Recap:

Dumbledore placed a fatherly hand on Snape's shoulder, stopping him just before they were out the door.

"Who were they, professor?"

"Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and…Draco Malfoy."

Chapter 2: Good Morning Mommy!

Draco rolled over in his bed, grabbing for the warm body that should have been there. When he found none, he forced his sleepy eyes open. It was far more than he could have expected.

"What the hell—"

"It's alright, Mr. Malfoy," came Dumbledore's reassuring voice. Draco was none too reassured, however, and tore back the covers of his hospital bed. He was only on his feet for an instant, when Madame Pompfrey shuffled over, pushing him back down. She handed him a cup of tea, telling him to drink.

Any other time Draco would have brushed her off and left the room. He was a Malfoy after all, and they took orders from no one. Well, almost no one. But, on this particular day, something was going on, something he should know. He was in the infirmary, yet the last thing he remembered was falling asleep. He hadn't gone to Quidditch practice in a few days, so that couldn't be the reason.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

His eyes snapped up, leveling with Dumbledore's. He frowned and turn away, nearly choking on his tea when he found the two beds beside him full of the most unlikely of people: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. It seemed they'd both been awake for sometime. It took all his willpower to not hurl his cup across the room in anger. The nerve of them! Allowing him to sleep there while they were in the same room!

"What's going on?" he demanded. He would have tried to get out of bed again, if not for the convocation of teachers around him. Professor Snape gave him a stiff nod, silently telling him to cooperate. Reluctantly he obeyed.

"There was an accident," Dumbledore said, dropping his voice slightly. "The three of you—" He motioned to the others, who listened just as intently as him. "—were found by the lake. A spell was cast, but it somehow went wrong. You were all knocked unconscious."

"A spell?" Hermione asked. Draco glared at her. Who asked her to interrupt? "Who cast a spell?"

"As far as we can tell," the headmaster sighed, "it came from Mr. Weasley's wand."

Ron baulked, and attempted to speak, but found he could only managed rants and babble.

"This does not prove that it was Mr. Weasley who cast the spell, which might explain why it went wrong."

"What happened to us?" Hermione asked, glancing down to check herself for injuries. "We're not hurt. Why are we in the hospital?"

"Precautions," Madame Pompfrey answered, then came to sit in the chair beside her bed. "And we're lucky we did. You're in no condition to be in such a situation, Miss Granger."

"No condition?" Ron asked.

Everyone's eyes fell on Hermione, as if she held the answer. But all she could offer was the same blank look of confusion.

"What condition?"

"You don't know?" Madame Pompfrey asked, biting her lip. "But how could you not?"

"Would someone please tell me what's going on!"

Dumbledore stepped forward, gripping the foot of the bed.

"What do you last remember? Any of you?"

They all gave a different answer, a different place. But one thing was the same; they were recalling a day some four months before. The room itself seemed to sigh, before Dumbledore explained what he surmised must have occurred the night in question.

"Wait, wait," Ron cut in. "You're saying that someone cast a spell by the lake, with my wand, and when it backfired we all lost our memories?"

"The last thing you remember is a day a few weeks before finals, correct?"

Ron nodded, the knot in his stomach growing at the seconds ticked by.

"What year are you in, Mr. Weasley?"

He hesitated, pulling his legs in to sit Indian-style.

"S-Sixth."

In the bed beside him, Hermione jumped to her feet, demanding to know what this had to do with her "condition".

Dumbledore smiled sadly at her.

"You're in your fourth week of your seventh year, Miss Granger." He paused a moment to allow her, and the others, to absorb this information. "And the reason we are so worried about you in particular, is because you are a few days shy of your third month of pregnancy."

The room couldn't have been more silent if they were in a vacuum.

And then she burst into tears, her fingers clawing at her soon-to-be swollen belly. She nearly took Madame Pompfrey down in her hysteria, when Ron rushed to her side, clinging to her like an old lover. It took her a good ten minutes to calm down, and all the while Draco sat quiet in his bed, wondering what in the name of Merlin this had to do with him.

"H-How is this possible?" she whispered into Ron's shoulder.

"What do you mean, dear?" Madame Pompfrey asked. Surely she knew how a baby was conceived.

"I-I…" She wiped her eyes, but it did little good to dry her sorrow. "I'm a virgin."

