Alright, maybe Malfoy knew how to be more than just decent, he could be gentle, pleasant, even affectionate. Harry would never admit it out loud, but he liked it when Draco handed him a piece of his clothing, it always carried his scent, something unmistakably expensive and strangely comforting to breathe in.
Up until the previous week, his belly had been at a manageable size, noticeable, but nothing that drew too much attention. Since the dinner with the Malfoys, however, it had grown considerably, enough that Dudley's old shirts were starting to feel tight around his abdomen.
Healer Hawthorne had said four weeks earlier that James was a little smaller than expected, but just the day before she had reported that he was now at a healthy size, about twenty-six centimeters. Harry had gained weight too, though not as much as most expecting mothers typically did, barely half of that, really, but the potions for James seemed to be working as they should.
Harry was getting up from the eighth-year table, ready to head to Herbology, when he found Ginerva standing in front of him, her brown eyes fixed on his belly. Instinctively, Harry pulled his uniform cloak tighter around himself, as if shielding his little boy with the fabric.
Ginny's gaze lifted to his face, her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she seemed restless, her hands buried in the pockets of her Gryffindor cloak. Then she pulled one out and held it forward, revealing a tiny pair of socks, crimson like Gryffindor's colors.
"I understand if you never forgive me. I said terrible things, and it was my fault the story spread," she said, her voice trembling faintly. "I understand if I'm not considered his aunt, but I knitted the socks, and I wanted to give them to your son." Her tone grew firmer. "I'm sorry, Harry. There's no excuse for what I said. I was blinded by anger and regretted it the moment I walked away. But I thought you deserved some space, some peace, without having to deal with me again, so I didn't come to ask for forgiveness." She smiled weakly, faintly. "But I've let this go on for too long," she sighed. "I really am sorry."
Harry took the tiny socks, studying them. They were soft, with the letters J and S embroidered in small golden stitches, adorable. He looked back at the redhead, remembering the thrill of flying with her, of playing his beloved Quidditch by her side… but then the words she had spat at him came back, calling him a broodmare, a Death Eater's whore.
"Thank you for the socks," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You'd be his aunt regardless, Ginny, but I'll need some time. You said some pretty awful things." He gave a weak laugh, rolling his eyes, and saw the way she lowered her head in shame. "I mean, I get it. Back in fifth year I did some pretty questionable things, yelled at just about everyone at least three times a day, all because I was angry. I know our tempers can be alike." She smiled faintly, sadly. "We both know I'll forgive you, but it won't be that quick, alright? I don't mean that in a bad way," he tried to explain, and she nodded in understanding.
"I understand, Harry, I really do. Don't worry, this is already more than I deserve. I probably wouldn't forgive someone who said those things to me," she admitted honestly.
"You'd hex them with a Bat-Bogey Curse on the spot and make their life miserable until they left Hogwarts," Harry muttered, and Ginny let out a small laugh.
"True," she admitted. "I'm sorry, Harry, I was horrible," she said again.
"You know he's going to be part of my life now, don't you? Malfoy will be part of the life of anyone who wants to be close to James," Harry said, needing to make that clear to her.
"I know," she nodded. "I can put up with that pompous pointy git for my nephew's sake," she promised, and Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you for giving me another chance," she said as she stepped back.
Harry drew a deep breath as he left the Great Hall. Then he remembered that day's Herbology lesson would involve Venomous Tentacula, and he wasn't allowed anywhere near them, he'd have to write an essay instead. He stopped in his tracks. He didn't feel like heading to the greenhouse, where the smell was anything but pleasant, only to sit down and write.
So he changed course, slowly climbing the Astronomy Tower stairs. He had Charms afterward, but wasn't sure if he even wanted to attend. He didn't bother telling Ron or Hermione, ever since he got pregnant, the couple had kept the Marauder's Map when they split up, and he knew they'd send a Patronus if they needed him.
He sat down near the safety railing, letting his legs dangle over the edge, taking in the view. The sky was clear, with only clouds letting the sunlight filter through in streaks of gold. There was no threat of a storm, just a refreshing breeze, enough to tousle his hair.
The distant mountains still had snow on their highest peaks, lower down, the slopes glowed with vibrant green, a sign that spring was on its way. The lake mirrored the sky, and shadows of the castle towers stretched across it, stone gargoyles watching the horizon.
