Harry was nervous, not just restless, but with his whole body on alert, as if the cold air were thicker than usual. He watched the snow melting beneath his feet, his fingers buried in the pocket of the overcoat he'd stolen from Malfoy. That didn't stop his index finger from picking at the cuticle of his thumb with insistence, until he felt the warm dampness of blood. The pain was nothing compared to the knot in his stomach.
It was the week he reached four months of pregnancy, and he knew he had dragged it out too long before telling Ginny… before telling Molly and Arthur. Merlin, he had spent the entire Christmas with them and hadn't said a word. A cowardice that now weighed on him like lead. His thoughts were interrupted when he swore he felt something in his belly, a light pressure.
The sound of footsteps behind him made his heart race. When he turned, he found Ginny and Luna, holding hands, smiling at each other with that quiet intimacy as they talked.
"Harry," Luna called brightly, letting go of Ginny to hug him, and Harry returned it.
"Everything okay?" Ginny asked, her brow furrowed. There was suspicion in her voice, as if she already knew something wasn't right. And rightly so. Harry rarely asked to talk outside the castle in the middle of winter, much less after the aftermath of what had happened in the Forest.
"I wanted to tell you something, actually," he murmured, and Ginny, not noticing the tremor in his voice, took one of his hands. It wasn't the injured one.
"You can tell us anything, you know that, don't you?" she said, and Harry nodded, his stomach twisting.
"You know how I stopped going to the eighth-year parties, stopped flying and all that?" he asked, watching the redhead nod, confused.
"I thought it was an improvement, you quitting drinking," Luna commented calmly, and Harry forced a brief smile.
"What happened, Harry?" Ginny asked.
"I'm pregnant," he said, his voice no louder than a whisper.
The silence that followed was unsettling, both girls stared at him before Ginny pulled him into a tight hug.
"That was a bit irresponsible, Harry," Luna said, hugging him after Ginny let go, stepping back to place her hand over his stomach through his clothes.
Who's the other father?" Ginny asked.
Harry felt his legs weaken. His finger returned, instinctively, to his already damaged cuticle, tearing more blood.
"Malfoy," Harry said, even lower, and only knew Ginny had heard when she stepped back, as if slapped.
"Malfoy," she repeated, her voice dry. "The son of the man who gave me the diary through which I was possessed by Voldemort? The son of the woman who tricked a house-elf, which made us go to the Ministry and ended with Sirius's death? The boy who had you tortured several times by Umbridge? The boy who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and got Dumbledore killed? The boy who kept Luna locked in a cellar for weeks? The boy who fought on Voldemort's side? The side that killed my brother?" Each word came loaded with anger, every accusation like a blow.
"Gin," he called, stepping closer, but she moved back.
"Don't touch me!" she shouted, her voice so loud it made some nearby students turn to look at them.
"Ginny, love, calm down," Luna said, stepping closer to her girlfriend.
"No, Luna, he fucked Malfoy." The words came out almost like a public announcement, and Harry felt his face burn.
"Gin, please," he whispered, looking around, his face on fire, but his hands trembled too much to cast any privacy spell.
"Oh, now you feel shame? Didn't seem like it when you let Malfoy fuck you." Her tone was venomous, almost too low to be heard.
"I was drunk," he said, his voice faltering. Fear and shame tangled together, but underneath, a trace of anger began to grow.
"I don't go around fucking Death Eaters when I get drunk, Harry," she shot back, stepping close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. "But it looks like you had no problem turning into a broodmare for one."
"I'm not a broodmare, Ginny," he answered, the urge to cry burning hotter, twisting into rage.
"But you are a Death Eater's whore," she spat, low.
"It was an accident, we were both drunk, it happened once, and I decided to keep the baby." Harry blinked, tears threatening to spill, but he forced his voice to hold.
"Have you told my parents yet?" she asked, and his silence was all the confirmation she needed. A sharp, bitter smile curled her lips. "Do you think you'll still be welcome at the Burrow when you tell them you let one of the men responsible for their son's death fuck you and knock you up?" Harry swallowed hard but said nothing "Do you think George will still be able to look you in the eye?" she pressed, and this time the blow landed too deep. Harry's lungs clenched, rage and fear tangling until they nearly suffocated him, and only the bitter taste of blood in his mouth kept him grounded.
"Gin," he tried again, drawing in a shaky breath.
"How many times did he spit in your face before you decided to spread your legs?" Ginny snapped, her face twisted in disgust. Harry instinctively stepped back, but before he could answer, she lunged forward. "You know what's worse? You don't even look sorry." Her voice was almost a choked laugh of disbelief.