"You mean Mr. Weasley isn't—"

"I've hardly kissed a boy!" she stammered. There had to be some kind of mistake. How could she—poster-child student Hermione Granger—be pregnant? "Are you sure? I mean, how do you know?"

"You've all been out for days," she explained. "We ran several tests, quick spells to insure you were alright. Your results, Miss Granger, were somewhat different. After a few unsuccessful tries, I figured out what was wrong."

"Could you be mistaken?" she whispered.

"I'm afraid not. I checked several times. The answer was always the same."

Professor McGonagall stepped up, having kept silent throughout the mini-interrogation.

"Do you have any idea who the father could be, Hermione?"

"I-I…No professor. Viktor was the only boy I was ever involved with, but that was over almost a year ago."

"We have a theory." She glanced from Ron to Draco. It took her a moment, but, little by little, it sunk in, and Hermione threw herself back to fast that Ron didn't have a chance to let go and went tumbling on top of her. A moment later the other two caught on, and all at once they tried to talk, their voices drown out by each other's. "One at a time, please…Hermione?"

"It's Ron's," she cried through her hands. In the bed beside her, Draco nodded his head vigorously in agreement. "It has to be. I've fancied him since second year."

"Really?" Ron asked, pulling her hands down to look into her eyes.

"Really," she whispered back.

"There you go," Draco said angrily, wrinkling his nose in disgust at them, and at the situation in general. "How could you think I would touch a mud—her?" If he hadn't saved himself, he might have needed to be in that hospital bed.

Dumbledore frowned and sighed.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple children. You were all found near the lake, in very close proximity to each other. You two were closest." He motioned to Hermione and Draco. "Mr. Weasley's wand was the only one that was recently used. All signs point—"

"Wait. Let me get this straight." Hermione interrupted. "You expect me to believe that Malfoy could be the father of my baby?"

He nodded, his eyes drawn down. He knew it was the last thing they needed to hear right now. But he simply could not allow them to go on believing a lie, if that was in fact the conclusion they came to. They should know all possibilities.

To his complete surprise, both Ron and Hermione burst into peals of laughter. Draco remained sullen, horrified at the idea that anyone could think he would even look at a mudblood that way, much less touch them.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, catching her eyes. "I must impress upon you that importance of knowing for certain whose child you carry."

"But I know—"

"Please," he insisted. "Allow Madame Pompfrey to determine that in one month's time. Then we can be sure."

"Headmaster—"

"I only have your best interests in mind."

She sighed, and looked to Ron, who could only offer her a nod. What could it hurt? They already knew the truth.

"Fine," she caved, pulling Ron instinctively towards her. "Come find me in a month."

The first to leave the room were Ron and Hermione, arm in arm, headed off to Gryffindor Tower to tell their friends their news. They were still completely shocked, and nowhere near ready to tell their parents, but the idea was slowly sinking in. They would have a baby in six months, and, hopefully, before that time they would regain their memories. Madame Pompfrey was skeptical about giving them potions, for they still didn't know all the details surrounding the events that occurred. And Dumbledore was certain their memories would return in time. If not, then after a few months, it should be safe enough to give them potions.

Draco brought up the rear, keeping a great distance between himself and the others. He still couldn't believe the audacity the headmaster had to assume what he had. He was so lost in his thoughts and anger, that he didn't hear the person who came up beside him.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

He jumped, coming to a halt. It was Professor Snape.

"May I have a word with you in my office?"

"Professor, it's late—"

"It'll only take a moment," he assured, turning him in the opposite direction.

Draco settled in a large leather chair opposite Snape's desk, trying to ignore the more-solemn-than-usual look on his face.

"There's something you should know," his professor said plainly.

"About?"

"Your parents."

Draco's breath caught. The last he knew they were in Azkaban. They couldn't have escaped!

It took everything he had to hide his emotions.

"What about them?"

"It happened just a month ago," he said, keeping his eyes level. He was not one to cower when the situation called for it. "Draco, your parents are dead."

"Excuse me?" That couldn't have been what he heard.

"They died in Azkaban, Draco. They're gone."

"You mean—"

"Yes," Snape sighed, patting his shoulder. "Don't bother coming to my class tomorrow."

And all he could say was, "Ok."

Well, I think I'll end there. I know it's a dreadfully short chapter, much shorter than I usually have, but I wanted to get it out. I promise the next chapter will be longer :)

REVIEW! Please :P