A/N: I've got plenty of time and ideas in abundance. You're all in luck – they make for a very fast, very happy writer (:
And, yeah, I realize that this fic is a lot more light-hearted than the rest of the ones that I do. I kind of like this stuff, now. Not that I'm abandoning angst, or anything…!
.-xXXx-.
"Ah, crap," Harry muttered, staring at the door. "Crap, crap, crap."
He jumped to his feet, sprinted around the desk, and threw open the door. He ran down the hall, past the secretary (who was saying "Are you ready for your next patient, Healer Harry?"), past every waving fan in the waiting room, and came to a panting halt in the empty clinic.
"Sir?" asked the blonde Mediwitch behind the counter. "Is everything –?"
"Where – is – Mr. – Malfoy –?" Harry gasped.
"I just served him, sir," she replied quickly. "He took some flu medicine, painkillers, then left. Why?"
"Damn it!" Harry screeched. The Mediwitch ducked as a bottle exploded over her head, seemingly of its own accord.
"Uh – sir," she said, as glass rained down onto the counter. It had been years since Harry had lost control of his magic like that.
"What?" he snapped, fighting to keep his voice calm. She pointed at something over his shoulder. Harry turned around slowly.
"You called, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. Harry could sense a smirk hiding behind the pale, utterly kissable cover of Malfoy's lips, waiting to burst forth at any moment.
"Yeah," Harry said, suddenly breathless once more. "You – um – forgot something."
Malfoy's impending smirk faded. This was obviously not what he was expecting. The automatic doors were repeatedly opening and closing on him, but he didn't seem to notice.
"I forgot something?" he repeated in a strange voice. He stepped forward and the doors closed behind him.
"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice getting stronger. "You – um – my heart – here, take this."
Desperate to cover his stupid mistake, he pulled a random box off the shelf behind him. He tossed it to Malfoy, who caught it easily and grinned.
"Thanks, Potter," he said, holding the box up so Harry could see the label.
Harry internally groaned: it was condoms. Not just a regular pack, either; it was a jumbo pack.
"Appropriate, I think," Malfoy continued, smirking all the while, "For someone who, like me, has recently had a pregnancy scare. I didn't know you cared, Potter."
"It's my job to care," Harry heard himself reply.
"You know," Malfoy said suddenly, taking a step towards Harry.
Harry took a step backwards and collided painfully with the shelf. Boxes rained down on him.
"I think," said Malfoy, his voice low and husky and – was that a sensual voice? He took another step closer.
"You think what, Malfoy?" Harry sputtered. Malfoy leaned closer.
"I think that we should get together sometime," Malfoy said, barely an inch from Harry's face, "And put these to good use."
He pressed something into Harry's hand and, in a heartbeat, was gone. The automatic doors slid shut behind him.
Harry sat down hard on the boxes surrounding his feet.
"What the hell just happened?" the Mediwitch asked, staring at Harry.
Harry continued to stare down at the paper in his hand. He was sort of wondering the same thing.
.-xXXx-.
"Oh, yeah!" Draco shrieked, dancing around his still-empty apartment. A pigeon nesting on his windowsill took off in terrified flight.
"I've still got it," Draco sang, pulling random pots and pans from his cupboard. He flipped one over and examined his reflection on the shiny bottom of the pan.
His gaze fell on the packet that Harry had given him and he snickered. And speaking of Harry… Draco felt in his pockets for the prescription form.
Draco felt in his back pockets. Then he felt in his front pockets. Then he ran over to his jacket and felt in those pockets.
"Aha!" he cried, pulling a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. He unfolded it, and stared.
The paper had his own Muggle telephone number written on it.
.-xXXx-.
"– And then he was gone, just like that! Why do you suppose he gave me his prescription form?" Harry asked, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he removed his meal from the microwave.
"I don't know," Hermione's voice was disembodied. "Ron, don't put the pizza on the floor. Ron? RON!"
"I, um, maybe I should go now," Harry said awkwardly.
"No, it's okay," Hermione replied. "Ron – yes, on the table! Hey, that's not what I ordered…"
"I'm going to go now, 'Mione," Harry said quickly. "Bye!"
He hung up the phone and sighed as he turned around to face his dinner.
A lonely microwave meal sat on a single placemat with a fork next to it. Suddenly, Harry wasn't so hungry any more.