A/N: Hi! Hope you enjoy the chapter, and tell me what you think! :)

Chapter two: What's happening?

"Looking for someone, Potter?"

Harry stilled abruptly, halting in the middle of the seventh-floor corridor, slightly taken aback. For the past three hours, he'd been repeatedly pacing back and forth, glancing at his map and feeling restless and more and more agitated as he desperately wished for the Room of Requirement to materialize. Nothing had happened so far, and the sudden familiar voice — the smugness of it — surprised him significantly. With a disgruntled frown on his face, he slowly turned and stared at Malfoy in mild shock.

"What?" he asked almost dazedly, gaping at the door behind Malfoy, which hadn't been there a while ago.

Malfoy smirked and shrugged with an annoyingly arrogant expression on his face, casually leaning back against the half-open door of the Room of Requirement. "You've been lurking here for some time now." He arched a haughty eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Waiting for someone, are you?"

Harry bristled, and he quickly masked his curiosity and anger with a look of indifference. "It's none of your business, Malfoy." He clenched his jaw tightly. "What are you doing here?" He eyed Malfoy warily, glancing at the door. "Sneaking into the Room of Requirement every single day."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he sneered contemptuously. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Harry glared angrily, shoving the Marauders map into his pocket and clenching his hands into fists. Malfoy raised an eyebrow in amusement, continuing to look recklessly unbothered as Harry took a threatening step forward. He'd been on another stake-out, waiting for Malfoy to mess up, endeavouring to thwart whatever plans Malfoy had been meticulously cooking up inside the Room of Requirement for these past few months. He was determined to find out what Malfoy was doing, what he was planning, what he was thinking, even if it cost him his life. "Whatever you're hiding, Malfoy, I'll find out what it is," he said through gritted teeth. "You aren't fooling anyone. I know you're planning something in there —"

"Ah." Malfoy nodded solemnly, his brows knitted. "I see. You're curious about what I've been doing?"

Harry's blood boiled. How dare he act so calm? "Malfoy —"

"Well, come on in, then."

Whatever Harry had meant to say died on his tongue. His mind suddenly drew a blank. Stilling like a statue, he blinked repeatedly in shock. "What?"

Malfoy smirked, wide and devilish, and his expression was a mixture of mischief and cunning. With a strangely unconcerned look in his gaze, he languidly pushed himself off the wall and turned, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I said, come in, Potter," he drawled coolly, running a hand through his hair, causing them to messily spill onto his pale forehead in silky, blond waves. "I know you've been spying on me — following me. Trying to find out what I'm up to, or so they say." He looked oddly sly as he threw a disapproving look at Harry over his shoulder and shook his head with a dramatic sigh. "Merlin, you've been stalking this place like a ghost, waiting for me to come out, haven't you?"

Harry gaped at Malfoy in utter shock, wondering if he had finally lost his mind. Why did Malfoy look so proud and unruffled? He'd expected Malfoy to hide out of sheer terror. Something felt odd.

"And you know what? I'm tired of it, Potter, so come on in," said Malfoy, letting out a long, weary sigh, and all the while, he looked smug as he lazily strolled inside with his hands still in his pockets. There was a careless, conceited air around him, and it made Harry feel intensely annoyed. "I'll show you what I've been up to."

Harry stared at Malfoy, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. What was Malfoy playing at? Why did he seem so level-headed and utterly at ease? It was disorienting, confusing. He thought Malfoy would panic. He'd expected Malfoy to stumble, to lose his cool and mess it all up, but there was something in his bold manner, his confident stride, the bright cleverness in his gaze that irked Harry, getting under his skin, and making him feel all prickly inside, as if there were tiny needles stabbing him all over. It vexed him.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" demanded Malfoy, looking back and arching an eyebrow. He sniggered when he saw the bewildered look on Harry's face. "Is ickle Potty scared of entering a room with —"

"Shut the fuck up," snapped Harry angrily, his chest heaving.

Alarm bells starting ringing in his head, and Ron and Hermione's voice screamed, "Don't do it, Harry! It's a trap!" in his ears relentlessly, but curiosity and his utter incredulity at Malfoy's abnormal behaviour overrode all and every sense of danger. He had no clue what was going on, or what Malfoy was thinking, if he was thinking at all, but he was intrigued nonetheless. Besides, what did he have to fear?

