Harry was lucky to have only one more exam left that week, since the current instructions were for him to rest after meals, along with taking in more iron and protein. According to the spells, his little boy was already 32 centimeters long.
Harry seemed to have completely lost the ability to sleep alone, it felt like having some kind of human contact during the night eased the nightmares and made the discomforts of pregnancy less bothersome in his sleep.
He rotated between Ron's bed, Draco's bed, and dragging Hermione into his own, since there was no longer enough space for him to share between his two best friends thanks to the round belly.
He was also more than a little frustrated with the idea that McGonagall had decided to throw a ball the night before everyone left for home. The ball was for seventh- and eighth-years who were graduating, and anyone fourth year and up could attend, as a celebration of the end of the war.
And now he had to find something decent to wear to that bloody party, something comfortable enough with the belly he carried now. And not too much of a hassle to take off, given that his bladder seemed to be the size of a walnut.
Hermione was studying at his side, with Neville and Theodore too, all of them deeply focused on the last exam, while Harry lazily played wizard chess with Ron in the eighth-year common room. Harry sat on the floor on top of two cushions, since the fabric of the sofa was somehow irritating him, wearing for the first time since the incident in the forest one of Dudley's short-sleeved shirts, with a faint warming charm.
"You're not even trying, Harry," Ron whined, giving him checkmate. "Where's that git Malfoy when we actually need him?" he grumbled, cranky, and Harry laughed.
"Maybe he's studying, Ronald, as you should be," Hermione snapped, a touch irritated.
"Mione, it's DADA, everyone knows we'll pass that one with our eyes closed," Harry said, and those brown eyes shot him a glare.
"You might get an O easily by relying on your talent, I'll rely on my studies," she countered, and Harry rolled his eyes.
Ron opened his mouth to say something but shut it again, looking at something behind Harry. Harry turned and found Parkinson and Bulstrode staring at him, arms crossed and looking annoyed, with Zabini also standing there, arms crossed but clearly amused.
"Potter, could you, please, clear something up for us?" Bulstrode asked, masking irritation with politeness.
"Uh… alright," he said, confused, the statement sounding much more like a question.
"The Patronus charm, when casting it, do you have to think of a happy memory or a happy feeling?" Parkinson asked. Harry shifted, settling himself to look at them properly, noticing Goyle and Greengrass were there too.
"What are you lot doing?" Draco asked, coming down the dorm stairs toward them.
"Clearing something up with the best at DADA in this school," Parkinson said, her irritation obvious. Harry figured they'd been arguing about this for a while. "Well? Potter?"
"It depends on which one is stronger," he shrugged, watching both of them deflate. "I mean, sometimes the memory itself isn't all that happy, but the feeling tied to it is, and that can be strong enough. And sometimes the feeling about the memory isn't so great, but the memory itself is, so it works. It depends on which is stronger, the feeling or the memory," he explained.
"What do you use?" Bulstrode asked, crossing her arms.
"It's a memory from a time when I was really sad, confused, and in disbelief, but I feel incredibly happy whenever I think about it," he shrugged.
"He uses the feeling of happiness," Bulstrode said, glancing at Parkinson, as if proving a point.
"Did you not just hear him say it depends?" Parkinson shot back, and the two of them started walking away.
Harry watched, shrugging again before turning back to Ron, who had already reset the board, and to Draco, who at some point had sat down beside him and made the first move.
"And I've been replaced," Harry concluded, watching the strange pair start their chess game.
"What memory do you use for your Patronus?" Draco asked, lifting one arm, and Harry leaned into him, enjoying the sideways embrace.
"When I found out I was a wizard, on my eleventh birthday," he answered, watching the pieces move. "I tried Gryffindor winning the House Cup, but it wasn't nearly strong enough. My first broom flight came close, but nothing matched when I discovered I was a wizard."
"I can't cast a corporeal one," Draco said, and Harry looked at him, at the same time Ron's hand froze in midair. "I mean, I can conjure a Patronus, but I've never managed to get it to take a form." He shrugged.
"Bet it'd be a peacock," Ron said, moving one of his pieces, and Harry chuckled softly.
"Bet yours is a dog," Draco countered.
"It's a Jack Russell Terrier," Ron muttered, sulking.
"Still a dog," Draco said, and Ron rolled his eyes.
"Whatever you say, Ferret," he shot back, toppling one of Draco's pawns, blue eyes locked with storm-gray ones.
Harry found the whole exchange entertaining.
He snuggled closer into Draco, feeling him slide a hand down his bare arm, which sent a shiver through him. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of Draco, smiling when he felt a kiss pressed to his forehead, right as Ron let out a frustrated groan, probably from losing a piece.
