The lessening nausea had lulled him into a false sense of security which led him to attempt to eat something that morning, a move which he sorely regretted for the rest of the day. He excused himself early from Charms, escaped the notice of his Arithmancy professor while sneaking out, successfully kept a handle on himself through Ancient Runes and simply didn't bother going to Transfiguration but should have known that Dumbledore wouldn't take his absence lying down.
If it were possible for someone to die of embarrassment-not that Death would let him off that easy-he probably would have simply dropped dead the moment he realized his latest session of sticking his head down the toilet was being observed by his least favorite professor.
"Normally I would revoke points for your missing my class Tom, but given the situation I think I would be better served asking if you're alright."
Stifling a groan, Tom pulled away from the toilet as much as he dared and aimed a bleary glare at the man. "I'm fine, Sir." He pressed his cheek against cool porcelain, dark hair plastered to his forehead.
"If I might take the liberty, you do not look alright."
No, you may NOT take the liberty! All that he could do was shift weakly. "Simply an unfortunate matter of my breakfast not agreeing with me." He said. "Why do you care, Sir? I think the entire school is aware by now that you and I don't get along."
The infamous twinkle in those damned blue eyes was there again. In a flare of spitefulness Tom easily convinced himself that it was responsible for the renewed round of vomiting. His streaming eyes made his vision go cross.
"You are a student, Tom, just like any other and deserve the same concern. Whatever you've done and whatever you might do in the future I do not wish to see you suffer."
LIAR! He didn't bother wasting the strength that was required to snap it at him.
"If you can stand, Tom, I'll escort you to the Hospital Wing."
"I don't need a Healer."
"I would have to disagree, Tom. My view of color is no longer what it used to be, but even I can tell you're nearly as green as your familiar."
Nagini. She still hadn't come back. Probably for the best if her reaction to his plans was that strong.
"At least allow Madam Finch to give you a stomach soother, if nothing else. Given your nature, I doubt you'd want to risk your position at the top of the school at the hands of a…unfortunate illness."
As long as he could keep the potentially revelatory diagnostic spells at bay perhaps a trip to the Hospital Wing would be of help, at least so far as to get the nosy old man to stop watching him hurl into the loo. Tom nearly collapsed when he pushed himself upright, but managed-just barely-to keep his feet. He swayed dangerously, swallowed down another wave of acidic bile, and teetered after the glittering man.
His hope that Dumbledore would bugger off back to his song bird and Muggle candies once he arrived in the Hospital Wing was foolish at best and soundly dashed the moment that the blindingly robed man headed for the Healer. Tom simply took the matter with a feeling of mild relief: at least he wouldn't have to explain the matter.
Madam Finch bustled over to the cot he'd practically collapsed onto with her wand at the ready but a fiery glare and a hiss which would have put his great Basilisk to shame was enough to limit her to the potion he'd conceded to.
Making a mental note to get a personal supply of the same potion from Slughorn at the soonest convenience, Tom curled up and quickly fell asleep, his body wracked by exhaustion. There was no way that he'd be able to make it through his Prefect rounds without something of a nap.
Night had fallen outside the windows of the Hospital Wing by the time he was shaken awake.
"You've missed dinner, Mr. Riddle." Good. Now he had an excuse to slip into the kitchens even sooner, though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to tempt fate by eating quite so soon. "You're certain that you don't want me to cast a diagnostic spell on you?"
"That isn't necessary," he assured with a flash of his usual charming smile. "I'm aware of what I have; it's a Muggle illness. I've received treatment for it already and have been instructed to simply let it run its course. Thank you for your assistance, but I'm fine now and have my rounds soon…"
"Very well, Mr. Riddle. You may go now."
"Thank you, Madam finch," Tom rose from the cot as quickly as he dared, relieved that the nausea had left at last, and left the Hospital Wing. With a quick glance at a summoned clock he headed down to the Hufflepuff sector of the dungeons and tickled the pear, slipping through the hidden door that it revealed.
The House Elves didn't bat an eye at his request, a fact for which he was thankful. Unfortunately, naturally, his luck refused to hold out.
Abraxas stopped in his tracks and sent him a rather odd look. "Riddle."
"Malfoy."
"Are those…chocolate covered pickles?"
"… …"
"That's a really common…Tom, are you pregnant?"
"Of course not! I'm a Half-blood, you know that isn't possible!"
"The symptoms seem to say otherwise. Weight gain, your haywire sense of smell, the vomiting, and now cravings." He pulled out a chair and sat down across from him at the table. "What happened?"
"Unforeseen circumstances that do not concern you." Tom growled, fingers clenching white knuckled around his plate. "It won't get in the way; Lord Voldemort has no use for a child, certainly not some unwanted brat, and I'm going to get rid of it the moment that it's born so you're not going to breathe a word about it am I understood?"
"You're understood." He said. "You'll need someone to help, won't you?"
"I've taken care of myself my whole bloody life! Why would I need help now?"
"Deflecting the others? Deflecting Dumbledore? Fetching things for you when your ankles get so swollen you can't walk anymore?"
His ankles were going to swell up? "Your seeking to get in further good standing is admirable, but I'll manage."
"Have you been to St. Mungo's yet?"
"There's no point."
"There's plenty of point and you don't need to worry it'll get out; the Healers are sworn to secrecy, after all, unless your condition puts your life in danger."
"Why would I waste the time concerning myself with the health of the creature? I'm not even going to name it, Abraxas." Tom pushed his empty plate away. "If I can manage to get down into the Chamber again without Dumbledore noticing I may feed it to the Basilisk; I'm sure that she'd appreciate the snack."
He grimaced but said nothing. "Even if you're not going to keep the child you should at least worry about your own health. Magical pregnancies aren't like Muggle ones. You'll find that out soon enough."
"I already told you that I'd handle it." Tom pushed his chair back sharply and rose from the table. "I have rounds."
Before the Malfoy Heir could say another word, he swept from the room.