A/N: Hi! I'm really excited to share this fic! When it comes to drarry, secret relationship fics are the best, so I just had to write one myself. This fic is also on Ao3. If you want, you can find me there as A_Million_Regrets! :) This is my first time posting on this site, but I'm very excited! Now, I just want to give a little detail about this fic, so you can read this without worrying. This fic is about 10-11 chapters long, and it might be around 50k-60k words. I've finished writing it, but I still need to edit it, and I tend to delete/add new scenes when I edit, which is why I can't tell you the exact number of chapters/words. I will be updating this fic every Sunday, and I don't usually miss updates unless I'm dead, so you can trust me to be consistent. I hope you enjoy the first chapter! I'll see you next Sunday! :)
Chapter one: Malfoy's pregnant!
"Honestly, Ron, if you'd actually listened to Professor Slughorn, you'd have never made this mistake."
"I did listen, alright? I just made one single error in the whole essay, Hermione, come on," Ron protested weakly. "I already knew unicorn blood is never used in potion-making, so I thought maybe the feathers —"
"Feathers? Really?" muttered Hermione indignantly, looking over Ron's Potions essay on the properties and uses of unicorn horn. "Unicorns don't have feathers, you idiot."
"Hairs!" snapped Ron sulkily. "I meant hairs, damn it!"
Harry let out a long, weary groan, resisting the urge to yell at them. His mind was oddly numb, and something — something inexplicable and strange — kept tugging at the corners of his heart. Quietly and absently, he circled the rim of his silver goblet with his forefinger, his eyes staring vacantly at the uneaten food on his plate. A while earlier, he'd taken a single swig of his pumpkin juice, but it had felt utterly tasteless, and he'd quickly abandoned the rest of his delicious-looking lunch. Nothing really felt appealing for some reason.
A long and excruciating week had gone by since everyone had returned to Hogwarts for eighth year, and Hermione and Ron had already effortlessly adjusted themselves to their new positions at Hogwarts, blending in quite perfectly with the rest of the students. They seemed to be faring quite well so far, unlike him.
Several different things had changed at Hogwarts after the war, and eighth year students, especially those who had fought in the war, were regarded in very high esteem. They were greatly revered and goggled at everywhere they went, and the younger students often excitedly flocked around them to talk. It was becoming quite a normal sight to see. Harry, for once, was grateful to not be the only one being gawked at like he was a monkey in a zoo.
Even the teachers were more lenient, and they often forgave most minor transgressions with a smile and a wink. Although Harry wasn't sure how he felt about people fawning over him and worshipping every strip of land he stepped on, it was nothing new, and at least he had managed to get something out of it. He now had his own personal room, which he was extremely grateful for.
The Gryffindor tower had been generously remodelled to accommodate the eighth year students, and most of them had received a separate room. Harry's room, although he severely disliked admitting it, was particularly grand and luxurious, attached with a clean toilet and a lovely, spacious bath. In spite of everything, he was glad to have his own space. Being assigned less homework made him feel relaxed and comfortable, and being able to skip classes every once in a while felt nice and cool.
Yet, there was something amiss.
Sighing softly, Harry shakily grabbed his goblet and downed the rest of his pumpkin juice, even though it tasted utterly bland. Ron and Hermione were still bickering incessantly beside him, but Harry barely registered their voices. He felt almost lost and empty as he sat there, surrounded by the usual mindless chattering, the clattering of spoons and plates, and the hushed whispers which relentlessly followed him wherever he went. Nothing much had changed for him, after all. Things were mostly the same, although much better now that Voldemort was gone forever.
Everything should've been okay. He knew he should've been feeling great and happy, but something was still missing, something that felt like it was important. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, though, no matter how hard he tried.
Slowly, inevitably, his curious gaze drifted towards the Slytherin table, scanning it thoroughly from one end to the other, hoping desperately to see a familiar pointy face.
