the baby project — act one
" almost like a pregnancy "
﹙ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗖𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟. ﹚

     DESPITE THE SLIGHT HICCUP on the first day back, leading to Addie having to wash her clothes three times before the stench of her friends' vomit was completely gone and resulting in further feelings of loathing to the Weasley Twins on Addie's behalf, the first week was flying by with blue skies and bright smiles. School had returned to normal, the weather was yet to disappoint, and no class had left Addie feeling utterly petrified for her upcoming final exams, which more or less decided her entire future in the Wizarding World.

     She tried to ignore that last part.

     "But I don't see the point!" Gia huffed, as she continued to watch the whizzing figures of Fred and George Weasley, along with a struggling Leo Jordan, fly about, executing a friendly game of some amusing version of Quidditch on the Training Pitch.

     Jazz sighed, her eyes now lost above her, "You don't need to fully understand the technical aspects of Quidditch to appreciate the game, Gia!"

     Now fully recovered from their sick bug, Jazz and Gia had fully forgiven the Weasley Twins for their attempt at some fun. Clayton was getting there and Quinn was still feeling queazy, most of the time. It would take her a little while longer.

     "Yes, but, I'd rather watch a game of Quidditch with full understanding as to why they use bats!"

     Jazz, a beater herself, was becoming increasingly frustrated for four o'clock in the afternoon from the comfort and of the stands. "We use them, to swat the bludgers away from our teammates!"

     Gia's back slumped further into the bleachers' bench, "Then what?" she asked. Jazz let an audible groan slip from her mouth this time. "Where does it go? Surely there should be multiple bludgers so that the beaters are always kept in play. If there's only one-"

     "There's two!" Jazz intercepted before Gia could say anything more infuriating, to agitate her further. There was a look of physical pain on Jazz's face. Gia muttered something in response, with a mocking tone, but trailed off somewhere in the middle, being in no mood to argue anymore.

     Jazz heaved her bag onto her lap, pulling out various sheets and textbooks, before clunking it back onto the floor. "Clay, can I look at your Divination homework, please?" she asked desperately fed-up. "I don't have the work ethic to actually try right now and this girl is driving me nuts."

     Gia's mouth fell agape, in an offended expression. She got over it in a matter of seconds.

     Clayton, who had his head in a horoscope-related book, laying flat on his stomach, across a bench, visibly tutted, "You know, if you always use someone else's work to copy, you'll never learn a thing."

     "Yeah, well, I've never shown an enthusiastic attitude towards the study of Tea Leaves, so why start now?" Jazz asked with a tone that read duh, as she crossed one leg over the other.

     Clayton left his eyes wide, as he continued to read. "Just saying. You can't copy me on the final exam," he advised.

     "I'm sure I'll manage," Jazz faked an expression of gentleness, before sending Clayton one final pleading look. Clayton reluctantly pulled a three-parchment long essay out of his bag, not letting his eyes leave his book as he sighed. Jazz squealed a little, accepting the example work with uttered thanks and an appreciative smile. It was somewhat genuine.

     Addie was lost in her own world of Potions homework. She had been surprised by how much they had received only a day into the new year, and her eyes had become easily distracted by a far-off bright green figure down by the edge of the pitch. The sound of the clacking high-heels echoing all the way up to the stands, where Addie was perched; a big bush of yellow hair still in view.

     Addie pulled her eyes away from the distant women momentarily, "Hey, have you guys noticed Rita Skeeter walking around school?" she asked.

     Jazz was busy scribbling away, but still let out a small chuckle, "Yeah, she was lurking at the back of Muggle Studies the other day. I saw her take George's notes and grimace."

     Quinn was fixing her tie for the third time that day, when she followed Addie's gaze that had returned to Rita Skeeter, over by the broom shed, watching intently the three boys messing about on their brooms. "I swear she was banished from the grounds after last year, though?" Quinn queried.

     "Guess good-old Dolores didn't get the memo," Gia quickly became distracted by the shaping of her nails, when she realized she'd never understand Quidditch.

