Harry had been feeling a little more energetic that week, which was good, considering he was at the Burrow at the moment, with Teddy in his arms. The little boy grabbed onto his hoodie with one of his chubby hands and didn't let go, whining every time anyone tried to take him from Harry's lap.
The light weight on his lap felt like it anchored him back to earth. The warmth of the small body nestled against his chest made his chest feel strange, a soft tightness, as if it had grown inside. Sometimes, without warning, his throat would tighten just from seeing the baby breathing peacefully against his shoulder.
He alternated between placing kisses on the chubby face and smelling the blue hair, taking in that baby scent. Harry didn't think he could love anyone in the world as much as he loved that little nine-month-old boy, it didn't seem possible to hold that much love inside.
It was almost ridiculous how much he needed that contact. He didn't need to say anything, just keep Teddy close, feel his little fingers gripping his hoodie, the warm sigh against his neck. He felt a warmth in his belly that had nothing to do with the pregnancy.
It made him think about his own baby, all the time, really. When he changed Teddy's diaper, he thought about what it would be like with his own child; when his godson cried, or fussed, or smiled at him, his hair shifting colors to match Harry's.
Sometimes he caught himself laughing alone at a silly noise Teddy made. Or with a lump in his throat when the boy giggled with his head resting against his arm. As if that sound filled some old crack in the silence. A part of him, broken a long time ago, seemed to want to glue itself whole again, just to hold Teddy better.
Would the love he felt for Teddy fade? Was it possible to love someone more than he loved him?
The baby's attachment to him got him brought along to Grimmauld Place. The place was well kept, he had told Kreacher he'd be coming home, so the elf must have tidied up.
The little boy in his arms laughed to himself, and Harry kissed his cheek, enchanted.
He couldn't help the smile that slipped out, automatic, as if Teddy's joy had its own kind of spell. Something light, warm, alive. Something that pulled him out of himself when his head started getting too heavy.
"Is the little man hungry?" he asked the child, adjusting him in his arms. "How about a bottle?" he offered, and the boy clapped his hands, or at least Harry thought that was what he tried to do.
He placed Teddy on the floor, who protested before Harry grabbed his wand and cast a Patronus, and then a shout and loud laughter filled the house, the baby crawling after the glowing stag.
Harry grabbed the milk Andromeda had packed with Teddy's things when she dropped him off, and went to prepare it. He warmed the water, testing the temperature on the back of his hand before adding what was needed and mixing.
Teddy was once again in his arms, the Patronus now gone, and the boy was holding the bottle with both hands, his eyes beginning to close, when the house wards reacted.
Harry frowned. He had removed the Fidelius Charm from the house, but most of the privacy spells and wards remained.
He reached for his wand quickly and went to see who was at the door, frowning when he saw it was Malfoy. With a simple wave of his hand, he disabled the enchantments, walked to the front door, and opened it.
"How do you know where I live?" he asked before offering any kind of greeting.
He didn't care if Malfoy had been human with him two weeks ago and helped him when he started crying in the middle of a fucking corridor, he still didn't have the right to show up at his door the day after Christmas.
Malfoy froze when he saw him, his pale gray eyes widening just slightly. Harry frowned, then remembered Teddy in his arms. He looked down at the baby, still sucking eagerly, his tiny hand pressed against the bottle like it was his entire world, and looked back at Malfoy before stepping aside, letting him in.
"This is my godson, Teddy, son of Professor Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks," he explained, closing the door with wandless magic, walking into the house, followed by the platinum blond. "How do you know where I live?" he repeated the question, annoyed, but holding himself back for Teddy's sake.
"Tonks?" he asked, and Harry turned to look at him. The taller man's eyes were fixed on the child. "Is he Andromeda Tonks's grandson?" he asked, and then Harry remembered.
Andromeda was a Black. Narcissa was a Black. Tonks and Malfoy were cousins. Malfoy was Teddy's cousin.
He swallowed hard, nodding, looking at the little boy, who currently had dark, messy hair just like his own. He was warm against his chest, as familiar as his own breathing. It was strange to think about blood ties in that moment, nothing felt closer to him than that baby, even without sharing a single drop of blood.
"Yeah," he agreed aloud, just because it felt like he should. "My house, Malfoy, how did you find out?" he asked once more, now even more irritated.
