Harry had developed a new habit during his bouts of insomnia. When he was in his room, in his bed, he would lift the top of his pajamas and look at his small, round belly, pressing a finger against it. It didn't always work, but sometimes he would feel a movement, he could feel James shifting, responding to his touch, and it would make him smile until he fell asleep.
When he was only in his pajamas, his belly was visible; when he wore just the white shirt of his uniform, it was also visible. It only became undetectable when he was wearing his coats.
It hadn't snowed for a while, and he knew that by the end of the month, they would be entering spring, and Harry felt a little uneasy about that. Everyone had known about his pregnancy ever since the Prophet announced it last Friday, but in spring he would wear fewer coats, and his belly would be bigger. James would be bigger.
This really wasn't the best moment to freak out about his pregnancy, not with only an hour left before getting the Portkey that would take them to where the Malfoys were waiting to talk about James. He sighed, lying on his bed, listening to the plans Neville had for Nott at the meeting they would have in Hogsmeade the next day.
And it was at that moment that a doubt settled in his mind. He was going to see a very traditional pure-blood couple, have dinner at a fancy restaurant, and talk about their heir's heir, and the baby wouldn't carry their last name. Damn.
He jumped up, ignoring the friends he knew were probably looking at him with concern, and walked to the door of the neighboring dormitory, not needing to knock, the door was open. He looked at Malfoy, who was more well-dressed than usual, checking himself in the mirror while all the eighth-year Slytherins were in his room.
"Potter?" he asked, seeing him in the reflection, turning around, and Harry didn't comment at all on the return of his last name.
"What am I wearing?" he asked, observing how the black suit fit the taller, slimmer body.
"You haven't sorted that out yet?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.
"Malfoy, seriously, don't stress me out," Harry said, holding back the urge to roll his eyes.
Malfoy couldn't contain himself, rolling his gray-blue eyes, walking past him, which made Harry huff and follow him, watching him enter his room and go straight to his wardrobe, completely ignoring the rest of the people in the room.
"Damn it," Harry heard him mutter under his breath, and he crossed his arms, waiting for Malfoy to finish whatever he was doing.
But the blond just left the room without saying a word, and Harry stood there, confused.
"What was that?" Hermione asked, and Harry shrugged, not knowing how to respond.
"Granger, do you know any clothing-adjustment spells?" Malfoy asked when he returned to his room, carrying some black clothes in his arms.
"I do, but it only lasts for one use," she said, getting up from Ron's bed and sitting on Harry's.
"There's no way he's wearing jeans today," Malfoy said, stretching the pants on Zabini's bed, looking at them from afar.
"He has a white Egyptian cotton shirt that Andromeda gave him for Christmas, but it's a little loose around the waist," Hermione said, and Malfoy looked at her.
"Do you think it'll fit him now with James?" he asked, and suddenly both of them were watching him.
"Maybe," she said, getting up and going to her wardrobe.
"What's going on?" Ron asked.
"I think they're picking out clothes for Harry, but it's so disturbing I don't want to believe it," Neville replied.
"The black one or the graphite?" Malfoy asked, and Hermione approached him with the shirt in her hands.
"What coat will he wear?" she asked, and Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I have a camel cashmere one," he said, and she looked at the clothes on the only Slytherin bed in that room.
"Then the graphite gray," she said, and the blond nodded. "Harry, clean your sneakers, the black ones," she said, and Harry looked at the pair he was wearing to see if it was them, but saw he was wearing the white ones, or at least the ones that had once been white.
Harry walked to the wardrobe, grabbed the pair of black high-top Converse, reached for the cloth, and quickly cleaned them, noticing Malfoy watching the shoes with a barely disguised grimace.
"Did I give you a hat in this color?" he asked, pointing to the dark gray pants, and Harry shook his head. "I think Theo has one," he muttered, grabbing the other two pairs of pants and leaving the room. "Get dressed quickly, please, we have to get there before my parents," he asked, leaving the room.
"Holy crap," Ron muttered in the corner, and Harry rolled his eyes.
He sat on his bed and took off his sneakers. He wanted to take a shower before leaving, but it looked like he would have to leave that for later. Taking advantage of the fact that the bedroom door was closed, he took off the hoodie he was wearing and put on the long pants Malfoy had left for him.
