25 weeks pregnant, a little over six months, James measured 32 centimeters, and now, even if someone hadn't read the papers or heard the whispers in the hallways, everyone could see he was expecting.
Draco had bought him new clothes, more magically-stretching trousers, more shirts and tops designed for pregnancy. He had tried to buy him pajamas too, but Harry didn't like how Draco's pajamas felt on his skin, so he'd said he was fine sleeping in sweatshirts.
Of course, he shouldn't have said that, now he had half a dozen new sweatshirts just for sleeping comfortably. Harry no longer complained about people carrying his bag for him, James was getting heavier, and he wasn't used to the added weight. He often caught himself holding his lower back, where he sometimes felt pain.
At his last appointment with Healer Hawthorne, it was revealed that his magic seemed closely tied to his emotions. His magic was channeling all the nutrients James needed directly to him, leaving only what was left for Harry. Harry had been satisfied with that, but apparently, he was the only one.
Anemia was to be expected, it was common in pregnancy, but not at the level Harry had, and more potions had been prescribed.
He would get short of breath climbing too many stairs between classes, his heart pounding, his arms trembling when he held any weight. The healer explained it was due to his history of low energy intake and reduced muscle mass, which limited his endurance, while pregnancy increased his metabolic demand.
At that moment, he was in the eighth-year dormitory, lying on the bed, reading Draco's Potions notes, with Hermione's spell notes scattered at his side.
"Is it one or two drops of mandrake essence in the Anti-Paralysis Potion?" he asked.
"Two drops," Draco replied quickly, as if there were no doubt about it.
Draco was sitting on his own bed, actually, Harry's head was resting on his lap, both of them stretched out on the Slytherin's bed, while the blond absentmindedly ran his fingers through Harry's hair, reading some book the Gryffindor didn't recognize.
"What's a blender?" Draco asked, and Harry stared at him. The Slytherin was already used to his way of looking, knew Harry expected him to figure things out on his own. "It's one of those things in the kitchen," he murmured thoughtfully. "Isn't it?" he asked, glancing at Harry, who nodded. "It's the one that spins? The one they use to make cake batter?" he tried.
"That's a mixer," Harry corrected. "But you're close," he encouraged.
"Oh, it's the one that turns things into liquid, right? Cuts everything up and looks like a jug?" he asked, sounding more confident.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, smiling.
"Thanks," Draco said.
Harry went back to reading the notes. Draco's handwriting was carefully shaped, delicate, similar to Hermione's, yet still quite different. He started reading the instructions about how many times he should stir clockwise and counterclockwise, and soon sleepiness crept in.
He wished so much he could just get up from there and go play Quidditch.
"Um, Harry?" Draco called, and Harry placed the notes back beside Hermione's, turning to the blond.
"Yeah?" he murmured, watching Draco close his book, though he didn't look at him.
"I know it's been years, but we've been apologizing for things for a while now, and…" his voice trailed off.
"Yeah…" Harry said, urging him to go on, and Draco sighed.
"I'm sorry about fourth year, when I started telling and making things up about you for Skeeter, all the stuff that ended up in the Daily Prophet," he admitted, and Harry studied him before laughing.
"So many awful things happened after that, I honestly forgot it was you feeding her the information," he said honestly, and the blond looked at him. "Hermione dealt with her," Harry added, seeing Draco frown.
"I want to know how," he asked, and Harry's smile widened. "If you tell me, will I be an accomplice to some crime?" he pressed, and Harry laughed out loud, nodding. "How many Hogwarts rules and laws have you even broken?" Draco asked.
"I don't know," Harry frowned. "Well, I wandered around Hogwarts a lot after curfew, and I lost count of how many times I went into the Forbidden Forest."
"Those don't count," Draco chuckled.
"Well, I don't think there was much in first year… aside from the whole Quirrell thing," he muttered.
"Oh sure, because it's so harmless, fighting a professor with the Dark Lord in his head at eleven years old," Draco rolled his eyes but kept stroking his hair.
"In second year, Ron and I flew a car, and some Muggles saw us, we nearly destroyed the Whomping Willow and…" he tried to recall, then burst out laughing. "Oh, you're going to hate this," he grinned, seeing Draco hesitate. "Hermione brewed Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and—" he was cut off.
"You brewed Polyjuice Potion at twelve?" he asked, sounding incredulous.
