Chapter three: The other father
Harry jolted awake, feeling horribly off-kilter, to the sound of blankets rustling and hasty shuffling. The room was dark and unusually dimly-lit, with the chandelier flickering feebly overhead. There was a wet, bitter chillness in the air that he quickly associated with the foggy, frigid, extremely early hours of the morning. Shivering involuntarily, he fumbled and groped in the dark for his warm, thick blanket for several minutes, until quiet little thuds of footsteps and a sudden, sharp noise of a crash made him blearily look around, his mind still half-asleep.
Initially, for a few, quiet moments, he couldn't recall anything at all, and he felt too sluggish and drowsy to even make sense of his immediate surroundings. Another silent crash and tiptoeing noises of hurried footsteps trickled into his ears, and he groggily opened his eyes again to stare up at the ceiling of the Room of Requirement. His blurry vision promptly focused on the beautiful silver chandelier, and he blinked repeatedly in utter confusion and bewilderment.
Then, suddenly, without even a warning, a gust of cold, biting air brushed against his manly bits, and a growing awareness of his own nakedness overpowered him.
A shocking realization gripped him. With a loud gasp, he bolted upright and gaped in horror at his scantily-clad body. "What the . . ."
For a moment, he just sat there without moving a single muscle, his eyes wide, his body stock still, as if he were nothing but a sturdy pillar made of meat. Then, he slowly looked up with his mouth agape, letting out a reflexive (and embarrassing) squeak when his horrified eyes met Draco Malfoy's startled grey gaze. Their eyes locked, and Harry's whole world came crashing down around him.
Malfoy swallowed thickly, looking fearful and unsettled and agitated, as if he'd been dreading this very moment. He was fully clothed, but he looked dishevelled and messy. It was evident that he'd been hastily pulling on his clothes to leave as quickly as possible. He stilled like a statue when he saw Harry wide awake and sitting rigidly erect like a fucking pole, utterly naked, with not even a single piece of fabric to cover his dignity.
Malfoy turned hastily, his cheeks as vividly red as freshly-bloomed roses. His shoulders were stiff, and his pale fingers slightly trembled as he pulled on his school robes properly, unable to bear looking at Harry. His arrogant manners and bold, impassive attitude had completely vanished, and his usual, effortless elegance was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his hands shook, and his movements were tense and awkward, as if he'd suddenly forgotten how to use his arms and limbs naturally.
Harry gaped at him in complete and utter shock and bewilderment, his throat fully squeezed shut. There was a profound, unbearable and unbreakable silence for a long time, and Harry quietly drowned in his misery. He waited, waited, and waited some more for Malfoy to say something, anything, but Malfoy wasn't even looking at him.
Harry's thoughts spiralled, and his feelings sloshed around in his chest. He could hardly stand to even be in the same room as Malfoy. Little, tiny bits and disturbing chunks of memories slowly pieced themselves back together in his mind, enough to give him a nearly-clear picture of the current, terrifying circumstances. Surely, Malfoy remembered what had happened?
With an immense amount of regret and guilt, Harry recalled seeing Malfoy weeping in the girls' bathroom. He'd felt bad for Malfoy, and he'd tried to comfort him. Completely forgetting why he'd been stubbornly tailing Malfoy in the first place and barely even caring, he'd suggested drinking in the Room of Requirement.
Harry clearly remembered entering the room and sitting down to drink. He recollected the rich, earthy scent that had consumed his senses, the noise of the cauldron as it hissed and sizzled, and the way Malfoy had looked sitting in front of the fire, his face all flushed, his hair all messed up, and teardrops clinging to his eyelids — after that, everything else was blurry and disconnected. He'd been incredibly drunk, and he could already feel the hangover coming on. His recollection was missing important bits here and there, significant moments, and especially the more intimate memories, which he knew must have to do with him waking up stark naked in bed.
"Did we . . ." Harry swallowed, unable to meet Draco's eyes. "Last night, did we . . ."
