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I.
Harry knows what’s coming as he walks deeper into the forbidden grounds.
The land is covered with a thick blanket of darkness that makes his path more difficult to see. Even with his glasses, Harry can hardly make out the rocky ground he’s stepping on. It makes the desire to run back to the castle even harder to resist. The wide sky is soulless without the shining presence of the stars under the glowing moon. He knows his body will become like that. Empty. Dead.
Still, he continues walking.
Sharp stones pave the path into the forest, digging into the thin soles of his shoes. Harry wonders if it’s going to hurt. After that, where will he go? Thoughts of his mother fill his head. He wonders if it’s possible for him to meet her.
With each step he takes, he slowly understands what she had felt that day.
The forest is eerily silent, save for the crunching leaves beneath his feet. Not a single soul can be seen lingering among the trees. The spring wind howls, rustling the leaves of towering oaks. The slightest touch of that cold wind against his skin leaves him shivering.
Harry clenches his fists. The black and white photograph in his hand makes a soft rustling sound as it crumples in his tight grip. He carries it everywhere. Always, tucked inside the safety of his pocket whilst he was on the run. He’s spent sleepless nights just staring at it. When he feels hopeless and scared. When he needs strength and warmth.
Malfoy looked absolutely stricken when Harry hauled him forward, pulling him to his side as he pointed directly at the image of a swaddled infant under Malfoy’s embroidered face. The Black Family Tapestry looked immensely old. The vibrant colours had faded over time, but the golden thread still shone brightly enough to show them a large family tree.
The cloth below Malfoy’s picture had two names: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter. Malfoy paled as his eyes traced the thread that connected his name — their names — to the swaddled infant.
“Explain,” Harry said through gritted teeth.
Malfoy looked at Harry with widened eyes. His throat bobs. Harry watched him as he composed himself. Malfoy’s lips wobbled and curled into a sneer.
“You ordered your elf to apparate to the Manor, put my life in danger, and drag me here just for this?”
Harry clenched his jaw and fixed Malfoy with a hard stare. “You can’t fool anyone, Malfoy. You know what it means.”
Because he did. Growing up in a pureblood family, Malfoy couldn’t possibly not know what it meant. Unlike Harry who had had to call Kreacher when he finally gave in to his curiosity. He’d spent days just staring at it; wondering why his name was embroidered next to Malfoy’s. And why it was connected to a swaddled image that had mysteriously appeared below. He was sure it wasn’t there the last time he had been in Grimmauld.
Malfoy sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Harry glared. “Don’t lie to me, Malfoy.”
Malfoy jutted his chin out defiantly. “Why would I be lying? I don’t kno—”
“Stop lying!” Harry shouted. His eyes were wild behind his glasses. “I know you know you’re pregnant!”
Malfoy crossed his arms tighter across his chest. He had gone even paler, his lips twitching in his attempt to sneer at Harry’s accusation. Panic and fear flashed across Malfoy’s expression. Harry wished he would tell the truth. No matter how much he dreaded it, Harry wanted to know.
“That’s ridiculous, Potter. Where did you get such an idea?”
Harry ground his teeth together. Malfoy had given him the answer he was hoping for. But it wasn’t the truth. And Harry wanted the truth.
Harry took a deep breath. “Kreacher told me,” he said quietly. His gaze went back to the tapestry. “I showed this to him.” Harry touched the swaddled figure. “And he said you’re having my baby.”
A few quiet seconds passed where Harry stared at the image before he brought his hand down and tucked it into his pocket. Harry turned to look at Malfoy and found his school rival watching him with unreadable eyes. Malfoy stiffened and quickly averted his gaze.
“I can’t believe you got fooled by your elf, Potter,” he sneered. “He’s just an elf. He’s completely ignorant about things that don’t involve housework.”
Someone cleared their throat and Harry was surprised to find Hermione and Ron standing near the doorway. He had forgotten about his friends. They had been there when Harry called for Kreacher. They had been there when Harry fainted out of shock after Kreacher told him that Malfoy was pregnant with his baby.
Harry knew they were just as shocked as he was. And he knew he owed them an explanation. But right now, all he cared about was finding out if Malfoy was really pregnant.
Harry turned back to Malfoy. “How would you explain this, then?” He gestured at the tapestry. “I’m not a Black, Malfoy, but why is my name here? Why’re our names connected to this baby? Like how your parents’ names are connected with your picture?”
Malfoy grimaced. He was looking over Harry’s shoulder; avoiding Harry’s piercing glare.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You bloody well do!” Harry snapped. His anger and frustration building inside him. “I know you do! So just tell me the truth! I want to know if you’re pregnant!” Harry demanded. He ran his fingers through his messy hair.