Harry didn't know how long the game lasted, but before long Ron had joined Hermione, and it wasn't just his arm being caressed anymore, Draco's hand was on his belly now too.
"Will you go to the ball with me?" came Draco's whisper against his ear, and Harry looked up at him.
"Seriously?" he asked, smiling faintly, and Draco nodded. "That'd be nice," Harry said, and Draco smiled, kissing his cheek.
"We'll have to find you something comfortable to wear, for our boy," Draco said, and Harry groaned lazily, hearing Draco's quiet laugh. "Want me to take care of it?" he offered.
"No. I'm not letting you pick the outfit I'll wear on my last night at Hogwarts, when they'll probably spike the punch and I won't even be able to drink it," Harry said, and Draco laughed.
"Well, I think the last time you drank, you had enough for the rest of the year," he joked, and Harry rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm up.
"You didn't do much better," he muttered, and received another kiss on the cheek.
"If you answer with 'Bezoar' they won't count it, that's for Potions, not DADA," Harry heard Hermione's voice and turned to see her talking to Zabini.
"Why did I even take this class?" the Slytherin whined.
"Because you needed it," Draco answered, catching the other's eyes.
"Shouldn't you be studying, Mr. 'Perfect Grades'?" Zabini teased, and Draco lifted his hand from his belly just to flip him off.
Harry frowned, suddenly craving Treacle Tart with a scoop of half-melted vanilla ice cream, the way Dudley used to eat it in the summer. He definitely didn't want to walk all the way to the kitchens, it was on the same floor, yes, but near the Hufflepuff common room on the far end, and just the thought of going there made him groan in frustration.
"What is it?" Draco asked, worried, and Harry smiled, spotting an opportunity "I know that smile, Potter. You've been giving it since we were eleven, right before I end up screwed somehow." Draco leaned back a little and used his surname, which made Harry cross his arms. Draco sighed. "What is it?" he asked again, more gently.
"I'd love a big slice of Treacle Tart with some vanilla ice cream," Harry said quietly, catching the blond's disbelieving look. "I'm carrying your child, Draco Lucius Malfoy. You won't die if you walk to the kitchens to get me some dessert." His tone was grumpy, and Draco rolled his eyes, standing up.
"Just one slice?" he asked, and Harry smiled.
"Two," he murmured.
"Only one scoop of ice cream?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded. Draco let out a soft laugh, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and walked away.
Harry pulled the pillows from under him, lay down on the floor using them as a cushion, and sighed, caressing his belly. He could feel James moving, though not kicking, so he wasn't sure if it could be felt from the outside.
"Where did he go?" Theo asked.
"To get me food," Harry replied, reaching for one of Hermione's books and reading the title. "'Apparition'? Seriously, Hermione, you were one of the first in our year to master that, and they'd never ask it in a N.E.W.T., much less in DADA," he said, confused, watching as his friend turned to look at the book he was holding.
"Oh, no, that's not for exams," she replied, taking it back from his hands. "Malfoy and I were thinking a bit about the issue of you Apparating after entering the third trimester, whether alone or side-along, and I wanted to research what would be safest."
"You're doing research with Draco about me?" he asked, closing his eyes right after. "My God, whose idea was it to get you two closer?" he groaned, though he knew full well it was his own doing and chose to ignore it.
His eyes shot open when he felt a hand on his belly, but he instantly relaxed when he saw it was Ron. And from the small smile on Ron's face, he could tell James's movements could be felt from the outside.
"Is he moving?" Hermione's voice reached him, and he watched Ron nod, looking happy. "Do you know how big he is?" she asked.
"Healer Hawthorne said thirty-two centimeters," Harry said, stroking the lower part of his belly. "There are people who give birth at this stage of pregnancy. It's dangerous, babies don't always survive… but some do," he rambled. "Like, he's already all formed in here, just putting on weight to be born," he murmured, imagining what his beloved little boy's face would look like. "And stomping on my bladder, damn it," he whined, sitting up. Zabini was the one to offer him a hand.
He took the help, got up slowly, thanked him, and went to the bathroom, relieved when the pressure on his bladder eased.
"You've got to go easy on me, my little boy, I can't move that fast to the bathroom," he muttered, caressing his belly as he walked back to where Ron and Hermione were, spotting Draco entering the common room with empty hands.
"Relax, they'll bring it here, they wanted to give you a warm slice," Draco said before he could complain.
Harry nodded and sat down on the couch, running his hand over the fabric. It didn't feel uncomfortable anymore, so he settled there. Draco took a while before joining him, approaching with some papers, and Harry had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the blond was going to study.