"I already love this child, Ginerva," he lifted his chin, his injured hand unconsciously resting against his belly.
"Love?" she echoed, laughing with a contempt so sharp it seemed to slice through the air. "You're going to bring into the world the child of a man who wanted the blood of people like Hermione spilled on the floor."
"Draco isn't his parents, Gin," Harry shot back, his voice rising a notch, anger and frustration pounding at his temples. "I'm not you, to condemn someone before even knowing them."
"I don't need to know him!" she screamed, stepping so close he felt the heat of her breath on his face again. "I saw what he did. What his parents did. What all of them are. And now you're carrying their legacy inside you like it's some kind of trophy!"
"This baby is not a trophy, it's my child!" Harry fired back, and this time he stepped forward, heart racing so hard it felt like it was clawing its way out of his throat.
"His child," Ginny snapped, spitting the words. "No matter how you try to sugarcoat it, there's Malfoy blood running in there."
"And mine too!" Harry shouted, realizing his whole body was trembling more from rage than from cold. "I'm not going to apologize for not getting an abortion just because you hate the other father!"
"The point is, you should never have let Malfoy get close enough to knock you up in the first place, Harry," she exploded, her face flushing red with fury. "But no, you spread your legs for him like some cheap whore."
"Watch what you're saying, Ginevra," Harry growled, his stomach twisting, rage burning at the back of his throat.
"Watch it?" she laughed, a short, cruel sound. "You let a Death Eater fuck you until he came inside you, Harry. You gave yourself to him like it was nothing, like he hadn't tried everything to destroy our lives."
"I'm not your property for you to decide who I can or can't touch!" Harry shot back, his voice cracking between fury and humiliation. "And I won't let you reduce me to that!"
"Reduce you?" she stepped even closer, her gaze slicing into him like a blade. "You reduced yourself the day you let him shove his cock inside you," she spat, before turning her back and storming off.
Luna gave him a look full of pity but said nothing. She simply followed her girlfriend.
Harry stood still. One second. Two. The cold felt like it had frozen the air in his lungs, but heat was rising far too quickly. His chest heaved as if he had been running, the sound of his own breath filling his ears. Then, without thinking, he let out a scream, loud, hoarse, without a single word, just the raw sound torn from inside.
He spun around and kicked the stone wall. Pain exploded in his foot, but it didn't matter. He kicked again, and again, until the impact reverberated through the bones of his leg. With a sharp movement, he tore off his glasses and hurled them into the snow, listening to the dull sound of them hitting the ground and staying there, forgotten.
His fists clenched, and he slammed them against the wall, once, twice, three times, until the skin across his knuckles began to split. Another scream broke free, louder, tearing his throat. He felt like if he didn't get all the fury out, he would choke on it.
He turned, kicked the edge of a stone bench, nearly losing his balance. The snow was dotted with red, though he didn't even know which wound it was from. The cold air burned his face, but he kept gasping, as if he were still in a fight.
His whole body trembled, his breath uneven, his heart racing far too fast. For a moment, the world seemed to spin, as if he were about to faint, but he stayed upright, eyes fixed on the wall marked by blood and snow.
He stayed like that until his throat burned and the muscles in his hands throbbed. Only then, without thinking, he lowered himself and let his body fall back, feeling the snow swallow the heat from his skin. He didn't close his eyes. He just lay there, struggling for breath, while the cold felt like the only thing capable of quelling the fire raging inside him.
He couldn't say how long he stayed there, sprawled in the snow, but at some point he felt a faint pressure low on his stomach. James. The name came like a whisper in his mind, bringing with it a weight that forced him to move. He drew in a deep breath, the icy air burning down his throat, and rose slowly, as if moving a body that wasn't his.
He entered the castle. Every step felt heavier than the last. He noticed eyes on him, countless eyes. He didn't know if it was because they had seen his outburst or had heard him shouting with Ginny. Deep down, he knew it was both, but he no longer had the strength to care.
He walked to the eighth-year common room, muttered the password to the statue, and stepped inside. He didn't even have time to breathe, strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The familiar smell of Ron hit him, and without thinking, he let himself sink into that hug.
"You disappeared," Ron said, his voice sounding slightly shaky. "The whole school's talking about your fight with Ginny. No one could find you, and I couldn't find the map," he explained.
Harry blinked slowly. How long had he been lying in the snow? Was that why his whole body ached and his teeth chattered?
"I've got the map, sorry," he murmured, realizing he could barely control the trembling in his jaw.