"Pansy mentioned you inherited Grimmauld Place. I just took a chance, would've gone to the Burrow if you weren't here," he said, shrugging. Harry kept staring at him, that didn't answer a fucking thing.
"I bought a apartment in London," Malfoy said after a sigh. "I'm setting up the wards and wanted to add you to them, for the baby."
He was still looking at Teddy, his gaze fixed, strange, uncomfortable. Harry couldn't help but hold the boy tighter in his arms, protective without even realizing it. He didn't trust Malfoy. Not really. And he hated even more the way part of him wanted to trust, wanted to understand. His presence gave him chills in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't from the pregnancy.
"Lupin was my parents' best friend," Harry decided to explain. "He didn't have the chance to ask any of his own friends to be the godfather, so he asked me." He gently stroked Teddy's chubby cheek, earning a satisfied little noise from the baby, still sucking on the bottle. "He and Tonks died in the Battle of Hogwarts."
"I'm sorry."
Harry turned to look at Malfoy again, who was watching him in a strange way. That intensity was starting to feel more unsettling than it should. This wasn't just a polite visit. He was observing.
"It's okay," he said after a sigh, and chuckled when he heard a sound, the now-empty bottle had been tossed to the floor. "You're done, I get it." He laughed, adjusting Teddy in his arms, making sure not to lay him down just after feeding.
He didn't get the chance to bend down and pick up the bottle, because Malfoy did it first. Harry gave a small smile and walked toward the kitchen, knowing he was being followed, knowing his house was being examined.
He set the bottle on the counter, adjusted Teddy more comfortably, and noticed how the baby's brown eyes were fixed on Malfoy. Teddy seemed curious about the taller man. Malfoy stared back, and Teddy's hair shifted from brown to the same platinum blond as Malfoy's, letting out an amusing little sound.
Harry bit his lip. That stirred something in his chest.
"He wants you to hold him," he explained, feeling a pang of jealousy. "It's okay, his spine's strong now. You just have to be careful not to let him throw himself back and fall."
Teddy made a crying face, and Harry moved closer to Malfoy, as if instinct told him to stay nearby, to keep an eye on him. He helped him take Teddy into his arms, guiding him on the best way to hold him, and saw how the baby laughed, holding Malfoy's face with both hands.
The blond looked at him with a neutral expression, then smiled. Teddy smiled too, lying against the older man's chest, seeming to snuggle there like he had done it a thousand times before.
Harry had to look away. It was an image that was too good. Too strange. Uncomfortable in a way he didn't know how to name.
"He'll probably fall asleep. We can put him in the crib," he suggested, but Malfoy shook his head, hugging the baby.
Harry let out a quiet sigh. Of course he'd refuse. Why would he ever do anything the simple way?
But the way he held Teddy… there was care in his arms.
Maybe even tenderness.
And that was dangerous.
Harry crossed his arms, his body still sensitive, too vulnerable with everything. Malfoy's presence seemed to tug on invisible threads inside him, ones he didn't know whether to cut or follow.
"Does he have a room here?" Malfoy asked softly, and Harry nodded.
"Yes, he spent a lot of time here during my holidays, after I renovated the place. Andromeda and I took turns taking care of him," he explained calmly.
"You did a great job here, it doesn't even look like the same house," he said, looking around, and Harry raised one eyebrow at the compliment.
"I wanted to turn this into a real home, and that's what I did," he shrugged. "I thought about making the baby's room as close to mine as possible. There are two rooms, one across from the other, one is Teddy's, and I was thinking of making the other the baby's," he explained, watching Teddy begin to blink more slowly, and smiled. He'd fall asleep soon. "Wanna take a look?" he offered, and Malfoy looked down at Teddy. "You can walk with him in your arms," he rolled his eyes, and the taller man nodded.
Harry started walking, climbing the stairs slowly, glancing at the photos he had hung there, the Weasleys, Teddy, photos of the Marauders, a picture of his parents dancing, one of him with Ron and Hermione as kids and another taken after the war. His gaze lingered a little longer on the frame of newborn Teddy, his hair sticking up and blue. He felt a warmth in his chest. That alone was enough to make the bad days pass.
