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A/N: Hey guys! I haven't updated because, while my muse is filled with inspiration for me, we're battling because she's deviating from my original idea. I didn't want to write this chapter, but she wouldn't give me ideas for anything else, so I decided to just give into her and write it. Hope you all like it, and it'll explain some of the questions posed as your reviews and PMs.

A month had passed since Hermione awoke in her bed in Riddle Manor. Those days had been spent with the Lord of the Manor, Tom Riddle himself, and had been quite informative. Apparently she was a Pureblooded distant relative of Tom whom he'd taken in after the death of the father of her child. Since for some reason he wouldn't explain—Tom couldn't have children—and since she was his only living relative, he'd named her son his heir—the Heir of Slytherin.

She knew she was young, probably around seventeen, and she didn't think she was one to sleep around—especially if she came from the prominent Granger family—so that must have meant that she was married to the father of her child. An arranged marriage perhaps?

Hermione couldn't be sure because whenever she tried to get information out of Tom he always found a way not to answer her. That in itself made her suspicious, but he was her cousin, he wouldn't be keeping any harmful secrets from her.

Tom took over her education, teaching her their family history, and how her parents hadn't known of their magical heritage or that despite the fact that they'd forgotten all about magic and wizards, they'd somehow managed to marry descendants of other prominent Wizarding Families—who had been exiled as well.

"What have you decided what to name him?" Tom asked as they sat on Hermione's bed. He'd been tutoring her on the dark arts, and was reading out of a large, ancient books when he'd put it down and tentatively reached forwards and rested his hand on her stomach, rubbing his thumb over the material of her blood-red gown.

Deacon is mine! The desperate voice, always accompanied by the face of a handsome yet agonized-looking young man with platinum blonde hair and silver eyes haunted her dreams every night.

"Deacon." She replied, smiling at him sadly. The name wouldn't have been her choice, she could tell, but she couldn't get the blonde man out of her dreams, and so she'd named her child for him. Maybe he was the father of her child? Maybe she was remembering something that had happened before his death.

"Deacon Riddle." Tom nodded, taking his hand away and continuing to read names of dark spells and potions to her and waiting for her to give him a summarized version of the ingredients needed and what they were supposed to do.

She wondered what her husband's name had been—but it was yet another thing Tom thought she didn't need to know.

There was a knock on the door.

Tom made a face, putting down the book irritably. "Come in."

Wormtail inched his long nose in slowly, looking around frantically, eyes wide. His visits to her room never seemed to end well for him. For some reason Deacon didn't like the other man, and did something to him via bouts of spontaneous magic, using Hermione as his very own magic wand.

"M-ma-ma-master?" Wormtail screeched, keeping most of his body shielded by the door.

"What do you want?" Obviously exasperated, Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Master! Please forgive me for interrupting your time with the Mistress!" Falling on his knees, Wormtail began to crawl his way rapidly towards the bed.

One might see this as Wormtail's way of showing respect to his leader, but those few whom Tom had allowed around Hermione knew the humorous truth. It was common knowledge that Wormtail was frightened of Tom, but it was even commoner knowledge that the fat, ugly man was terrified of Hermione's belly. Ever since their first meeting—when he'd suddenly acquired a large elephant trunk, a butt able to challenge JLO's, gills (he had to be immediately immersed in water to keep from dying of lack of air) and claws for hands and feet—well—he tried to avoid the pregnant woman and her belly from hell whenever possible.

Looking up frantically at Hermione's large stomach with every two steps, obviously making sure that nothing magicky was happening, ready to turn and run out of the room at the first sign of wandless magic, Wormtail looked rather ridiculous. He'd strapped a large silver tray on his back—obviously as some sort of shield, and he was wearing some sort of helmet—also made from silver.

With so much silver you'd think he thinks Deacon is a werewolf.

She paused as that hit her hard. Somehow she knew a werewolf—she'd gotten that nostalgic feeling when she'd thought the word.

Her heart clenched.

Was the father of her baby a werewolf?

Was that why Tom didn't want to tell her about him and was glad that the complex spell he'd had used to bring her from where she was being held prisoner had left her with amnesia?

"What do you want?" Tom hissed, and not for the first time Hermione sensed something dark within her cousin.

Wormtail gave a little squeal, freezing in mid-crawl—-literally.

"Deacon!" Hermione scolded, placing her hand on her stomach, reproaching her son. She'd been so sure he'd behave himself this time. "Unfreeze him this instance!"

