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                Disclaimer: Any towns, schools and characters you recognize from the Harry Potter series do not belong to me.


Over. That’s what my life is going to be. At 16 years old, my life having hardly begun, I know that I am totally screwed. Shit. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew that I should have gone to have coffee with Alicia and Maeve instead of to the pharmacy to buy the white stick of DOOM that now sits in my hand. The very same stick that is now claiming I am pregnant, for God’s sake. Pregnant.

                Feh. What does the stupid stick know? It’s just a stick.

                I step out of the bathroom stall, stepping over a wad of toilet paper and over to the mirror. I don’t look any different, other than my now mammoth boobs. But I feel- well, I feel fat. Bloated. Like I’d been eating cookie dough ice cream or drank a whole carton of eggnog. Yet I didn’t look any fatter- I could still fit into a size two shirt. I grabbed two bunches of my wavy blonde hair and pulled them down over the front of my shirt. Every girls dream cup size was now my nightmare. What if people noticed and put the pieces together, just as I had? No one had seen me vomit in the mornings, or seen me fend off all my favorite foods and scarf down the things I hated. But it was only a matter of time before I got a baby bump.

                Swallowing hard, I opened the door a crack and peered out. The corridor was completely deserted. I shut the door, breathing hard. It was finally sinking in. No more excuses of a stomach bug I must have caught from helping Madame DeMaglio in the infirmary. No more telling myself I had probably developed new taste buds and was now loving spaghetti and meatballs. No more sudden growth spurt theories for my breasts growing. This was really happening. I was really pregnant. This doesn’t happen to people like me- I’m Isobel Olivier, for God’s sake! I’m a prefect! I’ve never gotten a lower grade than an ‘E,’ and that was because I had a migraine in the middle of class and missed part of a lecture. I’m practically the poster child for ‘Over-Achiever.’

                I sank to the floor, resting my head on my knees like I was a child again. Hell, aren’t I still supposed to be a child? I’m not 17 yet. I’m not an adult. There’s no fucking way I can raise a child while going to school to be a Healer- I probably won’t even be able to finish Hogwarts with a child. I have yet to even have a proper boyfriend!

                I groan. In the midst of this, I had very nearly forgotten something I wouldn’t mind forgetting- this baby’s father. Too famous for his own good, the official player-of-women, and, of course, player of Quidditch…

                James Sirius Potter himself.




                It was a month into the school year when IT happened.

                IT was, shall we say, the mistake of the century. My friend Maeve (yes, I love her, but she has a bit of a slutty reputation) had gotten Alicia and I into the first party of the year- hosted by the Potter/Weasley’s themselves. Maeve had told us earlier that day that she had gotten Robby Williamson to get us an invite, and then winked and walked away (hence, she once again demonstrates why she has a sex kitty reputation). Of course, ‘Lish and I were thrilled, seeing as we almost never get to go to these parties. So, we spent all our classes passing notes about what to wear, who to dance with, who to flirt with, and, most importantly, whether we drink or not.

                Alicia, shall we say, had been raised by very strict parents, and the second the subject of alcohol came up, the first word she wrote down was “NO.” But me, being the idiot I am, could only think “I’ve been a good girl. I’ve said no in the past. But I’m a sixth year, and I’m going to enjoy myself.”  So when I told Alicia and Maeve I would be drinking, Alicia called me an idiot and stormed out of our dorm while Maeve congratulated me on my newly found “independence.”

                So really, if I want to blame someone, it can be Maeve for egging me on.

                Anyways, when we arrived at the party (fashionably late, as Maeve advised) everything was in full swing. The Room of Requirement was blasting with music, people were making out in the corners of the room, having chugging contests over by the kegs, grinding against each other and trying to shout flirty phrases to others over the music. Alicia and Maeve were already in full party mode, and shot off to the dance floor- I, on the other hand, stepped over to the kegs… and everything from then on is somewhat fuzzy.

                I remember not being able to work the keg, and embarrassedly pretending I had something in my glass and lifting it to my lips. I remember a handsome, smiling older boy help me fill one glass…two…three…four… until not only was I drunk on excitement, but on wonderful liquor that burned my throat and warmed my head. I pulled him onto the dance floor, and then we were kissing, and then we were on a bed, and then my clothes were on the floor and then- it was bright outside the window, I was naked, and my arms were around James Potter.

                My head was killing me. I pushed the sleeping James’s arms off me, wriggled into last night’s tube dress, picked up my black pumps and stumbled out the door, over half naked bodies on the floor, out the door, up the stairs and into the safety of the Ravenclaw common room, where I promptly lay down on the couch and fell asleep.

                And that is how IT all happened. And now, one month later, I sorely regret it all.


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