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“What do you mean?” Draco asked, face scrunched in confusion.
“Draco, process this however you want,” Harry snorted, but continued to stay perfectly still. “I could’ve been in Slytherin–”
”But you didn’t because I was a twat to you. The first time we met. Is that it?”
“Well. Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Considering our current positioning, why bring it up? One can only presume it’s self-sabotage.” Draco wiped sweat from his brow, his calves ached.
“Just thinking. Been a bit introspective lately.”
“Better a late start than no start.” Draco muttered to himself as he tried to shift closer.
“Watch it,” Harry hissed as weight fell on him.
“Ah, sorry. Accidents happen.”
“You said that last time too. If you’ve got to get that close, can you at least mind that you don’t lean so much on me?" Harry frowned, rubbing his clavicle. “I don’t mind a bit of pain, but your whole body weight on–" Draco covered Harry's mouth with his hand, silencing him.
“Quiet, you. I was trying to adjust myself to finish faster for your sake, this angle is unforgiving for someone of my height. Not my fault you're so delicate," Draco huffed. “See, all done. Now your hair is more appropriate to be seen standing next to me in public.”
Harry slapped Draco’s hand off and stood in front of the mirror. His curls were tamed by the curly cut Draco had insisted upon since he realized that Harry’s hair was voluminously curly rather than simply unruly.
“Happy now? ”
“Could be happier, but the day is still young,” Draco responded. “Speaking of which, I assume you managed to buy new robes without me being at Florian’s with you. Or did you remember that I was a twat the first time we met again, and decided to get back at me on my birthday decades later by dressing like a street urchin?”
"Oh, I managed," Harry hummed thoughtfully. “How about I give you your gift now?“
“I better be impressed by this, your endless yammering has been taxing on my nerves.” Draco was shoved out of the bathroom.
“You’re impossible to find a gift for, but here you go.” Harry stopped them at the foot of their bed and gestured, “Look in that bag, Draco."
A small bag labeled Florian’s Atelier sat on the bed. Draco peeked inside.
“A velvet…handkerchief?”
“Look closer.”
Draco unfurled the material to its full length.
“Tiny Slytherin robes…Harry, what’s this?” Draco asked slowly, confused.
Harry placed a hand on his abdomen, smiling at Draco’s varied expressions while he pieced everything together.
“No. Really?” he whispered. "We—no, you--pregnant?”