Unsurprisingly, quite a few students had returned for eighth year, and Headmistress McGonagall had meticulously ordered for a new, smaller table to be placed below the High Table. However, that table mostly lay unoccupied and deserted, except for a few outcasts who lounged around, looking bitter and angry. Most of the students who had returned still very much preferred their previous house tables. Though Harry had heard from Hermione that there were plans to abolish the houses, he knew it was easier said than done. Despite Professor McGonagall's efforts to curb house enmity, hatred towards Slytherin students was at an all-time high.
Finally, Harry's green gaze managed to find Draco Malfoy, and he immediately felt a throb of longing which pricked his chest relentlessly. Malfoy was sitting almost listlessly in his seat, looking ghastly pale and weary. He was thinner, his face gaunt and forlorn. There was a grim, exhausted expression on his face which made Harry's heart twist with pain.
"Are you alright, Harry?" asked Ginny suddenly.
Harry's gaze didn't leave Malfoy. "Fine," he whispered quietly. Ginny frowned, but with a simple, uncaring shrug, she went back to conversing with a smiling Hufflepuff boy sitting beside her.
Like Harry, Malfoy too was picking at his food. Moments went by painfully, and suddenly, as Harry watched him, perhaps feeling Harry's gaze upon him, Malfoy looked up, his dark grey eyes cold and piercing as he stared right back at him.
Harry's heart flipped and thudded, and he dropped his gaze quickly, staring down at the table awkwardly, but he could feel Malfoy's gaze still drilling into him, making his skin prickle and burn hot. The vast ceiling of the Great Hall rumbled ominously, with several murky, sinister clouds rolling and crackling. A sharp claw of deep, unbearable longing dug into Harry's chest, and an utterly strange feeling rose up from the grim edges of his mind, making him feel oddly as though he were forgetting something important — something invaluable, beloved and worth remembering. It made him feel nostalgic and yearn for something he couldn't quite explain.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry suddenly saw Blaise Zabini whispering something to Malfoy. Malfoy turned away, an exhausted smile on his face, and Harry suddenly felt cold and empty once more.
"Unicorn horns are an important ingredient in high-grade potions —"
"For Merlin's sake, I know that! Look closely, Hermione. I'm pretty sure I scribbled that in somewhere —"
"Yes, but you need to expand on that. You wrote a single line about it at the very end —"
"What's wrong with that?" asked Ron defensively.
"Oh, nothing at all, except that it's the most important bit of —"
"Hey, you two," blurted Harry abruptly.
"What?" Hermione snapped with a frown, turning to him angrily.
Without missing a beat, Ron took that opportunity to snatch his essay back from Hermione, hastily setting it down on the table and correcting something quickly. Hermione rolled her eyes reproachfully at him and sighed as she looked at Harry. "What's wrong?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "You don't look well, Harry."
"He's just brooding," Ginny chimed in, setting her goblet down on the table, "like he always does."
Hermione looked at Harry worriedly, and Harry bit his bottom lip hesitantly. "I was just wondering," he said in a quiet voice.
Hermione nodded, eagerly waiting for him to go on, and Ginny elevated her eyebrows in mild amusement. Ron's fingers worked as fast as the wind, the scratching noises and the rustling of old parchment clearly audible in spite of the clamour in the hall.
"Who do you think is the other father?" he choked out suddenly, his eyes returning to the Slytherin table.
Malfoy was talking, his lips moving slowly, and there was a hint of a small smile on his face as he nodded at Zabini. Anger began to creep into every bone in his body, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Ginny stilled almost immediately, and Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Even Ron's rapidly moving quill halted, and he looked up warily. "Oh, not this again, Harry," he groaned.
Ginny shook her head, looking bored and utterly uninterested. "Why do you care so much? It's all you want to talk about these days. Why does it matter? The war's over. You should leave him alone, Harry."
Taking a deep breath, Harry swallowed thickly and struggled to look away from the Slytherin table. He understood what Ginny was trying to say. He knew he shouldn't be staring, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was like an ever-present, inexplicable niggling at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn't scratch. He shouldn't be feeling what he felt, but his gaze kept wandering to Malfoy without rhyme or reason.