Malfoy stiffened, and oh, the memory hit him unexpectedly, making him clutch his throbbing forehead. Malfoy's vivid grey gaze by the fire, soft and beautiful and full of something Harry couldn't quite discern. He recalled his skin — his smooth, pale, endless stretch of soft skin that Harry felt as if he couldn't get enough of. And then, there had been a kiss, of course. A hot, fiery, passionate kiss, and he could still remember the taste and the scent and the way it made him yearn and throb. He couldn't remember Malfoy's face — his expressions — in that instant, but the sounds, the moans, the wet, hot noises, and the beautiful blond locks which slid out of his fingers — fuck. This wasn't right.
"M-Malfoy," Harry choked out, quickly grabbing the fallen blanket off the floor to cover himself. He wanted to ask, to confirm, but his words stumbled around in his mouth.
Did they, or did they not? Harry couldn't remember that far. Blurry visions of Malfoy's adorably scrunched up face, and his lazy, drunken smile flashed before his eyes, mesmerizing Harry all over again, but it wasn't right. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was only keeping an eye on Malfoy. So, what if he felt a little sympathy for Malfoy? What if he pitied Malfoy and his own weakness had made him want to comfort Malfoy? It didn't mean anything. It didn't have to mean anything. He still didn't know what Malfoy was up to, and he couldn't sabotage his own efforts until now due to a trivial, unimportant issue like a mere, drunken kiss.
Oh, fuck. Again, that memory of Malfoy's brilliant, shining eyes distracted him, but he clutched his pulsing forehead and groaned. "Fuck, I don't remember anything," he snapped angrily. "What happened? How did we — why did we — fuck."
Malfoy went rigid immediately. "You . . ." His fists clenched, tight and trembling. "You don't remember?"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and his eyebrows creased. "Just — just bits and pieces. We were drunk, Malfoy," he said helplessly.
For several moments, Malfoy remained utterly quiet. Then, his shoulders stiffened, and without saying a single word, he silently walked towards the table and poured himself a glass of water, grabbing it with visibly shaking hands and sipping on it with a clenched jaw.
Harry stared at him for a moment, and then, the guilt started gnawing at him. He was lying to Ron and Hermione by being here. What would his friends say if they knew what he was doing? Wasn't he fraternizing with the enemy? Malfoy was probably doing Voldemort's bidding. Yes, Voldemort. The man who'd killed his parents and even Sirius and made him an orphan. The man who continued to terrorize his friends and the people he cared about! Malfoy was from a family of death eaters. Malfoy himself was a death eater!
How could he have betrayed Ron and Hermione and all the people who believed in him like this? He needed to put an end to this — whatever this was. It could not go on. It wasn't right. Malfoy was a liar, and a death eater. He was hiding things — important things, and Harry had actually kissed him! Maybe, he'd even slept with him! Merlin, how fucking foolish. Malfoy was probably, at this very moment, working for Voldemort. He was perhaps even helping Voldemort plan his next attempt to murder Harry.
What had been his goal, his one main objective in visiting Malfoy? Wasn't he trying to stop Malfoy from doing whatever he'd been doing? Wasn't he trying to waste Malfoy's time by pestering him and following him around? He was such a fucking fool. Kissing Malfoy — of all people in the world. What the fuck was he thinking? He'd clearly lost his mind!
"Look, this was a mistake," he blurted hastily.
Malfoy didn't look at him, but his back straightened, as if he were steeling himself, and Harry couldn't understand it. "I see," he whispered quietly.
Harry swallowed. "I don't — I never wanted to —" He huffed in frustration. "Malfoy, I was drunk, and I'm sorry. We're not — I don't want to have anything to do with you," he blurted.
The room was dark, and Harry could hardly see Malfoy's face, but he noticed Malfoy's hands clench around the glass as he glared into it. "I see," he repeated.
