Danielle wasn't entirely sure how she expected Tom to react: perhaps she thought he would be taken over by a fit of rage and try to curse her; or even that he would go stock-still and stare, uncomprehending, at her. In short, the most characteristic reaction would be for him to snarl, "Pregnant?" at her as he had when she'd joked about it while McLaird had visited their flat back at Christmas. But she definitely had not predicted his mouth to fall open slightly and for his eyes to widen. He dropped his hands to his side, and, in that moment, she could almost have believed he was a normal man being told that his wife was pregnant. "You—you what?" he asked in a strangled tone.
"I'm going to have a baby," Danielle said in a louder, clearer voice. Some part of her was dimly aware that the storm was moving ever-closer and it was beginning to rain, but neither of them made any attempt to move. "William told me I'm two months along, so that means I'm due next February."
She figured that Tom's surprising reaction was due to the shock of the day, and he was more likely to explode once he'd processed the information. "How?" he continued, and already Danielle could see he was beginning to gain control of himself; he set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at her, but he still couldn't completely disguise the fact that he was taken off guard.
"Well," Danielle said, trying to inject a bit of flippancy in her tone, "I think we both know how it happened—"
"I meant your potions," Tom replied shortly. "Did you stop taking them?"
But Danielle didn't need to answer: she could already feel him beginning to examine her mind, and she let him, thinking of her conversation with William and her subsequent sickness when she had woken up. Tom's grip tightened on her when he learned that the switching of the potions had been done on purpose, and when he'd apparently seen all he wanted he stepped back, now outwardly composed except for his hold on her. "What are you thinking?" Danielle asked, unable to read his expression.
"That you need to get inside," he said curtly, pulling her toward the manor. "After all, we do not want your…condition to get any worse." There was a slight undercurrent of mockery in his tone—although perhaps she was just imagining it.
The storm continued to rage on once they were safely in the manor, but Danielle barely registered the weather. After casting a Drying Charm on herself, she curled up on the couch in the sitting-room, watching Tom warily. He was standing in the doorway, his expression quietly furious. All of his relief at the fact she was still alive seemed to have been overshadowed by this new revelation.
"I'm sure it was Slytherin who switched the potions," Danielle finally said, breaking the silence. "Schefflur wants to kill me, and if I die because the baby has the curse he'll have gotten his wish, plus that would have ensured that Slytherin's line is carried on."
"Perhaps, but that does not explain the fact that Schefflur is searching for you," Tom replied. "Surely Slytherin would have told him where the manor is, if he was able to get past the wards." His jaw clenched, and even a complete outsider would have been able to tell that he was irate about the fact Slytherin had managed to get past his defensive spells not once, but twice.
"Maybe they're not as close as we thought," Danielle mused, but she could already tell that her suggestion was weak. "But…whatever the reason, it's happened, and I don't know what to do about it. And I want to keep it, Tom," she said sternly as he opened his mouth. "You don't get a say in this. We're not living in the one-bedroom flat anymore, and you don't need to take care of it if you don't want to. Which I can already tell you don't."
He clenched his fists at his sides, glaring at her. "And, pray tell, what exactly am I supposed to do if you die? I am not raising a child on my own, much less a child with Vetus Periculosus. You do not understand, Clara. Do you even remember what I was like?"
Danielle had already prepared for this argument. "We have the diadem," she said smugly. "We can cure it as soon as it's born—"
"And what if it is stolen by then? It cannot save you if you die in childbirth like my mother," he spat. She could sense his self-control beginning to unfurl.
"So what do you propose, Tom?" she spat back, jumping off the couch and ignoring the dizziness that shot through her at the sudden movement. "The even greater risk of my death if I choose to get rid of it? Or are you going to turn into your father and abandon your child before it's even born?"
She'd crossed a line, and she knew it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Tom's eyes darkened and he stepped towards her. "I am not my father, Clara," he spat. "I am not such a coward."
Danielle sank back into the couch, relieved he wasn't going to curse her. "I know you're not," she said, more to placate him than anything else. "But whether you like it or not, I can't get rid of this baby. My life is in danger either way—and if not from the baby, then from Slytherin and Schefflur. I'll go to St Mungo's tomorrow and—"
"No," Tom snapped. "They cannot help you. If they discover that it does carry the gene for the curse, you will be sent back to Azkaban for concealing the fact that I did once have it."