He couldn't quite explain the feeling, and he hadn't explored the inside of his heart all that much out of sheer dread, but he knew something was there — inside the deepest recesses of his heart — something wrong and utterly foreign that shouldn't have been there in the first place.
It was a brand new feeling that had developed suddenly out of nowhere. He'd noticed its presence for the first time almost a week ago — when he had first arrived at Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. Harry had been pouring himself some orange juice, and Malfoy had walked into the Great Hall at that precise moment, supported by Blaise Zabini.
Out of simple curiosity, he'd turned to watch Malfoy, and then all of a sudden, his jaws had dropped. He'd violently spilt his juice almost instantly, barely caring as it splattered all over the table and splashed against his face, ruining his clothes and Hermione's folded copy of the Daily Prophet. She had irritably screamed, "Harry!" And Ron's laughter had echoed in his head.
Then, there had been a sharp ringing in his ears, and he'd felt it — an overwhelming, gigantic wave of something he couldn't quite understand. Several heads had turned to stare. There had been a commotion too — a lot of whispering and shouting and gasping, and Harry had stared at Malfoy, with his eyes wide and unblinking, his trembling hands on his heart, a piercing pain shooting through every vein, every microvessel, in his body. The excruciating agony had vanished soon after, but something still lingered. Some remnants of that strange experience continued to plague his mind, body and soul persistently.
"I'm just curious," insisted Harry defensively. "The real question is, why do you lot care so little? Aren't you curious? Draco fucking Malfoy is pregnant. Pregnant!" He frowned. "Why am I the only one that's confused by this?"
Hermione gave him a blank look. "Because our lives don't revolve around Malfoy, Harry," she said matter-of-factly. "Why do you care who he takes to his bed?"
"He's pregnant!" repeated Harry, utterly shocked at her calm, uncaring attitude. She should be feeling just as baffled as him, shouldn't she? "Pregnant!"
"Yes, we do have eyes, Harry," said Hermione wearily as Ron simultaneously remarked, "Yeah, we heard you the first time."
"Oh, my. I had no idea! Really?" gasped Ginny with mock surprise on her face, batting her eyelashes innocently at Harry.
"Why is no one serious about this?" demanded Harry angrily. "He's a bloke! A bloke is pregnant, and no one cares!"
Hermione sighed heavily. "Harry, we've been through this."
"Yeah. Some pureblood wizards can get pregnant," Ron explained absently, crossing out an entire sentence from his essay. "It's extremely rare. I mean, it's so rare that there haven't been any male pregnancies in these past few decades at least, but you know, as you can see, it's not impossible."
"Who could it be? The father?" wondered Harry aloud, staring at Malfoy with a frown.
Everyone loudly groaned around him, but Harry didn't let it bother him. How could they not be curious? It was something he couldn't understand. He'd been trying to make sense of his odd feelings ever since he felt their presence inside him, and he'd finally concluded that it was a natural reaction to seeing a pregnant bloke — especially, because it was Draco Malfoy. After all, Malfoy had been a huge part of all of their lives, or was Harry the only one who thought that? In any case, Harry was sure Ron would've felt the same way if Harry suddenly showed up in front of him and declared that he was pregnant. It was horror. It was probably pure shock. He was traumatized!
However, what was this odd little feeling in his heart, then? Why was he searching for Malfoy so desperately these days? Had he gone mad, after all? It didn't seem unlikely.
"Who would want to . . . to do that . . . with Malfoy, of all people?" he muttered with narrowed eyes, his gaze sliding down from Malfoy's pallid face to his pale neck and then to his jutting collarbone. How did he grow so thin and weak?
"Stop that," Ginny chastised disapprovingly. "Stop glaring at him. He's done nothing wrong, Harry. Leave him alone."
Ron gaped at him incredulously. "Do you want to go see Madam Pomfrey? You're starting to sound mental, mate."