Harry scratched his head and dropped his face into his hands, feeling something unpleasant and heavy coiling around his heart. Something was wrong about all of this, and he knew he was not equipped with the necessary skills to handle such a situation. How many relationships had he had? Zero. No, there had been Cho Chang, but that was a disaster, and it didn't count. He'd never dealt with a situation like this! What was he supposed to do? How was one supposed to react when one found oneself naked in bed with an enemy?
The water quietly sloshed around in Malfoy's glass as he swirled it absently. He was more silent than ever before. For a fleeting moment, Harry worried something was wrong with Malfoy. Maybe, he was ill or something. He was abnormally quiet. Usually, Malfoy didn't shy away from expressing his opinion loudly and obnoxiously. He was always waiting with a snarky remark or two already on his tongue. In general, Malfoy was never this silent. It was rare and very un-Malfoy-ish for him to look this miserable and awkward. Normally, he wouldn't have cared what Harry thought, and he'd have just made fun of Harry for being naked or for not remembering or for whatever.
Why did Malfoy suddenly look so unsettled and gloomy?
"Malfoy, do you remember if we actually —" he asked quickly.
There was silence again for a while. "No." Malfoy's voice was oddly quiet and quivery. "I don't."
"Then, that's good," muttered Harry brusquely, standing up awkwardly and grabbing his clothes off the floor. He didn't know why, but he felt excessively uncomfortable. He didn't want this. He didn't want Malfoy. This wasn't supposed to happen, and his heart needed time to recover. His head was throbbing. How much did he drink last night? "Look, just — just forget this ever happened, okay? This was a mistake. A really huge mistake. I can't — especially, not with you —"
It was a sloppy, drunken kiss. What did it matter?
Harry didn't want this. He shouldn't — he shouldn't want this. Malfoy was not someone he could ever love.
Malfoy trembled and placed the glass down on the table with hands shaking so badly that he spilled water all around it. "Right."
Harry swallowed, buttoning his shirt and grabbing his things quickly. "Look, I didn't mean it like that, alright? I just —"
"I know what you meant, Potter," Malfoy snapped abruptly, and he turned his head away fully. Harry could no longer see his face. "Just go."
Harry didn't know why, but he hesitated. "Malfoy —"
Malfoy's shoulders sagged in defeat, and Harry's heart ached. He wanted to stay and say something, maybe do something, but his stomach twisted when he remembered why he'd started to follow Malfoy in the first place. How could he ever love someone like Malfoy?
"Leave me alone," said Malfoy finally in a barely audible whisper. "I'm really tired, and I just want to sleep."
Harry swallowed. "I — okay." He turned slowly, biting his lip.
"Potter?"
Harry stilled. "Yeah?"
Malfoy didn't even turn to him as he said silently, "Can you just not come here again?"
Harry's heart dropped, and the thought of not seeing Malfoy every day made him incredibly depressed. "I . . . I can't do that," he blurted.
Malfoy breathed shakily. "Okay," he mumbled.
Harry took a deep breath and turned. His mind was a wild mess of disconnected thoughts, and he needed time to think and organize. His feelings were all over the place. Shooting Malfoy's hunched figure another longing glance, he quickly hurried away and left through the door.
When he saw Malfoy in the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, he thought Malfoy's eyes looked slightly swollen, as if he'd been crying again, but that thought made his chest burn, so Harry forced himself to ignore it.
"What do you mean?" asked Harry in perplexity, feeling extremely disconcerted. "Why do you think the other father will be revealed?"
Dean leaned forward curiously to see better, and Ginny stared at Malfoy's weak, trembling figure uncertainly.
"I feel so bad for him," she whispered quietly. "He might've been an asshole, but this is too much. He's pregnant, for Merlin's sake. Give the poor guy a break."
"I don't understand!" snapped Harry, but none of his friends even glanced at him. They were all too busy gawking curiously at Malfoy. "How do you know that the other father —"
"Well, he was trying really hard to hide his lover," said Hermione with a strange expression on her face. "And I think there might be a reason for that, but it doesn't really matter any more. His secret's about to become a public spectacle. There's nothing anyone can do."
