Harry was discharged the next morning, kept only for overnight observation, and was instructed to stop by the hospital wing every day after classes for a week. He was also told not to use magic unless absolutely necessary the following day, and Harry followed that to the letter, which, in practice, was hell.
Malfoy had started acting strangely. He was always around to cast warming charms or hand him the bottle with that mysterious content Harry kept promising himself to ask about, but, for some reason, always forgot. Yet he avoided meeting Harry's eyes.
Harry hadn't been upset by the things Ron had said, he understood his best friend. But the idea that Ron's words might have been the reason for Malfoy's sudden distance bothered him in a way he couldn't explain. Maybe because he had grown attached to Malfoy's care, or because that constant presence now felt like something missing.
The distance left a strange hollow, a mix of frustration and guilt, as if he had ruined something he couldn't even name. It was hard to understand why it affected him so much.
It had been a week since his last breakdown. He was wearing the dark red sweats, the lined denim jacket, and the white beanie, all gifts from Malfoy, along with an extra warming charm. He stared out at the lake, the book he'd started long ago abandoned beside him, its pages open without his eyes actually reading a single word.
He startled when he felt something being draped over his back, and then someone sat beside him. Malfoy had placed his expensive overcoat around him, the heavy, warm fabric wrapping him in something almost comforting. When he turned his head, he found the blond watching him.
"Just because it's not snowing doesn't mean you shouldn't keep warm," Malfoy said. Harry didn't reply immediately. He just let his gaze get lost in those blue-gray eyes, remembering how they had looked when they were full of tears, something that, strange as it was to admit, had left its mark on him.
"How are you?"
"Fine," he murmured, turning his eyes back to the lake. "Considering everything." He sighed, his hand resting on the small swell the baby made in his belly. That simple touch brought a confusing kind of relief, it was good to know they were there, but at the same time, terrifying to think of everything that could go wrong.
"They're fine, you know that, don't you?" Malfoy said, and Harry exhaled again.
"But they might not be," he replied in a faint voice, feeling his throat burn with the urge to cry.
"Potter" Malfoy began, and Harry ignored him "Harry." At the sound of his first name, he turned his face toward the blond. "They're fine. They couldnot be, but they are . Focus on that."
Harry sighed, turning his gaze back to the lake, and swallowed hard before saying what he knew he should have said already. "Thank you for last week, for keeping me calm so Madame Pomfrey could work."
"It was the least I could do," Malfoy replied with apparent indifference.
"Thank you anyway," he repeated, turning his eyes back to the blond, who was still watching him. There was something strangely light about that moment, as if the weight of the past days had granted them a brief reprieve.
"Have you thought about names?" the taller one asked suddenly, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "I've thought of a few, but they're all constellations or stars," he went on, and Harry let out a small laugh.
"Black family tradition," Harry recalled, seeing the other nod. "We could make the constellation a middle name?" he suggested, and watched Malfoy nod again after smiling. Harry thought he looked handsome when he smiled. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, feeling strangely willing to keep that conversation going.
"Cassiopeia, Lyra, Norma. I like Andromeda, but I don't know my aunt, so that would be weird. But I thought of those three for girls." He shrugged, as if he were speaking casually, but Harry caught the care behind the choices.
"And for boys?" Harry asked, leaning forward slightly, curious, and saw Malfoy give a faint, almost shy smile.
"Scorpius, Serpens, Leo, Regulus." He paused briefly, their eyes meeting before he added, in a softer, lower voice, "Sirius."
Harry felt a knot rise in his throat, almost painfully. For a moment, he couldn't speak, only blinked rapidly in an attempt to hold back the tears. The name echoed in his mind with force, stirring a tangled mix of longing, pain, and gratitude.
"If it's a boy, could we make Sirius his middle name?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly at the end.
"Of course." Malfoy replied with a small smile, so simple and sure that it made Harry let out a weak laugh, more to contain the emotion than out of actual amusement.
"If it's a girl, we could name her after a flower," he suggested, trying to ease the tension in his chest. "I mean, our mothers have flower names, Lily, Narcissa." He shrugged.
"Rose, Violet, Daisy, Camellia, Magnolia, Primrose, Peony, Clover, Petunia," Malfoy began to list, and Harry automatically grimaced at the last one "What do you have against petunias?" Malfoy asked, his smile tinged with amusement.
"It's my aunt's name. I'd rather face Voldemort again than name my daughter that," he replied, and saw Malfoy let out a real laugh, one of those that seemed unexpected even to himself.
The sound was lighter than Harry ever imagined it could be, almost disarming in its naturalness. For a moment, Harry found himself watching the way Malfoy's expression shifted when he laughed, his eyes narrowing, the corner of his mouth relaxing, as if a carefully guarded part of him had slipped out.