"These pants are expensive, and Malfoy is practically throwing them at you to wear," Hermione said, sitting in front of him, wand in hand. "Pull the pants up higher," she instructed, and Harry obeyed, adjusting them a little above his hips. She shrank them a little but made sure they weren't uncomfortable on his belly.
"Can I put on the shirt?" he asked, and the brunette nodded.
Harry took off the hoodie and the two long-sleeve shirts he was wearing, reached for the white shirt, and put it on, calmly buttoning it up. That's when he realized all three of them were staring at him. "What?" he asked, confused, finishing the buttons.
"Sorry, I didn't realize how big your belly had gotten," Neville said.
"Ah," Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "Yeah, I can already feel James moving," he shrugged.
"Put on your shoes, Malfoy will decide how much I should adjust those pants," Hermione said, and Harry sat on the bed, putting on the black Converse.
Malfoy returned at that moment, tossing the beanie onto his bed and approaching him, examining him before coming closer and starting to tuck the shirt into his pants.
"Tight?" he asked, and Harry shook his head, he was comfortable in the outfit.
"I need to know how you want me to shrink it," Hermione said, and Malfoy took a step back.
Harry wasn't paying attention to the instructions or what was happening, instead, he noticed how the blond's hair wasn't falling over his eyes like it normally would in that position, but it wasn't pulled back like in their first two years at Hogwarts either, it was something in between. Harry preferred it when it had movement.
He only snapped out of his thoughts when they asked him to put on the blazer, and honestly, he felt like a mannequin. He let the piece be adjusted on his body once again with the spells, and then his glasses were taken off by Hermione. When they were returned, they were cleaner.
"Done?" he asked, tired, and Hermione smiled at him. He then sat back on his bed.
"You look nice," Hermione said, and Harry rolled his eyes at her.
"Comfortable? Nothing squeezing James?" Malfoy asked, and Harry allowed himself a small smile.
"All good," he assured, and Malfoy glanced at the watch on his wrist.
"Better we go," he murmured, and Harry stood up, grabbing the brown coat and putting it on, freezing when Malfoy placed the dark beanie on his head.
"Send a Patronus if we need to hex someone," Ron said, and Harry chuckled softly.
"I think I can handle it alone," he replied, putting the wand in the specific pocket for it in his coat.
"But we won't need to worry, right?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and looking at Malfoy.
"No way," the blond replied, sounding confident in his words.
Harry rolled his eyes, resting a hand on his belly, feeling James move inside him, though it still couldn't be felt from the outside. He gave a small smile to his friends in farewell and started walking out of the room with Malfoy.
"Do you want me to apologize for my parents now, in advance, or after you hear the things you probably will?" Malfoy asked, playing with the Malfoy family ring on his finger.
"After, I guess," Harry shrugged, hands in his pockets.
"Remember, my father can't do magic outside the manor," Malfoy said, and Harry looked at him, noticing the way he kept fiddling with the ring and how he watched the jewel nervously, even if his mask of indifference didn't show it.
"Are you saying that to me or to yourself?" he asked, and those gray-blue eyes were fixed on him. "He won't hurt James. Relax, no one is going to hurt my little boy, ever," he said calmly, feeling one of the few certainties he had ever had in life.
"Our little boy," Malfoy corrected, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"Our little boy, right," he agreed, seeing the taller one smile.
McGonagall wasn't in her office, but Professor Flitwick was, and he pointed out the watch that would serve as the Portkey, explaining that the handkerchief he had given to Malfoy was the key to return and that they had two and a half hours, emphasizing that Apparition wasn't safe for pregnancy.
Harry felt the typical tug of a Portkey, which made him more uncomfortable than usual, but it wasn't worrying. He found himself on a street he had never seen in his life. The people around them were all very well dressed, adorned with jewelry or other things that looked expensive. All the surrounding establishments had the same appearance of wealth.
Malfoy extended his arm, and Harry looked at him, confused. The blond just rolled his eyes and gestured to his arm again. Harry rolled his eyes in return and hooked his arm through his, turning back to observe his surroundings. He swallowed hard and followed Malfoy, who seemed to know exactly where he was going, shrinking slightly at the look of the place where they were going to dine. Damn.