Gripping his wand a little tighter, Harry followed Malfoy in, feeling perplexed and a bit dazed, but he was alert. His senses were active and vigilant. He felt prepared. He was fully capable of dealing with whatever lay in store for him.

"Welcome," said Malfoy sarcastically, holding the door open and bowing dramatically with a flourish.

As soon as Harry entered the room, he blinked multiple times and gaped around in extreme shock and bafflement. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it was certainly not this. He'd been sure Malfoy was either trying to make fun of him, or trick him in some stupid way, but he'd willingly sauntered in anyway, ready to face anything that was thrown at him, but this — this was far — far too disappointing. This was odd and uncomfortable, and it made Harry squirm. It made him freeze on the spot, as if stunned and turned to stone.

"What the . . ." And that was all he could push out of his strangled throat.

The Room of Requirement had taken the shape of a cosy and elegant bedroom, spotlessly tidy and beautiful. A huge four-poster bed, with green silk hangings and emerald green sheets embroidered with silver, was placed at the very centre of the room. Bright red and orange flames fluttered in the hearth, engulfing the room in a warm glow. There were plush, velvet armchairs in front of the fireplace, and a long table stood off to the side, covered with cauldrons and pots and different varieties of potion ingredients. Several shelves, full of books old and new, lined the wall. A lavish rug lay beneath his feet, and an ornate golden chandelier poured light onto the floor. It was one of the most luxurious and grand-looking bedrooms Harry had ever seen, but there was somehow something comfortable and homely about it.

Something was boiling in one of the cauldrons, and the smell of it lingered in the air. Harry wasn't sure what type of potion it was, but there was a distinct earthy scent in the room — something that smelled like grass and dew and the early morning sun on a cold, winter day. For a split second, Harry felt hypnotized, but he soon recovered and caught his breath. He couldn't afford to be distracted, after all.

The quiet sound of Malfoy shutting the door brought Harry back to the situation at hand. Without thinking, he blurted, "Is this a fucking joke?"

Malfoy walked up to him and blinked innocently. "Oh, did I get the wrong idea?" he asked nonchalantly.

Harry frowned in confusion. "What?"

Malfoy shrugged, and his grey eyes, usually so dark and cold and dull, glistened vividly silver with barely concealed amusement. "Well," he began in a calm and deliberate voice. "You've been following me." He stared at Harry pointedly, making Harry's frown deepen in utter perplexity. "You've been asking others about me, and you keep staring at me." He shrugged, and there was a devious glint in his eyes, making Harry recoil in discomfort. "I simply recognized the symptoms, Potter."

"What?" spluttered Harry incredulously, his mind reeling. "Symptoms of what?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Was it not all a ploy to get me alone?" he asked bluntly, folding his arms across his chest. "Were you not trying to capture my interest?"

"What!" he repeated like an idiot, his mouth agape in horror and utter bafflement. "What the fuck —"

"Oh, come on, Potty, just be honest with me," muttered Malfoy calmly, inspecting his nails and looking bored. "You like me, don't you?" He let out a tired sigh, but his lips quirked in a devilish smirk, his eyes taunting. "I get it. I'm handsome. I'm rich and smart. What's there not to like? I would fall for me in an instant. Even the great Harry Potter can't resist my charm —"

Harry's knees felt weak, and he somehow managed to croak, "Malfoy, what the fuck are you on about —"

Malfoy looked up with a cocky smirk, and it made Harry's stomach drop. "However, I'm tired of you constantly following me everywhere, so I decided to give you a chance," he announced in a dramatic voice, gesturing towards the room with both hands. "So, how about it? Tell me everything. Ask me out. I will, of course, reject you, and you can then proceed to cry and sob and do whatever it is that people do when they are usually rejected. I wouldn't know. " He shrugged. " Come on, Potty. Let it all out. Get it out of your system. It will help you move on. I hope you eventually stop following me. It's sort of annoying, you see —"

Harry stared at Malfoy, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, feeling utterly stunned and speechless. He wasn't sure if his voice would even come out if he attempted to speak, but he needed to at least try. "Who in their right mind would ever want to ask you out —"

