You stand outside Theodore Nott's bedroom door, your hand trembling as you prepare to knock. The wooden surface feels cold against your palm, matching the chill that runs down your spine. Four months of keeping this secret has taken its toll, and now the moment of truth has arrived.

Through the door, you hear muffled laughter—a girl's laughter—and your stomach twists into a tight knot. This is exactly what you feared, exactly what you've endured for months while loving him despite everything. The hallway smells of firewhiskey and pine, faint remnants of the post-Quidditch celebration that seems to have continued long after you left.

Your hand moves to rest protectively over your stomach, the slight bump barely noticeable through your robes but already feeling like the most precious secret in the world. How will he react? Will he deny it? Will he blame you? The questions swirl in your mind like a dangerous potion as you finally gather the courage to knock.