"But you cured yourself—"
"They do not care about that. Any potential child of mine is a liability. They will attempt to kill me." His face was as set as stone. Danielle could already tell that they'd reached an impasse.
"Then what are we supposed to do?" she asked, not caring if she was whining. "Go back to work and pretend nothing happened? What if I become seriously ill there? Bode will send me to St Mungo's. But I can't quit because we wouldn't be able to afford the manor anymore."
"Money is not the issue," Tom snapped; he began to pace around the room—Danielle wondered why it had taken him so long to start doing it. "Tomorrow you will owl Bode and inform him that you have resigned."
"Resigned?" Danielle asked crossly. "I'm not resigning—"
Tom continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You are to stay here until I arrive back. Do not contact your friends; if Schefflur is interrogating them, it is best they know as little as possible."
"And let him torture them? I don't think so—"
"I will search the Ministry tomorrow for anything useful. We will leave tomorrow night. Slytherin knows where we are. Regardless of whether or not he has told Schefflur, it is not safe."
"So we're running away?" she asked weakly.
Tom nodded. "Other countries do not have the same laws as Britain. We can evade Schefflur and search for a doctor who will treat you."
He'd always been possessive, but now he was taking it to new extremes. Danielle crossed her arms. "So I'm not allowed to leave the manor at all? Tom, I'm not a china doll," she argued. "I'm not going to break."
"You cannot afford to become ill in public. As I said before, if you are sent to St Mungo's—"
"Yes, yes, I know," Danielle snapped. "And what if I become ill here? How am I supposed to let you know?"
Tom's gaze moved to the locket. "I will know," he said shortly.
Danielle twirled the chain around her fingers. "You mean you saw me when you were going to the cave?" He nodded, and now it was her turn for her mouth to fall open. "That's brilliant," she exclaimed. "If I practice long enough, maybe I'll be able to communicate with you. So it's like…the bit of my soul that's in the Horcrux is mingling with yours?"
"That is the most logical explanation," Tom agreed. "From now on, Clara, you must use it instead of sending a Patronus or owl if we become separated. It is too easy for those to become intercepted."
Yes, my Lord, Danielle thought sourly, but didn't dare to say it out loud. From the look on his face, Tom knew exactly what she was thinking.
She woke up early the following morning, but this time it wasn't from morning sickness—she simply couldn't sleep. Her dreams had been plagued with her running from some unknown threat—she had no idea whether it was from Slytherin, Schefflur, or something else entirely. Danielle remembered what William had told her about the dead communicating with the living through dreams, and wondered if this was some sort of message.
Despite being a light sleeper, Tom didn't seem to be bothered by her constant tossing and turning. He was lying very still, the purple shadows under his eyelids slightly less defined. Danielle guessed that he was recovering from fatigue—it was doubtful he had slept much, if at all, during the past week. Sometime during the night his arm had unconsciously wrapped around her, as if he was expecting her to disappear again.
Danielle reached over and pressed her lips to his jaw; that would normally rouse him within an instant, but this time he didn't move. Smiling gently to herself, she pulled away and quietly climbed out of bed, throwing a treat into Alistair's cage as she left. Fawkes still hadn't returned, and she could only imagine where he had gone.
A gentle mist had replaced the stormy weather outside, floating like a haze above the grounds. Danielle walked over to the balcony and stepped outside, leaning on the railing and hoping the fresh air would chase away the last remnants of her nightmares. She wondered how Dylan, Alyssa and Alphard were doing: had Dylan told them about Skender showing up at his cottage? Even worse, did Dylan think she was dead now? Although Danielle was sure Felicity hadn't known any better, she couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance that the girl trusted so easily. She was too new and too unused to the wizarding world; she probably thought anyone with a wand was out to kill her.
It didn't take long for Tom to follow her. Danielle sensed his presence within thirty seconds of her arrival at the balcony. "What is it?" she asked without turning around. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"I was already awake," he said, though she knew it was a lie. Tom ghosted over to stand beside her, his eyes searching her face although she didn't look over at him. "What is it, Clara?" he asked with the hint of a sigh in his voice. "I can tell you are going to speak whether I wish to answer or not."