"You, of course," said Malfoy simply, and Harry blanched. For a fleeting moment, it looked as if Malfoy were trying hard to suppress a laugh. Then, he shook his head and pretended to frown, placing his hand on his chin and looking contemplative. "Hmm, was I wrong?" he asked, his lips parting in a mock gasp. He immediately slapped a hand against his mouth. "Is that not why you've been following me? Oh my, I apologize. It's just that you always look so desperate to see me —"

"You're fucking delusional!" snapped Harry angrily, blood rushing to his head. His fists trembled, and he was shaking with fury. How dare Malfoy try to insult him like this? Harry liking Malfoy? What an absurd and unpleasant and truly horrifying thing to even think about! He'd rather kill himself.

Harry glared at Malfoy, barely managing to suppress his rage. Malfoy grinned smugly at him, and finally, he realized what Malfoy was doing. This was a trap — a clever, cunning little trap, and Harry was playing right into his hands. This was a clear attempt to fend him off, to make Harry veer off course, away from whatever Malfoy was trying so desperately to hide. He was clearly trying to deter Harry from investigating him by embarrassing and humiliating Harry. He was trying to accuse Harry of disgusting things, so Harry would stop following him.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," spat Harry furiously. "It was a clever little plan, I admit, but you're a fucking idiot if you think you can get rid of me by accusing me of — of —" Harry's throat closed, and his heart slammed against his chest. "It won't work. You can think whatever the hell you want. I don't care. I'm determined to —"

"Were you actually spying on me to find out what I'm up to?" drawled Malfoy languidly, looking thoroughly unfazed. "How boring. That's alright, though. You should've just asked instead of stalking me like a sick little creep, Potter. You can stay and watch, if that's the case. I'll show you what I've been doing in here every day."

As Harry stood there, utterly dumbfounded and baffled by Malfoy's unhinged behaviour, Malfoy walked elegantly towards the table at the far corner of the room and poured himself a glass of what looked like firewhiskey.

The fire crackled and popped and spat embers into the air, and Harry stared at Malfoy unwaveringly, waiting for him to make a mistake, to reveal what his true motives were.

"Want some?" Malfoy asked with an arched eyebrow, holding up the glass, his eyes bright and amused.

Harry snapped his jaw shut and swallowed awkwardly. "No, thanks," he said through gritted teeth, fuming.

Looking utterly untroubled and collected, Malfoy took a seat on an armchair and gracefully crossed his legs, taking a long gulp from his glass. A half-open book lay on the table, and he picked it up with pale, fine-pointed fingers, placing it on his knee as he began to read, ignoring Harry completely, as if he didn't even exist.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry asked in shock and bewilderment. Malfoy had clearly lost his mind!

"Reading, Potter," said Malfoy without even looking up. "Ever heard of it?"

"But why?" he asked incredulously.

This time, Malfoy looked up and arched an eyebrow, staring at Harry as if he were stupid. "Are you asking me why people read?" he asked with a confused frown. "Well, it has a lot of reasons. Firstly, it improves one's vocabulary, memory, focus and conversational skills, and secondly, I quite enjoy reading —"

"Quit the bullshit, Malfoy!" shouted Harry impatiently, feeling irritated and annoyed. His head throbbed, and anger bubbled inside him, ready to explode and splatter everywhere. "What do you do in the Room of Requirement every day? What are you planning? What are you up to, you sneaky rat!"

"Well." Malfoy's eyebrows raised. "As you can see, I'm reading, and I read every day." He eyed Harry wearily. "Sometimes, I experiment with potions. Believe it or not, I like some peace and quiet every once in a while, Potter." He shrugged nonchalantly and reclined back in his chair. "If you don't trust me, feel free to have a look around."

Malfoy went back to reading, and Harry stomped his foot like a frustrated child, feeling agitated and provoked. He stared wildly around the room, his face hot. He felt humiliated, but he was stubborn and determined. There had to be something in here. Malfoy couldn't just be reading. He needed to find out what Malfoy was doing. Feeling as headstrong as ever, Harry stepped forward to take a look around the room. A part of his brain — the rational, realistic part — knew that Malfoy obviously couldn't be using this room as his base of operations, but another unyieldingly stubborn part of him insisted that every place Malfoy had ever occupied was worth investigating at least once.