He sighed, leaning back just enough to reach for his parchment and two books, using one as a support to write notes from the Herbology book about the Venomous Tentacula. He wrote lazily, he wasn't really in the mood for the assignment, but exams started in June, and it was already the end of April, so he needed to study.
He didn't know how long he had been there when the sound of footsteps behind him made him jump. Turning, he saw Draco, glancing around, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"You didn't go to Herbology," the blond's low voice said, and Harry gave a small smile.
"I couldn't handle the plants, so I didn't go to the greenhouses," he shrugged. Draco came closer. "How did you find me?" he asked, watching Draco sit down beside him.
"Weasley and Granger," he replied simply, placing a cloak over Harry's shoulders. Harry smiled in thanks.
"Ginny apologized to me," he said, looking back at the snow-capped mountains.
"And what did you say?" Draco asked, and Harry sighed.
"I said everyone knows I'll forgive her, but I needed time because she hurt me, she said some really awful things," he explained. A soft, sharp laugh escaped the taller boy, and Harry looked at him, it sounded like the kind of laugh he used to hear directed at him before the war, cruel, cutting.
"She made you have a breakdown, Harry," Draco said seriously. "She made you cry. She was cruel." Harry shook his head and looked back at the landscape.
"I know," he sighed. "That's why I said I needed time. I can't act around her like I did before, but I'll get past it, I want to." He shrugged.
"Whatever's best for you, Harry," Malfoy said, and Harry felt the familiar warmth of Draco's magic, along with the heat of a warming charm.
Harry smiled faintly, adjusting slightly before resting his head on the blond's shoulder. He had to hold back a bigger smile when Draco's hand found his, fingers lacing with his and stroking gently.
"We can only choose one man and one woman to be James's godparents?" he asked softly, watching their hands together, the contrast between Draco's pale skin and his tanned one.
"Yes," Draco replied calmly. "You don't want to choose between Weasley and Granger, do you?"
"I don't know if I can choose between them," Harry admitted.
"How about Granger, since Weasley will be the uncle?" Malfoy suggested, lightly massaging his hand. "Then I can make Theo the godfather."
"I thought you'd pick Goyle," Harry murmured.
"I love Greg, but I think he'd break James if he had to take care of him for one night," he said, and Harry laughed. "Blaise would be too afraid to hold James for fear of hurting him, so Theo is the best choice," he concluded.
"I don't think either of those issues have anything to do with Ron and Hermione," Harry commented, holding Draco's hand and running his thumb over the Malfoy crest engraved on the silver metal.
"I told my father he won't have a say in raising James," Draco said, and Harry lifted his face, watching how Malfoy observed their joined hands.
"And how did he react?" he asked, and the gray-blue eyes turned to his face.
"Well, he never answered," Draco said, giving a small smile, and Harry chuckled softly.
"What happened to 'my father will hear about this'?" he teased, and Draco rolled his eyes, but a faint smile lingered on his lips.
"I guess I stopped counting on my father when I got the Dark Mark, but it was final when we fucked," Draco said, shrugging.
Harry threw his head back and laughed out loud, caught off guard, neither of them had ever talked about what had happened twenty-one weeks ago, over five months ago. When he calmed down, he looked at the blond and saw him smiling broadly, looking light, with no trace of his usual icy mask.
"Yeah, I definitely prefer you smiling," Draco said, and Harry felt his cheeks warm slightly.
"You should do it more often, you look good smiling, really smiling, not that sarcastic smirk," Harry complimented, enjoying how easily Draco blushed, and how his smile didn't fade.
"You're complaining about sarcasm? You, of all people, Mr. Harry James Potter?" he asked, and Harry rolled his eyes, laughing.
"My sarcasm is different. Yours comes with the tone of someone who thinks they're smarter than everyone else."
Draco made a low sound, almost a laugh, but his eyes stayed fixed on Harry in a way that made him look away for a moment toward the mountains. He felt his heart race for no clear reason.
"It's not my fault if most people can't follow my reasoning," Draco retorted, adjusting the cloak over Harry's shoulders. The simple gesture brought warmth to Harry's chest, more than the warming charm did.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to ignore the strange, yet comforting feeling at the same time.
"James is definitely going to inherit that from you," Harry said, distracted, imagining his little boy with Malfoy's sarcasm.
"I hope he inherits the eyes," Draco replied without hesitation.
Harry turned his face immediately, surprised, feeling that tightness in his chest again.