The entrance had double dark wooden doors, polished until they reflected like mirrors. Above them, an elegant plaque displayed the name in French, which Harry didn't even try to read, silver letters in relief that shone softly even without direct light. Tall windows, covered with dark green velvet curtains, let only a little amber light escape to the sidewalk.
They entered as the doors opened for them, and Harry could observe the interior. The ceiling was high, cream marble columns with silver veins that seemed to shimmer under the magical light of a crystal chandelier floating just above them. The floor was a black-and-white marble mosaic, forming delicate geometric patterns, and there were moss-green armchairs in a corner where some wizards seemed to be waiting for a table.
"Reservation under the name of Draco Lucius Malfoy," he was brought back to reality by the blond's voice, noticing he was speaking to a staff member.
He saw Malfoy take off his black coat and did the same, not forgetting to grab his wand, watching the pieces float magically to a room that was full of similar items. He looked at the blond, who didn't seem impressed at all, and suddenly felt nervous. Damn, he had no idea how he was supposed to act.
The witch started walking, and Malfoy pulled him along so they would follow her, and they passed through a foyer.
The dining hall was large and quiet, obviously protected by some noise-dampening spell. The floor was dark wood, polished so that it reflected the gleam of an even bigger chandelier than the one at the entrance. The tables were well spaced, the tablecloths were white, and the silverware so shiny that Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out to be pure silver. On each table, there was an arrangement of white flowers, Harry easily recognized the lilies.
There was a section where four string instruments were on display, playing by themselves, filling the space with pleasant music. But they kept walking, and it was clear they weren't going to stay there.
Then they entered a room filled with landscape paintings, where the leaves on the trees moved and rivers flowed, and the staff member led them to a room with another dark door, opening it for them.
It was a private room. Grayish wood panels covered the walls, and there were more landscape paintings that seemed to change with the seasons, judging by how they looked. In the center, there was a round light-marble table with four leather chairs and a white marble fireplace, where the fire was already lit. There was no sound, not even the crackling of the flames, aside from the same low music from the hall.
"Damn it," Harry said when he found himself alone with Malfoy, letting go of his arm. "What the hell is this, Malfoy?" he asked, looking around and seeing another chandelier above the table.
"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"How much is this dinner going to cost? Look at this place," Harry said, feeling a little exasperated. "I think the only times I've come close to this kind of wealth was at Gringotts or when I broke into your aunt's vault," he said without holding back, and heard Malfoy chuckle softly.
"Your vault has more money than the Lestranges', believe me," he said, walking calmly to the table and sitting down. One of the glasses magically filled with water. "And don't worry, I'll pay for your dinner. It wouldn't be polite to do anything else, considering you were kind of forced to come here," he shrugged, and Harry sat beside him, seeing his own glass fill with water as well.
"Shit," Harry muttered, looking at the table.
There was a large plate underneath that looked decorative, with a smaller one on top, and a napkin folded so perfectly he didn't dare touch it. On the left, there were multiple forks, too similar for him to know the difference, and on the right, knives and a spoon, lined up as if measured with a ruler. On the plate, two small crossed utensils Harry assumed were for dessert.
What confused him the most, however, were the glasses, the largest one, already filled with water, and two others, one smaller and one medium-sized, lined up behind it. There was a small plate in the corner with a tiny knife on top. Everything shone, everything looked far too expensive, and the feeling was that any wrong move could break some invisible rule that everyone except him seemed to know.
"Use the outside ones first," Malfoy said, and Harry looked at him. "This fork is for the salad," he pointed to the fork farthest from the plate. "This one is for fish," he pointed to the middle one. "And this is for the main course. The spoon is for the soup, the outer knife is for the salad, the middle one for the fish, and the inner one for the main course," he explained calmly. "So just remember to use the ones farthest from the plate first."
"Okay," Harry agreed, looking at the silverware. This one seemed easy.
