Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextIt felt strange, going to see Madam Pomfrey with Malfoy.
Harry wasn't sure why, exactly, but there was something unsettling about his presence. Maybe it was the absolute silence, or the fact that they were alone, walking through Hogwarts' empty corridors on a grey Wednesday morning. Harry was missing Herbology, Malfoy was missing Charms. They hadn't said a single word on the way, but the discomfort sat between them like an itch under the skin.
Harry's stomach still churned, even though it was empty. The constant nausea was accompanied by a bone-deep fatigue that made him feel feverish, his skin hypersensitive to the brush of his clothes and the pale light filtering through the windows.
When they arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey greeted them with a warm smile, but Harry only managed a short nod in response. His muscles were tense. He sat on one of the beds as instructed, trying to keep a steady posture even though his eyelids felt heavy. Malfoy stayed standing, arms crossed, expressionless as ever. But Harry could feel his gaze on his back, and that made everything even harder to bear.
Then, a blonde woman appeared. Her hair was darker than Luna's, but something about her face reminded Harry of Ginny, and that made his stomach twist even tighter.
"Good morning, gentlemen. I'm a St. Mungo's obstetric healer, Healer Hawthorne. Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey contacted me directly so I can oversee your case."
She spoke in a calm, professional tone, as if she didn't know, or was purposefully ignoring, the weight of the names sitting before her.
"I've signed the confidentiality agreement prepared by Hogwarts' representatives and the one prepared by your lawyers, Mr. Malfoy," she added, and Harry turned to find Malfoy already nodding. His face was still expressionless, but something about his jaw looked more tense than usual.
"From what I've been told, the decision was to move forward with the pregnancy, correct?"
Harry nodded. His throat was too dry to attempt any words. Part of him wished Malfoy had answered for him, just so he wouldn't have to hear himself say it out loud.
"For every appointment we need, I'll come here. But once the pregnancy is further along, you'll both need to come to St. Mungo's, alright?"
Another nod. Another stretch of uncomfortable silence. Harry couldn't tell if the sweat on his palms was from the fever, the nerves, or just Malfoy's constant presence.
"Lie back, please."
He obeyed. Fingers cold against the bedsheet. His stomach still somewhat clenched. His heart racing far too fast for the situation. When the wand was pointed at him, Harry tensed instinctively.
"You're in your seventh week of pregnancy," the healer said, studying the images her spell projected. "Your baby is exactly one centimeter long."
Harry looked at his own fingers, trying to picture it. So small. So fragile. And yet, it already felt like his whole world revolved around that one centimeter.
"You, Mr. Potter, should start to notice changes in your belly over the next two weeks, though they won't be visible just yet."
The healer lowered her wand. Harry took a deep breath, trying to process the information. There was something growing inside him. Something real. Something that had a measurable size. One centimeter. And this was just the beginning.
"Madam Pomfrey shared your medical records with me so far, Mr. Potter. And I noticed the severe malnutrition until you were eleven years old, as well as the fact that you haven't been eating properly since the beginning of the year."
She sighed.
Harry felt his face heat up, not from the fever, but from shame, rising up his neck like it meant to choke him. It was part of him, he knew. The miserable childhood, the stolen or denied meals, the cupboard under the stairs. It was the kind of thing he'd learned to swallow in silence. But hearing it out loud in front of Malfoy?
It hurt.
Not the physical kind of hurt, something deeper. A discomfort that nestled in his chest like a knot caught between stomach and throat. It felt like being stripped bare. It exposed something he would never have willingly shared. And for a second, Harry almost cried.
The urge hit hard, so suddenly he held his breath, as if that might force the emotion back down. But it was too late. His chest was heavy, his eyes burned. And it wasn't just shame. It was fear. It was guilt.
Because it wasn't just about him anymore.
It was about the baby. About the body carrying another life and how, because of his own neglect, he might already be failing it. It wasn't just his health on the line now. It was someone else's, someone he hadn't even met, but already felt a rising panic about harming.