Harry blinked and noticed Hermione staring at him with a frown on her face. "Sorry, I was just —"
"Have you considered the rumours?" she asked with a huff, looking away suddenly. "Some people say that he's carrying his child."
"Whose child?" asked Harry eagerly, and he didn't know why, but he felt a sudden jolt in his chest.
Hermione averted her eyes hesitantly. "Well, you know," she mumbled, letting out a soft sigh. "Voldemort's." She looked up at Harry's startled face for a brief moment before shaking her head sadly. "It's all over the Daily Prophet."
Harry's jaws fell open in shock, and he felt blood rushing to his head. "Malfoy's carrying Voldemort's child?" he asked in bewilderment.
"It's just a speculation, Harry. People are still scared, you know. Almost every family lost someone in the war, and they're terrified. They don't want a repetition of what happened, and Ministry officials are working round the clock to capture each and every person related to Voldemort. There are some truly horrid rumours floating around, Harry. Many believe the child and Draco Malfoy should be . . . well, killed," Hermione disclosed in a whisper, keeping her voice low and steady. "It's a miracle that he even avoided Azkaban. If you hadn't testified on behalf of Draco and his mother, I don't think they would've survived."
"Oh, I heard about that too," said Ginny with a horrible grimace on her face. "They say You-Know-Who and Malfoy had something going on. At first, no one believed it, but Malfoy keeps avoiding the question, so people are starting to get really suspicious. He's on the front page of the Daily Prophet every other day, didn't you know?"
Ron nodded absently. "He received a fuck-ton of mails the first morning after he came back." He glanced towards the High Table briefly, eyeing Professor McGonagall. "He hasn't received any since then, though. McGonagall probably intercepts them."
Hermione nodded with a displeased look on her face. "Wait," said Hermione in a quiet voice, rummaging through her school bag and pulling out a crumpled, rolled-up old copy of the Daily Prophet. Unfolding it swiftly, she thrust it into Harry's startled hand. "Read it for yourself."
Harry looked back and forth between Ginny and Hermione, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. They nodded at him to go on, and he reluctantly turned to the old paper.
DRACO MALFOY REFUSES TO REVEAL THE IDENTITY OF THE OTHER FATHER
Draco Malfoy, former devout death eater, yet again refused to reveal the identity of his child's other father. The Wizarding community is awash with terrifying speculations once more as alarming evidences and hidden truths finally come to light, casting doubts upon his swift acquittal by the Ministry. As our readers must already know, several witnesses have confirmed that You-Know-Who resided in Malfoy manor, Draco Malfoy's childhood home, during his short reign of terror. Sources claim You-Know-Who shared a very close and highly inappropriate relationship with his devoted follower and the only heir of the Malfoy household, Draco Malfoy. New information has revealed that You-Know-Who may have left behind a successor. The father of Draco Malfoy's child, sources report, is believed to be none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"Very powerful magic is required for a wizard pregnancy to occur. It is quite clear that this is not the doing of an ordinary wizard. The man who Mr Malfoy refuses to reveal is bound to be someone powerful and controversial," said one specialist, "I believe this ought to be thoroughly investigated or else we will soon have another bloody war on our hands." The Wizarding world, which has yet to fully recover from the war, might soon be gripped once more by a brand-new claw of terror.
"As far as I know, Draco had a close relationship with You-Know-Who. They were inseparable. They were often seen together. I have no doubt about it. The child he is carrying is the heir of the Dark Lord!" stated a former close associate of Draco Malfoy, who wished to remain unnamed.
"I often see dark smoke rising out of his stomach. A dark aura surrounds him. This child is the reincarnation of You-Know-Who. I see only death and destruction in our future," said a young seer and a close friend of Draco Malfoy, who preferred to remain anonymous out of fear.
The reporters of the Daily Prophet wonder why the Ministry has been so lenient in their punishment of the young Malfoy heir. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and, Harry Potter, the vanquisher of You-Know-Who, refused to comment. It seems highly likely that this unborn child will bring about the destruction of the wizarding community as a whole . . .