"What do you mean —"
"Don't worry," said Luna absently with a dazed smile, pulling out the Quibbler and patting Dean's arm to get his attention. "That's not a paternal bond. Everything's perfectly specified in my father's article. Children of asexually reproducing wizards have powerful magical abilities. Maybe the baby's magical abilities are starting to manifest —"
"Merlin, give it a rest," muttered the handsome Hufflepuff in annoyance, turning to Ginny. "I'm so sorry, but your friend's completely bonkers —"
"Guys." Harry stared back and forth between them all, feeling puzzled and enraged. "Will anyone fucking tell me what the fuck is going on —"
All of a sudden, the Great Hall found itself in a state of great mayhem. A bright, flaming crimson radiance engulfed Malfoy, and the enthusiasm and eagerness collectively grew to an extreme degree. The intensity of the muttering and pointing increased more and more as the formerly ignorant and unaware students too realized that something extraordinary was happening. One by one, they craned their necks uncertainly to behold the flickering glow which surrounded Malfoy. Several students glared maliciously at Malfoy, looking disgusted and infuriated. Many observed sceptically with an open mouth, while others looked on in simple curiosity. However, Harry was sure that not a single person appeared uninterested. Every face — regardless of age — displayed at least some level of intrigue.
"Oh, that's a paternal bond, for sure!" cried Ron. "There's no way. Is the mystery finally —"
Harry slammed both of his fists against the table roughly, causing the plates and goblets to clatter shrilly. Ron, Ginny and Hermione blinked in confusion and slowly turned to him, their expressions unimpressed.
"What's wrong with you?" asked Ron with a perplexed frown.
Harry gritted his teeth. "I want to know what's going on too!" he complained. "I don't get why everyone's so fucking excited all of a sudden. Have you all gone mad?"
Ginny looked apologetic. "Sorry, Harry. It's just such a rare thing to witness that we got distracted."
"So, what is it?" asked Harry in frustration. "What's a paternal bond? Anyone care to explain why this is such a big fucking deal?"
Ron waved his hands dismissively, looking more interested in ogling the red glow around Malfoy. "It used to be a thing in old wizarding families — ages ago," he explained absently. "No one really bothers to trigger it any more, but I think my dad did it for Bill — since he was their firstborn and all." He shrugged carelessly. "After that, I think, they just couldn't bother with the rest of us."
"But what is it?" asked Harry impatiently, glancing at Malfoy. Malfoy looked bewildered and horrified, his shaky hand caressing his stomach desperately, as if he were trying to get rid of the light which was emanating from there. "Why does it matter so much?"
"Well, because —"
"Harry, a paternal bond is, first and foremost, a protective measure," Hermione interjected smartly, looking proud of her knowledge. "It's triggered using a complicated spell during the early stages of pregnancy, but the bond usually isn't completed until the child's born."
Ron nodded encouragingly in agreement. "When the child's born, the bond creates a sort of protective link between the child and the father," he elaborated quietly. "The link usually lasts until the child is seven or eight years old. Most wizarding fathers used to do it — for the child's protection. The bond usually alerts the father if the child is ever put in danger and stuff."
"There are maternal bonds too, by the way," Ginny chimed in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. "Usually, one bond's considered enough, though."
Harry's thoughts whirled, and something strange and heavy twisted in his stomach. "Why do you think the other father will show up here?" he asked, scrutinizing the restless students, who seemed to be glancing around impatiently, hoping for a big reveal.
"Well, firstly, that red and white flare means that it's an untriggered paternal bond. It's rare enough for a paternal bond to activate before the child's birth, but for it to also be untriggered is just extraordinary," murmured Ginny absently, sounding intrigued. "It's quite amazing. Honestly, I wasn't that interested at first, but I wonder who the other father is. It's simply incredible."
