars, they aren't permanent, are they?" Mia reached forward to touch said scars.

As soon as her fingertips graced his cheek, James stiffened. He was obviously uncomfortable with the thought of her touching him, and masking the action with a shrug, he subtly evaded her touch. "Um, I'm not sure. But, probably, yeah. In case you hadn't noticed, Zabini, you've got quite the set of claws on you."

Rather stung by his rejection, Mia drew her bottom lip between her teeth, and tried her best to blink back the sudden swell of tears in her eyes. James instantly mistook this for her being hurt by his remark, and backpedaled quickly.

"In all honesty, Mia. These are nothing." James touched the scars lightly, successfully hiding how the freshly healed slices were still quite tender. "I mean, you didn't know me as a kid. I got into everything imaginable, and I'd need more than two hands to count the number of times I've gotten banged up, and come out on the other end with at least one scar.

"Hmm." Mia didn't trust herself to say anything more. For surely, if she'd opened her mouth, a miserable wail would escape before she'd have a chance to stop it.

For several long moments, a thick and uncomfortable silence stretched between them. For once in his life, James was at a loss for what to say next. And, Mia was no better, as she stood stiffly, trying her damnedest to convince herself that James Potter was not worth crying over. The minutes stretched on. Then, when he couldn't take the silence any longer – he was an innately boisterous and loud person, and to him, silence was maddening – James shoved his hands through his dark hair, and exhaled loudly.

"I guess we'd better get on with it, then," he declared, rather bluntly. "Standing here all day isn't going to get us anywhere."

Mia nodded in agreement, and without looking at him, turned and began walking up the stairwell. In an obvious attempt to put a bit of distance between them, she quickened her pace. But, James quailed this attempt within moments, easily matching and slightly surpassing her stride; his legs were significantly longer than hers, even though she stood only a head shorter than him. Within moments, they strolled into the Entrance Hall, and it was there that they were met with a generous flow of their fellow students into the Great Hall.

The combined aroma of several different choices of breakfast foods wafted out, the house-elves having done a splendid job as usual. But, instead of being enticed by the smells of crisp bacon and fluffy pancakes, Mia felt her stomach lurch unpleasantly. She came to a halt and pressed her hand over her mouth. James had taken a few steps before he realized that Mia was no longer walking beside him. A curious frown on his face, he doubled-back. His honey brown eyes glanced over her and then flicked over to the open doors of the Great Hall, questioningly.

"You never did say – are you hungry?"

Mia shook her head silently.

"Are you sure? Because, I mean – well, I think – "

His eyes darted around the Entrance Hall nervously, before he stepped closer to her. James leaned down slightly, and with a significant gleam in his eyes, he whispered, "I don't know a lot about – y'know, what's going on. But, I – don't you think you should eat something? You know, feed the…"

The mere mention of food, both for herself and the baby, made her stomach lurch unpleasantly again.

This time, however, Mia wasn't sure if it was the fact that she was nauseous or because of the fact that the reason why she was nauseous. Ever so slightly, Mia moved her hand away from her mouth, and took a deep breath through her mouth, hoping that breathing this way wouldn't aggravate the problem. But, she was wrong. The smell seemed almost tangible, and without a doubt, Mia knew that if she stayed this close to the Great Hall one more second, she would most certainly vomit all over the place.

Rather roughly, Mia brushed past James and swiftly strode towards the thick, oak doors that opened up to reveal the grounds. Not for the first time, she was thankful that the magic of the castle recognized her as a student, and therefore, opened its doors without any physical prompting from her. She just knew that if she moved her hand from her mouth, she'd puke.

"Mia, wait – are you sure you don't want me to get you at least some toast or something?"

Mia ignored him, however, racing as quickly as onto the grounds as she could without drawing attention to herself. The quicker she got away from the Great Hall, away from the smells, sensations – possibly even the confused wizard standing outside the Great Hall – the better she would feel.