"These are for dessert," he pointed to the utensils on top of the plates. "And this plate and this knife are for the bread and butter that will arrive when my parents show up," he said, and Harry nodded. "The glasses you'll ignore, they're for wine and champagne. You won't be drinking for James," he explained, and Harry nodded.
Malfoy stood, took the beautifully folded napkin, unfolded it, and placed it carefully on his lap, sat back down, and did the same with Harry's napkin. The door opened, and Harry refused to turn around, knowing it was Draco's parents. He saw him greeting his parents, and soon they came into his line of sight. Then, above the armrest, a small card appeared, it was a drink menu.
He looked at it, flipped it over, and then found the non-alcoholic options, finding the apple-and-herbs elixir interesting. An uncomfortable silence settled, and Harry sincerely didn't want to lift his head.
"I was thinking of ordering a bottle of Romanée-Conti 1988, Burgundy," he heard Draco's voice after clearing his throat.
"Sounds wonderful, my dear boy," he heard from Narcissa's side. "And you, Potter, how many weeks are you again?" she asked, and Harry could no longer pretend not to see them.
"Nineteen weeks, Mrs. Malfoy," he replied, forcing a small smile.
"Oh, then you've passed all the morning sickness," she smiled in a way Harry would dare call affectionate.
"Thanks to Merlin," he muttered, and she smiled again.
A man with darker skin than Zabini entered the room, and Draco turned to him.
"One bottle of Romanée-Conti 1988, Burgundy, and…" Draco ordered, looking at him.
"A peach mocktail, please," he added after checking the card.
They waited for the waiter to leave, and the uncomfortable silence returned. This time, however, Harry noticed how Draco glanced at Lucius and quickly looked away, as if embarrassed, which made his bad mood grow a little.
"It's a boy," Draco said, looking at his mother, and a bread basket appeared in the center of the table.
"Oh, that's lovely," she said, reaching for a bread roll from the basket and placing it on the small plate.
"Have you thought about names?" Lucius spoke for the first time.
"James Sirius," Harry replied, looking seriously into the older man's gray eyes at the table, expecting some comment about the name choice.
"Sirius," the blond woman repeated, looking thoughtful.
"I suggested that name, James Sirius," Draco said, looking at his mother.
"That was thoughtful of you," she said.
"We thought of flower names if it were a girl," Harry commented, seeing another card, smaller than the previous one, above the plates. "A flower for my mother and you, and a constellation for the Black family tradition," he explained, and for the first time in his life, he saw her give a genuine smile.
"We thought of Cassiopeia Peony for a girl and James Sirius for a boy," Draco added.
"Lovely names, although I don't think James suits the Malfoys, I love it," she said, her voice sounding softer.
Harry saw Draco smile openly and found the scene sweet. He reached for the card, wanting to see what options were listed.
Shit.
Everything was in French. Soupe à l'oignon gratinée, Velouté de champignons, Bisque de homard. He looked at Draco, seeking help, and their eyes met. He smiled in a way that was almost affectionate.
"French onion soup with gratinéed cheese, fine mushroom cream, and lobster bisque," he translated, speaking quietly.
"The choice is yours, Mr. Potter, but I believe the best option considering the pregnancy would be the fine mushroom cream," Narcissa said calmly, and Harry nodded slowly.
Lucius said something, it wasn't hard to tell it was in French. Narcissa ignored him completely, but Draco fixed his eyes on the elder, not looking very pleased. Lucius waved his hand and placed the orders with the waiter, without asking if Harry would actually follow Narcissa's recommendation and without thanking the waiter.
Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, disregarding any etiquette rules.
"Are you sure this pregnancy is a consequence of your relationship with my son?" Lucius asked, watching him. "Or should I consider that the unpredictability of your… condition… leaves room for other explanations?" He arched one eyebrow.
"Father, it's mine," Draco said, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
"I understand your position, Mr. Potter, of not wanting your son to set foot in the manor, but you have to understand that this decision is not yours and—" Lucius began, his tone sounding like a speech, but Harry interrupted him.
"He won't set foot in the manor. My son won't grow up in the same place where Voldemort killed and tortured innocent people, some of them my friends," Harry said, with not an ounce of patience. "And yes, the decision is mine. James will be a Potter. I am carrying him, and I am his father. I decide what's best for him, and if he wants to visit the manor as an adult, after knowing everything that happened there, that will be his decision," he concluded, observing Lucius's grimace.