Tom raised an amused eyebrow, placing his hand over the one Hermione had on her belly, feeling her skin tingling from the residue of magic. "I'm going to enjoy raising this boy."

"Don't you think he might have had something important to say?" Hermione asked, motioning with her chin towards Wormtail, who'd been frozen in mid-crawl, eyes wide, mouth open, showing some missing and/or rotten teeth.

"It's Wormtail." Tom drawled, as if that in itself should answer her question.

She giggled and he curled his fingers around hers, pressing down softly on her stomach.

There was another knock.

Tom growled and his eyes flashed…crimson?…as he turned to it. "What?"

It squeaked open and a dark haired woman entered. She would have been beautiful if it weren't for the scar that looked relatively fresh, which ran from the bottom of her left eye to her chin—as if she'd been sliced.

"My Lord, My Lady." She curtsied. "Snape is here to see you My Lord."

"What is he doing here?" Tom jolted up, something like worry crossing his eyes. "Where is he?"

"Coming this way." There was something in the way that Bellatrix said that that bothered Hermione, as if she and Tom were having a silent conversation and leaving her in the dark.

Tom nodded to her. "Keep Hermione company until I come."

Once again it was as if they were saying something that only they understood.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure." Bellatrix nodded and Tom strode out of the room (but not before kicking at the frozen Wormtail, who fell over at the blow)—the sound of the door locking causing Hermione to narrow her eyes.

Who was this Snape? The name sounded familiar.

The moment Tom's footsteps couldn't be heard anymore, Bellatrix's face changed from carefully neutral to a large, maniacal smile as she threw herself down on the bed next to Hermione, propping her chin up, sly expression in her smile and eyes. "So?"

Hermione blushed. "I'm pregnant for crying out loud Bellatrix!"

The dark haired woman pouted. It was as if whenever Tom wasn't around she was a completely different, juvenile person. She acted as if her youth had been taken from her, and she was now trying to live it with Hermione as much as possible. "But he's great in bed."

"Not something I need to know." Hermione complained.

Worry crossed those eyes. "Don't you think he's handsome?"

"Of course." Anyone who said he wasn't was either blind or lying.

"And he has such a great body, don't you think?" Bellatrix grinned toothily, obviously relieved at Hermione's confirmation that he was handsome.

"I haven't been checking him out so I wouldn't know." Hermione muttered through clenched teeth.

"Why not?" Bellatrix asked, eyes wide.

"I'm pregnant!" The brunette cried out, pointing agitatedly at her stomach.

"And I'm married." Bellatrix said in a 'what-the-hell-does-that-have-to-do-with-anything' sound in her voice.

"He's my cousin."

"Distant. Only through the two children Salazaar Slytherin had by two different women. So, you see, technically you're barely related at all." Bellatrix waved that off. "He's making your child his heir anyway—why not just make it official? Give your baby a father."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "My baby has a father."

"Had a father."

Hermione's heart stopped. This was it—the confirmation no one wanted to give her.

The father of her baby was dead.

Even though she couldn't remember this nameless man who'd fathered the mischievous child she would have in a month, Hermione couldn't help but picture him as the silver-eyed blonde in her dreams—and her heart clenched painfully at the thought that he was dead. She'd loved him. Even if she couldn't remember him, she remembered that she'd loved him.

"Why don't we cut off some of his warts or something?" Bellatrix asked excitedly.

"Huh?" Hermione cried out, looking at her in horror. "Whose?"

"Wormtail's." Bellatrix was practically bouncing on the bed at the idea. "He's frozen—he won't mind—until he unfreezes of course." Seeing the look Hermione was giving her, Bellatrix winced. "But-…" That look intensified, as did Bellatrix's wince. "Not even one wart? Come on! We'd be doing him a favor! Might even get him laid-." She sneered as she looked over at the frozen—turned-over man. "Okay, maybe not. But he'll still look better!"

Hermione tried valiantly to keep from laughing at the whiny-sound in the elder woman's voice as she pleaded to be able to cut off at least one of Wormtail's many warts.

"You're no fun." Bellatrix complained in a very dramatic way, covering her eyes with the back of her hand. "No wonder the babe has to pick on Wormtail. Someone has to balance out your niceness." She suddenly was serious as she frowned in concern at Hermione. "It's not healthy to be so happy and nice all the time you know. Maybe you should ask the Lord to send for the Medi-witch to check you out—it could be due to a chemical imbalance in your body."