"You again with this thing about my eyes?" he asked, trying to sound casual, remembering their conversation by the lake a few weeks ago, but it felt strange hearing it repeated.
Draco simply held his gaze, steady, as if there were nothing unusual about the comment. His gray-blue eyes locked on Harry's so intensely that he had to look away to the parchment beside him.
"I already said it once, they're not forgettable," Draco murmured, almost as if speaking to himself.
"You really have some strange fixations, Malfoy," Harry said, feeling his cheeks warm as he laughed softly, trying to break the sudden weight of the words.
"Maybe," Draco replied, but there was a softness in his smile, nothing like the teasing from before.
Harry took a deep breath and turned back to the horizon. Still, the comment echoed in his mind, mixed with the warmth of Draco's hand intertwined with his. He rested his head again on the taller boy's shoulder, watching the pale blue sky reflected in the lake.
He felt James move inside him and reached the hand that wasn't intertwined with Draco's to his belly, under the layers of fabric. He felt Draco bury his face in his hair and do the same thing he had done the previous week, Malfoy left a kiss on the top of his head.
Harry froze for a moment at the sensation of Draco's lips in his hair. It was a simple gesture, almost mundane, but to him it meant so much more. No one had ever done that before the war. The Dursleys never hugged him, there had been no hands to hold or comfort him, and even after Hogwarts, the few touches he received were hugs from Ron and Hermione, pats on the back, quick greetings, nothing with this kind of gentleness.
His body reacted before his mind. His shoulders relaxed, his breathing deepened, as if that small kiss said something he had never heard out loud. Part of him wanted to pull back, out of habit, out of discomfort with being vulnerable. But he didn't move. On the contrary, he leaned a little closer against Draco's shoulder, feeling the warmth spreading across his skin and chest.
It was just a kiss on the top of the head, nothing more, Draco had done this before. His heart was beating faster than he wanted to admit, and he tried to convince himself it was only because of James moving, or the cold wind blowing down from the mountain. But he knew, deep down, it wasn't just that.
"Pansy said that one of the neo-Death Eaters spotted in Hogsmeade weeks ago was caught and sent to Azkaban," Draco said, letting go of Harry's hand and pulling him into a hug. Harry felt his body relax even more.
Harry took a deep breath, caressing his belly, letting Draco pull his hand closer to his own. Now their hands rested together, pressing against his belly, pressing James.
"Do you think James will be completely safe when he's born?" he asked softly. The idea that his baby, his little boy, was already in danger while still in his womb made him feel sick, the thought that he wouldn't be safer after birth made him want to cry.
"I don't think anyone has ever been completely safe, Harry, at any point in history," Draco replied, his voice calm. "There have always been insane people, now is no different." He sighed. "But our boy will have more protection than any other magical child, he'll have the Golden Trio to protect him, the Malfoy fortune to protect him, and so many people to love him," he listed, and Harry felt another soft kiss, this time on the side of his forehead. "He'll be fine. You both will be fine," he assured him, not letting go.
They stayed silent for a while. James had stopped kicking, but their hands didn't move. Draco continued holding him, his lips resting on Harry's forehead.
Draco smelled amazing. If the scent of his clothes was already good, smelling him straight from his body was even better. He wore a faint masculine perfume that seemed to blend with his natural scent, and Harry couldn't explain why, but it was intoxicating. The feeling of his lips on Harry's forehead was just as good.
Harry wasn't sure what made him move, what he had been thinking when he did it, maybe he acted precisely because he hadn't thought. Harry pulled back slightly and pressed his lips to Malfoy's.
It was just a simple touch of lips, brief, but not as brief as it should have been. Harry felt the unexpected softness, the warm touch that seemed to trap the air in his lungs. His heart raced in his chest, too fast, almost painfully, and when Draco pulled away, he could barely take a deep breath.
The blond stared at him, his light eyes fixed on Harry's, as if searching for an answer he didn't have. Before Harry could look away or say anything, Draco lifted a hand and gently cupped his face. His thumb brushed his skin, warm and soft, and then their lips met again.
This time it was more than just a brush of lips. Draco pressed a little more, his mouth firm against Harry's, and Harry felt the line of his jaw move as he tilted his head. The warm friction of their lips repeated in short, measured bursts until the kiss deepened. Draco's breath hit Harry's skin unevenly, and Harry opened his mouth without thinking. Draco's tongue slid lightly against his, a quick, tentative touch, before deepening.