"Why?" Harry frowned. "What does 'untriggered' mean?"
"Untriggered means that a wand wasn't used," clarified Hermione gravely. "It was automatically triggered using sheer willpower and love — without the necessary spell work, which is usually performed during the early stages of pregnancy."
"So," whispered Harry, swallowing the sudden, inexplicable lump in his throat, "the bond's usually created using a spell." He let out a breath. "And it gets completed at the child's birth."
"Yes, usually." Hermione leaned forward, her head lowered, as if she were disclosing a deadly secret. "The link's supposed to form naturally during the child's birth, and it occurs whether the father is close by or not," she murmured softly, and there was an odd look on her face, as if she were examining Harry's facial expressions, his reactions, very thoroughly. "Like Ginny said, that's clearly an untriggered bond, and it's also forming really early. It was created just now, without the use of a wand. Sometimes, often when the baby is put in extreme stress or danger, the father's emotions can create an untriggered paternal bond. It's really rare, but I think that's what's happening here."
"And for that to have happened, the father has to be somewhere nearby," agreed Ron.
"Yup," said Ginny, nodding in confirmation. "Think of it as a default defence mechanism. The father has to be somewhere near. The father has to have heard what was said, or else it wouldn't make sense for a paternal bond to activate on its own."
"Exactly!" exclaimed Ron eagerly. "That untriggered bond is clearly pulling the other father towards it —"
Suddenly, there was a loud, reverberating clatter as Malfoy gasped, unsteadily knocking into a Slytherin fourth year, who spilled his orange juice all over the table. The boy cursed and glared angrily up at Malfoy. Looking extremely dizzy and out of breath, Malfoy gripped the table with pale, trembling fingers, his left hand gripping Zabini's shoulder tightly. Zabini lingered worriedly near him, his arm draped around Malfoy's waist.
Hermione's unsettled eyes darted from one end of the Slytherin table to the other, looking intrigued and distinctly curious despite all her complaining earlier. "The other father has to be in the Great Hall," she murmured under her breath. "I wonder if —"
"It can't be You-Know-Who, right?" whispered a girl sitting beside Luna to her friend.
Her friend looked around uncertainly. "It could be —"
"Of course, not," scoffed Ginny impatiently. "Voldemort's dead. How can a dead man trigger a paternal bond?"
The handsome Hufflepuff beside her frowned. "What if he'd performed the spell before his death —"
Hermione rolled her eyes indignantly. "Then, the unfinished bond would've disintegrated at the moment of his death," she said matter-of-factly. "A dead father can't form a paternal bond with his living child. It defeats the purpose. That much should be obvious. Besides, I really don't think Voldemort would've cared enough to form a bond with his child. How many times do I have to explain this? He was incapable of love!"
The angry, crimson glow around Malfoy began to flicker and spark like red-hot fire. Hermione and Ginny let out identical gasps of wonder, their hands clasped against their mouths, their eyes awed. Malfoy's face was scrunched up, and he shuddered, shivering vehemently. Something was happening. Something was changing. Harry's fingers and toes tingled, and something warm and odd and painful unfurled in his heart.
All of a sudden, excitement crackled through the stunned occupants of the hall like waves of electricity. One by one, all students emerged out of inertness and early morning lethargy to watch with curious eyes and wide mouths, holding their breaths in profound anticipation. Over at the High-Table, the teachers all goggled Malfoy in utter bewilderment, their expressions fluctuating between morbid fascination and sheer terror. Professor McGonagall stared at Harry with an unreadable expression on her face, observing quietly as the odd scene unfolded.
A bright red orb materialized above Malfoy's head, shimmering and twitching rapidly, and a sudden whir of chaotic muttering spread through the crowd like an infection.
"Do you think it's Blaise Zabini?" asked Ron with a wry smirk, eyeing him suspiciously as he fussed over Malfoy. "He's been awfully close to Malfoy this past week."