"Alright, then, no Petunia," the blond said, still laughing, before turning his gaze back to the lake.
"I like Peony," Harry murmured, testing the sound. "Peony Cassiopeia Potter or Cassiopeia Peony Potter." He said it aloud, as if tasting the name in his mouth.
"How about this" Malfoy turned his gaze toward him, the corners of his lips curling in something almost conspiratorial. "If it's a girl, we name her Cassiopeia Peony Potter. Cassie."
Harry smiled at the nickname, his heart strangely warmed "And if it's a boy" Malfoy went on, but this time there was a different light in his eyes, "we name him Sirius James Potter."
Harry's eyes widened, his breath catching in surprise. It was as if the world had stopped for a second.
"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice trembling. "You want to give my dad's name if it's a boy?" he asked again, his hand instinctively resting over his belly, as if to shield that name.
"It could be James Sirius too," Malfoy added with a slight shrug, as if unaware of the weight it carried for Harry.
"You… really want that?" Harry pressed, almost unable to believe it.
"I like James. I think it's beautiful, it has a good sound, though my father must never find out about that." He rolled his eyes, and Harry laughed, though this time the laughter came tinged with emotion.
"It'll be James or Cassie," he murmured, looking down at his belly with an affection he didn't even realize was showing on his face.
"James or Cassie," Malfoy echoed, and the way he said it felt like a silent promise.
"Hope they're not in Slytherin," Harry muttered, earning a light elbow to his arm.
"Hey," Malfoy protested, but the smile on his lips undercut any attempt at seriousness, and Harry found himself smiling back without thinking "Hope they're a Seeker."
"They'll be in Hufflepuff and won't even play Quidditch, just to spite us," Harry shot back, making the blond let out a short laugh.
"Can you see it yet?" Malfoy asked quietly, and Harry lifted his gaze to meet his.
"I know you saw last week, in my room, with Madam Pomfrey," he replied, and Malfoy lowered his head slightly, looking a bit embarrassed.
Harry watched him for a moment before shifting the hand he was leaning on and reaching for Malfoy's, guiding it to his belly beneath the sweatshirt. The motion made Malfoy's head snap up suddenly, blue-grey eyes widening slightly, as if he hadn't expected that.
"It's not much," Harry murmured, releasing his hand so he could pull away if he wanted to, but he didn't.
"What does it feel like?" Malfoy asked, and there was a curious spark in his voice.
"Strange," Harry smiled, turning his gaze back to the lake. "First thing I do in the morning is put my hand on my belly. I can only fall asleep if I have my hand there, I feel a bit of the weight, but only when I pay attention. Oh, Ron noticed this one, every time I get startled, I protect my belly with my arm."
When he looked back at Malfoy, he found that watchful gaze fixed on him, so fixed that, for a moment, he completely forgot what he had been saying. His eyes had a deep outline, almost dark blue, fading in waves into that uncertain shade between grey and blue, like a stormy sky before the rain. The evening light caught in his irises, revealing almost silvery nuances, and Harry had the strange feeling that, if he looked long enough, he might find secrets buried there, things Malfoy would never say aloud. There was something magnetic in that mixture of intensity and silence, something that made him want to look again, just to be sure he wasn't imagining it.
His hand left Harry's belly, but only to adjust the sweatshirt with an almost absent-minded care, long pale fingers gliding over the fabric. His fair skin made the veins stand out faintly, and the cool contrast of the silver ring drew the eye, elegant, old, with a crest intricately engraved. Harry recognized it instantly, the Malfoy family ring. Draco was now Lord Malfoy, heir and responsible for the entire fortune, ever since his father had been removed. A title that sounded heavy, yet somehow seemed to fit him naturally.
Harry looked away, feeling something tighten in his chest, and let his gaze linger on the image of the ring for a moment before turning back to the lake, trying to recover the earlier lightness, without much success. He sighed, curiosity pressing harder. The opportunity was right there before him, and he didn't know if he'd have the courage again. He turned back to Malfoy and noticed he was still being watched, that steady, almost unmoving gaze that seemed to pierce through skin. Harry swallowed hard.
"Can I see it?" he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
Malfoy broke eye contact, turning toward his own left arm. Without a word, he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing pale skin marked with black ink.
Harry held his breath. The skull, with its sharp, shadowed contours, looked almost alive, from its mouth, the serpent writhed outward, undulating as if in search of something. The pigment, once vivid, now seemed slightly faded. Without realizing it, he reached out and held the blond's arm with the care of someone holding something fragile. His gaze moved slowly over the design, and a silent tightness grew in his chest.