The waiter returned to the room, placing a beautiful glass with Harry's drink before him, and magically the other glasses disappeared. Then he opened a wine bottle and began serving the Malfoys' glasses, all in more than uncomfortable silence.
"That decision was mine too, Father," Draco said as the waiter stepped back. "I bought an apartment in London for that reason, I don't want my child there either." His tone was much calmer than Harry's, far more patient and respectful.
Harry watched the exchange of glances between father and son and reached for his drink to take a sip, tasting the sweet beverage as Narcissa brought a piece of bread with butter to her mouth.
"He will also have access to Muggle culture. His grandmother was Muggle-born. Harry was raised in the Muggle world. His lineage is tied to Muggles, so James's lineage is too, and I won't take that from him," Draco continued, and Harry wanted to laugh at the way Lucius just grabbed his wine glass and took two long sips.
"How's the preparation for his arrival at school?" Narcissa asked, looking at him.
"Ah, Molly and Arthur are helping, and anything at my house, they and Kreacher are taking care of," he explained, and her expression shifted briefly before returning to the mask she was wearing.
"Grimmauld Place?" she asked.
"Yes, Sirius left me as his heir," he replied calmly, and he noticed the way she shifted, seeming slightly uncomfortable. "I renovated the house, but Kreacher hid some things in the attic so I wouldn't get rid of them. If you'd like to take a look, since they're Black family relics, I wouldn't mind. But Andromeda has already taken some things," he offered, adjusting himself in the chair.
"Are you in contact with Andromeda?" she asked, taking a sip of wine.
"She's my godchild's grandmother, so yes," he shrugged, noticing the way she showed a little more interest.
"I didn't know Nymphadora had a child," she remarked, and Harry held back the urge to ask how she would know.
"She married Remus Lupin. Edward, my godchild, was one month old when Bellatrix killed Tonks and Dolohov killed Remus," he said, looking calmly into her blue eyes, which held his gaze briefly before looking away.
"Have you considered who will be the child's magical guardian? We cannot allow his education to be left to chance," Lucius said, his eyes fixed on Draco.
"We haven't discussed that yet," Draco replied, looking at him. "But I imagine at some point he'll attend a Muggle school before Hogwarts." Harry couldn't help but smile at that.
"Potter, do you intend to keep in touch with your Muggle uncles? It would be important to understand how much of this… non-magical inheritance will enter the child's life," Narcissa asked, and Harry felt uncomfortable.
"Actually, no, I don't have contact with my uncles, but I keep in touch with my cousin, and I plan for him to meet James," he allowed himself to answer only that way, not wanting to go into details.
"Draco, my son, have you chosen a godparent for the baby?" Narcissa asked, and Draco turned to her.
"I thought it would be Blaise and Granger, or Pansy and Weasley, each picking one," he said calmly, and Harry made a slight grimace, unable to imagine not having Ron and Hermione as his child's godparents.
"I imagine you don't expect Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to be the greatest influences on his upbringing. That would be… tragic," Lucius said, probably prompted by the mention of the surname, and Harry had to clench his fist and take a deep breath.
"Molly and Arthur will be James's grandparents, so yes, they will be major influences in my boy's life," he replied calmly. A small soup plate appeared before them, similar to how it happened at Hogwarts, perhaps slightly smaller than the size of his closed fist.
"Are they okay with that?" Narcissa asked.
"Yes, they know there's another father and are more concerned with me and the health of their first grandchild than with anything else," he said calmly, waiting for Draco to start eating so he could do the same. It was delicious.
"Potter, do you have preferences about who will be present at the birth? You know that in our family we've always trusted magical midwives," Narcissa asked.
"Actually, I'm not entirely sure how it will happen, but I know Malfoy will be there, and I want Ron and Hermione to be there too," he replied simply. With Ron and Hermione, Harry felt he could handle anything.
"Draco, do you really believe a Potter can prepare our heir to handle the weight of two such distinct surnames?" Lucius asked, and Harry saw the way Draco swallowed nervously.
