Borka Drops the Ball*

[Moirah Kvalheim]

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<FONT font="Times New Roman">What a wonderful four months it had been! If Moirah had any basis for comparison, she would have likened her fling with the handsome Russian to Disney's Aladdin. They'd certainly zoomed off romantically into the sunset enough times, and he'd even floated beneath her balcony to give her a kiss after he'd dropped her off at the castle one night. Borka was the sweetest, gentlest, most attentive partner she'd ever had (and frankly the only partner she'd ever had), so the young Danish woman was living it up, even as she thumbed her nose at her mother's influence and snuck out without a trace of guilt.

Things were less comfortable in the third month of their dating when she'd been plagued with headaches, nausea and persistent irritability. She absolutely refused to let Borka fly her anywhere, which left them trying to Floo one another in secret and getting absolutely nowhere with regards to all the sightseeing Borka still wanted to do. It only occurred to her after her maid inquired very delicately whether or not she needed more 'sanitary pads' that she hadn't required them this month. So distracted had the young woman been that she'd paid no attention to her body's cycles, but now ... well, now she was livid at the implications.
Moirah stormed out of her room, thundered down the halls, blasted through the doors, crashed down the driveway and raged all the way to the nearest town to buy a pregnancy test. Her scream of fury from the public bathroom was legendary in the coming weeks.

That evening, after Moirah had calmed down and her emotions had passed from apoplectic to merely tumultuous, she recognised that these circumstances were a combined effort and that she had no right to focus her (tremendous amount of) ire onto Borka, who'd been nothing but a gentlemen from the beginning. That didn't stop her from surging up like a tempest when a gentle knock came from her balcony window and forging over with her handbag to whack the man as hard as she could with it. It literally bounced off of his chest, and she stumbled as gracefully as one could after failing an offensive strike. Moirah had all the strength of a cream puff.
"Borka!" she cried accusatorially. "Look what you've done!" Well, she'd meant to say 'Oh dear, it seems we are expecting', but she couldn't take full responsibility for her actions right now.​

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[Borka Khamidouline]

Three months after the meet up with the Danish princess, so to speak, Borka Khamidouline might as well be glowing with happiness. Everything about life was perfect. The broom manufacturing went up in sales, which meant more hours for him. Overtime was a little more than necessary but the extra galleons was worth it. After working the night before, Borka had enough sleep to go visit the one that he cherished. His father approved of the way he spoke of her which sounded no less than a goddess so who would say no to someone that was described as that. Borka knew that it was time to meet with the sweet girl once more, and flew over to the castle, which took a while, but not too long since he was very fast on his broom. He landed on the balcony and knocked on the door. He had the biggest smile in the world on his lips, which only twisted in confusion as Moirah came out and hit him in the chest with a handbag. He rubbed where it hit, which didn’t even leave a mark on his burgundy, button up shirt. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. What was she talking about?

“Um, what did I do? Did I wear the wrong color?” Borka looked over his outfit which was fancy enough. Button up shirt and dress pants with a black cloak over his broad shoulders. Surely, he was suitable? He looked over Moirah and could see that she was very upset about something. He just could not figure out what it was. He did not cheat. He would have remembered that. He didn’t wake up everyone in her home with his entrance. He ruled out everything he could, which he didn’t even think about pregnancy. It did not even cross his mind in the slightest. He might have been tall, broad and handsome, but he did lack in some of the common sense department. It was not something that he was born with. He barely passed his OWLs and NEWTs. Manual labor was something more suited for him than logical and analytic careers.​

 

[Moirah Kvalheim]

Hormonal as all hell, Moirah burst into angry tears and threw herself into Borka's arms. She made sure to whap at him with her palm every so often, just in case he'd already decided he was not the cause of her ire. Eventually she fished out a handkerchief and dabbed delicately at her eyes, then at Borka's wetted shirt.
"No, it is not the colour. You look very handsome," she told him as she eyed him critically. "Ah! That is not the point. Stop distracting me with your good looks. I am very angry with you." Then she was in floods of tears again, which was absolutely mortifying. Moirah had never cried in front of Borka and she'd not had any plans to start, but pregnancy had thwarted those plans very nicely.
"You ... we ..." The Danish woman closed her eyes, took a deep breath in (consequently drawing in her boyfriend's scent and restoring her poise) and gathered her wits. "I am with child." There. She'd said it. Moirah considered that, although sweet, Borka was not always quick on the uptake, so she ended up sighing and clarifying in Russian. "I am pregnant."

Moirah really needed to sit down. It was just her luck to get 'knocked up' before she'd even turned twenty. They'd been so happy- having dinner together, following Borka on mad escapades to see cultural sites that no one ever went to except him, Moirah dragging him shopping and giving him little kisses between stores so that he wouldn't mind carrying her bags, having coffee by the seaside ... It had been the best Summer of her entire life. Until now.
She busied herself with setting out unnecessary teacups while she considered what next to say to him. Obviously they had to do something about this- it would be one cold day in hell before she raised a baby in this abhorrent monstrosity of a castle (or anywhere, for that matter). Surely Borka would understand that. What sort of man wanted a child with a woman they'd met three months ago?
Moirah clutched at her empty teacup with her nails and completely forgot to ring the bell for hot water. She looked very small, sitting alone on the chaise lounge, and her consistently elegant composure was shattered. She was terrified.
"You must take me to have it removed," said Moirah, staring fixedly at a piece of fluff on the carpet. "I cannot possibly raise a child." If her Mother got wind of what they'd done ... She shuddered.​