Harry responded, hesitant at first, shy, then with more confidence, moving his lips against Draco's in the same rhythm, noticing how naturally his mouth fit against Draco's, as if it had always been this way.
The world seemed to disappear. There was no wind, no distant castle noises, only the heat of the touch, the glide of skin against skin, and the strange feeling that each racing beat of his heart echoed in Draco's body too.
When they pulled away, Harry kept his eyes closed for a moment, as if afraid that opening them would make everything vanish. His lips still tingled, and he realized he was breathless, as if he'd run a long distance.
He didn't understand why he had done it. He didn't understand why he wanted it again.
"What are you doing?" Draco's deep voice broke through, and Harry opened his eyes, momentarily lost in the shades of blue in his gaze.
"I have no idea," he answered simply, holding Draco's face and leaning in again.
This time, when their lips met, Harry didn't wait. The kiss started soft, a brief brush, but quickly gained weight. Their lips parted slightly, pressure increasing naturally, until Draco's tongue brushed against his, asking for passage. Harry yielded, and the wet touch sent a shiver straight down his spine. His breath caught instantly, as if he'd forgotten how to fill his lungs.
Draco's hand slid from the curve of his neck down to his waist, spreading firm warmth beneath the fabric. The movement was slow but deliberate, controlled, every inch claimed as if indispensable.
Heart racing, Harry moved slowly, adjusting until his hands rested on Draco's shoulders and he swung a leg over him. The cold iron of the railing behind reminded him of the height, but it didn't stop him, he wanted, needed, to be closer.
The movement was a little awkward because of the belly, not very big, but enough to require care. Draco held his waist firmly, adjusting him on his lap without breaking the kiss, as if afraid Harry might lose balance. Harry relaxed at the adjustment, the natural fit when he finally settled on him.
His legs spread on either side, Draco's torso filling the space, their bodies pressed together firmly. The kiss didn't stop, it only gained more contact, warm breaths against his mouth, the soft clash of teeth, Draco's tongue exploring his in slow intervals, then more urgent.
When they pulled back for a moment to breathe, Harry noticed the flush on Draco's face, the intense shine in his eyes, his lips wet and red, his short breaths, and he knew he felt the same when they kissed again.
Draco's hands didn't stop. One slid slowly up his back, pressing him closer, tracing every line of his spine over the fabric. The other stayed firm at his side, descending to the curve of his waist and resting just below his belly, a touch that wasn't invasive, but firm enough to remind him Draco was there, holding him.
Harry felt the fingers press lightly, exploring every detail even through the clothes. Heat spread through his body in waves, every nerve alert to the contact. He responded by gripping Draco's shoulders more tightly, more to steady himself than on his own initiative.
He had never been touched like this, never felt someone want his closeness so badly. He couldn't believe he was the cause of this urgency. For Harry, it still seemed impossible to be desired that way, and yet every touch sent a shiver through him, every caress engraving a truth on his skin that he didn't know how to deny.
The kiss became a cycle of pressure and release, lips meeting, sliding, parting, and coming together again. The wet sounds of their mouths filled the space, punctuated by their short breaths. The cold iron behind them contrasted with the heat radiating from Draco's body, and for a few seconds, Harry completely lost track of where one ended and the other began.
The soft clash of teeth drew a low, involuntary sound from him, and Draco responded by deepening the pressure of his mouth, almost hungry. The hand on his waist tightened, holding him against him. He felt both vulnerable and protected, lost and found, and the contradiction left him dazed.
When Draco pulled back for a moment, breathing hard, Harry slowly opened his eyes and met his gaze. Deep, intense blue, almost too much. That should have made him pull away, but it didn't. On the contrary, his heart raced even faster.
Harry didn't understand what Draco saw in him to look at him like that, but the weight of that gaze made him feel cherished in a way impossible to deny.
Draco raised his hands to Harry's face, holding him carefully, thumbs brushing his cheeks gently. He held him in his gaze for a few seconds before leaning in and leaving a long kiss on his forehead, followed by a quick, fleeting seal on his lips.
"Should we be doing this?" Draco asked, his voice no louder than a whisper, husky.
"We're going to have a baby. At this point, I don't think it matters anymore," Harry replied in the same tone, noticing his voice was as husky as Draco's, and saw the blond smile before leaving another quick kiss on his lips.