REVIEW REPLY: "and whats the odds harry would be his healer lol" – fifespice, the chances are very, VERY high. If my ending surprised you, then you don't know me at all! I mean, "Hello, I'm Trish's OTP" (:

A/N: Wow, just wow – I was overwhelmed by the response from y'all. Thank you to all my reviewers.

.-xXXx-.

"Come on, then," Potter said, unfazed. Draco, who was still shell-shocked, wordlessly followed him down a short hall into an office adjoining the waiting room. Several people waved at Potter as he passed them, and he waved back; Draco merely averted his eyes.

The office was spacious, white-walled, but windowless. The chairs were mismatched – one was orange, one was blue, and the one behind the desk was Gryffindor-gold – and they looked very comfortable. A large abstract painting hung on one wall. A red vase sat atop a small white shelf, not unlike the one Draco had recently destroyed, except that bright yellow chrysanthemums filled this one.

"You've got to be serious," Draco muttered, crossing his arms and slumping onto the orange chair. Potter – Healer Harry, according to the plaque on his desk – surveyed him with a look on his face that could only be described as amusement.

"So, Mr. Malfoy," he said, sitting behind his polished wood desk, on that stupid, Gryffindor-loyalty showing chair. "What seems to be the matter?"

'Damn it!' screamed a voice in Draco's mind. 'Why does that stupid green robe have to bring out his eyes so much!?'

"Mr. Malfoy?" Potter pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"Oh, just do away with formalities," Draco snapped, tearing his eyes away from Potter. "You're Potter, I'm Malfoy, and we hate each other."

Potter corrected him, "No, I'm Healer Harry, and you're Mr. Malfoy, and I could just be the one to save your life. What seems to be the matter?"

Green eyes met grey, and held them. Draco tried not to flinch under the gaze that was pinning him there, like a bug on a slide.

"I think I'm pregnant," he said quite seriously. Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hair, but he silently scrawled something on a yellow legal pad.

"I mean – yes, I've been vomiting in the mornings, I'm sensitive to food, and I'm always very tired…" his voice trailed off.

"How long have these symptoms lasted?" Potter asked, scribbling some more on the page.

"About two weeks now," Draco replied, casting an upside-down glance at the legal pad.

Drawings of ferrets, stars, swirls, and Galleons covered it. There was something drawn in the corner that vaguely resembled Dobby the House-Elf. Well, Draco thought it might be Dobby, because there was a speech bubble next to it that read, 'I is here to serve you, Harry Potter, sir'.

"Are you listening?" Draco exploded, pushing Potter's hand off the page and seizing the pad.

"Absolutely," Potter said, taking the notepad back without a trace of embarrassment. "Listen, Mr. Malfoy, have you tried taking a pregnancy test?"

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded.

"I'll take that as a no, then," Potter sighed, bending over to retrieve something from the bottom drawer of his desk. Draco averted his eyes.

Potter straightened up and handed him a small box. He stood and ushered Draco out the door.

"Follow the instructions in the box. The bathroom is just down the hall, first door on your right," Potter said, "And then come back here so we can analyze the results. Okay?"

Draco stared as the glossy white door shut in his face.

"Git," he muttered. "Scarheaded git."

"I heard that," said Harry's voice from the other side of the door.

.-xXXx-.

"So, I just pee on this, right?" Draco asked nobody in particular. His voice echoed around the empty bathroom.

"Right, then. Thanks for your help."

.-xXXx-.

"Well," Potter said, holding the stick up to the light. Two blue lines shone on one end of it. Draco stared at the upside-down notepad on Potter's desk. He had torn the first page off and had started on a new one.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news, Mr. Malfoy?" Potter said, grinning.

"Give me the good news," Draco replied, covering his face with his hands.

"Hmm," Potter said, throwing the stick down on his desk and turning to wash his hands. "The good news is: you're not pregnant."

Draco's head snapped up to look at Potter. "Really?"

"Yes," Potter said, over the noise of the tap. "But, the bad news is, you've got a really bad case of the flu."

He returned to his desk and pulled out a stack of prescription forms. Draco watched silently while Potter filled them out.

"What made you decide to become a Healer, Potter?" Draco asked suddenly, watching Potter scribble suggestions on the bottom of the form. His handwriting was horrible – it looked as if someone had been hitting his hand with a mallet whilst he was writing.

"I don't know," Potter said absently, folding the sheet in half and handing it to Draco. "I just – you know, did. Okay, just get these medicines from the Mediwitch out there; you should be fine in a couple of days. See you round, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thanks," Draco said, as he was ushered out the door. He avoided Potter's gaze, and tried to quash the bubble of hope that rose in his chest when he caught a glimpse of the new sheet of paper on the notepad.

It was covered in hearts. Large hearts, small hearts, colored-in hearts, plain hearts, embellished hearts; hearts covered every inch of the page.

Draco grinned. He had a feeling that things were about to get very interesting…