“Listen, Malfoy. We can’t bring a child into this world. Not right now. The ministry is hunting me down. Voldemort is planning to kill me. I can’t— We can’t. A war is going to happen, Malfoy. I mean... Fuck— It’s too dangerous. I don’t want to put an innocent child in danger. What if Voldemort discovers that I have a child? What if he goes after my child? We just can’t. I don’t know how it happened but—”
“You don’t know how it happened?” Each word was said slowly and carefully emphasised.
Harry stopped pacing and rambling at Malfoy’s angry voice. He looked up at and cringed when he saw Malfoy was fuming. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side. His eyes were sharp and bright.
“It’s your fault, you fucking idiot!” Malfoy yelled. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. He looked like he could murder someone at this moment.
Harry looked at him in wonder. “How is it my fault?”
“Well, your damn magic is fucking compatible to mine! You are so powerful I didn’t even need to take a bloody potion to conceive! You fucking, bollocking, bastard!”
He felt indignant at the accusation. “It’s not just mine! It’s your fault, too!”
Malfoy had been the one who showed up uninvited to Bill and Fleur's wedding. He had been the one who snuck up behind Harry and pulled him away from the tent. He had been the one who insisted on talking.
Malfoy’s jaw went slack. Harry knew it had been the wrong thing to say when Malfoy fished out his wand and started throwing hexes at Harry. Harry’s instincts took over, dodging the jinxes fired at his way.
“It’s your fault! If you didn’t pull me into that damned broom cupboard, this wouldn’t have happened!” Malfoy spat at him. Harry dived, and the curse Malfoy sent along with his words just missed him.
But Malfoy was right. If he hadn’t snogged Malfoy in the broom cupboard, maybe this wouldn't have had happened at all. But Malfoy had looked different that night. He'd said something about how sorry he was for everything he'd done before. For every interaction. For attempting to kill Dumbledore. Something about the Death Eaters. But Harry couldn't hear what he was saying. He’d been too distracted by the gleam and the temptation of Malfoy’s lips.
“It’s your fault! You shouldn’t have bloody well fucked me?!”
A stinging hex hit Harry’s leg and he gasped, more in surprise that Malfoy had actually managed to hit him than in pain.
“You enjoyed it! You asked for it!” Harry lashed back.
Malfoy froze in fury. “What?” he gritted out.
Harry’s eyes went wide as he stared at Malfoy’s enraged face.
“I will kill you, Potter!” Malfoy snarled. “Av—”
“Malfoy!”
Hermione and Ron decided this was clearly the time to intervene and ran to Malfoy, snatching his wand from his grasp.
Ron gripped Malfoy’s arm. “Merlin! Calm down!”
Harry stopped and lowered his own wand. He bent down, putting his hands on his knees as he panted heavily. When he looked up, the way Malfoy was looking at him. The way his eyes were shining. Harry suddenly had the urge to apologize and comfort him.
“Malfoy—”
“I’ll get rid of it,” Malfoy cut him off.
Harry froze. His heartbeat speeding up as he looked at Malfoy in shock, mouth gaping.
“What?”
“You didn’t have to know. I’ll get rid of it.”
Harry almost choked on his tongue. “What do you mean? Can you even do that? Isn’t it dangerous?”
Seconds passed where Malfoy just stared at him before he answered.
“I have an appointment at St. Mungo’s tomorrow at midday.”
Harry’s throat went dry. “Okay...” He swallowed. “Does your father know?”
Malfoy looked at him incredulously. “No. I told them I’ve had a stomach bug. And I made some excuse about meeting up with Pansy tomorrow so I can get away for the actual appointment.”
Harry slowly nodded and turned his head away from Malfoy’s gaze. So, this was it, then? Malfoy would get rid of their baby, and it would be done. If Harry hadn’t asked Kreacher, he wouldn’t even know he had a baby. Because Malfoy hadn’t planned on telling him. Bitterness blossomed in his chest.
“Get off,” Malfoy said sharply and swatted Ron’s hands away with his free one. Harry turned to look at Malfoy. Malfoy grabbed his wand from Hermione and called Kreacher.
The elf appeared within a second. “Yes, Young Master?”
“Take me back to the Manor.”
Harry gasped and scrambled quickly to his feet. “Wait—”
Kreacher nodded. “Yes, Master.”
Harry rushed towards Malfoy.
“Malfoy, wait!”
Kreacher grabbed Malfoy’s hand and together they disappeared with a loud pop. Harry was left standing in the drawing-room with his friends. Books, frames, and antique vases were scattered across the floor, all ruined by Malfoy’s hexes.