"Father, I believe that Potter and I will be capable of raising, educating, and handling our child," Draco replied.
It was enough for Harry to finish his soup for the plate to disappear, and a new card to appear on it. Salade niçoise, Salade de chèvre chaud, Salade de roquette et betterave. They were in England, would it really be that hard to give him something written in English? He looked at Draco, silently asking for help, and saw him studying a card identical to his.
"One of the salads has cheese, and the other has tuna, so I think the best choice for you would be the Salade de roquette et betterave, arugula, roasted beets, walnuts, and a light vinaigrette," he said, and, damn it, Harry had never realized he needed to hear Draco Malfoy speaking with a French accent until he did. "Want to hear the other options?" he asked, keeping his voice low. Harry shook his head, accepting the suggestion.
He reached for his drink and took a sip, then another. He wanted to leave.
"This monopoly the Greengrass family has on alchemical ingredients is becoming unsustainable," Lucius remarked, resting his glass on the table with a restrained gesture. "The Ministry turns a blind eye, but we know it won't last."
"They have warehouses in southern France," Narcissa replied softly, swirling the wine in her crystal as if discussing the weather. "And transport through Corsica ensures exclusivity. It's strategy more than abuse, Lucius."
"But the mistletoe price hike was deliberate," Draco added, without lifting his eyes. "The Slughorns mentioned it at the last meeting. It's not the market, it's control."
"Exactly," Lucius raised his chin, satisfied with his son's point. "And while the Wizengamot gets distracted with trivial projects, the Selwyns advance. With the Shafiqs gone, there's far too much dangerous space left open."
"The Travers are insinuating themselves too," Narcissa added, her voice sharp. "They have old connections in Durmstrang, and that carries more weight than it seems."
A small plate, slightly larger than the soup one, appeared before Harry, bringing the salad. He picked up the fork silently and began to eat, chewing slowly while letting the avalanche of surnames and intrigues pass around him, meaningless.
"Coats of arms still hold power, Draco," Lucius continued, his tone almost lecturing. "A tainted coat can be restored, as happened with the Yaxleys."
"But not with the Carrows," Narcissa countered, raising an eyebrow. "Their crest was exposed at the last meeting, a direct insult to the council itself."
"History shows that pure blood doesn't always guarantee respect," Draco finally said, and the heavy silence that followed was broken only by the clink of Harry's fork against his plate.
When he finished the last leaf of salad, Harry let the utensil rest on the empty plate, noticing that no one at the table had said a single word to him since the conversation began.
"And tell me, Potter, how exactly do you intend to raise a Malfoy without knowing any of this? I imagine it must be difficult to educate someone to bear the weight of a name you don't even understand."
"Fortunately, Mr. Malfoy, my child won't need to know who monopolizes the mistletoe to learn character. I leave the little games of prestige and influence to those who have nothing else to be proud of," another card appeared in front of him. "And I don't intend to raise a Malfoy, but a Potter," he added, reading the new card even though he knew he wouldn't understand a word of it.
Filet de saumon en papillote, Turbot rôti au beurre blanc, and Coquilles Saint-Jacques. Harry wanted to curse that restaurant.
"Steamed salmon with herbs, white fish with a butter-based sauce, or scallops gratinéed with cream," Draco said quietly to him.
"Salmon should be the safest choice, right?" he asked, seeing the blond nod.
Harry didn't pay much attention to what followed in the conversation, which returned to politics, economics, power, and who knows what else. He only focused on how tasty the fish was and the way Narcissa was very firm in saying that, among the main course options, he absolutely could not eat duck, not that Harry had planned to anyway. He ended up eating roast lamb with fine herbs.
When the dessert card appeared, he almost sighed in relief, it was almost over. He had been so preoccupied with the general discomfort that he hadn't even thought about being uneasy about the food.
His eyes fell on the name Crème brûlée, and he knew he wanted it. He had never eaten it before, but had always been curious. And honestly? That custard lived up to its reputation, it was really good.
Harry shook Narcissa's hand after Draco paid for the dinner, saying goodbye, and when he shook Lucius's hand, he used a bit more force than necessary, pulling him a step closer and speaking almost in a whisper.