She couldn't help it. The sincere worry in Bellatrix's voice at how happy and nice she was caused her to let loose the laughter she'd been trying to keep in.

And that was how Tom found them when he entered.

Hearing a voice clearing behind her, Bellatrix suddenly jumped off of the bed, pale in terror. "My Lord! I didn't hear you return!"

"I assumed as much." Tom announced neutrally. "You can leave now."

"Yes my Lord!" Bowing to him, Bellatrix did the same to Hermione before hurrying to the door.

"And take Wormtail with you."

"Yes my Lord!" Using Levicorpus, Bellatrix levitated Wormtail out of the room with her, closing the door behind her.

Tom turned to Hermione. "I'll have her punished immediately."

"What?" All laughter died from Hermione, her eyes widening. "Why?"

"For over-stepping her boundaries and acting like your equal." His neutrality while saying this was slightly chilling.

"No!" Hermione reached over and grabbed his hand—the first time she'd touched him—and noted his cheeks faintly…flushing? "Please, I, I enjoy her visits. Ever since the Medi-witch told me I should stay in bed due to my pregnancy I've been bored and she's entertaining."

"So you find my company boring."

"No!" Groaning at how she could get herself into these situations, Hermione tugged on his hand, and he nodded, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I really enjoy our time together—even the times when you're just teaching me, you know? You're amazingly intelligent, and although I don't remember anything of my past, I get the feeling that I was missing out on a lot of intelligent conversations."

He smirked as if he knew something she didn't and wouldn't comment.

"All I'm saying is that there as some things that only a woman can talk to another woman about." She lowered her gaze and let go of his hand. "So, please don't punish Bellatrix."

There was silence before he nodded. "I won't punish her, this time."

"Thank you Tom!" She smiled up at him brightly.

He looked at her before clearing his throat and going to sit in his chair once more, picking up the book and beginning to read to her again, this time placing his hand on her stomach and leaving it there.

Hermione leaned back, closed her eyes, and concentrated on answering his questions correctly.

Neither realizing that Bellatrix had her ear pressed to the door, a frozen Wormtail still levitating behind her and small, touched expression on her face, not for the first time understanding why those few who knew Hermione Granger here in the Manor adored her.

They were all in their last months of pregnancy.

Well, not all of them.

Millicent Bulstrode and Susan Bones had both lost their babies in the first couple of months, and the depression and pain they'd gone through had caused both the Slytherin girl and Gryffindor girl (who'd attended therapy together) to form a close friendship—as did Neville and Susan's 'partner' Collin.

So, other than the fore mentioned, every girl who'd entered the project were in their last months of pregnancy.

Some couples had split up because they couldn't deal with 'real life' as Snape had told them, and he'd flunked them quite happily…well…as happily as Snape could.

People snickered on how a month had progressed so quickly, and how Goyle and Goylette were the 'old married couple' of the group. Goyle proved he could endure torture, name-calling, and thanks to the fact that Goylette liked to throw things at him when she was in her numerous fits (be it hexes or hard blunt objects), he'd improved his reflexes incredibly.

Goylette seemed to thrive on making Goyle miserable (something she never quite achieved) but if someone said something about him she was the first to shoot a hex at them and then blame her actions on hormones whenever the professors tried to scold her.

It didn't surprise anyone how well Potter and his blonde 'wife' were getting along. Those two had gotten along smashingly from the beginning, so when Brown went into premature labor during her seventh month no one had been surprised to see Potter in the labor room with her, or walking a hole in the floor out in the waiting room when he'd been kicked out of the delivery room.

The child had been born and placed in a special unit of the Hospital Wing. It was incredible that a virtual baby could look so real…and so much like its mother. Potter and Brown spent all their free-time in the Hospital Wing by the incubator that held their fragile child and kept it alive.

What did surprise the whole school was the Weasley-Parkinson alliance.

It wasn't a secret that that marriage had seemed doomed from the beginning. Parkinson was left taking care of the pregnancy from the start since Weasley was too busy trying to make Potter and Brown's lives impossible, but the day Hermione disappeared, something seemed to change, and from the next day everyone noticed the change in Weasley.