Harry looked down and noticed something on the floor where Malfoy had been standing minutes ago. He bent down and picked it up. It was a piece of paper. Harry turned it over and felt his heart clench in his chest. It was an ultrasound image. Everything was black and white and completely incomprehensible. Except someone had drawn a small red circle in the middle around an indistinct blob. Around a baby. His baby.
A loud thud makes Harry tense and freeze. He’s not sure if it was a branch that fell off from a tree or something else. There’s a peal of crazed laughter followed by low murmuring voices. His blood rushes in his ears, the sound of his heartbeat pounding against his skull.
He’s rooted to the ground. His feet are heavy with the weight of the situation. He closes his eyes and feels a cool rush of wind rush through his hair. Harry wants to run. Wants to cry. Wants to scream and lash out and destroy something at the unfairness of it all. Fear wraps around him like thick vines, constricting his heart and lungs until he’s gasping for breath. Dread crawls under his skin, seeping through his bones until all he can feel is ice.
Harry clenches his fists tightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. He wonders whether anyone will notice the little crescent moon shaped marks when they grieve over his body. If they even get the chance. The paper in his hand is a silent reminder of why he needs to go.
Sometimes, he’d asked himself why his mother chose to die instead of him. Why she had given up her life for Harry. He’d never understood. Not until he’d heard and fallen in love with another heartbeat.
He had made a promise to protect that life. To protect them with everything he has. Everything he is. Even if it means giving up his own life.
So, Harry forces his feet to move and walks deeper into the forest.
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the fuzzy image. His mind was reeling with so many thoughts. Was Malfoy really going to get rid of their baby? And why was he feeling agitated instead of calm? This was what he wanted, right? He was the one who said they couldn’t bring an innocent child into this world. But Harry was feeling restless and uneasy.
Something was nagging him inside. It was there. Telling him to do something. But what? Harry had no idea.
“Harry, stop!”
Harry stopped pacing in front of the fireplace and raised his head to look at Hermione. Hermione’s lips were thin and her eyebrows were drawn together.
“Honestly, Harry! We didn’t get any sleep last night because of your pacing! And right now, you’re making me dizzy!”
Harry bit his lips and scratched his neck. He hadn’t had any sleep either. He slumped on the sofa. Hermione made herself comfortable on the chair opposite.
“Sorry, ‘Mione. I’m just...”
Hermione sighed. “Are you worried about Malfoy?”
He stared at her. Why did she have to ask that question?
“No!” He paused. “Yes? I don’t know... I’m—” He shook his head. He didn’t even know why he felt so on edge. Something about Malfoy going to the hospital was bothering him. Was it his conscience? He didn’t want Malfoy to go to St. Mungo's alone. He didn’t want Malfoy to go through this alone.
Harry straightened. Yes, maybe that was it. He needed to be with Malfoy at his appointment. That was the least he could do. Maybe that would ease his restlessness and shut off the thoughts chasing themselves around his brain.
He glanced at the grandfather clock. It was already 11.55. Five minutes to Malfoy’s appointment. Shit. He put the ultrasound printout inside his pocket, dug under the cushions of the sofa for his invisibility cloak and stood up.
“Harry, where are you going?” Hermione asked, jumping to her feet too. Ron chose that moment to enter the room with a tray full of tea and biscuits. He frowned when he saw Harry putting his coat on in a hurry.
“Where’re you going, mate?”
“I have to go to St. Mungo's,” Harry answered whilst shoving his feet into his shoes.
“Why?” Hermione’s tone was confused and surprised. “Are you going to stop Malfoy? You can’t do that, Harry. It’s his body and his—”
“No, Hermione, no! I’m not going to stop him.” Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I just want to be there for him, you know,” he added quietly.
“But, Harry, you can’t! It’s dangerous! Have you forgotten? The ministry—”
Harry spared a glance at the clock again. He threw his invisibility cloak on and walked over to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and stepped in.
“Later, ‘Mione!"
“Harry!”
Hermione’s exasperated shout was the last thing he heard before the flames swallowed him.
Harry appeared in the waiting room at St. Mungo's. The people looking at the floo frowned when they didn’t see anyone stepping out from it when it flashed green. Harry glanced around. There was a mediwitch behind a reception desk. A few people were sitting on the chairs in the waiting area. The whole place smelled like antiseptic, medicinal herbs, and cleaners.
He cursed silently when he realised he didn’t know where to go. Malfoy hadn’t mentioned exactly where in the hospital his appointment was.
A huge picture plastered on the wall near the reception desk caught his attention. Harry walked over to the picture and thanked all the Gods when he saw that it was a map. It had the location of different departments and wards. Harry scanned it quickly and breathed in relief when he found that the Obstetrics Department was located on the twelfth floor of the St. Mungo’s building.