"You'll need to start taking vitamin supplements, vitamin D and iron in these first weeks. I know it's difficult, but a snack every two to three hours would help, something small, for your baby's health and your own."
Harry nodded, swallowing hard. His throat felt like glass.
The urge to cry twisted into something else, anger. Anger at himself. For being so pathetic. For nearly crying in front of Malfoy. For being this kind of person: broken, useless, incapable of taking care of himself, let alone someone else.
He clenched his fists tightly against the blanket on the bed, not even realizing it.
Hate. That was almost what he felt. Not for Malfoy, not for the healer, for himself. For letting things get to this point. For maybe already ruining something before it had even begun.
"Final recommendation for today's visit would be for you to seek psychological support," the healer said. "If we continue down this path, the risk of baby blues later on is quite high."
She offered a small smile, as if trying to comfort him.
Harry didn't know how to react. Everything kept coming in waves, the feeling of being vulnerable, the shame of having his body examined like a broken object, the fear that he was already doing everything wrong before even starting.
"Any questions?"
Harry stayed silent. For a moment, the only sound was the faint magical hum of the sealed windows.
The healer's words, "malnutrition," " baby blues," "one centimeter", echoed in his head. He wasn't sure how he felt. Scared, maybe. Tired. A little nauseous. Malfoy was still standing across from him, arms tightly crossed, brow furrowed in a calculated way, like he was solving a particularly difficult equation.
"These supplements," Malfoy began, his voice lower than usual, though still crisp, "will they interfere with regular potions? With the meals served at the castle?"
The healer looked up from her notes and replied with calm patience. "They shouldn't, but I can coordinate with Madam Pomfrey to make sure there are no interactions. I can also adjust the timing if you're on any stabilizing potions here at Hogwarts."
Malfoy nodded slowly, eyes still locked on her.
"And about St. Mungo's, how often will we need to go? Is there any risk associated with travel? If so, I'll arrange for private transport with appropriate protections."
Harry turned his face slightly, looking at him from the side. The way Malfoy spoke, as if Harry were made of glass, as if everything had to be meticulously planned to avoid the slightest crack, was unsettling. The care, the precision, even the way he positioned himself between the problem and the solution… it was too much. Almost painful.
A part of him felt grateful, in silence. He wanted that care, craved it as if it were something he had never had. But the other part felt angry. Angry for being in such a fragile position, for needing someone like Malfoy. Angry at Malfoy for seeming so in control of everything, so stable, so functional, and especially, for being decent, when all Harry had ever known from him was confrontation.
And even more, angry at himself, for wanting to cry because of it.
"Only in the final weeks, for the more specific exams and the final check-ups before birth," the healer replied, smiling lightly. "You will be informed in advance."
Malfoy nodded again, and this time looked directly at Harry, just for a second. There was something in his gaze that wasn't judgment, nor coldness, maybe a frustrated attempt to understand everything logically, to hold onto what he could control.
Harry quickly looked away, his eyes burning with a sudden urge to cry, not out of sadness, but from a heavy frustration that mixed shame, helplessness, and resentment. It was unbearable how that moment was becoming so intimate. And the worst part was that he didn't know whether he wanted to run away or hide behind Malfoy. That disgusted him.
"Are you going to do that psychological follow-up?" Malfoy asked, and it was impossible to tell whether there was criticism or just concern in his voice.
"I don't know yet," Harry murmured, uncertain. "I think so."
Malfoy stared at him for another second, as if he wanted to say something else, but swallowed hard.
"That would be good," he said simply, turning back to the healer. "Will you be sending reports to the Headmistress?"
"Yes, but only about what's necessary for the student's safety. The pregnancy is a private matter. No intimate medical detail will be shared without consent."
Malfoy relaxed just a little at that response and let out a silent sigh. The kind of sigh of someone who, silently, was creating a mental list of everything that needed to be reviewed.