It was then he noticed, over the tattoo, crossing it in different directions, there were irregular scars. Some were thick and had a faint ridge under his fingertips, revealing that they had been deep cuts, made with force and perhaps desperation. Others were thinner, but no less striking, as if each one had been an act of rejection or self-punishment. He rested his head against Malfoy's shoulder, letting his fingertips trace the path of the serpent and outline the skull, but always returning to the deeper scars, feeling their raised edges and imagining the pain that had caused them.
"How can you look at me knowing I have this?" came Malfoy's tense voice, and Harry felt his chest tighten. "It can't be given without consent. I accepted the mark," he added, and Harry sighed without moving, letting his fingers rest against the pale skin.
"Because the you at fifteen and sixteen isn't the same as the you at eighteen," he replied, his voice low but steady. "The you at sixteen hadn't been through a war, hadn't written letters asking forgiveness from dozens of people, hadn't helped rebuild this castle stone by stone, hadn't been forced to study Muggle culture, and might have imagined the horrors Voldemort was capable of, but hadn't seen them, hadn't lived them," he said calmly, still stroking the older man's arm, his thumb brushing lightly over one of the deeper scars. "Even though you're almost as insufferable as your sixteen-year-old self," he added, and heard Malfoy let out a weak, tired, almost restrained laugh. It was the kind of laugh that didn't last, but left a strange warmth in Harry's chest.
"Really?" he asked, sounding strangely vulnerable.
"No, you're still irritating," Harry replied, and didn't need to look to know the blond was rolling his eyes. "You recognized me at the Manor, I know you did, and you didn't give me away. That's when I realized you might have changed," he said.
"It's impossible not to recognize your eyes, Harry. I don't know how you weren't recognized the moment they caught you, but they're not forgettable," Malfoy's voice was low, almost as if he were thinking out loud, and Harry felt something tighten in his stomach, not from the memory, but from the way it was said. He wondered if his father had thought the same about his mother's eyes, if Snape had too.
"I could see what he saw sometimes, you know?" he confided, and felt the older man's body tense.
"I knew he could access your mind, not always, but he could. He boasted about it," Malfoy said.
"I saw how scared you were when he killed Professor Burbage. I also saw how weak your Cruciatus was, and how you got mocked for it," Harry sighed, and with an almost protective gesture, he gently pulled down the sleeve of the black shirt, covering the Dark Mark and the scars.
"I still cast it," the older man murmured.
"So did I," Harry shrugged, pulling back a little, but not far enough to break whatever was there between them.
"What?" he asked, confused, and Harry had to take a deep breath.
Harry drew in a deep breath, feeling that talking about it was like letting out air after holding it for far too long.
"I failed the first time, when I tried to cast a Cruciatus on Bellatrix after she killed Sirius, but I managed when I cast it on Amycus Carrow, after he spat on Professor McGonagall. I remember how he screamed, and the way he lifted off the ground," his gaze locked on the blond's, unable to look away. "I cast Imperius too, to break into Gringotts," he admitted.
There was a heaviness to that conversation, painful memories, but at the same time, a strange sense of safety in being able to speak without fear of judgment.
"That was incredible, you know?" Malfoy said, and the small smile couldn't hide the glint in his eyes. "You broke into Gringotts, do you have any idea? You broke in, robbed my aunt's vault, and not only escaped, but freed a dragon." There was so much admiration in his voice that Harry felt heat rise to his face, the faint burn in his cheeks that he tried to hide by glancing away.
"I'll never understand how you pulled it off. You're the only person who's ever actually managed to rob that bank. And the break-in at the Ministry, when that place was completely under Voldemort's control, that was unbelievable too." Malfoy was watching him like he was describing some legendary feat. Harry, however, kept his eyes on the lake, trying to ignore the way his heart had started to race. "Not to mention sneaking into Hogwarts without Snape noticing."
"I didn't know what I was doing half the time," Harry admitted, his voice low, almost embarrassed. "We made plans, but they always went wrong at some point, and we had to improvise." He shrugged. "Most of the war, I had no idea what I was supposed to do." The sigh that followed was heavy, but somehow less suffocating for being able to say it aloud.
"You knew you'd have to… well, die?" Malfoy asked carefully.
"No. I found out just minutes before going to Voldemort in the forest," he sighed, remembering the feel of the Invisibility Cloak around him as he walked to his death.
"You knew you'd come back?" Malfoy pressed, and Harry simply shook his head. Before he could retreat into silence, he felt himself being pulled into an embrace. He gave in, letting his head rest on the blond's shoulder, feeling Malfoy's hand move slowly up and down his back in a steady, almost protective gesture.
"The first thing I heard and understood when I came back was your name," he said, not realizing his voice was getting softer. "I heard other things, but not clearly, then I felt your mother's hand on my chest. She realized my heart was still beating, but instead of telling him, she asked about you," he recalled, the events of that day playing vividly in his mind.