Harry ran towards the lift, not even caring if someone heard his footsteps. He pressed the Up button impatiently and sighed in relief when the lift opened. There were only two people in the lift, a mediwizard and a patient. Harry stood in the middle and pressed the number twelve button discreetly.
He stood there, shifting nervously inside his invisibility cloak. He was feeling uneasy, his heart thudding with anxiety. What if he was late? What if the process was done? What if something had happened to Malfoy? A loud ding interrupted his thoughts. He scurried out of the lift, noticing just in time that he’d reached the floor he needed.
Harry ran and checked every room. He opened the doors as quietly as he could, hoping to go unnoticed by the occupants of the room. Room after room he checked, and no sign of Malfoy.
Harry was getting tired and more restless with every step he took towards what had to be the last room on the whole floor. He stopped in front of the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He didn’t know what he’d do if Malfoy wasn’t there. He cracked the door open and peered through the small gap. Harry released the breath he’d been holding at the sight of the distinct and familiar blond hair.
The only problem was that now Harry had found Malfoy, he felt lost again. He knew he had to let Malfoy know he was here. Otherwise, what was the point? He still hadn’t decided exactly the best way to proceed when the sound of a very fast heartbeat started echoing throughout the room. It filled his ears and froze him on the spot. He could make out Malfoy lying on a narrow bed. His face pinched as though in pain. A healer was at his side, looking at a floating screen-like square in the air, her wand pointed at Malfoy’s belly.
“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” the Healer said solemnly. “Are you sure about your decision, Mr Malfoy?”
It took Malfoy a few seconds longer before he uttered his answer. “Yes.”
Malfoy’s answer brought Harry’s senses back to him. He slipped through the door and closed it with a loud bang.
“Wait!”
The healer and Malfoy looked in his direction, eyes wide with surprise and a little fear. Harry took off his invisibility cloak so he could be seen.
“Potter?” Malfoy croaked. A glint of hope flashed across his features.
Harry swallowed and walked towards the bed. Malfoy watched him with suspicion. He looked so very vulnerable in a hospital gown. An overwhelming urge came over him to take the other man’s hand. He decided not to resist and interlinked his slightly stubby, calloused fingers with Malfoy’s long, elegant ones. He squeezed gently and was gratified to receive a slight squeeze back.
“I can’t...” Harry choked out. Tears felt wet and warm as they started to fall down his face. “I can’t lose it.”
It was the most selfish decision he’d ever made. Harry knew he was asking Malfoy to sacrifice. He knew he was asking for too much. He knew a war was about to happen. He didn’t even know if he was going to survive. It was a selfish decision to bring a child into this world without being certain if he could be with them as they grew up. It was selfish to put this child’s life in danger.
But the fluttering sound of the rapidly beating heart was the most beautiful music he had ever heard. It was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to him. A miracle. And Harry promised to protect it with everything he had. He would love and protect them with every ounce of his being.
Malfoy’s expression was gentle and unguarded. He squeezed Harry’s hand again and turned to the shocked Healer.
“I’m afraid I changed my mind, Healer Digby,” he said in a soft voice. Then the tones changed to pleading. “Please, you can’t tell anyone. Especially my parents. They shouldn’t know.”
Healer Digby stared at them for a few moments before she nodded grimly.
“You can trust me, Draco.”
The middle of the forest is even colder and much darker. Fog rises from the forest floor, making it even harder to see. Harry swallows the large lump in his throat as he catches the sight of Death Eaters.
The low murmuring stops when Harry appears in front of them. Voldemort is there, standing in the middle. Harry has stopped a few feet away from him. His left hand is balled into a tight fist, the resurrection stone and the image of his tiny baby clutched in his palm.
“Harry? What are you doing here?”
The sound of Hagrid’s distressed voice makes his chest ache. He has to do this. He has to. If everything goes right, Voldemort will die. Everyone he’s left behind will have a peaceful life. A new world, with no evil lurking and waiting to pounce.
His child will grow up in a safe place, just like he’s hoping for. His sacrifice will be worth it.
“Potter?”
Harry raised his head at the sound of Malfoy’s voice. He looked around; a little bit surprised to find he was in the dungeon. His feet had brought him here without his knowing. Harry had been numb since he saw Snape’s memories. His heart heavy with anger for Dumbledore. For Voldemort. For everyone.
Malfoy was half-hidden in an alcove. He looked exhausted and anxious, darting glances everywhere. He was probably hiding from the Death Eaters. Or from Harry’s allies. Harry wasn’t sure which. Harry walked towards him and let Malfoy pull him into the nook.