Harry gaped at the paper in shock. "Harry Potter refused to comment?" he repeated slowly. "They didn't even ask me! I had no clue!"
Hermione rolled her eyes with a huff, taking the Daily Prophet out of his hands and shoving it back into her bag. "So, nothing has changed," she muttered. "They're still too scared to call a dead man by his name —"
"That's absurd," stammered Harry, feeling dazed as the news article swirled around in his head. He didn't know why, but a feeling of pain suddenly gripped his chest. "Why do people think he's carrying Voldemort's child? As if Voldemort had time for —"
"Well, for one, he refuses to reveal who the other father is," huffed Hermione.
Ginny nodded. "And Voldemort was living in his home, you know. It wouldn't be surprising if he —"
"You think Voldemort had his — his — in —" Harry blanched.
Ron almost choked on his food. "Harry, mate, what did I ever do to you? You really didn't have to give me that mental image." He shook his head vigorously, looking disgusted. "Oh Merlin, ew."
Hermione rolled her eyes reproachfully. "It's just a rumour, Harry. I seriously doubt that he's carrying Voldemort's child. I mean, come on." She frowned. "It's doubtful if Voldemort even had a — a —" She cleared her throat and coughed awkwardly, her cheeks a bright pink. "I don't think he had any reproductive capacity."
"Merlin's saggy balls," Ron breathed, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. "Are we seriously discussing his — nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Clear your mind, Ron Weasley. Think happy thoughts. Good thoughts. Cute little puppies. Smiling babies. Do not think about whether or not You-Know-Who had a penis —"
"I don't think he did," muttered Harry, suppressing a smile. Somehow, his heart was feeling much lighter after this conversation.
Ginny looked contemplative. "Wizard pregnancies are rare, aren't they? There needs to be some pretty powerful magic involved for a wizard to get pregnant. It's understandable why people think Malfoy had something going on with Voldemort. Normal wizards couldn't have got him pregnant. Voldemort was definitely a very powerful wizard —"
"Yeah, but that's not the only thing that's required, though," Hermione said with a frown. "Several conditions have to come together for a male pregnancy to happen. Firstly, love is an important ingredient, but people ignore that part and accuse Malfoy of —"
"Love?" croaked Harry in a high-pitched voice, feeling the weight of the word on his tongue. "Who could love Malfoy?"
Ron snorted. "There he goes again."
Hermione ignored him. "Voldemort was incapable of love, so he can't be —"
"Seriously," Harry asked in a dazed voice, eyeing Malfoy's pointy chin and smiling lips and his beautiful blond hair. "Why would anyone love Malfoy? Do you think that makes sense?"
Ginny, who had been listening half-heartedly to this conversation, snorted. "You're going mad." She laughed.
Suddenly, Malfoy looked at him again, steadily and intently, and Harry felt a string of electricity crackling through him. Sharp grey eyes glared at him, full of visible anger and pure displeasure. Harry started, blinking and looking away immediately, his hands slightly trembling as he gripped his empty goblet. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Malfoy slamming his fists on the table as he stood up angrily and began to march over to Harry, looking determined and level-headed.
Harry's face felt hot, and his mind quickly turned into a confused mess of thoughts. He no longer hated Malfoy, and he felt neither contempt nor resentment towards Malfoy. In fact, for whatever reason, he didn't consider Malfoy an enemy any longer, but he wasn't sure how to treat him any more. How did one treat a former enemy? Should he greet Malfoy with a smile and a warm handshake? Should he coldly ignore him? He wasn't sure he could do either!
A loud, ringing chorus of collective muttering spread through the Great Hall like lightning, and a tense suspense permeated the air as everyone curiously stared at Malfoy waddling over to the Gryffindor table, a vicious, resolute look in his gaze. His face was weary, and dark circles were prominent below his eyes. In spite of appearing bony and exhausted, there was something fierce and bold in the way he strode across the hall, his gaze fixed firmly on Harry.
