They were all sitting with Draco at the Gryffindor table when Neville broke the silence.
"Harry, you need to watch what you eat," Neville advised. "You're getting really fat."
"He's not fat, you dumbass," Draco snarled. "He's pregnant! With my baby!"
Hermione's eyes widened in amazement. "Pregnant? Wh—how far along? And how are you guys going to support another kid?"
"Hermione—" Ron said warningly, scowling at how inappropriate her words were. Wizarding pregnancies—especially male pregnancies—were to be celebrated, not condemned.
"Oh, don't give me that look, Ron!" Hermione cried. "You guys already have little Sandrinia—she's not even weaned yet, and now you're having another baby? You're—you're not even out of Hogwarts!"
"We didn't plan this," Harry said, chagrined. "That's why I let Draco top… We knew Sandrinia still needed to nurse. It was a surprise."
"But—"
"Shut it, mudblood!" Draco snapped.
"Don't tell the mudblood to shut it, Draco," Harry said dangerously.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Draco said, unrepentantly. His eyes fell down to Harry's swollen belly, where his son nestled in wait to emerge from this world. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"Besides, Sev says it's okay," Harry said. "He said we can live with him and Lupin, and they'll babysit."
"Professor Snape is pregnant himself, Harry!" Hermione complained. "What happens when Amethyst is born? He's going to be busy taking care of his own child!"
"For your information," Draco said coldly, "He's decided to name the baby Tristan or Jessamine."
"Oh."
Hermione fell silent.
Harry rubbed his belly, glad the ugliness was over. Why can't she just be happy for us? Harry wondered.
"Don't worry," Draco said that night in bed, watching him through cool perceptive eyes. "Once our son is born, she'll realize she's wrong."
Harry smiled and curled into the firm body of his lover. Their baby Sandrinia was tucked in her crib in the corner of Draco's room. All was right in the world.
Why, though was Draco so intent on having a son?