“What are you doing here?”
Malfoy looked horrible. His usually impeccable hair was covered with dirt. There was a smudge of grey ash on his face from the fiendfyre and there were dark circles under his sunken eyes.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked worriedly, eyes roaming around Malfoy’s face. The last time Harry had seen him was in the Room of Requirement, hours ago. Harry had felt his heart drop to his stomach when he’d seen Malfoy perched up on a tower of books. He hadn’t even had the time to check if he was okay once they’d reached the relative safety of the corridor. The Death Eaters had arrived before he could even open his mouth. Malfoy had demanded that he run.
Malfoy winced and put a hand on his stomach. Harry immediately went to his side and touched Malfoy’s elbows. “What’s wrong?”
“Just...” Malfoy whimpered. His other hand went to touch his lower back.
“What?” Harry asked, concerned. “Are you in pain?”
Malfoy half-nodded and half-shook his head. His face pinched in discomfort.
“Malfoy, you’re scaring me.”
Malfoy grabbed Harry's hand and placed it on his stomach. Harry looked down and gasped. “You’re showing,” he whispered in awe. His hand was on top of Malfoy’s protruding abdomen. He'd never seen it before. Not in the Manor. Not in the Room of Requirement.
Malfoy scoffed. “I’ve been showing for months, Potter. What did you expect at all but nine months pregnant?”
“How have you been hiding this?” Harry asked as he tentatively caressed the bump.
“Glamours.”
Harry was still staring at it in fascination as he ran his hand over the swell of Malfoy’s stomach. He startled when Malfoy took his hand and moved it to the side of his belly. Malfoy’s hand was on top of his. Both of them filthy.
“Wha—”
Malfoy hushed him. “Wait for it.”
Harry didn’t know what to wait for. So, when he felt a surprisingly strong thump against his hand he froze on his spot. His eyes widened as he looked up at Draco. Draco was watching him with a warm expression on his face. His eyes were tired, but there was a tenderness in them as he stared at Harry.
“What was that?” he asked in a soft voice. His head full of wonder as he gazed into Draco’s eyes.
“That’s the baby.”
“Really?” Harry looked down again, still wide-eyed and amazed. He splayed both his hands open on Draco’s stomach, waiting for another thump. “Can you get them to do it again?”
“I can’t get them to kick on demand, Potter. Just wait.”
“That’s the baby kicking?” he asked dazedly. Harry gasped in surprise when he felt it again. Then again. And again. “Hello, baby,” he whispered, rubbing the bulge on Draco’s stomach he assumed was the baby’s foot.
The baby kicked so hard it made Draco wince in pain. Harry didn’t know if he should feel delighted or sorry for Draco.
“They always recognised you.”
Harry met his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“They recognised you in the Manor. They wouldn’t stop kicking my bladder. It was so hard not to piss myself right there and then. I’m pretty sure Father and Aunt Bella would have been less than pleased had that happened,” Draco said with a dry and derisive little snort.
“Really?” Harry looked down on Draco’s bump in fascination. Could his baby really have recognised him? Even though he’d been absent all this time?
A tight feeling in his chest unfurled, spreading warmth through his veins. The overwhelming feeling caused tears to burn in the corners of his eyes. Sweet, salty, and bitter. For a moment, he forgot what was awaiting him as he felt his child shove elbows, feet and fists into the sides of Draco’s stomach. It felt more real now that he could feel the very tangible presence of his child growing inside Draco. He was going to have a baby. A baby. A baby whom he would never have the chance to meet.
Coldness cut through the warmth. As if someone had encased his lungs in lead. As if his stomach had been filled with rocks. Dragging him down until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore.
“What’s wrong?”
Harry glanced up at Draco. The soft, warm expression had disappeared, replaced by a slight frown and furrowed eyebrows.
How could he tell this man that he was leaving him with their unborn child? That he wouldn’t be there by his side to watch their child grow up? That he would leave him again, and this time he wouldn’t be coming back?
Harry shook his head to clear it from the distressing thoughts. “I’ve caused you a lot of trouble, haven’t I?”
Draco frowned at Harry’s question. Harry reached for his back pocket to retrieve his wand. Draco’s wand. He grabbed Draco’s hand and placed the smooth wood in his palm. “Keep this. You have to survive,” he said as he closed Draco’s fingers around the wand. “I’m sorry that I stole this from you. I didn’t know that your wa—”
“What are you on about, Potter?” Draco cut him off.
Harry had to look away from those intense grey eyes. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
Draco studied his face. Harry could feel the gaze burning into him. He couldn’t help but shift on his feet under the scrutiny. He didn’t want him to know. Didn’t want him to find out. Because Draco would stop him and he knew that he would stay, if he asked him to.