Pure conviction and his obstinate nature made him move and explore. Carefully, with his eyes narrowed like a hawk's, he searched and inspected the neat rows of shelves for restricted books on dark magic. He sifted through each and every one of them. With heavy, angry steps, he trudged around the room, upturning chairs, rummaging through the potion ingredients, and digging through the blankets and sheets with careful fingers. At one point, he peered into the bubbling, boiling cauldron and sniffed it, only to be enchanted by the deep, rich earthy smell that clogged his nose and consumed his senses, making him freeze.

"Stay away from that, Potter. It's an experimental potion. You might end up dead if you mess with it," Draco had warned, his quiet, deep voice trickling into Harry's ears like sweet music.

Blinking repeatedly, Harry had snapped out of it and continued his investigation. He scoured under the rug and turned the mattress over. He even yelled, "Accio! Cursed item!" a few dozen times, while Malfoy stared at him in amusement, struggling to suppress his laughter.

It had taken several hours, but eventually Harry finished combing every single nook and cranny. He could find absolutely nothing. Finally, seething with rage, he stood and stared at Malfoy in suspicion.

Feeling his gaze, Malfoy glanced at Harry. With an uninterested roll of his eyes, he poured Harry a glass of firewhiskey. "Have a drink, Potter," he said wryly. "You look like you need it."

An annoyingly smug smirk was playing on Malfoy's lips, and although Harry didn't want to admit it, Malfoy had got one up on him. It infuriated him.

"What?" Malfoy asked mockingly. "Scared I've poisoned your drink?"

Refusing to acknowledge defeat, Harry marched over to Malfoy and sat directly in front of him on an armchair. He was determined to not let Malfoy win. He knew how to play this game. If Malfoy could do it, he could as well. Grudgingly, he snatched the drink out of Malfoy's startled hand and knocked it back. "I'm not scared of you, you little prick," he snapped, slamming the glass down on the table and wiping his mouth angrily.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, really?"

"I'll catch you, Malfoy." Harry scowled, glaring at him. "I'll definitely find out what you're up to."

"Oh, sure, good luck."

Harry sat up straight, not even moving an inch as he stared unblinkingly, his eyes fixed firmly and resolutely on Malfoy's pale face. Ignoring him, Malfoy opened his book again, but Harry didn't waver. He continued to scrutinize Malfoy.

If he couldn't find out what Malfoy was planning, he'd sit right there and waste Malfoy's time instead. Yeah. That was a good plan. A fantastic plan. Malfoy had probably expected to creep Harry out, so Harry would stay away, but Harry was not a fool. He was prepared to deal with it all. He would be the one to come out victorious in the end. He knew it.

Hours passed by in utter silence, except for the occasional rustling of Malfoy adjusting his legs or turning a leaf.

Once or twice Malfoy looked up and smirked knowingly, and Harry snapped irritably, "I don't like you, Malfoy. It's a fucking misunderstanding."

"Sure." Malfoy's smirk only widened. "I'll pretend you don't. Let's just say you're only here to spy on me, so go ahead and watch me all you want, Potter. I don't mind."

Harry didn't reply. He knew nothing he said would matter. Malfoy was just as determined, and as far as Harry knew, he was not one to give in so easily either.

Finally, when it looked like night was about to fall, Malfoy closed his book and stared back at the huge clock on the wall. "Oh, look." He yawned and stretched lazily. "It's almost time for dinner."

Harry glared at him. "You're going to regret this, Malfoy."

Malfoy sighed heavily, standing up, looking sleepy and exhausted. "Oh. Well. Same time tomorrow, then?" He smirked.

Harry clenched his jaw. Without saying anything, he pushed past Malfoy and stomped away, his skin thrumming, his head throbbing, and his body shaking with anger.

And that was the beginning of their daily quiet meetings in the Room of Requirement. From that day onwards, Harry began to spend his evenings sitting right in front of Malfoy, watching him closely, studying the shape of his pointy face, occasionally marvelling at his pallor, and becoming increasingly aware of every little freckle and mark on his glassy skin. Malfoy spent most of his time reading, and sometimes, he bustled around the long table, his steps light and graceful, his eyebrows creased in concentration as he stirred the cauldron. They rarely spoke, and if Harry's gaze wandered to Malfoy's red lips every now and then, he blamed the firewhiskey.