     "Have you also got 'Life Skills' on your timetable?" Addie asked. "I only noticed it this morning, when I was desperate for Free Periods," she groaned.

     "Everyone has apparently," Jazz said.

     Addie had expected nearly no changes to her new, seventh-year timetable, seen as all her classes were the same and the only new Professor she'd expect to get was a new Defence Against the Dark Arts one. That position was ever-changing. But what was bizarre was a whole, new subject. With a new teacher. Starting this late on in their Hogwarts life.

     "Who's the teacher?" Clayton still had his head lost in the pages of his book but was aware enough of his surroundings to comply with his friends' conversation. After all, he too had taken notice of the new mystery subject.

     Addie pulled out her neatly folded timetable from her robe pocket, unravelling it, and then holding it landscape so she could read, "R.S." she read out from the tiny, printed box.

     Gia perked up, her nails suddenly not at all interesting anymore, "That psycho is gonna be teaching us life skills?" she asked incredulously.

     Jazz scoffed, "Unless she's going to be educating us on the art of becoming a sociopath, I highly doubt she's qualified for anything else." she shrugged lightly, before focusing back onto the quill in her hand. Clayton chuckled.

     Quinn shrugged now, "You never know," she said, "sociology is becoming an increasingly popular career choice."

     "My point of that sentence was to state that she, herself, is a sociopath," Jazz felt the need to reply, despite her previous desperate needs to finish her Divination homework. "On what Universe would an actual, medically diagnosed sociopath be hired to teach life skills to minors, specifically going into a Sociology field in the future? That would literally be insanity. "

     "Exactly," Quinn stuck her neck out. "Right up her street."

     "Whatever it is, I highly doubt Rita Skeeter will make it easy for us," Addie said. "She'll probably write articles about us all individually, outside of classes. Or have some kind of class ranking of her favourite and least favourite student. I feel like she's the kind of woman to verbalise every single one of her opinions," (yes Addie, she's a "journalist"!), "even if they're about underage kids. Any ideas of what life skill we'll . . . "

     Addie kept going. Asking around her friends for what they thought Life Skills would be all about. They weren't listening — they got distracted; a sort of frozen in shock moment. They were just focused on the big brown ball flying towards the stands, at heightening speeds, penetrating the air.

     The only other thing that kept going, besides a waffling Addie Sweeney, was the bludger, coming right for her head.

༺༻

     RECOVERING FROM A PERIOD OF subconsciousness is not very appealing. It was the pain that woke Addie up two hours later.

     With her memory fuzzed like a fog, and a throbbing sensation near the nape of her neck, Addie awoke, her eyes fluttering open, immediately overwhelmed with the brightness of the hospital wing. She kept squinting to help with the headache.

     It took longer for her eyes to adjust to being alive again, but when they did, Addie tried her best to take in her surroundings — ten empty beds lined up opposite her side of the room, the sun still pouring in from the large open windows, just dimmer now, and a sleeping redhead, slumped into a chair beside her own bed.

     George Weasley to be exact.

     "Ah, Miss Sweeney. You're awake, good," Madam Pomfrey's words slapped George awake, so much so, his chair tilted on its legs slightly, before he adapted to no longer being asleep, and steadied it flat, back onto the floor. He sat up as straight as possible — it was clear the woman's presence intimidated him.

     The head nurse approached Addie's bed, and placed a second pillow behind her bandaged head, "What exactly am I doing here?" Addie asked, although, more like whispered. Everything hurt, and she couldn't piece together her earlier actions of the day.

     "You took a nasty hit to the head. A bludger," Madam Pomfrey explained, her face laced with sympathy, as she looked down on the girl in bed. "You've been out for the last few hours. Careless boys," she tutted with a shake of her head. Addie was unsure if the nurse expected her to understand what that phrase meant. "I'm going to keep you for another day or two, as the mental activity would be bad for the concussion, alright dear?"

     Addie didn't speak, but hummed with understanding and tried her best to nod her head in a way that didn't cause her any pain and was actually recognizable as a nod.