Ginny's gaze thoroughly moved down the length of Zabini's body. "No," she said with a smirk. "It's not him."
Ron snorted. "How do you know that?"
Ginny shrugged. "Woman's intuition. It's not him."
"If it's not Voldemort, it must be one of the other death eaters," hissed someone from Malcolm's gang.
"There's no fucking way it's one of us Gryffindors," muttered one of the girls near Malcolm. "Must be someone from Slytherin."
Malcolm smirked and nodded, looking extremely pleased.
"Oh, yes. If he's one of the students here, he must be a Slytherin," said another girl.
"Could it . . . could it be a teacher? Like Snape? Snape adored Malfoy!"
"Snape's dead," said Malcolm. "Can't be Snape."
"Where is he?" whispered Harry under his breath, anxious eyes darting across the tables. "Who could it be? Just who?" He breathed shakily. "Who could ever love Malfoy?"
With an abrupt little pop, the glimmering orb hovering above Malfoy's head blinked out of existence.
Harry frowned. "What the —"
Suspense permeated the air like a foul, lingering smell, and the Great Hall waited with bated breath. An immediate silence settled like a thick, heavy blanket over them all, and Harry's eager gaze flicked helplessly, desperately, from Malfoy to Zabini and back again, his heart sinking deeper and deeper as a million doubts and fears crawled into his head.
"There!" someone shrieked at the top of their lungs, and the shrill, high-pitched sound echoed throughout the hall, making every single head turn simultaneously in startled amazement.
Beside Harry, Hermione let out a loud, disbelieving gasp of horror, and Harry blinked in confusion and bafflement as he looked over at her. "What? What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked impatiently, his gaze searching wildly as a shocked silence fell over them, thick and palpable. "Has he been revealed? Where is he?"
Hermione's eyes were as wide as pans and pots, and she gaped in shock at something directly above Harry's head, her hands clamped tightly against her mouth as she gawked shamelessly.
Harry frowned irritably and opened his mouth to speak, but almost instantly, the tense, dumbfounded silence cracked into two as gigantic waves of sudden uproar and astounded outrage rumbled through the hall like thunder. An abrupt clamour of protests and loud, surprised gasps broke out instantly as students pointed their accusing fingers at Harry and gawped at him in bafflement, as if he'd just stripped naked right in front of them. His head felt fuzzy, and his ears buzzed with noise as people chattered and shouted with incredulity clearly written all over their faces. Someone whistled from the far end of the Slytherin table, and the horrified whispers reached a crescendo.
"What . . ." said Harry in a daze. Why was all attention suddenly focused on his head? What had he done? "What the . . ."
"Merlin . . ." breathed Hermione shakily, her voice muffled.
In the periphery of his vision, he saw Malcolm and his gang, staring at him with their jaws on the floor, shocked into speechlessness. In fact, every single scandalized pair of eyes in the Great Hall was either glaring at Malfoy in disgust and suspicion or staring open-mouthed at Harry, with their expressions torn between stupefaction and downright disbelief.
"T-that's . . . that's . . . oh, fuck, no," Ginny stammered with a strangled gasp, slack-jawed. "It was . . . Harry, it was you?"
"Oh, no." Luna frowned confusedly. "Draco Malfoy might not be an asexually reproducing wizard, after all. Daddy will need to clarify that in his next —"
"Merlin, will you shut the fuck up!" hissed Dean in a quiet whisper, staring at Harry with wide eyes full of surprise and disbelief.
Blinking stupidly in bewilderment, Harry slowly looked up, as if in a drugged trance. A dazzling white orb dangled over his head, and as he gaped up at it in a state of deep confusion and shock, it flickered and shone vibrantly and then collapsed onto his head, vanishing promptly into his body.
"Was that . . ." His wild thoughts came to an abrupt, stuttering halt, and time slowed down to a nauseating degree. For several, long, disorienting moments, he stared into empty space blankly, his lips slightly parted, his eyes glazed over, and his mind as vacant as a vacuum. "Huh?"