He walked right past his own room, showing which one would be their baby's. It was closed, a little dusty, all in Slytherin green, the curtains around the bed still heavy with time. It was one of the rooms he hadn't had time to renovate, and he knew it had belonged to Sirius' brother.
Sirius' room had become Teddy's, and the photo of him with his father, Lupin and Peter was still there, and would remain. Teddy would have access to his father as he grew, different from what Harry had. And just the thought of that made the air feel lighter. As light as the weight of the child sleeping in Malfoy's arms.
Harry pretended he wasn't looking. But he was.
Malfoy looked out of place there, in that house, but Teddy was sleeping. Really sleeping. Not just leaning in like someone resisting, but muscles relaxed, as if he already knew that lap. As if he trusted it.
And Harry was supposed to feel relieved about that. Instead, there was a tightness at the base of his throat that he had been ignoring since downstairs.
"Regulus Arcturus Black," Malfoy read the little nameplate out loud. "My mother told me about him," he said, and something inside Harry hardened, like every word was a nail scraping glass.
He wanted to destroy whatever image the woman had created of Sirius' brother, every story about the boy's loyalty to Voldemort. It was almost as if, by destroying that, by showing that the man he never met betrayed Voldemort, he was somehow defending Sirius.
It didn't make sense, he remembered Sirius speaking of his brother with a certain bitterness, but he felt a bit of empathy for anyone who went against Voldemort. Regulus died betraying the bastard, and Harry would honor him, trying to honor Sirius by doing so.
"He died fighting to destroy Voldemort," he said, entering the room without waiting for the taller one's reaction.
"I'll let you through the wards when the baby's born," he added, sighing and placing a hand over the area where he could already feel a slight bump. It was ridiculous how something so small could weigh so much. And still, every part of him screamed to protect it. To not mess this up. To get it right this time.
"I don't know how you're going to do it, Malfoy, but my child is not going into that manor." His tone came out firm. Hermione's screams echoed in his mind with a clarity he hated.
"They won't," Malfoy confirmed with a nod. "That's why the apartment," he explained, stepping a little closer. "We can connect it to the Floo Network too," and his voice dropped when Teddy stirred.
Harry watched.
The baby grumbled, nuzzled its face against Malfoy, and went back to sleep. A low sound escaped Harry's nose, almost like a forced sigh. Of course the little one was comfortable there. Of course the most precious orphaned baby in the world had to be in Malfoy's arms, completely surrendered, as if he had known that body for months. As if it wasn't the first time.
The irritation itched under his skin like an allergy. It was hormonal. Had to be hormonal.
"Andromeda's only coming to pick Teddy up tomorrow," he murmured, looking at his godson. He wanted the boy back in his own arms. To feel that warm little body again. That was all.
But Teddy was sleeping, and he wasn't clinging to Malfoy's shirt the way he did with him. That made Harry feel slightly victorious.
"We can take him, it won't take long. My parents are coming tomorrow, and I don't think you want to run into them yet," Malfoy said, and a shiver ran down Harry's body at the thought of once again facing Lucius Malfoy.
The last time he saw the man had been at the family's trial, Lucius with that same expression of a wronged martyr, as if the world owed him an apology for being born.
Harry defended Narcissa, saying she saved him. He knew she had only done it to find her son, knew that if it hadn't been for that, she would have let him die. He didn't want anything to do with the woman, she wasn't exactly trustworthy, and having a debt to her felt like a nightmare, so he paid it.
Lucius he defended almost by accident, a side effect of trying to keep Malfoy (the younger, the more tolerable) out of Azkaban. Ironic, really, the only one who actually left there with a sentence was the patriarch himself, who lost the rights to all his relics and inheritance, now under his son's name. He wasn't allowed to use magic outside the manor, and the spells inside were monitored. He had a tracked location and a 9 p.m. curfew, practically a magical babysitter.
Harry knew the man wasn't exactly the living embodiment of joy right now.
And still, Lucius owed Harry something deeper, freedom. Because if it weren't for him, he'd be in Azkaban, knee-deep in his own ego, sharing a cell with former comrades. The thought was almost therapeutic.
And the worst part? Lucius knew that. Knew it very well.
Harry had already sent him there once.
It was safe to say Lucius Malfoy wasn't exactly his biggest fan.
And honestly? Harry couldn't care less about that.