“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”
Harry was able to hide his wince. Somehow. Draco was always able to read if something was wrong.
“I have to go,” he said and let go of Draco’s hand.
Draco grabbed his wrist. “Where are you going?”
Harry twisted out of the grasp. “I’m going to find Hermione and Ron.” He turned away, but before he could step out of the alcove, arms wrapped around him. Pulling him close to Draco’s body. He could feel the bulge of Draco’s abdomen pressing against his back. Draco’s hot breath tickled his neck.
“You have to survive, too... If you want to find out if it's a girl or a boy.”
Harry didn’t nod. Didn’t say yes. He couldn’t promise anything. So, instead, he turned around in Draco’s arms and captured his lips. The kiss tasted salty from his tears, and bittersweet from the words they wanted to say but couldn’t. It was soft and slow. Slightly awkward with the swell of the baby between them. But perfect. Their tongues mapping every inch of their mouths. Savouring their tastes. Like they knew it was the last time their lips would meet.
“Harry Potter. The boy who lived—” Voldemort’s voice is cold, even full of barely suppressed joy. It sends shivers down Harry’s spine. “—has come to die!”
His loud declaration is followed by Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter. Harry clenches his jaw and makes sure to look Voldemort in the eye. He will never let him feel the satisfaction. That he’s won. And that Harry is afraid of what’s going to come.
Harry catches the twitching of Voldemort’s arm. The elder wand is in his hand. The tip of it is pointing towards the ground, but he knows it won’t stay that way for long. Fear encloses his heart again and Harry surrenders to it. He closes his eyes, submitting to his fate. Waiting for death to come.
He stands there, cold and shivering, knowing he only has seconds before the words leave the monster’s mouth. The stone and the photograph lie heavily in his hand. He begs for forgiveness. He begs for Draco’s forgiveness for leaving him behind. He begs for his child’s forgiveness for not staying to watch them as they grow up. He begs for forgiveness for all the mistakes he’s made. He begs for their understanding and hopes beyond hope that they can accept why he made this decision. It’s the only way to end the thing that would bring their harm. He is protecting them in the only way he knows.
He imagines what his life would be like had it all been different. He imagines a life ten years from now. A house in the middle of the fields comes to his mind. Rainy days spent in front of the fire. Game nights in the living room. Cosy winter days and warm smiles. A boy chasing the snitch on his broom. A little girl covered in mud from playing in the garden. Draco holding his hand. Gold rings placed on their fingers.
Then, he mourns.
He mourns for his future. For the life that he will never get to have. He mourns for his past. For the life that he was supposed to have. He mourns for his dreams. His wishes. His hopes that now will never come true.
“Avada Kedavra!”
It’s so sudden he’s not expecting it. Not ready. It hits him square in the chest and he falls to the ground from the impact. The forest floor is cold but soft. It doesn’t hurt when his head hits the loam of the forest floor. He takes one last breath and blackness embraces him. He lets go and darkness welcomes him like an old friend.
II.
“Harry Potter is dead!”
The Dark Lord’s icy laughter is drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears. His heart is pounding in his chest. Twisting in pain with every beat. His knees threaten to give out on him as he looks at the body in the giant’s arms.
The sight makes him want to reach out. Potter looks so small and young. His dirt covered hand hangs limply by his side. Draco wants to cross the battlefield and hold that hand. To touch his peaceful face. To shout and shake the limp body until it’s moving again.
A sharp kick to his ribs reminds him of one other person Potter has left behind. His hand goes instinctively to touch his glamoured stomach. His overwhelming feelings threaten to overcome him as he recalls the conversation they had after Potter stormed into the hospital room.
They had gone back to Grimmauld. Potter had told him that he was sorry. He’d expressed his doubts and fears. He’d thought that maybe his decision was a mistake. But Draco had told him to shut up. He’d wanted to have this baby. Had wanted this child in spite of everything that said it was a ridiculous, foolish idea to keep it.
Then, Potter had asked him to stay in the old Black townhouse. Draco had refused. He had a Dark Mark that would burn like a blazing fire if he hadn’t answered to the Dark Lord’s demands. A mother who had been waiting for him at home. A mother that he couldn’t live without. He would rather stay in Hogwarts than Grimmauld. Besides, he couldn’t disappear without raising some suspicions.
Potter had asked him if they knew what they were getting into. They were no fools. At least, Potter was not. Draco had been hoping that this day wouldn’t come. They had known that the chance they’d both survive was slim. At least, Potter knew that. Draco was hoping that they both live. For the sake of their child.