It was a pleasant, sunny day, and the ceiling of the Great Hall was a vivid cornflower-blue, with a few soft, wispy clouds drifting languidly across the sky. Breakfast in the Great Hall was a hectic and noisy affair as usual. Hundreds of lively youngsters chattered and gossiped and laughed as they ate. The clattering of cutlery and the clinking of plates and goblets echoed shrilly as Harry picked at his food absent-mindedly, his mind groggy and tired. He was sitting drowsily in-between Ron and Hermione, trying extremely hard to not be annoyed by all the excited murmurs and mindless conversations surrounding him.

A while earlier, Luna Lovegood had floated over to the Gryffindor table, and she was deeply immersed in conversation with Dean over something she'd read in the new edition of the Quibbler. In front of Harry, Ginny giggled and spoke in hushed whispers with a handsome Hufflepuff she'd somehow taken a liking to. Harry couldn't remember his name for the life of him, but the guy kept shooting him suspicious glares whenever Ginny wasn't looking. He needn't have worried. Ginny and Harry had parted ways long ago, with no intention whatsoever to get back together. Beside Harry, Hermione was reviewing Ron's homework again, while Ron chatted animatedly with a seventh year boy.

"Some wizards can reproduce asexually," argued Luna. "My father believes Draco Malfoy can —"

"Oh, you're too kind!" laughed Ginny boisterously, slapping the shoulder of the handsome Hufflepuff in a joking manner.

"No, I'm not. I like how fierce you are —"

"— so, you see, Draco Malfoy is an asexually reproducing wizard. They are rare these days, but it's true —"

Dean stared around uncomfortably, apparently looking for a way out of this conversation. "Er — are you sure? It's not like he's a plant —"

"— so speculations over the child's parentage really confuses us — me and my father, I mean," Luna prattled on. "Asexually reproducing wizards used to be quite common a while back, you know —

"I don't think — I've never heard of such a thing —"

"Ron! You didn't write anything about unicorn tears," huffed Hermione.

"What?" asked Ron confusedly, almost knocking Harry's orange juice out of his hands as he extended his arm to snatch his homework back. "I'm sure I wrote about it, though!"

"What the —" started Harry.

"Oops, sorry, Harry," said Ron quickly, frowning down at his essay.

Harry took a deep, angry breath and squeezed his eyes shut, controlling the sudden urge to shout. Hands shaking, he placed his goblet back on the table, spilling tiny bits of it over his robes, which he hastily wiped with the back of his hand. His insides churned, and he could feel Hermione's sharp gaze drilling into him.

"What?" he snapped, feeling annoyed.

Hermione pursed her lips into a thin, hard line, glancing towards the Slytherin table. "Nothing."

Harry's heart leaped, and he clenched his jaw tightly. His eye twitched, but he would not look. Honestly, he was trying. He was doing his very best not to stare at Malfoy, but his eyes kept wandering back to the Slytherin table, and he didn't know why! Occasionally, he couldn't help but sneak a few, brief glances. He didn't want Malfoy to accuse him of staring too much again, but he kept feeling oddly restless and agitated. It was ridiculously strange how compelled Harry felt to look and see and watch.

To make matters worse, Blaise Zabini kept inching closer and closer to Malfoy. Sometimes, he whispered surreptitiously in his ear, and other times, he threw back his head and laughed, as if he were happy to be with Malfoy. It was extremely distracting. At one point, Harry had seen their shoulders bump and graze, and he was ready to violently leap across multiple tables to tear them apart.

In spite of his firm determination to pay no more heed to them, the question still stubbornly lingered in his mind, refusing to have mercy on him.

Was Blaise Zabini the other father?

"Harry," whispered Hermione softly.

Harry broke out of his reverie immediately. "What?"

"Can't you just let it go?" she asked exasperatedly, briefly looking at Malfoy again. "There's no mystery to solve here, Harry. There's no one to save. Malfoy's just pregnant. He's not up to anything. It's not a crime to not want to reveal your lover. It's none of our business, and we shouldn't judge him for that." She patted Harry's hand gently. "Let it go, and just let him do what he thinks is best for his child."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, I'm not trying to —"

"Look, Harry." Hermione sighed heavily, looking at him with pity. "I know you feel — well, lost."