     Once Madam Pomfrey had disappeared from earshot and had fled to help another patient a few beds over, Addie shot a glare at George. "I know I'm injured and all, but did I hear that right?" she queried. "A bludger? I'm guessing guilt is what brought you here today, Weasley?"

     George had since relaxed back into his chair now the nurse wasn't lurking nearby. His legs fell open, and his shoulder blades hit the back support. "What makes you think that?" he asked casually.

     "Your body language, the guilty expression you were wearing when Madam Pomfrey told me I have a concussion, and I don't know why else you'd be visiting me in the hospital wing during your free time."

     George shrugged innocently, "That says nothing."

     Addie scoffed, her body still lay fixated in one position, and her head barely moveable. She felt stupid — what with her bird's nest of a hairdo, and a poor-me sullen expression. "Sure it doesn't," she said sarcastically. "So you don't have anything to do with me being here with a bandaged head?"

     George did. In fact, he had all to do with Addie's current state. He and Fred and Lee were bored, and besides jokes and pranks and setting off fireworks, the only thing that could keep their buzzing brains and short attention spans going is Quidditch. Fred through the ball, George underestimated the angle and direction the bludger was going in, and he sort of batted it in the direction of the stands. And in comes Addie. To soften the blow.

     "How much do you remember exactly?" George questioned, tentatively.

     "I'm the one currently in hospital recovering from a concussion," she paused, staring at him dead-on, "I'm asking you."

     "Yes, but I need to evaluate what you know before I say my side of the story," he explained. Although it wasn't clear in his expression, Addie could hear how his words were building up to some kind of wiseass comment. "I need to know how much I should lie. It's for blame purposes." he finished. There it was. George nodded his head patronizingly.

     "Are you shitting me?" she burst out. "You let a bludger hit me in the head?! Isn't your exact job to stop that from happening?!" Addie's cheeks flushed red with her wave of anger.

     "We were just messing around!" George defended. "I've apologized!" he brought his hands to his chest, angling them at himself.

     "When?" she almost yelled. "When did you apologize?"

     George's face sunk a little. But even then, Addie could see how he was fighting the itch to laugh a little. "When you were . . . passed out?"

     "Can you do anything right?" she huffed. "Or are you just the source of all evil, set out to make my life a living hell?"

     George quite liked the title, but wouldn't say anything, since everything was an argument to win with this girl. "Hey, I gave you that antidote the other day!" he shuffled closer so that he was now on the edge of his seat. "You can't hold that against me!"

     Addie felt sorry for whatever poor sod was set a few beds over, and was now forced to listen to them bicker. "Which I wouldn't need if you hadn't drugged my friends!" she lowered her voice to a whisper-yell. At this moment, she loathed George Weasley, but she still wasn't all for getting him and his twin in trouble, however, enraged their prank on her friends made her.

     "You're still hung up about that?" he sighed. "It's called a prank."

     "Right now, I'm busy worrying about all the work I'm going to miss because I'm concussed!" she used her hand to gesture to the big, white bandages that were tightly wrapped around her scalp as if they weren't obvious enough.

     "I'm pretty sure if you're concussed, you wouldn't be able to form normal sentences."

     Addie fell back into her bed, "You have an answer for everything, don't you?" she rolled her eyes.

     George did the same, closing his legs, lowering his arms to the arms of the chair, and letting his spine sink into the back support. "That's what a conversation is sweetheart."

     Addie let out a deep breath, "Please leave, or I'll tell Madam Pomfrey you're bothering me."

     George bit his lip, sighed, before finally get up from his chair. He then leaned in towards her, so his whisper could be heard, with full effect. "I will only oblige since she scares me, but this does not mean I let you win."

     "Win what?" she scoffed. "Not everything is a game, Weasley."

     "Now, see that's where you're wrong, Sweeney — everything is a game."

     And with a wink, he left. And Addie's head was even sorer now.

𝗔𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗘'𝗦 𝗧𝗜𝗣 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 ━━

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