Harry felt almost as if he would vomit his heart out. His hands shook, and he hastily started gorging on his treacle tart, adamantly refusing to believe that Malfoy was coming over to him. Heads began to turn one by one, and Harry felt hundreds of probing gazes following Malfoy and steering towards him as they gradually realized Malfoy's destination.
Slowly, to his horror, it became clear that Malfoy was trudging straight towards him. For some reason, he panicked and quickly stood up to leave. Hermione grabbed his elbow tightly and pulled him back down. "Don't be silly," she hissed. "People are watching! Stand your ground, Harry."
Harry gulped and waited, feeling completely out of his element. Confronting Voldemort had been easier. At least, back then he knew he would either live or die, and that would be that, but he could not for the life of him understand why Malfoy was looking at him in that way, and it made him feel all strange inside. The uncertainty was killing him, and the worst part was that he didn't know what was making him tremble like this. It was just Malfoy. Was he afraid of Malfoy? No, that couldn't be it, but then, why?
The chattering grew louder and louder as people gaped and pointed, but everything became oddly muffled and vague to Harry. The only sound he could hear was the thud thud thud of Malfoy's footsteps coming ever closer, and the only thing he could feel was the violent pounding of his own heart. And finally — "Can I have a word, Potter?"
Harry swallowed thickly, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of pretending not to hear him, but soon, it became apparent that Malfoy had no intention whatsoever to leave. The tension in the air strangled Harry's throat, and he awkwardly looked up at Malfoy, his gaze accidentally slipping down to Malfoy's swollen belly in shock before darting back up to stare directly into Malfoy's eyes. He could've sworn that Malfoy's expression right then turned downright murderous, as if he were preparing to grab the nearest knife and stab Harry to death.
"Me?" asked Harry stupidly, pointing at himself and looking around rapidly for help, but both Ron and Hermione avoided his gaze pointedly, pretending to be busy studying Ron's homework which lay sprawled on the table between them.
Malfoy looked thoroughly unimpressed as he folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, you."
Harry bit his bottom lip and nodded reluctantly. "Uh, sure," he responded, staring at Ron and Hermione pleadingly. They thoroughly ignored him, and Harry had no choice but to gather his own courage. Standing up gingerly, he followed Malfoy out of the Great Hall. The silence that filled the hall right then was so loud and sensational that Harry could barely breathe. All eyes were focused on him and Malfoy as they slowly made their way out. This was a strange, extraordinary scene, after all.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Professor McGonagall shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Distantly, he wondered if she was worried they'd exchange blows or attack each other out of the blue, but Harry found that concern very silly and far-fetched. They were older now, weren't they?
They were older and wiser. The war had changed them — all of them. Harry strongly believed so. They'd grown too old, and they had seen and experienced far too much to be still engaging in childish brawls. Those days, filled with trivial altercations and immature squabbles, seemed far away and distant, and it all seemed so pointless and foolish. Why had they fought so much? He couldn't imagine fighting with Malfoy now, not after everything he had gone through. It'd feel too stupid and childish, and just the mere thought of upsetting Malfoy made his chest burn.
Harry frowned. Before he could pursue this peculiar thought further, however, they had reached outside the double doors that led to the Great Hall. When they were a safe distance away from the entrance, Malfoy turned to him, crossing his arms across his chest and arching a haughty eyebrow.
"W-what?" Harry stammered confusedly.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously, locks of silky blond hair falling over his forehead messily. "What I want," said Malfoy slowly, his voice cold and hard, his eyes dull and distant, "is for you to stop staring at me."
Harry blinked, and a deep flare of embarrassment sparked at the bottom of his stomach, making his cheeks burn hot and red. "I wasn't —"
"Yes, you were, Potter," hissed Malfoy viciously, glaring at him, his gaze bitter and ice-cold. "Do not deny it. This entire week, you've been glaring at me like you want to blast me to pieces —"
Harry felt disoriented, confused. He was thoroughly baffled. "I haven't been —"
Clenching his jaw, Malfoy glowered at him, looking angry and frustrated. "I won't let you harm my child," he snapped abruptly, breathing heavily. His glare turned fierce as he placed a protective hand over his belly, gritting his teeth. "So, don't even think about it, Potter."