He leaned against Draco, glancing at what was written on the parchments, nothing either of them hadn't already mastered. And if they hadn't before the war, they'd learned during it, like nonverbal spells and some small, easy wandless ones. Harry, in particular, never found wandless spells all that hard.
He smiled when he heard a familiar pop, and then a plate appeared with two still-warm slices of Treacle Tart and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He had to hold back from moaning in delight at the first bite, Merlin, this was the best food in the whole world. Harry could easily spend the rest of his life eating only that.
"'How to tell a Boggart from a Dementor'? Seriously? What kind of question is that? They're completely different things," Theo said, reading notes that clearly weren't his own.
"Wow, that would've been useful for me in fourth year," Harry murmured.
"Your Boggart is a Dementor?" Zabini asked, sounding doubtful. Harry just shrugged. "I thought it would be the Dark Lord," he added.
"I'd never give that bald bastard the satisfaction," Harry grumbled, eating a bit more ice cream, and a loud laugh rang out.
Harry turned around, catching Draco trying to hide his face as if the laugh had slipped out by accident, looking like he was trying to stuff the sound back inside.
"Fuck off, Harry, he's everyone's Boggart around here, and you call him a 'bald bastard'?" Draco said, laughing.
"But wasn't he bald?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. "Mate, I got close to him a few times, I'm pretty sure I would've noticed if he had any hair," he argued, and Draco laughed harder, looking like he was struggling to stop.
"That's not the point, sweetheart," Draco said fondly, and Harry jumped at the sound of something falling. He turned toward the noise and saw Ron had dropped the chessboard on the floor, his face lit up as if the Chudley Cannons had just won the regionals.
"'Sweetheart,'" Ron repeated, sounding awestruck, and Draco's face fell, any trace of laughter quickly fading. "You call Harry 'sweetheart,'" he repeated, as if trying to absorb the information.
"Not another word, Weasel," Draco spat, looking irritated.
"I don't care if you two try to kill each other, as long as you both walk away alive and not in front of me," Harry muttered before taking the last bite of his beloved tart and setting the plate aside.
He lay down on the couch, using Draco's thighs as a pillow, and sighed in contentment as fingers began threading through his hair. He studied the blond, a little annoyed at how good he looked even from that angle. Harry still thought Draco looked sharp-edged, but he was beautiful, his face had softened a bit with age, his expressions had matured, and Merlin, he was gorgeous.
"How do you think the practical exam will be?" Draco's deep, husky voice broke through, and Harry noticed the way he was watching him.
"I don't know. Hermione's usually the one who guesses how the exams will go. I just show up and do what they ask." He shrugged.
"And yet here you are, you passed every OWL you took, and you've probably passed every N.E.W.T too," Draco grumbled, and Harry frowned. "Have you ever stopped to think what you'd be capable of if you actually studied? I mean, Merlin, I never thought I'd say this out loud," he laughed nervously. "You're smart, Harry. I mean, you managed an E in Potions on your OWLs, and that was your worst subject, and—"
"I got a D in History of Magic," Harry cut in, watching Draco raise a brow.
"You fainted during that exam, didn't you?" Draco asked, and Harry felt his cheeks warm.
"Yeah. I had a vision of Voldemort."
"The bald one?" Draco teased, and Harry smiled.
"Yeah, the bald one." He nodded.
"See? That just proved my point," Draco concluded.
"I did study, I mean, there's no way not to when you're Hermione Jean Granger's best friend," Harry shot back, noticing Hermione glance their way. "And both of you scored higher than me anyway."
"Yeah, we did, by killing ourselves studying. And I only got an E in Defense," Draco pulled a disgusted face.
"And an O in Potions," Harry pointed out, and Draco smiled faintly.
"Well, I'd have been royally screwed if I hadn't, by both my father and Snape, since he was my godfather," Draco muttered, and Harry's eyes widened.
"Snape was your godfather?" he asked, incredulous, and Draco nodded, looking a little puzzled.
"Yes. I thought you knew." He shrugged.
"Merlin, that explains a lot," Harry muttered, remembering all the times Draco had pulled something in Potions and somehow it was always Gryffindor that lost points.
"Harry, you're going to look at clothes for the ball tomorrow afternoon, after the exam," Hermione said, reading a letter. "Mrs. Weasley booked an appointment with Madame Seraphina Vellory, she's coming here to do the fittings because of James." She handed the letter to Ron.
"She picked out an outfit?" Harry asked. "But we only found out about the ball yesterday," he murmured, catching Hermione's pitying look.