"Can he Apparate?" Malfoy asked, referring to Teddy, and Harry nodded after agreeing.
"Yeah, I just need to grab his bag, he usually gets cranky after Apparating," he replied, realizing he was still being watched, and then noticed his hand was still resting where the fetus was growing inside him. His cheeks flushed, and he pulled his hand away, glancing around, pretending to think.
"Can you feel it already?" the voice came without mockery, just genuine curiosity, and that caught him more off guard than if he had been teased.
Harry looked back into the blue-grey eyes, trying to understand what exactly Malfoy meant by that question. Was it genuine interest? Concern? An attempt to get closer?
"Sort of," he shrugged, turning his gaze to Teddy, who was still sleeping peacefully, as if the world wasn't spinning faster than usual. "I feel like something's different, it's not exactly a bump, but it feels different, I can't explain it," he sighed, frustrated, as if words were failing him.
"The kind of thing you only feel because it's your own body," Malfoy concluded, and Harry just nodded.
"Sometimes I wonder how we're going to handle it," Harry murmured, noticing that he had caught Malfoy's attention. "I mean, I know I haven't helped," he went on, feeling that familiar anxiety rising up through his ribs.
He knew that. He had probably exchanged two sentences with Malfoy since the incident in the corridor, two sentences in two weeks, and both times were related to the appointment with Healer Hawthorne.
"But fuck, you've known about this for a little over a month, I've known for almost two, and how many times have we actually talked?" he asked, running a hand through his hair, feeling nervous again, once more frustrated by the sense that he wasn't expressing himself properly.
"How are we going to do this? How am I going to do this?" he asked himself, starting to pick at his cuticle.
Without even noticing, he began to bite at it, a small, automatic gesture, almost childish. He didn't think about it. He just did it. As if his body needed something to do while his mind boiled over. As if, somehow, that stupid little sting in his fingers helped distract him from what really mattered.
"Potter, it's still something new. We've got six and a half months to work on it, okay?" Malfoy said, and Teddy stirred in his arms, not seeming too happy with the movement around him.
Shit, he hadn't thought of it that way yet. He only had six more months to get everything ready. Fuck.
Just six more months to give birth to a child.
To understand what he felt. To prepare.
To sort things out with Malfoy.
To learn not to freak out every time he felt something new inside himself.
Not to cry when he didn't know how to deal with it.
To be someone reliable.
A father.
The air began to feel scarce, making his chest heavy and his throat feel too tight. His eyes grew moist, and he hated it. He hated even more that Malfoy was there, holding Teddy with that strange yet natural care at the same time.
So different from what Harry expected.
Everything was so confusing.
So unsettling.
Because, against all odds, he liked the scene.
And that was enough to make him want to run away.
The world started to feel muffled, like when someone accidentally dives underwater and suddenly everything becomes deafeningly silent, muffled, and all you can hear is your own heartbeat.
"How am I going to do this?" he repeated in a softer voice, almost a whisper.
He felt his body heat up and then chill, a wave of warmth, then a cold dampness at the nape of his neck. He didn't know whether he wanted to cry, run, sleep for three days, or throw up. Maybe all of that at once.
His hand was on his own belly again. When had he put it there? And the weight of Malfoy's gaze on him made him want to shrink away. But at the same time, a part of him wanted to say "don't leave," he couldn't handle anyone else going away. An irrational panic of being alone lodged in his chest, suffocating, almost childlike. He hated it.
It had been a mistake. Of course it had been a mistake. The night, the pregnancy, everything. He didn't know how to be a father. Didn't know how to be a son. No reference, no structure, couldn't even eat properly without needing stupid potions, because his own body was already starting to fail him.
Fuck, he just wanted to breathe. And he couldn't. Felt like the air was slowly being sucked out of the room.
"Potter."
Something in the background. Like a memory of someone shouting his name in the middle of the war.
Where was his wand?
"Potter."
He blinked, but his vision wouldn't clear properly. It was like looking through a bottle filled with smoke.
His chest tightened, his fingers were numb. He couldn't feel his feet anymore. The room seemed both too big and too small at the same time. The walls were closing in, and the air thickened, like he was sinking. His stomach churned, and the whole world seemed to spin, why was everything spinning?
"Potter."