Harry stilled, his swirling thoughts coming to a sudden, stuttering halt. "Wha — what?" he asked, looking up with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Stay away from me and my child, Potter," snapped Malfoy, his glare bold and steady. "I swear to god, if you hurt my baby —"
"Malfoy," laughed Harry incredulously, utterly bewildered, "why in the world would I want to hurt your —"
Malfoy looked stubbornly incensed. "I know what you think — what you all think," he retorted, heaving an angry sigh. "I've heard the rumours. I've heard them talk." His fist clenched, and he swallowed thickly, his hand trembling as he clutched his belly tighter. "It's not the Dark Lord's child." His silver-grey eyes were glassy, and for a fleeting moment, Harry felt as if he saw minute hints of fear and desperation swimming inside them. "It's my child. My daughter," he choked out, glaring at Harry. "So, stay away from her, alright? Don't even think about hurting her. She's just a normal, innocent child. She has nothing to do with anything."
Harry didn't know why, but his heart clenched. For a brief moment, his throat felt constricted as he stared at Malfoy. "It's — it's a girl?" he whispered breathlessly.
"Why the fuck do you care?" spat Malfoy in fury, his gaze dark and full of suspicion.
"Malfoy," said Harry cautiously, trying to hide the shock and pain that mingled in his heart. "I really don't want to — wait, it's really not Voldemort's —" Malfoy glared at him. "Then whose is it?"
"That's none of your bloody business," snarled Malfoy, letting out an angry huff as he ran his slender fingers through his hair in frustration, messing it all up, so that his hair spilled over his red, infuriated face in silky blond curls.
Harry blinked repeatedly, and suddenly, it felt as if a wide, gaping chasm had opened up between them, and he realized, with sharp clarity, that he had no right to jump over to Malfoy's side. A strange emotion, which he couldn't quite identify, trickled into his heart, and he studied Malfoy for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. "Look, I wasn't — I wasn't glaring at you. I didn't mean to stare," he explained, feeling dismayed all of a sudden. "I swear, I don't want to hurt you or our" — Harry blinked in confusion and amended — "or your daughter. I was just . . . Well, I was just curious, I guess. I don't know why. Isn't it natural to be curious, though? Wouldn't you be curious if I just randomly showed up with a child?"
Malfoy remained quiet and regarded him icily with narrowed eyes. "I suppose," he drawled doubtfully.
Harry grew desperate to prove himself. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he mumbled in a sincere voice. "I'd never — do you really think I'm the type to hurt a harmless, defenceless child?"
Malfoy eyed him warily for a moment, and Harry squirmed awkwardly. Something in Malfoy seemed to just deflate, and the rage on his face seemed to dissipate a little. Finally, Malfoy looked away with a sigh, running a hand over his distended stomach. "I guess not," he muttered, his voice strained and rigid. "I didn't want to risk it. People are angry, and I thought you must be too."
"I'm not angry, Malfoy." Harry frowned. "In fact, I'd like to help you. You were cleared of all charges, and they have no right to punish you like this. It's not right."
Malfoy studied him for a long, disconcerting moment and let out a heaving breath, shakily leaning against the wall, looking horribly tired. "How noble of you, Potter." He scowled at Harry derisively, but his shoulders relaxed, and his grip on his stomach loosened. "Thank you so much for your boundless magnanimity, but no, you don't have to go that far. I'll be grateful if you just stop glaring at me all the time."
Harry rolled his eyes tiredly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Like I said, I was just curious. Besides, I'm not the only one staring at you. Everyone stares at you because you're a bloke who's pregnant! I'm not trying to shame you, and I'm not trying to say that it's weird or anything. I heard it's quite normal, but it's still not something you get to see every day, is it? Why am I the only one receiving a confrontation? That's unfair." He took a deep breath. "And I was just wondering . . . about, well, about the other father of your child — no, I know it's none of my business, Malfoy. Seriously, I do, but it — it must be someone powerful, right?"