It was times like these that Danielle could almost believe he was a normal person—a normal husband, even. Sometimes Tom did show a sense of humanity, strange though it would probably appear to anyone else. "I was just wondering what you thought of becoming a father," Danielle said, still not meeting his eyes. "You know, aside from the possibility of the curse. If you were certain that this was a normal baby, would you at least…try…to be a parent?"
Tom was silent for so long that she feared he wasn't going to answer, but just as she was about to press him he finally said, "And when the child is old enough to realize who I really am destined to be, who I really was? How will you explain to them that its father is a," his voice turned mocking, "Murderer? Surely they will not be too pleased with you either, for allowing them to grow up in such a household. I never desired nor was meant to be a father, Clara." And with that, he turned and left, leaving Danielle to ponder over words that she had never even considered.
After he had gone to the Ministry, Danielle was left, once again, by herself. She was horribly bored: she didn't want to sit and wait twelve hours for him to come home, and her insides were burning with trepidation with what was to come. She had no idea what he was planning or where he intended for them to travel. Perhaps she should begin to pack her things, but every time she glanced over at her empty luggage she thought of something else to worry about. But she knew that she couldn't just leave without telling her friends where she was going. It didn't matter that Tom had forbidden her from leaving the manor: she had to let them know that she was all right—for the moment—but that they most likely wouldn't be hearing from her for quite a while. And Tom had been wrong about one thing: it wasn't impossible for her to go to St Mungo's. There was one Healer there who would be able to help her.
When she'd written a quick note to Bode informing him that she would be taking a prolonged absence from work—but not resigning as Tom had said—and sent it off with Alistair, she went over to the fireplace and knelt down, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. She was wearing the skirt from her old Hogwarts uniform paired with a light shirt, and although her clothes weren't feeling any tighter yet she knew she would have to go shopping for a new wardrobe soon. Sighing at the dreaded thought of spending a day in clothing shops, Danielle threw the powder into the fire and stepped inside. "St Mungo's Hospital, London!" she called out, and to her relief was swallowed up by the flames.
The fact that Tom had used the fireplace to Floo into the Ministry meant that, for now, Danielle could sneak out as well. She was briefly struck by the notion that Tom obviously couldn't have overlooked such an important detail, but quickly brushed it out of her mind. He couldn't very well know where she was, now that Ophelia was dead and the Tracking Charm that had once been on the Snidget was broken.
Danielle felt a wave of sadness for her beloved pet as she walked up to the front desk, suddenly melancholy. She could sense tears building up in the back of her eyes, and quickly smacked them away. This must be one of the sudden mood swings that were one of the most common markers of pregnancy.
The witch sitting behind the desk gave Danielle a bored once-over, seeing that she was in no immediate danger. "Sit down and a Healer will be with you shortly," she said, pointing at an empty seat next to a little boy who appeared to be growing antlers.
"I need to see Healer Wainscott," Danielle pleaded. "It's important."
"Is it?" The receptionist stared at her nails as if she had barely heard her words.
"Tell her Clara Ashford wants to speak to her," Danielle tried again. "Please."
Sighing loudly, and smacking her gum in an annoyed sort of way, the receptionist stood up and disappeared down the hallway without another word. Danielle was tapping her fingernails impatiently against the desk; luckily, aside from the antler boy and an elderly woman whose pupils had turned a deep shade of violet, the waiting room was deserted. She appeared to have shown up on a slow day.
The receptionist returned a minute later, followed by the portly, familiar form of the Healer who had cared for Danielle when she was ill with the time-traveler's curse. "Clara?" she asked, and Danielle nodded, drawing her to the side so the receptionist couldn't hear their conversation.
"I need to speak to you privately," she whispered. "I promise it won't take more than ten minutes."
Wainscott regarded her for a moment before thankfully nodding. "You're lucky I don't have any patients at the moment," she said, leading Danielle into an examination room. "Now, how have you been?" she asked, closing the door behind them. "Do you require the assistance of Georgina Taylor again?"
Danielle winced at her friend's name. "No—I just decided to come to you because I trust you. You're one of the few people who know that I'm a time-traveler, and it's obvious you haven't challenged the Unbreakable Vow. I need to ask you some advice of a different sort, and of course I won't ask you to make the Vow again, but you have to promise that you won't tell anyone why I came here. You're the only one who can help me."