Harry blinked and arched an eyebrow. "Er, what?"

Hermione gestured awkwardly. "Well, you know. Your entire childhood was spent fighting a lunatic, and now that it's finally over, you feel empty and strange — like you don't have anything worthwhile or meaningful in your life any more."

"That is not what this is about, Hermione. You cannot be more wrong —"

"And the whole mystery behind Malfoy's pregnancy intrigues you because you have nothing else going on in your life!" she said gravely, her brows knitted, and her expression solemn. "You feel hopeless, and this secret gives you a sense of purpose, doesn't it?"

"Merlin's fucking underwear," breathed Harry, frowning deeply at himself. "Do you really think I'm that pathetic?" He removed his glasses slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is that really what you think of me?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Is that really not it?"

"No!" laughed Harry incredulously.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Well, what else is it, then?"

Harry opened his mouth. "I —" Cutting himself off with a heavy sigh, he tried to catch a glimpse of Malfoy. Malfoy had finished eating, and he looked extremely worn out and depressed as he stood up to leave, supported by Zabini, who had his arm draped across Malfoy's waist. Harry's heart sank for some reason, and he swallowed harshly, dropping his gaze back to the table.

Hermione frowned doubtfully. "Harry —"

Excitement and delight buzzed through the Great Hall suddenly as hundreds of post owls streaked in all at once, swooping low to deliver the mails as usual. Loud, fluttering noises and thrilled, happy murmurs flooded the hall, and Hermione eagerly extended her hand as a grumpy-looking owl dived low and dropped the Daily Prophet into her waiting hand. She absently tossed it a Knut and quickly began to unfold the newspaper with hasty fingers. Feeling curious and a little bitter, Harry peered over her shoulder, staring at the front page.

Soon, Hermione let out a long, disgusted sigh. "Bunch of morons," she muttered angrily. "This is starting to get out of hand."

Harry gaped at the front page of the Daily Prophet with wide eyes. Gnashing his teeth, he angrily plucked the paper out of her hands, glaring down at it.

"Harry, I was reading that!" protested Hermione, but Harry promptly ignored her.

ANGRY WITCHES AND WIZARDS GATHER IN HOGSMEADE TO WAIT FOR DRACO MALFOY'S APPEARANCE

Chaos erupted in Hogsmeade, the wizarding village near Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, early Tuesday morning as angry witches and wizards gathered to wait for Draco Malfoy's appearance. There was widespread disorder and violence as the displeased crowd argued and protested outside the gates of Hogwarts, demanding Draco Malfoy to disclose the identity of his child's other father. The paternity of the child is yet unknown, though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is widely believed to be the other father.

Ministry officials and wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were shortly called to the scene to disperse the enraged crowd, who threatened to force their way into Hogwarts to capture Draco Malfoy. "We won't leave until you arrest that bastard!" chanted the crowd when Ministry officials urged them to leave.

"Enough of this absurdity!" said Norma Pickles, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, when asked to comment. "Draco Malfoy has been rightfully acquitted on all counts, and we won't be sending either him or his child to Azkaban! Nothing inappropriate happened between Mr Malfoy and Voldemort. There is no evidence whatsoever to support any such claim. My department will do all it can to quash such ridiculous rumours!"

"Why won't he reveal the father? That is what we can't understand. I think it is quite possible for the father to be You-Know-Who," said Hammer Fielding, former Professor at Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning and an expert in wizard pregnancy, who was one of the protesters outside Hogwarts. "Who else could've done such a thing? A male pregnancy is a bizarre miracle! Not everyone is capable of such powerful magic. In fact, there hasn't been a wizard pregnancy for half a century! There is no doubt in my mind. Although I do not condone murdering a child, I believe the child must at least be taken away and raised while being closely monitored."

Minerva McGonagall, the current Headmistress of Hogwarts, was seen trying to negotiate with the infuriated mob. "Draco Malfoy is a student of this school, and I will not let anyone harm a single hair on his head!" the Headmistress was heard saying to the crowd. "It will be best if you do not test my patience!"