"Hermione brewed it," Harry corrected, "and then Ron and I turned into Crabbe and Goyle and got into the Slytherin common room," he explained. Draco froze, his hand stilling in Harry's hair, eyes going wide.
"How did you even find the entrance? How did you get the password?" he demanded, and Harry only grinned wider. "Stop smiling, you're scaring me," Draco muttered.
"I thought you liked me smiling," Harry shot back, and Draco rolled his eyes. "You ran into us in the corridor and walked us in," he shrugged. "We wanted to see if you were the Heir of Slytherin," he added with another shrug. "And then there was the whole Chamber of Secrets and basilisk thing, and we sent Lockhart off to St. Mungo's."
"You say that so casually," Draco laughed.
"In third year, I blew up my aunt like a balloon and she floated off, but that was accidental magic. I snuck out of Hogwarts to Hogsmeade because I didn't have a permission slip. Oh, and I used a Time-Turner, pretty sure I wasn't supposed to, since Hermione was the one authorized," he rambled.
"You did what?" Draco asked, bewildered.
"Then I saved Buckbeak from being executed and my godfather from getting a Dementor's Kiss. In fourth year, I don't think I broke any rules, not really, since I wasn't the one who put my name in the Goblet," he muttered thoughtfully. "But fifth year," he gave a nervous laugh, "I used magic outside school against a Dementor, started Dumbledore's Army, which broke Ministry rules and Hogwarts rules thanks to Umbridge, not to mention all the detentions I got." He lifted his hand, glancing at the scar.
"We didn't know she was using a Blood Quill," Draco said quietly. "I don't think it would've changed anything if we had, but… we didn't know." He took Harry's hand with his free one, brushing over the scar. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't cause these scars, so you've got nothing to apologize for," Harry said, giving him a small smile. "And we broke into the Ministry, too," he added with a faint grin. "And I sent your father to Azkaban," he muttered under his breath.
"And last year you broke him out," Draco murmured.
"That was a consequence of saving you and your mother, collateral damage," Harry rolled his eyes. "In sixth year, I followed the rules as best I could. The only wrong thing I did was with you," he admitted, looking up at Draco, "with the spying and the curse in the bathroom. I'm sorry."
"I've already told you it's fine," Draco said softly, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand.
"And last year I became public enemy number one, broke into the Ministry with Polyjuice, went on the run, broke into Gringotts, cast Imperius on a goblin, robbed your aunt, freed a dragon, broke into Hogwarts, cast Cruciatus on a Carrow, and killed Voldemort. I think that's about it," he finished, smiling at Draco.
"I'm already too far gone, just tell me, what did Granger do to Skeeter?" Draco asked.
"Oh, she found out Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus and trapped her as a beetle in an unbreakable jar, so if she transformed back she'd be crushed to death," Harry said with a wide grin. Draco's expression turned horrified. "She also hexed the list of names in Dumbledore's Army, so if anyone betrayed us we'd know immediately," he added. "Oh, and once she set Snape's robes on fire.
"For Merlin's sake, and all I got was a punch from her," Draco muttered to himself. "I thought she liked rules," he said, though it came out more like a question.
"I think she likes knowing the rules, but actually following them isn't really her thing," Harry shrugged.
"My god, the father of my child is a criminal," Draco grumbled, and Harry sat up, laughing.
"Come again?" he asked, leaning closer to the taller boy.
"My child will have a vandal for a father," Draco dramatized, laughing.
Harry climbed onto the older boy's lap and cupped his face with one hand, watching his smile falter just slightly before his face was pulled closer and their lips met.
Harry slid one hand to the back of Draco's neck, threading his fingers through the blond strands, while Draco's fingers tangled in his own hair, tugging him just a little closer. Harry's rounded, sensitive belly pressed lightly against the blond's torso with every shift, but he adjusted, leaning a bit to the side without breaking the kiss.
Draco let out a low sound against his mouth, and Harry answered it, exploring slowly, careful not to hurt himself or lose balance. Draco's hands traveled down Harry's back, gliding slowly, passing over the curve of his belly and the tension of the muscles beneath his clothes. Harry rested his other hand on Draco's shoulder, gripping firmly, grounding himself in the safety of the touch.
They moved slowly, bodies adjusting to the weight. When their lips parted for just a moment to breathe, Harry pressed his forehead to Draco's, smiling between the kiss and a muffled laugh.