"Oh, Clara," Wainscott sighed. "You're asking me to choose between my work and you again. I helped you once, but I don't want to put my job in jeopardy another time. Then again…I don't see what could possibly be worse than learning you are actually a time-traveler…"
Danielle nodded eagerly. She knew, of course, that Tom would kill Wainscott if he ever discovered that the Healer had let slip anything that had to do with him, but she wasn't planning on telling her that. "So you'll help me?"
"Yes," the Healer said, though not without an undercurrent of reluctance.
Danielle paused for another moment before launching into an explanation of Tom's curse, ignoring Wainscott's gasp of surprise, and described their search for the diadem and his eventual curing of it. "You see, Tom's fine now, but I'm not. I just found out that…that I'm pregnant, and I'm certain that the baby carries the gene as well. It's a fifty-fifty chance…this appears to be on the unlucky side."
"Pregnant," Wainscott whispered in wonder. "Have you had any strange symptoms? Why do you suspect that the baby carries the gene?"
Danielle quickly told her about her apparent on-and-off sickness for the past two months, making sure to emphasize the point that her symptoms were steadily growing worse over time. She could see Wainscott's face morph from one of shock to one of the businesslike Healer she usually was.
"Well," she said when Danielle had finished, "It certainly does sound like you've come away unlucky. But just to be sure, I'll take a blood sample and if it comes back positive, we can discuss your options."
Danielle obediently held out her arm for the Healer to make a small incision in her skin and pour the drop of blood into a small vial. She spun it around a few times before carefully inspecting it, putting a bit of a turquoise-coloured liquid inside. The solution immediately began to hiss loudly, the liquid bubbling up inside. Wainscott made a startled noise before Vanishing it. "Yes, Clara," she said with another heavy sigh, although Danielle already knew the answer. "This baby does carry the gene for Vetus Periculosus."
Somehow, hearing the words out loud made her heart drop. "I figured as much," she replied, trying to keep her voice even. "And I'll be able to cure it the moment it is born—it's not that I'm concerned about. It's the actual pregnancy. All the books I have been reading say that a huge percentage of women die in pregnancy or childbirth and it poses a great health risk to the baby as well."
Wainscott pursed her lips, searching for a way to phrase her next words. "It does," she agreed. "And since, as you say, there is no way to cure the child while it is still inside the womb or to guard you against the curse, you have three options. Firstly, you can get rid of the baby. I do not think it would be harmful to you this early on as long as you are in St Mungo's with access to potions and healing spells. I can even perform the procedure today, if you wish."
Something recoiled inside Danielle at the thought; perhaps it would be safer for her, but the thought of discarding her only hope for a normal family life was unbearable. "And the other two options?"
"We can attempt to induce labour around the six or seven-month mark," said Wainscott. "Of course, it is not without its dangers, and it may cause harm to the baby. However, it does give you the greatest chance of making it through the pregnancy safely."
Danielle gulped; she didn't want to put herself in any more danger if there was a chance she could deliver the baby before she became too ill; on the other hand, some part of her recoiled away from putting the baby in danger as well. She wondered if her maternal instincts were beginning to kick in. Yesterday, she would have been thrilled at the idea. Now that the initial shock was beginning to wear off and she was coming to terms with the idea, she found that, Vetus Periculosus aside, it wasn't such a horrible notion after all. It wasn't as if the manor wasn't large enough to raise a child in…and her young age wasn't given a second thought in these times.
"Lastly, you can continue on as if this was a normal pregnancy. Although it is likely to be very unpleasant for you and you'll probably have to spend a significant amount of time confined to a bed for the latter half of the pregnancy, I don't see any major risks in trying it. Of course, I'll often have to check on you and you must be prepared to go into labor at any time. The risks to both you and the baby are fairly significant as well." Wainscott leaned back, looking at Danielle with no small amount of sympathy and pity in her eyes.
Danielle twirled the chain of the locket around her hands. "I…honestly don't know," she finally said. "I think I need some time to think about it."
"Of course," Wainscott said. "But the sooner you make your decision, especially if you choose to end the pregnancy, the easier it will be."
She swallowed hard and stood up, feeling as if her legs had been turned to jelly. "Thank you, Healer," she said, unable to keep the choked sound of her voice, and fled the office, knowing that she had already made her decision.