"Don't forget I could throw you in Azkaban as easily as I got you out of there." He smiled afterward, seeing the older man resist swallowing hard.
He put on his coat and walked outside with Malfoy by his side, glancing at him, trying to read his face beneath that mask of indifference. He checked the watch he had received from the Weasleys on his seventeenth birthday and saw they still had half an hour until the portal key.
"Sorry about my father," Malfoy said, casting a silent warming charm on him.
"Nothing I wasn't expecting," Harry shrugged, rubbing his belly over his coat.
"There's a baby clothes store nearby. Want to take a look?" he asked, and Harry shrugged. Malfoy offered his arm, and Harry laughed before taking it.
They walked to a beautiful storefront, two blocks from the restaurant. The windows were wide, with enchanted glass that subtly changed the interior view depending on the angle, showing, at one moment, delicate dresses floating in the air, and at another, small tunics adorned with softly glowing runes. The door was dark wood, carved with snakes and stars. Small light enchantments made the runes shimmer as they approached.
When they entered, a young witch immediately made herself available to them, obviously recognizing them, if not by appearance, then from the newspapers.
"It'll be born in the summer," Malfoy heard, and soon he was being led to an area where seasonal clothes were displayed.
Harry let go of the blond's arm to look at the clothes, to touch the fabrics, feel their textures. They were so tiny, the shoes fit in the palm of his hand. Gods, he would have a baby that small, completely dependent on them.
He fell in love with a set, a cream-colored t-shirt that, according to the label, adapted to body temperature, with a discreet embroidery of stars in silver thread on the collar. The shorts were emerald green, and the stars glowed softly at night like an enchanted sky.
He felt James move inside him and had to take a deep breath to keep from crying.
"Can we come back here another week? I want to look at everything slowly, and after your parents, I just can't," he said to Malfoy, who agreed immediately. "But I want to take this one," he added, looking back at the piece in his hands.
"Then we'll take it," Malfoy said simply, and the clerk stepped back.
Harry turned to him, watching him, noticing how perfectly shaped the blond strands were, though they still bothered him a little. Malfoy stepped aside to pay, and Harry glanced around, at the little clothes, at the tiny shoes, by Merlin, he would die from how cute it all was.
Malfoy returned with the clerk following behind, holding a paper bag, probably with the piece of clothing, and she accompanied them outside, where Malfoy took the bag from her, and she said goodbye.
"Thanks, I didn't even look at the price," Harry said, and Malfoy laughed, shaking his head.
"It's the least I can do. James is my son, I'm going to buy his clothes. And after everything you heard from my father today, this was the basics I had to do," he shrugged. "I'd buy it even if it were red and gold, but you chose green, so…" He laughed, and Harry rolled his eyes, lightly tapping his arm.
Malfoy checked his watch, took the handkerchief from his pocket, and held it out. Harry grabbed it, feeling the usual tug of the portal key, and found himself at the door of the empty Great Hall.
"The food was good, so I guess it was worth it," he shrugged, beginning to walk toward the eighth-year dormitory.
"You didn't have many choices to eat," Malfoy said, in a tone of mild complaint.
"But it was tasty. Though I wish I could've read the options, I know it's a French restaurant, but they could've had an English menu too, right? I mean, we were in England," he complained, hearing Malfoy chuckle softly.
"I was literate in both languages, so it's never been a problem for me," Malfoy shrugged. "I never even thought of it as an issue," he added, laughing softly.
"James will have to learn French?" he asked, looking at the taller boy, who gave an awkward smile.
"Probably, but we're the ones who decide," he said, stopping in front of the statue and saying the password to enter the eighth-year common room.
Harry took the bag from the taller boy's hands as they climbed the stairs, stopping between the doors of Malfoy's and his own dormitory.
"You know, I prefer your hair down," Harry said, raising a hand to tousle the platinum strands.
"And I prefer you smiling," Malfoy replied, not even objecting to his actions.
Harry smiled, Draco knew how to be kind when he wanted, he knew how to be careful, knew how to be pleasant, and damn, he knew how to fuck. Harry stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the taller boy's cheek.
"Good night, Draco," he said, turning away and walking to his room.