“Their father went to war, that’s what you’re going to tell them. He went to war to fight for their protection and freedom. And that their father loves them very much. That he died whilst thinking of them.”
Draco had nodded and kept his mouth shut. He’d wanted to shout at Potter for thinking that he could die. He couldn’t die. Not now that they’re having a child. But he’d understood that Potter knew how low the chances were. It wasn’t easy to stay alive when a megalomaniac madman was trying to hunt you down and kill you.
Then, they had parted ways. Draco had gone back to the Manor and Potter had gone back on his mission. Going back to Hogwarts pregnant was harder than he thought. The waves of nausea were almost unbearable. He had started throwing up after breakfast. He had to restrict his diet because he couldn’t stomach certain foods. And he was always exhausted. All the time. His stomach had swollen and eventually, even the baggiest clothes couldn’t hide it and he’d resorted to glamours. And the back pain and the swelling in his feet and ankles had started. Draco had wished that he had someone with him. Someone to comfort him when it all felt too much.
There had been nights where he couldn’t sleep because the situation in the castle was getting bad. He’d spent those nights wondering where Potter was or talking to his growing bump. There had been nights where Draco had woken up covered in cold sweat, frightened by his dreams. His hands always shook those nights as he rubbed his protruding belly, trying to forget the images of Potter’s lifeless eyes as he stared up at him from the ground.
It was his greatest fear. And he dreaded the day when he would have to look at Potter’s dead body. But now it was here, and he couldn’t wake up.
“Draco?" His mother calls him. "Draco, come.”
He turns to face his parents. His mother’s eyes are begging him to come. They want him to come and join them. To serve the bastard who killed his son’s other father. The bastard who took Potter from him. From them. The reason why his son is going to grow up without one of his parents.
He had wanted to tell Potter as soon as he had found out that they’re having a son. The way he’d found out wasn’t pleasant. He’d woken up one morning to the smell of antiseptic and medicinal herbs. Madame Pomfrey had been looming over him. The tip of her wand hovered over his head, his chest, and his stomach. Draco had panicked for a bit when he’d realised that his bump was exposed. Madame Pomfrey hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t questioned him. She’d scolded him for not sleeping enough. And for not eating properly. She’d given him nutrient potions and vitamin supplements, and then she’d demanded that he see her every two weeks.
She’d asked him if he wanted to know the sex of his baby. Draco had been unable to resist nodding and had watched in fascination as she drew intricate patterns in the air. She’d cast a Parvulus Revelio and a cacophony of colours glittered as the spell formed around his abdomen. He’d stared at the light in amazement until the colours coalesced into the rectangular screen that showed off his magical womb with its moving picture. It had been surrounded by pale blue light.
Inside of it had been a twenty-one-week-old baby. He hadn’t been able to believe that the perfect little human had once been the tiny seed he had first seen five months ago.
“Draco, please...”
His steely gaze meets his mother’s desperate one. He wants to move. Wants to go to her. But he can’t move his feet. He can hear Longbottom’s loud voice but everything is hazy. Then, suddenly, there are gasps and exclamations of surprise. Draco looks around and sees Potter scrambling to his feet.
Draco’s heart soars. Something unfolds in his chest, sending adrenaline rushing through his veins. His head feels light with relief and joy. His throat constricts with overwhelming emotions.
He doesn't think anymore and lets his heart guide his next actions. He shouts Potter's name and Potter meets his eyes. With all the strength he can muster, he throws his wand from across the battlefield. Potter's eyes widen and his Seeker instincts kick in before anyone can react. Potter runs and catches the wand mid-air. He takes Voldemort by surprise, attacking first. And then, he runs, taking Draco's heart with him.
III.
“Mr Potter, no! No! You can’t go inside!”
Harry is not paying attention to Madame Pomfrey. His eyes are glued to the huge doors behind her. A loud scream from inside the room makes him want to push Pomfrey out of the way and run inside the hospital wing.
“Let go of me!”
Harry glares at Ron and Hermione and tries to free his arms from their bruising grip. Another loud scream erupts from the other side of the door. Harry growls and forcefully pulls his arms from his friends’ tight hold, ignoring the sharp pain between his ribs. A hand on his chest stops him from moving forward.
“Let me in,” he grits out. He stares into Madame Pomfrey’s eyes. He’s not going to step back. For all he knows, Draco is dying in there.
“You can’t go in, Mr Potter. I firecalled staff from St. Mungo's and Mr Malfoy will be fine.” Madame Pomfrey looks tired and exasperated. Her eyes scan Harry’s body and something in her face softens. “You can’t go in in that state, Harry. The place should be clean and free from any germs to avoid infection.”