Harry wasn't sure if that was irritating or comforting. Maybe both. And that ambiguity gnawed at him. He felt ridiculous for not being able to just say thank you and accept it. But how could he accept it coming from Malfoy? How could he trust someone he had spent years hating?
As the healer was starting to put her wand away, Malfoy stepped forward, still with his arms crossed, but his jaw tense. He hesitated for a second, as if the question was forming with more care than he would have liked to admit.
"Is there anything I can do to help with the discomfort?" his voice came out low, but direct. "I don't mean potions, necessarily. But, well, considering it's a magical pregnancy."
Harry held his breath for a second. That caught him off guard. The question, so genuine, so practical, sent a sharp pang through his chest. It was uncomfortable, not because of the intention itself, but because of what it revealed. Malfoy was really trying. Trying to understand. To help. To care.
And Harry hated it. Hated it because a part of him wanted to allow himself to be cared for. And hated Malfoy for triggering that impulse in him.
The woman raised her eyebrows, looking surprised, not by the question itself, but probably because it had come from a Malfoy. Then she smiled, more gently.
"Actually, yes." She stepped closer to the bed and glanced briefly at Harry, as if asking for permission to continue. Harry said nothing, but he didn't object either, so she went on.
"In magical pregnancies, the bond between the parents directly influences the magical stability of the baby. This is especially true when the body carrying the pregnancy belongs to a wizard with a history of emotional or physical instability, as is your case, Mr. Potter."
Harry swallowed hard, looking away again, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the blanket. Every word felt like a needle pricking his skin. "History of emotional or physical instability." Of course. That's what he was, unstable. A freak.
And now, it wasn't just himself he was putting at risk. It was the baby too.
Part of him wanted to get up, run away, disappear. The other just wanted to lie down and cry until he fell asleep. But on the outside, all he did was keep his hands clenched in his lap, fingers white from the tension.
"So if you maintain some kind of regular proximity, even if minimal, like occasional physical contact, sharing the same space during stressful moments, or even using magical anchoring charms with consent, it can help ease some symptoms. Nausea, fatigue, irritability."
Being in the same space during stressful moments, fuck, that was what caused the stress in the first place.
"Are you saying I'm some kind of sedative?" Malfoy asked, frowning slightly, clearly processing that.
Harry felt like laughing, a dry, stifled, desperate laugh. A sedative? Malfoy caused everything except calm. But now it seemed his body disagreed. The baby too. And that only made him even more confused. More irritated.
"More like a magical flow stabilizer. The fetus can sense the other parent's presence. Especially when there's shared magic. That can be comforting. But it's not mandatory."
Malfoy just nodded, his eyes now fixed on Harry, who was still staring at his hands in his lap, trying to control his breathing. A knot formed in his throat, thick and suffocating. The mix of humiliation, confusion, anger, and, damn, gratitude was too much.
"All right," he said with a small nod.
"Mr. Potter?" she asked, waiting for any questions, but there was too much in his head to form anything. "Don't worry, that's normal. If you want, you can ask me or Madam Pomfrey when you come back in two weeks," she added with a small smile.
"Healer Hawthorne will return in two weeks, but I want to do a check-up on you next week," Madam Pomfrey said, and Harry nodded, sitting up on the bed. "I'll fetch the potions," she said, leaving with the healer, and Harry sighed, feeling tired.
Harry shrank into his coat when a bit of wind entered the room, his eyes automatically drawn to the snow falling outside the castle. A wave of warmth washed over him, and he recognized the familiar feeling of a warming charm. The magic was different from his, warm and soft, and it made him shiver, not from the cold, but from relief, as if a layer of nausea had slipped out of his body with the last gust of cold air.
He looked at Malfoy in the same instant and saw he was being watched, which made him want to look away, but his pride was stronger than that.
"Thanks," he muttered, but the ice-blue eyes were too disconcerting, and Harry found himself staring at the worn-out sneakers on his feet.