The third time was firmer. Closer. He thought he was going to vomit.
He felt heat on his face, his whole body trembling, the constant sensation that everything was wrong. Everything was wrong. Him. The baby. Teddy. Hogwarts. Time. The world. Nothing fit together. It was as if reality was trying to push him out, and he didn't know how to hold on to it.
Childhood pounded in his bones, aching in his back. The feeling of loneliness came back strong, even there, even with someone just a few feet away. He couldn't think straight. He only remembered being locked under the stairs, hungry, scared, hearing footsteps upstairs, hoping they weren't coming for him.
And now, for some absurd reason, he had a baby. A baby.
And a Malfoy.
And no one to tell him how to do this. No one who had stayed for him long enough.
"Harry."
The word pulled him out of the darkness like someone had turned on a light straight into his soul. And with the name came a touch. Warm. Real.
Malfoy.
Firm but gentle hands rested on his arms. And then, without asking permission, slowly pulled him close. To him. The embrace wasn't immediate, it was built, a chest pressed against his, a shoulder stroked, and then arms wrapped around his body, holding him as if he were made of glass, but glass worth protecting.
Harry rested his forehead on his shoulder.
Still trembling.
Still unsteady.
But recognized the smell, the sound of the other's breathing, the warmth. And knew he was back.
Not quite. Not whole. But back.
The air entered his lungs with difficulty, but it entered. And Malfoy said nothing. Didn't have to. Just held him there, strong enough to be an anchor, and silent enough not to scare.
It was only when Harry's hands clenched the fabric of his shirt, a reflex, automatic, that he realized Teddy was no longer there.
"Where's Teddy?" His voice faltered, a desperate whisper against Malfoy's shoulder, feeling his breath start to leave him again.
"He's in the other room. In the crib. Safe. I put him there while you…" Malfoy answered after tightening his arms around him, not letting him pull away and have another crisis.
He didn't finish. Didn't need to.
Harry closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded slowly. His hands still gripping the fabric.
He stayed there. Just a little longer. Because he needed to.
And, strangely, because Malfoy seemed to need it too.
"You need to stop doing that," Malfoy's voice came. Low. Deep. Warm like a warming charm.
"Doing what?" Harry murmured, sniffling, still resting his face against his shoulder.
"Crying like that in front of me." There was no pulling away. No sign of impatience. Just the sound of Malfoy's voice filling the room. "I don't know if you've noticed, Potter, but I'm not exactly the most emotionally stable person on the planet."
There was humor in his voice. Light, subtle. An attempt at relief.
And it worked.
Harry laughed. Painful and genuine. He laughed because he didn't expect it. Because it was Malfoy. Because, even now, even there, he could pull that out of him. As if there weren't years of history between them. As if it was just... them.
"Fuck you," he said, nearly breathless, pulling back a little. His eyes burned and his cheeks were warm, and he ran a hand across his face, half embarrassed by what had just happened, half too grateful to know what to do with it.
And then he saw it.
The smile.
Malfoy was smiling.
It wasn't wide, nor defiant. It wasn't the kind of smile he used to provoke, or the one he gave when he knew he was winning an argument. It was real.
Small. Contained. But honest, in an almost absurd way. There was no malice, no sarcasm, no shield. Just him. Smiling. Like it was no problem at all to be there, holding Harry while he was falling apart. Like he really wanted to be there.
And for a moment, one of those strange moments that stretch longer than they should, Harry didn't know what to feel. His chest tightened again, but in a different way. It wasn't pain. It was something else. Something that made everything warm inside. The strange feeling of being seen, whole, ugly, broken, and still not pushed away.
He tried not to think too much about how Malfoy's arms seemed to fit him perfectly, nor how his body offered a kind of shelter Harry never knew he needed. He tried to ignore the fact that, for a few minutes, everything seemed bearable just because he was there. He tried, but couldn't.
Still scared. Still lost. Still carrying scars that hurt in places no one sees.
But Malfoy had made him laugh.
And that, in that moment, felt like magic enough.
Notes:I know I ended two chapters in a row with Harry having a meltdown, but I swear, he's only gonna have a few crises.
Now their dynamic is gonna shift a little bit.
I didn't manage to post yesterday, but at least this chapter turned out huge.
Don't forget to drop your thoughts in the comments