He looks down on himself and sees the state of his clothes. He’s covered with mud, dirt, and grime. His big toe is peeking out from the hole in his right shoe.
“She’s right, Harry. Let’s just wait here. Malfoy will be fine,” Hermione says gently.
Harry clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut when he hears another scream come from Draco. He nods and lets Hermione pull him back. Madame Pomfrey sighs and promptly goes back inside the hospital wing.
He leans against the wall. The coldness of it seeps through his clothes. He ignores the throbbing pain in the back of his head and does his best to ignore the loud screaming from the hospital wing. His heart is still beating too loud and fast, like it has been since he saw Draco stepping out of the castle. He had been descending the stairs when he stopped and doubled over in pain. Harry’s heart had dropped and he ran towards Draco. And the next thing he knew, Hermione and Ron were beside them. Helping them to get to the hospital wing as fast as they could manage.
Harry opens his eyes when he hears a clattering of footsteps. He straightens up when he sees Molly and Arthur, George and Ginny with them, all running towards him. What catches his attention, though, are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy following closely behind the Weasleys.
Narcissa’s eyes are searching frantically around the place and stop when she catches a sight of him. Lucius follows her line of vision and with a menacing expression on his face, strides purposefully towards Harry.
Harry is hauled away from the wall by Lucius’ firm grip on the front of his shirt. His grey eyes are tired but glinting dangerously.
“What did you do to my son, Potter?” Lucius sneers. “We saw you and your mud-friends... dragging him back inside the castle.”
Harry swallows thickly and meets Lucius’ eyes. There’s no reason not to say it now. Voldemort is dead. They’re free. And they have a right to know. They’re Draco’s parents after all.
“He’s pregnant.”
Silence meets him. Confusion rapidly takes hold of Lucius’ features. His grip around Harry’s shirt tightens.
“What?” he forces out through gritted teeth.
“He’s pregnant.” Harry swallows. “With my child.”
Molly gasps loudly and Narcissa’s hand flies to her mouth in shock. Harry can feel their gaze piercing through him. Lucius' mouth is slightly parted. Disbelief is evident on his face. Then Harry watches as it slowly morphs into anger.
“What did you say?!” Lucius shouts. Spittle flying from his mouth in his fury and he raises his fist. Harry closes his eyes and waits for the hard blow to come but it doesn’t.
A loud wailing noise fills his ears and everything stops.
The time stops. His heart stops. His eyes fly open as he stands there in astonishment. All he can hear are the frantic beating of his heart and the ear-splitting cry of a newborn’s displeasure at being ripped into the world. A baby. His baby.
The huge doors swing open and Madame Pomfrey steps out from the hospital wing. She spares everyone a glance before smiling grimly at Harry.
“Congratulations, Mr Potter,” she says softly. “It’s a boy.”
Harry’s throat thickens from overwhelming emotions. His eyes are blurred, filled with hot tears. He’d accepted long ago that he might never get to meet his child. He’d always known how minute his chances to survive were whilst he was on the run. He’d never expected to be here for this moment.
But here he is; alive and breathing. His son is in the next room bawling his lungs out. And no one is ever going to hurt them again.
Lucius loosens his grip from around his shirt and Harry falls to the floor. His knees are too weak and shaky to hold his weight. Harry cries and cries and cries. Hermione kneels by his side and wraps her arms around him. He sobs into her neck whilst Ron pats his back.
IV.
The sight that greets him when his eyes flutter open is going to be engraved in his memory forever.
Harry is lying in the bed next to his. He’s changed from the filthy rags Draco had last seen him in, into a hospital gown. There’s not a smudge of dirt on his face. His hair is clean. And his hand is resting on the top of the small creature sleeping on his chest. Both of their mouths are slightly open.
The sight humbles his heart. He’s never seen a sight quite as beautiful as the one in front of him. Not even the enchanting deep blue waters of the Aegean Sea can compare to this. He is mesmerised.
He slowly gets up and sits on the bed, wincing as he feels the dull ache in his rectum. Draco swings his feet off the bed and carefully closes the distance between his bed and Harry’s.
Warmth spreads throughout his chest as he studies his baby’s face. He’s undeniably Potter’s son. His head is covered with soft, dark hair, but Draco knows that it’ll be as untamable as Harry’s once he’s all grown up. Just as he’s sure that his son’s indistinct blue eyes will turn grey one day. Draco gently touches his son’s head, stroking it tenderly.
He feels a warm hand caressing his cheek. He looks up and meets Harry’s bright green eyes.
“Thank you,” Harry whispers softly.
Tears prickle in Draco’s eyes. He turns his head and kisses Harry’s palm. The swaddled infant sleeping on his chest is the proof that life can’t all be sorrow.
End.