However, the crowd continued to protest and threaten the teachers of Hogwarts until the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, ordered for them to be forcefully removed from the vicinity of the school —

An abrupt booming thud and a rattling noise from the Slytherin table echoed deafeningly throughout the hall, and all heads simultaneously turned, searching for the origin of the sudden commotion.

Looking up in shock like everyone else, Harry stilled. His hands clenched into fists immediately, and he swallowed roughly. For some reason, his chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. The Daily Prophet automatically slipped out of his fingers and slid down to his lap.

It was Malfoy. He'd apparently tripped and stumbled, knocking a significant number of plates and goblets to the floor. Leaning weakly against Zabini's shoulders, he looked heavily ill and horridly pale. His eyes were red-rimmed and drowsy, and for a fleeting moment, he looked frail and uneasy, as if he were about to puke, but then he swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. As Harry watched uncomfortably, he lifted a trembling hand and placed it against his belly, taking a few tottering steps forward. Zabini whispered something into his ear, and Malfoy nodded shakily, holding Zabini's hand and slowly making his way towards the exit.

Something unpleasant and sore rolled through Harry, and he stood up before he could stop himself.

"Harry, don't." Hermione yanked him back down. "Where are you going? Don't do anything reckless!"

"What's wrong, Malfoy?" someone seated at the far end of the Gryffindor table hollered in a taunting voice. "You don't look well."

Malfoy warily looked up, and the air turned cold and thick with a sudden bitter tension. Several students curiously craned their necks to peer at Malfoy, and a disturbing hush fell in the hall around them. Luna, Ginny and Ron turned to stare uneasily. Frowning, Harry vaguely recognized the owner of the voice as a boy named Malcolm — an overbearing, snobbish seventh year who minutely reminded him of Cormac McLaggen.

"Did your water break? Should we call a mid-wife?" yelled Malcolm in a jeering voice, making a few girls around him snort and snigger soundlessly into their hands. "Is Voldemort Junior ready to come out?"

Malcolm barked out a cruel laugh, his little gang of friends chortling along with him. Zabini glared at Malcolm scathingly, opening his mouth to retaliate, but Malfoy's fingers tightened around his arm, and Zabini clenched his jaw shut.

Harry's gut roiled, and displeasure simmered just beneath the surface of his skin as a rapid maelstrom of uncertain whispers swept through the Great Hall. Malcolm's gaggle of friends exchanged looks and laughed amongst themselves, while many of the other students stared at Malfoy, fear and suspicion evident on their faces plainly.

Malfoy's expression was pinched, his breaths quick and trembling, but he looked determined in ways Harry hadn't seen before. His grey gaze was icy and dark as he glared at Malcolm, and for a brief moment, it looked as if the entire hall was waiting with bated breath to hear Malfoy's response — to see his reaction.

"I hope it dies," whisper-yelled someone from the Ravenclaw table.

Harry's heart plummeted straight down to the ground instantly like a deadweight. A sharp, piercing, unbearable pain like he'd never felt before vibrated through his chest, and white-hot anger flooded every vessel in his body. His blood felt like it was sizzling inside him. He breathed shakily, his hands automatically curling into tight, hard fists. For whatever reason, Hermione seemed to suddenly notice his agony and rage. Her cool hand gripped his fist gently, and it grounded him. Blinking repeatedly, he tried to make sense of the situation — of his feelings and his emotions that swirled inside him. He suddenly felt nauseated.

It didn't seem like many people had heard it, but Harry did, and so did Malfoy. Several students gasped in shock and horror, and the girl who had accidentally blurted it quickly ducked her head in shame.

Harry's pained gaze finally landed on Malfoy. For the first time, Malfoy looked utterly shattered as he stared at the Ravenclaw table, standing still and stunned for what felt like hours. Then, his shoulders sagged, and his jaw clenched. Taking a shaky breath, he squeezed his eyes shut, and Harry's throat constricted when he saw Malfoy's hand gripping his belly tightly. His indifferent mask seemed to crumble and drop away, and he looked extremely frightened, vulnerable, scared. And Harry suddenly felt helpless and broken. What could he do to stop feeling so utterly miserable?

Trembling with fury, Zabini began to move away, but Malfoy looked at him with such tangible fierceness and strength of mind that it tugged at Harry's heart. Zabini swallowed and nodded, sliding an arm around Malfoy and helping him step forward. His chin held proudly high, Malfoy began to slowly lumber out of the Great Hall without a word.