"Harry, this has been planned since the start of term," she said, and Harry rolled his eyes. "She did pick something, she just forgot to tell you because of everything with James, she and Arthur have been sorting things out at Grimmauld," she explained.
"That's good, I mean, she picked my clothes for the Yule Ball back in fourth year and I loved them," he nodded, catching Draco's eyes on him. "What? Are you going to tell me you wouldn't let your mother pick your clothes in some situations?" he asked, and Draco gave a small smile.
"That's not why I'm looking," he murmured, brushing a hand behind Harry's ear, which made him relax further.
"Sleep in my room tonight?" Harry asked in a whisper. He wanted the comfort of his own quilt, but he wanted Draco too.
"Of course, Sweetheart," Draco smiled faintly.
At some point Harry picked up his book to read, letting the others around him keep studying. But once he'd finished it, he wasn't about to go all the way to the library for the next volume, so he got up to shower and change into something more comfortable than what he was wearing.
He was feeling odd about only being able to see the tips of his toes when he looked down, James's fault, the belly's fault. His little boy was big now, and the realization that soon he'd be in Harry's arms was starting to hit him.
Harry longed to hold him, to see his tiny face, to know if he'd look more like him or Draco, or be some perfect mix of the two. He wanted to know the color of his hair, its texture, the shape and color of his eyes.
But part of him also wanted the boy to stay in his belly forever, warm and safe, where no one could harm him. He sighed as he dressed, stepping out of the bathroom and spotting Zabini and Draco talking on the Slytherin's bed.
He walked straight over, snuggling under his covers, took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand, but kept his wand under the pillow, he doubted he'd ever be able to sleep without it nearby.
"Hey," Draco said, lying down next to him already in pajamas.
"Hey." Harry looked at him, everything was a bit blurred, but he could still see the bluish-gray of Draco's eyes. "Can I ask you something personal?" he murmured, resting a hand along the side of Draco's neck.
"Sure," Draco agreed, and Harry's thumb began tracing the line of his jaw.
"What do you think about, when you cast your Patronus?" he asked, feeling Draco's hand slide under his pajama top to stroke his waist.
"It's not a happy memory, actually. It was one of the scariest moments of my life. I was terrified," Draco said, and Harry raised his eyes to focus on the blue in his. "It was when you escaped the Manor."
"What?" Harry asked, confused, he couldn't see how that could be a memory for a Patronus.
"I was so scared, Harry. You were there, kneeling in my sitting room, and I felt my world collapsing. All I could do was refuse to identify you, but I was so frightened I couldn't even manage a proper lie, and I'm good at lying," he gave a weak laugh. "But then you escaped the cellar, you managed to grab my wand, and then Dobby appeared and got you, Granger and Weasley out." He spoke like he was reliving it. "I was sure I was going to die, that the Dark Lor-Voldemort would kill me, kill my mother, my father, my aunt," he corrected himself, and Harry smiled weakly as he corrected himself. "But I felt so much relief, Harry, because you'd escaped. You were free to stop him, to do the right thing, to defeat all the terror he was causing." He let out a quiet laugh. "I guess it's that hope I felt when I saw you Disapparate with Dobby that lets me cast my Patronus."
Harry pressed his lips to Draco's, fingers gently stroking the blond strands at the back of his neck, willingly parting when the Slytherin asked for entrance with his tongue. Draco's mouth moved with a sure, heated firmness against his, and Harry simply followed, in no rush to take control. With every push of Draco's tongue, he yielded, opening for him, breath quickening against the blond's lips.
Draco's hand slid slowly along his waist, tugging him closer until Harry's body molded against his beneath the blankets. Warmth spread under his thin shirt, sending a shiver racing down the Gryffindor's spine.
Harry's fingers trailed up Draco's strong arm to his shoulder, then tangled into the soft hair at his nape. He gave a gentle pull, drawing Draco even nearer, feeling the larger body lean into his without pressing him down.
A damp kiss broke only to give way to another, slower, deeper. Draco nipped at his lower lip, and Harry answered with a breathy sigh, letting him explore.
Their legs brushed and aligned beneath the blanket, and Harry clutched tighter at Draco's shirt, as though it anchored him. The blond's open hand grazed up his side, tracing over his ribs before pausing at the curve of his jaw.
Harry tilted his face into the touch, letting himself be guided, eyes fluttering shut when Draco kissed him again, longer, softer. He felt Draco's breath ghost over his lips, felt his heart racing far too fast, felt that he didn't want anything to break that moment.
And so he stayed, surrendered to the heat of Draco's body, to the steady weight of his hand against his skin, to the sure rhythm of kisses that made him forget the rest of the world.