"She told me," Malfoy's low voice reached him.
"I think I understand her now," Harry sighed, watching as the setting sun painted the lake in gold. "Her and my mum, the way she put herself between me and Voldemort when I was a baby. I felt a bit of anger towards her for that, but now I get it. I'd do that for Teddy. And I'd do it for this baby," he explained.
"That must've been terrifying for your parents," Malfoy said, and there was a gentleness there that clashed with everything Harry remembered about him from their teenage years.
"My dad didn't have a wand. He went to face Voldemort without a wand. It was stupid, I know, but I still think it was incredibly brave," he gave a small, sad laugh. "It was my mum's love that saved me. She's the one who defeated him, not me." The knot in his throat tightened, but he didn't look away.
"Saved twice by a mother's love," Malfoy said, and Harry gave a faint smile. There was something so genuine in his tone that it was impossible not to feel a strange kind of peace, even with the weight of the memory.
"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, almost hesitantly. "For the day in the bathroom."
The hand still moving along his back paused for a few seconds before resuming.
"It's okay." Harry felt the slight shake of his head, denying it. But it wasn't.
"No, it's not," he insisted, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "I didn't know what that spell did. It was stupid to use it on you, I shouldn't have done it." He had to take a deep breath, trying to push away the image of Malfoy lying on the floor, bleeding far too much. "I read it in a book, with the note 'for enemies,' and I looked at you in the bathroom and didn't think before casting it. And I'm sorry, I was so scared when you hit the ground, bleeding like that." His voice cracked, the burn in his throat making it hard to speak.
The touch came before the words, Malfoy's hands framing his face firmly, forcing him to hold his gaze.
"Harry, it's fine. I was going to cast a Cruciatus on you, you were just faster. And I deserved it, considering everything I did that year," Malfoy said, his voice steady.
"Do you think it would've worked? The Cruciatus?" Harry asked, and Malfoy's silence said more than any answer could, they both knew the truth. "And in the end, you didn't kill Dumbledore," Harry added. Malfoy knew he had been there that night, he'd even said so during the trial.
"But I let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, that's what caused his death," the blond said, looking away as he let go of Harry's face.
"He was already dying, it was part of his plan," Harry said, lifting his hand to take Malfoy's chin, making him meet his eyes again. "Dumbledore planned his own death so that, when Snape killed him, the wand wouldn't pass to him, because the true master would've been Dumbledore. That way, the Elder Wand's loyalty would die with him," he explained. Then, he decided to share the other part, just to see how the older boy would react.
"But you disarmed him, and the plan took a little turn," Harry said with a small smile. "The Elder Wand was yours, the loyalty belonged to you, until I disarmed you at the manor." He saw the gray-blue eyes widen, and he let out a faint, still-sad laugh.
"What did you do? With the wand?" Malfoy asked, and Harry released his face.
"I Broke it," he shrugged, and Malfoy gave a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
"Only you would do that." The smile was small, not exactly happy, but genuine. "How did you manage to follow me in sixth year? I always wondered how you always knew where I was."
"Family secret," Harry murmured, deciding to keep that bit to himself, just to hold onto that piece of his dad and his dad's friends.
"Family secret?" Malfoy repeated, now with a tone almost amused.
"Yeah. The baby will know when they come to Hogwarts," he said, smiling, and Malfoy rolled his eyes, his own smile growing just a little.
"You're going to give them the Invisibility Cloak too?" he asked, and Harry nodded proudly "We're going to have our hands full," Malfoy said, laughing.
"Remember in third year, when Ron and Hermione were watching the Shrieking Shack, and you showed up, talking a bunch of rubbish, before getting attacked by a ghost?" Harry grinned wide.
"How do you know that? You weren't there," Malfoy frowned, until his expression shifted into sudden realization. "You bastard, it was you," he accused, and Harry burst out laughing, unable to hold it in "You prat," Malfoy swore, but there was laughter in his voice, and Harry flopped back onto the grass, his chest still rising and falling from the laughter.
"That was incredible," Harry said, his laughter easing. "Second only to the time you got turned into a ferret." He smirked, earning a light punch in the arm before Malfoy lay down beside him.
"That was horrible," Malfoy muttered.
"It was incredible for me," Harry said with a shrug, grinning, turning his head toward Malfoy, only to find himself already being watched.
The laughter faded, replaced by a silence too heavy to be just silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it carried a weight so tangible that each breath felt too deliberate, as if any word might shatter something fragile that had started to take shape between them. And in that space, Malfoy's gaze locked on his like it was impossible to look away, and Harry, not quite sure why, didn't want to be the first to try.