For one, that next day he'd gone to sit in the Slytherin table next to Parkinson, and although they almost immediately began to argue loudly on whether she was eating enough and whether he had the right to suddenly demand anything of her—the undercurrent of the fact that Weasley was finally taking an active interest in this 'relationship' left everyone surprised—and Brown looked more than a little jealous once in a while.

And that was only the beginning. From that day forth Parkinson seemed only able to get away from Weasley when she retreated to the Girl's Bathroom—and once—when Weasley had been waiting for her outside and heard a girl screaming—he'd rushed right in…and been clobbered by a million girls throwing him right back out.

Draco really couldn't care less about all this, But Zabini found it all amusing and made it his duty to keep the blonde informed on all that was happening in the castle.

Draco shook his head. He didn't care about anyone else's problems, he had his own. Hermione was alive, he knew it, Dumbledore knew it, Snape knew it. Because the Parvulus Formator needed the blood of both parents, Draco was connected to Hermione. He could feel her, and he was relieved that he felt that both she and their child were okay.

The blonde spent all of his free time with Snape, and they'd discovered that the spell used on Hermione was an ancient transportation spell last used in the Dark Ages. It had a dual effect. Not only did it transport the person to a specific place, but it also had the effect that if the person was with child—child would be aborted if it were mudblood. It'd been a violent spell used by the Purebloods to keep the mudblood population under control.

Draco gnashed his teeth, thanking all holy that his child was a half-blood thanks to Hermione. If not—then he would have been killed the moment that spell hit her.

Hearing a plop he looked up in time to see Snape arriving from his impromptu visit to the Dark Lord. "So?"

Snape brushed off his robes, mumbling something to himself before looking up with a sigh. "He intercepted me before I could reach the room. Black warned him."

"Black?" Draco made a face.

"Bellatrix." Snape replied.

"My aunt going by her maiden name now?" Draco asked.

"Yes." The Potions Master nodded, frown growing. "I sensed great power in that room, Draco. And the Dark Lord looked uncomfortable when he met me half-way, steering me away right away, as if trying to hide something from me."

"Or someone." Draco growled, clenching his fists as he remembered the conversation Snape had had with a drunken member of the servants of Riddle Manor. He'd let it slip how the Manor was so much nicer now that the "Mistress" was there, and while that in itself had rung warning bells in Snape's head, it was the servant's speaking of the Mistress' 'delicate pregnancy' that sealed the deal.

"He's keeping her in the Manor." Snape nodded, with a disdained sigh. "What I don't understand is why he's keeping this information from Lucius and I."

They continued speaking for half an hour, sitting, waiting, getting nervous though neither would admit it.

Why hadn't Blaise returned as yet?

Had he been discovered in Riddle Manor?

There was another plop, and Blaise Zabini appeared before them, pulling off the invisibility cloak they'd stolen from Potter. "I saw her."

Draco and Snape both stood up.

"He has her in the bedroom next to his." Zabini replied as he went to sit next to them with a tiredness that worried them. "She's bedridden, looks like the spell he used weakened her, and the medi-witch he had taking care of her ordered her to bed."

"How is she?" Draco asked, leaning towards Zabini. "Other than being weak is she okay? Does she look sick? Is he mistreating her?"

Zabini hesitated and wouldn't meet Draco's eyes.

Neither were a good sign.

"Spit it out man!" Snape exploded in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

Zabini winced. "He—uh—The Dark Lord is treating her—um—great." He cleared his throat nervously. "He's, very, uh, touchy-feely."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean touchy-feely?"

Zabini seemed to realize that the only way to say this was straight-forwards. "Dude. The guy was touching her stomach, hands, face, wherever-over and over again, and your aunt? I heard her trying to get Hermione to sleep with him."

"WHAT?" Draco shot up, a couple of mirrors and glass objects breaking around him.

"Talk about betrayal in the family." Snape smirked, then got serious at the seething look the younger man was giving him.

"There's something else man." Zabini mumbled, obviously not wanting to say this.

"What else could there be?" Draco growled.

Zabini began counting off on his fingers what he'd discovered on his mission. "He's named your son his heir, your woman his Mistress, and from something I overheard, I'm guessing he told her you were dead."

Draco collapsed into the sofa once more, eyes wide and emotionless. "The bastard…"

"We have to tell Dumbledore about this." Snape reluctantly said, getting up.

Draco and Zabini reluctantly agreed, getting up and heading with him towards the Headmaster's office.

I tried to implement some comedy back in the story. How about it? You gonna give me a review? PWEASE?