"You're impossible," he murmured, and Draco chuckled, his pale hands still roaming with tender attention.
"Look who's talking," Draco shot back, capturing his lips again.
Harry settled more comfortably on Draco's lap, feeling the steady support of the headboard behind the blond and his body holding him up. It was strange how natural it felt to be there, fitted so perfectly, as if he had always belonged in that space.
Those large hands moved along his waist, and Harry held his breath, because every touch seemed to command his movements, as if Draco could guide him without the slightest effort. Harry yielded to the stroke of his tongue invading his mouth, shivers racing down his spine.
It was different. Draco kissed as though he refused to be denied, and Harry didn't want to deny him. He just followed, trying to keep up, always a step behind, always giving in whenever Draco squeezed his waist or pulled his neck closer.
The press of his belly against Draco's firm torso made him flinch for an instant, not from pain, but from the raw feeling of exposed vulnerability. Still, Draco held him in a way that left no room for fear. Safe. Always safe.
Their tongues met again, slow at first, until Draco deepened the pressure and Harry let out a low moan. He couldn't fight that rhythm, he didn't want to. There was a strange kind of satisfaction in simply letting himself be led, in following the pace Draco set.
Draco's hands were everywhere. One held his nape, firm, keeping him close, the other sliding down his back to the small of it, holding him tightly enough that Harry didn't have to worry about balance. The touch sent a shiver racing through him, and he clung harder to the blond, fingers burying in the soft strands of his hair.
The air grew heavy, warm, and Harry realized it when his hips shifted almost unconsciously, seeking more. Draco noticed too, his grip tightening on Harry's waist, controlling the motion, pulling him even closer.
Their lips broke apart for a fleeting second, and through his half-lidded eyes Harry caught sight of a thin string of saliva snapping between them. Before he could even draw a proper breath, Draco pulled him back in, and the muffled sound that slipped from his throat startled him.
He didn't know if it was a moan or a sigh, but he knew he was lost. Draco kissed him as if he could consume him whole, and all Harry could do was follow, trying to keep pace, trying to endure the heat spreading through his body.
Those hands kept sliding over him, exploring every curve, every line beneath his clothes. When they brushed over the spot just below his belly, Harry shuddered all over, his skin burning beneath the fabric. There was nothing invasive in the touch, but the firmness made him feel branded, marked, as if Draco wanted to pin him there forever.
His breathing was too fast, his heart racing. The taste of Draco's mouth, the heat of his tongue, the weight of his body pressing down, everything was too intense, and yet Harry didn't want to stop.
Draco's hands moved lower, tracing his waist before finding his thighs. The steady touch drew a gasp against his mouth, Harry's body responding before his mind could catch up. When fingers squeezed lightly at his leg, sliding upward along the side, Harry couldn't hold back the instinctive motion of pressing in closer, clinging to the blond.
The kiss deepened, growing more intense, and Harry let out a low moan when the other hand settled on his ass, pulling him firmly onto Draco's lap. The pressure knocked the breath out of him, the undeniable sense of being pulled in, belonging to that space, to that body.
Harry let his fingers slip from the back of Draco's neck down to his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. It was too much, he needed more of his skin, needed to tear down the barrier between them. His hands trembled, but he managed one button, then another, until the fabric gave way enough to reveal pale skin beneath.
Their lips parted for another brief moment, and Harry took the chance to push the shirt over Draco's broad shoulders, sliding it down until it fell beside the bed. The sight stole the air from his lungs, pale skin, the defined chest, every detail laid bare just for him.
Draco's skin bore deep marks, jagged, reddish lines that time had never erased, the aftermath of Sectumsempra. One cut began below his waist and ran nearly to his collarbone, a long, cruel slash across his torso. Another stretched from just above his waist to the base of his neck and along the side, narrower but still stark, the kind of scar only hidden by high collars or spells. Lower still, a third carved across his hip, slicing from one side of his waist to the other.
The scars had faded to pale silver in places, still tinged faintly pink in others. Before he could think twice, Harry pressed his lips to Draco's collarbone, right over one of them, tasting the heat of his skin.
Draco's grip tightened on his waist, dragging him back into another kiss, hungrier, more urgent. His body was tense against Harry's, and Harry could only lose himself in the friction, in those hands alternating between gripping his ass and sliding down his thighs, as if Draco needed to explore every inch.