He stared at Hermione in utter confusion. "What?"
"Oh, Harry," whispered Hermione in a trembling voice, looking close to tears as she stared at him in disbelief.
With a loud, strangled wheeze, Ron suddenly toppled backwards and lay flat on the floor, unconscious.
"Ron!" Dean sprang to his feet, rushing to his aid.
"Is he dead?" asked Luna scandalously in a whisper to Ginny.
Ginny made a strange, choked noise from her throat and shook her head, still staring at Harry incredulously. "W-when the fuck did they even . . ." she trailed off with a puzzled, disbelieving frown.
Feeling thoroughly dumbstruck, Harry gaped at Ron's motionless body and frowned deeply. "What the fuck?" He swallowed thickly, lowering his head discreetly. "Why is everyone staring at me?" he whisper-yelled, looking at Hermione pleadingly. "This is a mistake, isn't it? It can't be — Hermione, I don't understand —"
"Harry," whispered Hermione softly, shaking her head desperately with her hand still clutched against her mouth.
Then, Harry's startled gaze finally, finally, floated towards Malfoy — questioning, confused, demanding the truth. Their eyes locked firmly across the hall, and the entire world dropped away around them. Harry's vision tunnelled, and all he could see was Malfoy. His stomach roiled, his heart grew oddly heavy inside his chest, and he felt the colour draining from his face immediately.
Malfoy was gaping at him, looking equally stunned and confused and disbelieving. His grey gaze was wet and numb and horrifyingly cold, piercing icily into Harry's very soul, imbuing it with dread and horror. Something pulsed in the air between them — something inexplicable, concrete and fiercely tangible that Harry tasted at the back of his burning throat. Mere, insignificant seconds went by, but it felt as if eons were slipping away without either of them realizing.
"Me?" croaked Harry in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, blinking repeatedly to clear the fuzziness that surrounded him. His ears felt as if they were jammed with cotton, and unintelligible sounds trickled in, all muffled and foggy. He wondered if he was having a life-threatening stroke, or suddenly hallucinating. The hall swayed around him, and it took him a moment to steady himself. "Me?"
How strange. What was this feeling churning inside him? Was it happiness? Was it sorrow and sadness, or was it pure, unquestionable conviction that this was all a giant, stupid mistake? Or, perhaps, was it an odd mixture of it all?
"There's no way," muttered Zabini, staring at Malfoy incredulously.
"Don't tell me . . ." Harry trailed off, looking at Hermione dazedly. "Hermione, it's . . . it's me?"
"Oh, Harry," sniffed Hermione, her voice soft and full of pity. "I don't know."
Harry felt himself going horridly pale, and an incoherent noise escaped his throat. His head turned, and he would've fallen back and fainted like Ron if Dean hadn't caught him and thrown him forward. "I can't be . . . I never . . ." His throat sealed itself shut.
Harry's gaze darted towards Malfoy again, but Malfoy was staring pointedly at his feet, his lips parted, his shoulders stiff, as if he were still in a state of extreme shock.
"This has to be a mistake, right?" murmured Harry, as if in a trance.
Ginny stared at him. "You . . ." Her expression was unreadable. "You lied to us all."
McGonagall had already left her seat at the High-Table, and she was striding rapidly down the hall with pure determination all over her old, weary face.
Slowly, as if it were inevitable, understanding dawned on Harry, hitting him like a falling meteor, but acceptance didn't come so quickly. It came packed in little nigglings of doubt and uncertainty, gnawing at the margins of his brain persistently. Could it be true? Could he be the other father? No. Yes. No. Yes. Did he want to be the other father?
The initial wave of shock that he'd been caught under gradually vanished, and his surroundings grew clear and focused once more. The whispers, the noises, the exclamations of scepticism and dissent entered his ears sharply and became distinctly audible again.