"For Merlin's sake, Harry, your hands—" Ron pulled back just enough to hold them. One thumb was smeared with blood, the other hand stained across the knuckles. "Why are you covered in snow?" he asked, his voice more desperate than angry.
Harry couldn't explain the order of things. He only registered the drying and warming charms wrapping around him, his body being guided upstairs, set down on the bed. He felt the weight of the blanket Malfoy had given him settle over his shoulders, the familiarity of the fabric warming him more than the spell itself. His hands were cleaned, healed, one wrapped in bandages.
"The whole school's talking about it?" was the first thing he managed to say, his voice hoarse. When he met Ron's blue eyes, a nearly childlike fear rose up in him. "Did everyone hear what she said to me?" he asked, and Ron sighed, kneeling in front of him, a firm hand on his knee.
"She's angry. It doesn't excuse it, but you know how hot-headed she is. She'll calm down and apologize," Ron said, rubbing his knee gently.
"You didn't see the way she looked at me. The way she said those things to me," Harry murmured.
"It was the anger, Harry." Harry dropped his head, letting out a bitter laugh.
"She called me a cheap whore. A broodmare," he said, laughing a little more, not even daring to repeat what she had said about him spreading his legs. "She said George would never look at me again. That I wouldn't be welcome at the Burrow anymore. That your parents wouldn't take me in."
"Harry, you will always, always be welcome at the Burrow. My parents will always think of you as one of their sons. Forget what she said to you." Harry lifted his gaze, meeting the brother life had given him, and the knot in his throat tightened. "Think about James, the little baby you're going to have. Do you really think my mum could ever stay away from that little boy?" Ron asked, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
Harry drew in a deep breath, feeling something warm cut through the ice that had wrapped him outside. It was still hurt, still grief, but alongside it came an almost unbearable relief. Relief at not being alone. Gratitude for Ron being there, holding him in a way that said, without needing words, that he wasn't going anywhere.
Harry still felt the weight of every one of Ginny's words clinging to him, as if he hadn't washed them off after taking a beating. He sat frozen, staring at Ron kneeling in front of him, trying to believe what he said, but his voice felt like it was coming from very far away.
"You'll always be welcome at the Burrow," Ron repeated, as if he had to hammer it through the instinctive wall Harry had thrown up. "Always."
"Thanks." Harry tried to smile, but it came out weak, almost a grimace.
Ron seemed to understand that words wouldn't be enough. He just stood, took off his shoes, and lay down beside him, pulling him into a sideways hug, like in those days when they curled up inside a tent in the middle of nowhere, trying to ignore the cold of war. Harry didn't resist. He let himself be held, soaking in the warmth of his friend.
He didn't know how long they stayed like that, until the door creaked softly and Hermione walked in, carrying a silence heavy with worry. She didn't ask anything. She just sat at the edge of the bed, ran her hand through his hair, and after a moment, lay down on the other side. Harry was in the middle, protected by the two of them. It was suffocating and comforting all at once.
Between their warmth, the blanket over his shoulders, and the exhaustion that had been pressing on him since the morning, Harry finally gave in. He felt his breathing slow, his eyelids grow heavy, until everything faded.
When he opened his eyes, the dormitory was empty and quiet. The warmth Ron and Hermione had left around him had already dissipated, leaving only the dim glow of the torches.
That's when he felt it. A low, deep discomfort, as though something were pressing outward from within, not violently, but insistently. A mute demand. He put a hand to his stomach, trying to interpret it. It wasn't pain, but something was wrong.
The memory of Ginny came back like a cold wave, her words cutting through his mind in an endless loop, Death Eater's whore, broodmare, no one will want you at the Burrow. The tightening in his belly grew stronger, and the strange sensation tangled with that mental ache. It was almost as if James felt it all with him, or worse, as if James were reacting.
Harry tried to convince himself it was paranoia, but with every breath, the pressure grew more insistent. The discomfort swelled until it was impossible to ignore. His fingers clutched at the fabric of his overcoat, his heartbeat racing. He tried to lie down again, to turn on his side, but the sensation only grew, pulsing as though the baby were reaching for something he couldn't provide on his own.
Before he realized it, he was already standing. He didn't think about where he was going, didn't let himself question it. His feet carried him down the silent corridor, as if following an instinct that wasn't just his.
He stopped in front of Malfoy's dormitory door, his fist hovering in the air. For a moment, he lingered there, trying to decide whether to knock or turn back.