When Draco leaned forward and gently pressed him down into the mattress, Harry yielded without thought, letting himself sink back, his body relaxing under the blond's weight. The kiss went on, fierce, almost desperate, and Harry felt his heart race with anticipation.
The sound of the door creaking made him freeze.
"Fuck," Nott's voice cut the air.
Harry's eyes went wide, his face still pressed to Draco's, both of them panting. Draco let out a low curse, his hand still tight on Harry's waist, as if he didn't know whether to pull away or to protect the moment they'd just been exposed.
Harry wanted to disappear.
He shoved Draco and scrambled to his feet, seeing Nott in the doorway. He grabbed his wand and Hermione's notes, muttered some excuse nobody believed, and left the room, pushing Nott out of his path.
His cock was hard, throbbing and sore, and his cheeks were burning.
He ran to his own room, ignoring the way Ron and Hermione seemed tangled together, and flung himself onto his back on the bed, grabbing his pillow and moaning into it in frustration.
"Harry?" he heard Hermione's slightly breathless, worried voice.
"I want to vanish," he mumbled, still with the pillow over his face.
"What happened?" Ron asked, and Harry felt him sit down on the edge of the bed.
"I was with Draco," he murmured, pulling the pillow off his face and resting it on his chest, looking at his friend. "And we were more than just kissing, you know?" he added, feeling his cheeks heat even more. "And Nott caught us." He rolled his eyes.
"Mate, half the school thinks you two are dating," Ron said, and Harry looked at him. "The other half is split between believing he drugged you with Amortentia and that you two only pretended to fight all these years to hide that you were dating, and now you're married," his friend relayed.
"Married?" Harry asked quietly, a bit unsettled by the idea.
"Nott caught you together, so what?" Hermione asked, stroking his hair.
"Wouldn't you be embarrassed if someone caught you with Ron shirtless on top of you?" she asked, and Ron made a face.
"I don't want the image of you having sex with Malfoy in my head, thanks," Ron said, earning a light smack from Hermione.
"It's okay to be embarrassed, Harry," Hermione said softly. "But don't throw away all the progress you've made with your feelings so far, please," she pleaded almost.
"I won't, I'm just embarrassed," he murmured, idly rubbing his belly.
"This will be the only question I ask about it," Ron said, catching both their attention. "Was he gentle? He didn't hurt you or anything?" Ron asked, and Harry grabbed the pillow, pressing it to his face and muffling a shout into it.
"We weren't having sex," he muttered.
"But were you heading there?" Hermione asked, pulling the pillow away.
"Probably," he grumbled, wanting the pillow back. "He didn't hurt me, Ron, and he was being gentle," he answered, and the redhead nodded.
"Great. That's one less reason to add to the list of reasons I want to kill the father of your child," Ron said, smiling, satisfied.
"Is the time he beat you at chess on that list?" Hermione asked, and Ron looked at her as if she'd smacked him.
"He beat me once, I beat him four times," Ron defended, and Harry smiled, amused.
"That wasn't my question," Hermione said, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
"Yes, it's one of the reasons," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes as he stood up from Harry's bed. "Shall we go to dinner?" he asked, clearly trying to change the subject, and Harry laughed, nodding.
It took them a while to actually leave the dorms and head to the Great Hall, too busy teasing Ron about the chess match he'd lost, and Harry teasing Ron and Hermione about not being able to go a single minute without clinging to each other, knowing full well that his kisses with Draco only ever happened in private places, so they couldn't use that against him.
When they finally arrived for dinner, all the Slytherins were already gathered at the eighth-year table, Goyle, Nott, Zabini, Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Greengrass, but Draco wasn't there. Harry scanned the table, then the rest of the Hall, but the platinum hair was nowhere to be found.
"Where's Draco?" he asked the group, not addressing anyone in particular.
"He's not in the castle. He went out to deal with something," Greengrass answered, and before Harry could ask, Goyle added
"If he didn't tell you what he went to do, we're not going to. Don't bother," he said without looking up from his plate.
Frustration knotted in Harry's chest, but he pulled away and sat down beside Seamus, lost in thought. He and Malfoy had just been tangled up in bed, kissing fiercely, Draco's hands in his hair, on his body, and now he was hiding things from him? Leaving the castle required special permission, especially for someone who was only at Hogwarts under the condition of his freedom. Malfoy had been caressing him, kissing him, touching him, all while keeping secrets.