He hated it.
Hated feeling like that, so exposed, so small. Hated that Malfoy was being careful when it had been easier back when he was just an arrogant prick. It was easier when he could hat
Now, the gratitude felt like a stone stuck in his throat. He felt angry for being vulnerable, angry for being cared for, angry at himself for not knowing what to do with any of it.
And worst of all, there was a thin thread of comfort in his presence. Not because he trusted Malfoy, he was far from that, but because there was something about the way he behaved that resembled order. Structure. Like he could somehow hold the world together if everything collapsed.
"Have you always been like this?" Harry asked quietly.
"Like what?" Malfoy asked, and his voice was neutral, almost careful.
"The type who plans everything. Calculates the risks. Tries to keep everything under control." Harry finally looked up, a crease of exhaustion between his brows. "Even my discomfort, Malfoy."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Malfoy replied, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed again.
"Maybe it is," Harry answered. "Or maybe I just don't know how to deal with it."
A silence followed, heavy with everything neither of them knew how to put into words. Then Malfoy said, "I don't know how to deal with this either."
The raw sincerity in his voice caught Harry off guard. And for a second, just one, he felt they were, in some strange way, in the same place.
"At least we're tied on that," Harry said with a short, humorless laugh.
"I wasn't like this before," Malfoy said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, and Harry looked back at him. "I became like this after he turned my house into a headquarters," he explained.
Harry blinked. That was unexpected. It couldn't be ignored. Malfoy was giving him a piece of himself, a memory he probably hadn't voiced aloud to almost anyone. A solid weight, pulled from the past. And offered to him.
Harry realized Malfoy was truly trying. Not in the way he'd expected, of course, Malfoy wasn't kind or comforting. But he was present. He was there, offering answers instead of accusations. And that, as absurd as it seemed, meant something.
"I didn't feel this cold before the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry confessed in a thread of voice, looking back down at his feet. "Something happened after the Forest."
He shrugged like it didn't matter, but it did. None of it was irrelevant. He heard a faint chuckle beside him and turned to Malfoy.
"You died there, Potter. Died and came back to life. It's amazing that that's the only side effect," he said, and Harry couldn't ignore the slight admiration in his voice.
The sentence caught him off guard. Somehow, it hit two sensitive spots at once, what he had endured, and what almost no one ever said out loud.
And hearing it from Malfoy was... too much.
Harry swallowed hard.
"Well, we both survived Voldemort," he muttered, forcing a casual tone, trying to hide the sudden tightness in his chest. "I think we can do this."
He saw the subtle flinch in the other's body at the name. And even though a part of him wanted to provoke him like he always did, he just couldn't.
The truth was that he was tired. And somehow, Malfoy seemed to be too.
Harry lowered his gaze, feelings tangling again.
There was anger, yes. For being there, for not having answers, for feeling grateful to someone he had learned to hate for so long.
There was anger at himself too, for not being able to keep up the shield he wore so easily with everyone else.
And there was discomfort. Malfoy was being kind, in his own crooked way, and that made everything harder, because it meant Harry had to decide what to do with it.
It meant that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone in this.
Madam Pomfrey returned, alone this time, holding a single vial in her hands.
Before Harry could organize a single thought, he felt another warming charm spread across his back. He didn't need to ask where it came from. He smiled internally, discreetly, almost against his will.
Yeah. Maybe this wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.
Notes:So guys, in my beautiful country, Brazil, it doesn't snow, even though I live in the south and freezing temperatures are not uncommon, I'm purposely avoiding writing snow interactions. Even though I do know snow well, I lived in Canada for six months, I just don't want to risk messing it up.
Also, I've been updating every day, but my college classes start again tomorrow, so the frequency might drop a bit. Still, I'll try to keep it up as much as I can.
Oh, and thank you for all the comments, they've really helped me feel more confident about writing in English