The Great Hall was in disarray as Professor McGonagall made her way towards the Slytherin table. When she'd reached where Malfoy was standing stock-still, she lowered her head and said something to him, looking solemn and conflicted. Malfoy breathed shakily and slowly nodded, shooting one last scathing glare at Harry before taking Zabini's arm. With slow, unsteady steps and followed closely by disgusted glances and loathing glares, Malfoy left the hall, leaving behind a trail of whispers and quiet muttering.
Professor McGonagall turned to him sharply, and Harry started, panic gripping his heart. "Something's wrong," said Harry, trembling. "I can't be — how is this possible? I can't be the other father, Hermione. Believe me. I've never ever — Merlin, I've never even touched a single strand of Malfoy's hair!"
Several Gryffindors sitting nearest to them jerked their heads to stare at Harry, giving rise to a brand-new wave of speculative murmurs. Hermione, Ginny and even Luna gaped at him incredulously. Behind them all, Dean and some other good-natured Gryffindors dragged Ron's motionless body away.
Harry dropped his face into his hands in sheer horror. "How can that child be mine? This has to be a mistake!" he blurted loudly, feeling agitated and helpless and strangely desperate. "What the fuck? How can I be the other father when I've never even —"
However, even as he said it, something inside him was hoping, surging, wishing. For whatever reason, when he'd looked into Malfoy's startling, frosty pair of eyes, a jolt of realization had shot through him. He'd felt it — a strange, intense spike of want and longing. For a very short-lived moment, every single inch of him had known — with unquestionable certainty — that the child growing inside Malfoy had his blood flowing through its veins. That feeling was like an instinct. He'd felt it in his gut, and it'd throbbed ferociously in his chest — when the light had gone straight through him, when it had penetrated the very core of his soul. And he'd felt, for a brief moment, as if he could hear the baby's heartbeat, the slow, steady thump thump thump inside Malfoy's stomach. He could still feel that connection, that pulse, that tie which linked him with that child, and it was terrifying.
"Harry," mumbled Hermione hastily, biting her lip and wringing her hands helplessly. "I don't know what to say." She looked around and glared tearfully at the crowd, including Malcolm and his gang, who were still gawking eagerly to watch the drama unfold. Several of them looked as if they were refusing to believe it, waiting patiently for some clarification. Many glared resentfully at the Slytherin table. "A paternal bond can only be activated by the biological father of the child. Your connection to" — she hesitated briefly — "to y-your child can only be triggered by you. No one else can do that for you. The nature of this bond makes tampering with it nearly impossible. It can't — it can't be a mistake, Harry."
Professor McGonagall had reached the Gryffindor table, and she walked towards him steadily, making Harry's heart pound. "No, but you don't understand!" snapped Harry. "Me and Malfoy — we've never — I have never —"
Luna extended her hand and patted him gently on the shoulder. "It's okay, Harry," she told him kindly. "I fully offer my support, and I'm really sorry for calling Malfoy an asexually reproducing wizard —"
"Yeah. That's right, Harry." Ginny clenched her jaw, finally composing herself. "The secret's out. You don't have to pretend any more. Malfoy might've been a total prick in the past, but I never took you for a wimp. I would never have thought that you'd let your lover be humiliated and threatened by the entire world. To think you'd even go as far as to deny your own child —" She shook her head with an outraged frown. "It's disgusting. You better take responsibility. As your friend, that's the only advice I can —"
"What the fuck is wrong with you all?" snapped Harry. "I swear to god, I have no idea why the paternal bond chose me — I'm not the other father, for Merlin's sake —"
"I know, Harry," said Hermione softly, a knowing look flashing across her face.
"What?" Harry turned with a frown, his eyes widening in shock when he noticed the look on her face. "You . . . you know something, don't you?"
Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, looking troubled and unsure. "Harry, I —"
"Potter." Professor McGonagall had finally trudged over to him, and she stared at him with a stern gaze. "In my office. Now."