He took a deep breath before knocking, his cold fingers hesitating in the air a second longer than he'd like. A shiver ran down his spine, and his foot began tapping against the floor in a rapid, nervous rhythm, as if trying to bleed off his anxiety through the movement.
The door opened, revealing Anthony Goldstein. The look the Ravenclaw gave him left no doubt, he already knew the gossip.
"Potter, are you alright?" Anthony asked, confusion and concern mingling in his voice.
"Harry?" Neville's voice came from behind him. "Let him in, Anthony," he said, and the other boy stepped aside, opening the way.
"Are you okay?" Neville asked the moment Harry entered. Harry tried to answer, but the sight of Theodore Nott sitting on Neville's bed, wearing a Gryffindor T-shirt, scrambled his thoughts for an instant.
"Harry?" The voice was closer now, and he turned to see Malfoy stepping out of the bathroom. His blond hair still damp, pale skin slightly flushed, and pajamas made of fine fabric that screamed wealth.
"I'm fine," he muttered quickly, as if wanting to end the conversation before it even started. He was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
"What happened to your hand?" Neville asked, but before Harry could come up with an answer, Malfoy had already stepped closer.
"I'm fine," he repeated, looking at his friend. He didn't need to say more, six years of sharing a dormitory spoke louder than words.
Neville could read his looks just as well as Harry could read his, and Seamus's, and Dean's. He read Ron's and Hermione's even better.
That's when he felt it, the weight of a hand resting firmly on his shoulder. The awful feeling simply vanished, swept out of his body and mind all at once. Relief hit him so suddenly he blinked, startled, before meeting the ice-blue eyes in front of him.
"C-can I sleep with you?" he stammered, curling in on himself as if only now realizing how cold he felt.
"Of course." Malfoy nodded, raising his hand to brush the back of it against Harry's forehead. A fleeting gesture, but enough to bring warmth back to him. "You don't seem to have a fever," he whispered. "Is James alright?" he asked, guiding him toward the bed with Slytherin-green curtains, casting a privacy spell around it.
"I had a rough day, I wasn't feeling well, but it stopped when I got here, so I think he wants your magic," Harry admitted. The words sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, and a grimace slipped out before he could stop it.
"I believe you," Malfoy replied, making him sit on the bed.
"How much did you hear?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper, lifting his gaze to see Malfoy rummaging through his wardrobe.
"Hm?" Malfoy had the audacity to look clueless.
"Come on, Malfoy, what did they tell you?" Harry sighed, watching the blond turn to him and motion for him to stand up, which he did.
"I heard that the Weaselette said a bunch of shit to you," he said, taking the gray coat off Harry's shoulders and putting on something that looked like a robe, much softer and more comfortable. "That ginger minger said such disgusting things she even pissed off Lovegood," he added angrily.
"Don't call her that," Harry defended, feeling tired, sitting on the bed.
"Honestly, Potter, you're too good for your own good," he muttered, circling the bed and lying down beside him after expanding it with a silent spell.
"Back to Potter?" Harry asked, seeing the blond's cheeks flush, and he managed a weak laugh.
"Shut up," the blond muttered, grabbing a book from the bedside table and settling next to him.
Harry hadn't even noticed the unpleasant feeling returning until he felt the relief of it, allowing his head to sink into the pillow. He also hadn't realized how tense he had been until he felt his shoulders press into the mattress. The warmth from the heating charm followed, and he let out a low sigh, almost a moan of relief.
"I think I felt James move today," he murmured, removing his glasses and placing them beside the pillow and his wand.
"Really?" he looked at Malfoy, seeing that the blond was already watching him, enthusiasm in his voice.
"Maybe not," he shrugged, yawning. "But I think it was," he curled under the absurdly soft duvet, letting out a weak laugh.
"What is it?" came the raspy voice.
"Who would've thought years of severe insomnia would be solved by you getting me pregnant," he replied, receiving a light, slightly affectionate pat where Malfoy was running his fingers through his hair. "Hey," he complained, hearing a faint laugh.
"Go to sleep," the blond muttered. "And don't think I didn't notice you didn't eat dinner today," his voice was firmer, and Harry held his breath. "Relax, just don't make it a habit."
Harry closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth, letting his breathing slow. He vaguely heard Hermione's voice a few minutes later, asking something to Malfoy. The answer was short, too low for him to understand, but her tone softened before she walked away. The feeling of being protected remained, like when Ron and Hermione had stayed with him until sleep arrived earlier.
Now, however, there was also that physical warmth, almost magnetic, pulling him closer. And, cradled by it, Harry let his consciousness dissolve, surrendering to rest without resistance.