Malfoy's eyebrows arched, and beads of sweat formed on Harry's forehead. He wiped it nervously with the back of his hand. "I mean, it's just curiosity. I'm — I'm interested in powerful wizards, you see. It's, er — right, the Minister of Magic!" Harry let out a breath of relief. "Kingsley Shacklebolt! Yes, Kingsley. He's a good friend of mine, and he — he needs powerful wizards to work for him, and I'm helping him find them. That's right. If you know anyone, just let me know —"
Malfoy remained silent, watching Harry quietly, looking utterly unconvinced.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment and shame. Swallowing hastily, he began to turn away in a hurry, unable to even face Malfoy. "Look, I already apologized. If you have nothing else to say, I'm leaving —" Harry turned abruptly, waiting for a small moment, wondering if Malfoy would say anything.
There was a profound silence for a while, and Harry let out a sigh, taking a step forward dejectedly.
Malfoy suddenly cleared his throat, making Harry turn immediately. He stared at Malfoy questioningly, and Malfoy faltered, averting his gaze. "I don't know, Potter," he muttered irritably.
Harry halted. "What?"
Malfoy sighed heavily. "I don't fucking know who the other father is."
Harry turned to properly face him again, his mouth agape. "What?"
"Are you deaf?" snapped Malfoy, looking annoyed.
"No, I . . ." Harry shook his head and stared at Malfoy in utter disbelief. "But how is that possible?"
Malfoy's shoulders drooped, and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know."
"Malfoy." Harry laughed in disbelief. "That's . . . impossible. You know that, right? You do know how pregnancy works, don't you? For you to get pregnant, you must have — someone must have had to — I mean, you'd have to . . ." He gulped. "You must have seen their —" He gestured wildly and searched desperately for words as Malfoy stared at him with an utterly blank, unamused look on his face. "Well, they must have had to p-put . . .er, well . . . you know."
Malfoy gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, and Harry wished he could just turn into a bird and fly far away and never come back. "The word you're looking for is cock, Potter."
Inevitably, Harry's gaze slipped below Malfoy's stomach when he said the word.
"Oi, my eyes are up here," snapped Malfoy.
Harry swallowed and looked up immediately. "Sorry, but you —"
"Yes, someone must have stuck their cock up my arse for me to get pregnant. Thank Merlin that you know how that works," drawled Malfoy wearily, folding his arms over his chest. "But I still don't get how that is any of your business, Potter."
Harry went pale. Goodness, he never knew Malfoy could be so crude. "Well, I . . . I need to find powerful wizards for . . . for Kingsley . . ." he trailed off, feeling dumb.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair angrily, glaring at Harry. "You and I both know that's bullshit, Potter," he said frostily, looking bitter. His features hardened all of a sudden, and his gaze darkened, startling Harry. "Messing with a former death eater . . . must be really fun, huh?"
Harry balked. "No, Malfoy. That's not —"
Suddenly, Malfoy's shoulders sagged, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "It's fine," he said in an icy voice. "I have no clue how it happened, so stop bothering me, alright? I won't complain. I probably deserve to be mocked, but I can't"—his hand caressed his belly, and there was such fondness in his gaze that it startled Harry—"I can't let my daughter get hurt." He looked up, his jaws clenched tightly, his gaze piercing. "Just stay away from me and my child. I don't need your help. And if the Minister of Magic needs powerful wizards that desperately, why don't you and your little gang go join him? At least, it'll be a bit quieter around here then."
Saying this, Malfoy spun on his heel, stalking back into the Great Hall without another word.
Harry's heart clenched, and he stared at Malfoy's retreating figure with a strange desperation in his heart. With a hard swallow, he reached out to touch Malfoy, but he'd already walked away without a second glance, leaving Harry to drown in confusing emotions which he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried.