"Tell me, Malfoy," shouted Malcolm, who didn't seem to have witnessed the brief but significant event. "How does a wizard get pregnant? I mean, you don't have womanly bits down there, do you? How does it work? Where did You-Know-Who stick his thing for you to get pregnant?"

Malfoy was shaking, and Harry saw his grey gaze turn slightly glossy as he let out a trembling breath, keeping his head down as he walked towards the door. Blind rage filled Harry as he sat there, his patience wearing thin. The vein on his neck pulsed fiercely, and he stared pointedly at his half-eaten food. Hermione's hand squeezed his fist, urging him to calm down.

"Did he force you into it?" continued Malcolm gleefully, and several students frowned and murmured, looking nervous and unsure. "Or did your parents proudly offer you up to —"

Harry had heard enough. The inside of his heart was an inferno, and he could stand it no more. Slamming his fists on the table, he stood up so fast, he almost knocked Hermione over. "Shut the fuck up, Malcolm!" he bellowed in a thundering voice, shaking bitterly as he glared at Malcolm. Harry wanted to kill him — tear him apart piece by piece.

Hermione let out a surprised gasp and grabbed Harry's wrist. "Harry —"

Silence roared deafeningly in his ears. His head throbbed and burned hot, and he could feel the astounded gazes of everyone in the hall pointed directly at him. They were shocked into silence. Even Malfoy — looking completely dumbstruck — was gaping at him in confusion and surprise.

However, the disbelieving silence did not last very long. His brave moment of sudden triumph and fearless heroism was cut short abruptly as something unprecedented and wholly unanticipated happened without warning.

With a sudden, startled gasp, Malfoy doubled over instantaneously, seizing his stomach with desperate, terrified fingers when — for some strange reason — it began to emit a soft, warm glow. Flares of vivid, beautiful light fluttered and shimmered like the early morning sunlight.

Harry's earlier vicious outburst, and Malcolm's brutal, cutting remarks, were promptly forgotten as a brand-new source of astonishment presented itself before them all. All of a sudden, a loud, hasty chorus of excited whispers and booming exclamations of anticipation swept through the Great Hall.

Over at the High Table, the teachers who had been carelessly chatting away until now seemed to have finally taken note of the situation. With a troubled frown on her face, Professor McGonagall stared at Malfoy for a moment and stood up steadily, looking determined.

Blinking repeatedly in utter confusion, Harry gaped around him with wide eyes to see that no one was paying him any attention any more. Almost everyone was gasping and muttering and pointing, hands clasped against their mouths as they stared at Malfoy in pure terror. Even Malcolm, who usually had a cocky, arrogant air around him, seemed pale and out of his element. Eyeing Malfoy warily, he murmured something to another student sitting beside him.

"Harry," hissed Hermione, pulling him down abruptly, her eyes focused on Malfoy's radiant stomach. "What's wrong with you? Sit down!"

"What's happening?" asked Harry dazedly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"There goes your theory, Luna," Ginny mused, staring at Malfoy knowingly. "That's a paternal bond. He's definitely not an asexually reproducing wizard."

"I don't understand." Harry frowned, staring around wildly. Although most students looked astonished, as if they were waiting for something to happen, Harry also noticed several muggleborn students who were frowning and looking puzzled — like him. "What's going on? What's a paternal bond?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Strange, though. Why is it taking shape now? A bit early, isn't it? Doesn't it usually happen when the child is born?"

"Well, usually, yes, but not always." Hermione's gaze thoroughly searched the Slytherin table. "He must be feeling protective," she mumbled. "His child was just insulted and threatened. What kind of father can tolerate that?"

"It's an old parental bonding method," Ron answered Harry's question absently, slamming down his golden goblet and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Harry, you wanted to know who the other father of Malfoy's child is, right?"

Harry blinked and looked at his friends in bewilderment. They were all staring pointedly at Malfoy, as if they knew something that he didn't. "I guess?"

Ron sat up swiftly, looking over at the Slytherin table with a strange eagerness and an undisguised curiosity in his gaze. "Just wait and watch, mate. He'll be revealed in a minute."