Chapter Text
Amaranth Gaunt was pregnant.
Not me, Amy thought. Her.
Tom had bred Amy shamelessly in the weeks following their argument. He had used the same spell on her that he had used back at Wool’s and it had worked - Amy had missed her courses.
Amy could not put into words how this made her feel, but, obviously, her feelings on the issue did not matter. Tom had gotten what he wanted, and over the next few months, he would watch her belly swell and grow, just as he desired.
As Tom had demanded, Amy had flooed St. Mungo’s and let them know she wouldn’t be coming in. She hadn’t spoken with Matilda since, and was dying to. Matilda was probably searching for her, and sometimes Amy lingered about in Diagon Alley, hoping to be found, but such a chance meeting had not yet occurred.
Amy felt alone. She felt helpless. And she was bored, cooped up all day with a toddler.
But she didn’t sulk. She didn’t complain. Not while Tom was around, at least. Amy let Tom feel her belly. She let him stare at his handiwork. She felt naked and vulnerable every time she noticed his eyes on her little pot belly as he grinned from ear to ear.
About four months into the pregnancy, Amy woke to a sharp pain in her abdomen. She threw the covers off of her legs to find the bedding saturated with blood. “Tom!” she gasped, panting. “Tom, something is wrong!”
Tom looked over at Amy and noticed the state that she was in before he had a chance to get angry at her repeated use of his Christian name.
“Tom.. I think I’m losing the baby.”
Tom rubbed his face in exasperation. Did this have to happen in the middle of the night?
“Take a Wiggenweld and a Blood Replenishing Potion and come back to bed. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”
“But Tom…”
“That’s enough, Amy.”
Amy sobbed, gingerly making her way to the small cupboard where the potions were kept. There had been so much blood, and she could feel it running down her legs. She thought she should probably go to St. Mungo’s.
As soon as she’d swallowed the potions, Amy felt a keen pressure in her pelvis and an urge to bear down. She found herself in the bathroom, wailing in the bathtub as she passed the body of what would have been her baby. Of course, the baby was dead. A girl. Her daughter. Amy gazed down at the tiny corpse, eyes full of tears. She wept until she lost consciousness in the bloody bathtub.
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Tom blinked his eyes blearily the next morning. Amy was not next to him in bed, and when he saw the bloody sheets, he remembered the events of the night before.
Tom got up quickly, looking about the house for Amy. He found her in the bathtub, a deathly pallor over her – a gory mess between her spread legs. She looked an inch from death, and Tom panicked. He retrieved an armful of healing potions, one by one tipping the contents into Amy’s slack mouth and down her throat. He cast every healing charm he could think of on her, and he waited.
For once in his life, Tom was worried about another person. He really didn’t know what to do. Should he take her to St. Mungo’s? They’d already lost the baby… No. They would ask too many questions. Maybe he could get help from the neighbor woman – the old muggle. But what could she do that a wizard couldn’t? Tom’s mind raced as he waited.
Tom had fallen asleep on the floor of the bathroom when he heard mournful sobs. Victor.
Tom looked at Amy, as if expecting her to address the situation in her current state. Amy was white as a ghost – as if all the blood had drained from her face. No, Tom thought.
Amy…
He pressed two fingers to Amy’s neck, looking for a pulse. Tom’s breath quickened when not only did he fail to find one, but she was cold to the touch.
No…
In a final desperate attempt, Tom cast Hominem Revelio. Nothing happened. Tom hung his head. Amy was gone. He had killed her.
He hadn’t meant to kill her.
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Tom had never been the nurturing sort. He cast a sleeping charm on Victor to stop the wailing while he figured out what to do.
Amy was dead. There was no use in crying over spilled milk. Amy had been weak, and she’d paid the price. Much like his mother. No – exactly like his mother. He’d known she’d never be a proper witch. Now, to tie up the loose ends.
It was simple enough for Tom to transfigure Amy into a trinket, which he placed on a shelf. Within moments, all traces of blood were gone from the bathroom and bedroom.
He flooed Malfoy Manor.
“Abraxas.”
Abraxas looked disheveled, obviously having just woken up. “How can I be of service, my lord?”
“I have a rather urgent matter for you to attend. I’ll be flooing over momentarily.”
Abraxas looked stunned when Tom stepped through the threshold of his fireplace holding a beautiful, black-haired boy.
“There has been a complication,” Tom said matter-of-factly.
“The girl?”
“I’ve done away with her. Filthy beast.”
Abraxas looked taken aback. He knew Tom was capable of immense cruelty but he also knew that he was rather attached to the girl. He had gone through the effort of making her a witch, after all.
He chose his words carefully. “I see. And the boy?”
“You will find a home for him. Somewhere discrete. A respectable family.”
Abraxas gasped audibly, but nodded in understanding.
“I’ll do my best, my lord,” he said, reaching out to take hold of the young one. “Dobby!”
The elf appeared with a crack, waking Victor, who began sobbing anew.
“We’ve a new guest. Fetch everything needed for a baby and ready a room without delay.”
The house elf disappeared, and when Abraxas turned back to face Tom, he found that he too was gone.
Abraxas sighed. The baby was hungry and missing his mother, who would never return. When had he become a nursenurse maid? This entire situation was completely unbecoming of a Malfoy.
Now, who did he know was too soft-hearted to turn their back on an orphaned toddler?
“Perhaps… the Potters.”