A/N: And so I said to myself, "It's not going to do you guys any harm to wait a while for chapter ten… Unless you fall off the massive cliffy that I left." Nyah ha ha.

Well, I wanted the ending to be perfect. Can you blame me?

.-xXXx-.

THREE MONTHS LATER…

Draco leaned his head on the wall and sighed.

"Malfoy, Draco," said a voice far to his left. He shakily got to his feet, using the wall for support, and followed the same short, squat, balding Healer he'd had the second time he'd come here.

As he followed the man down the hall, the receptionist averted her eyes. There were no knowing smiles today.

Draco turned the corner and ran smack into the person he least wanted to see, apart from Ginny.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy," Potter said. Healer Harry. Boy-Who-Lived. Whatever. He didn't look surprised, for some reason.

"Good morning, Healer," Draco said. The other Healer (Draco hadn't really remembered his name) looked between the two of them.

"Tell you what," he said in his annoying nasal voice. "Potter, you take Mr. Malfoy, and I'll handle Mrs. Longbottom. Deal?"

Potter craned his neck to look into the waiting room. Luna Lovegood – well, Longbottom – sat in one corner of the room, wearing a bright purple dress and humming softly to herself while she read last week's Daily Prophet upside-down.

Draco was fairly sure that there was no translation of Ancient Runes in the centerfold to excuse this – Luna was simply strange.

Even though Draco thought that Luna was an old friend of Potter's, Potter shrugged and said, "Deal."

He turned to Draco. Then again, maybe Luna was only an old friend of Ginny's.

"Okay, Mr. Malfoy?" he said politely.

"Yeah… Thanks," Draco replied, and without further ado swept into Harry's office and threw himself into the same orange chair in which he'd first sat.

One of Potter's eyebrows twitched, but he shut the door calmly and sat down across from Draco nevertheless.

Potter cleared his throat.

And then there was silence; long, ringing silence that thundered in their ears like a stupid Muggle train.

It was so incredibly quiet that Draco was sure that Potter could hear his heart thumping madly in his chest, even without that stupid stethoscope.

It was so silent that they could hear the other Healer saying hello to Luna in the corridor outside, and the sounds of Luna's footfalls as she skipped into his office in her ludicrous orange platform sandals.

Draco looked at the wall above Potter's head.

He looked at the painting on the wall behind him.

He tried to look at the sound waves that emanated from Potter's hands as he rustled his papers uneasily.

Potter had gotten out that yellow legal pad again and was drawing on it quietly, not that Draco noticed or cared one iota.

Draco looked at his shoes.

He looked at the edge of the desk.

He looked at his watch.

He looked at Potter's watch.

He looked at his own eyelashes.

He looked at a dot on his arm.

He looked at Potter's crotch – NO, HE DID NOT.

He looked everywhere and anywhere to avoid looking into Potter's eyes, because he knew that if he did, he would fall apart right then and there.

Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He finally chanced a glance at Potter's face.

He looked so tired. How could someone have aged so much in three months, two weeks, twenty hours, thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds?

His eyes, however, were sparkling and lively and just as beautiful as ever and… And staring straight at Draco.

He felt like he was pinned in his seat by the force of Potter's gaze. He shifted uncomfortably.

Draco took a deep breath and reached for the legal pad. Potter, surprisingly, let him take it and flip through it.

Page after page held the beginning of a reply to Draco's letter, again and again scribbled out. Here and there a random circle dotted the page – Draco was sure that these were the marks of tears.

Finally, on the second-topmost page, there was a half-finished letter that Potter had seemed satisfied with.

.-xXXx-.

'Draco,

If you thought writing a letter to me was mildly stupid, you have absolutely no idea how I feel right now, writing you.

Because this is by far the epitome of idiocy. This is so bleeding stupid that it should be a crime.

You said in your letter that I intrigued you. That I had a hero complex and that I was an uppity git, but you still were in love with me.

I know exactly how that feels. You're an arrogant prat with a superiority complex, and yet… I couldn't – I still can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop thinking about how it felt to finally hold you in my arms, and how complete I felt.

I couldn't stop thinking about the frozen expression on your beautiful face when you told me to leave, and the tiny hope I held that, under that anger, there was sadness. That you possibly felt the same way.

There was no way you could understand how I felt at that moment. I was so confused – I thought I loved Ginny, but then you came along and everything became complicated. It's not your fault in any way – and of course I love my son – but there is always this question hanging over my head.

And then I finally figured it out – Ginny is my wife, but you are the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with.

And then your letter arrived at the worst possible moment. And now I can't stop thinking about how maybe that was a blessing in disguise, even though I know that I should be Ginny's husband, and James' father.

Though I don't really expect anything to come of it, I think I'm in lo…'

.-xXXx-.

The rest of the sentence was scribbled out.

"So, Draco," Potter said softly, not touching the pad that Draco now replaced on his desk, or giving any acknowledgement that it had been returned at all. "What's the real reason you're here? And don't lie. Please."

"I –" he started, but Potter suddenly sprung to his feet and swerved around the desk.

Before Draco could say anything, Potter was right there, kneeling before him and clasping Draco's hand and pulling him closer by the back of the neck, kissing him like he would never stop, kissing him so hard that it hurt, but Draco didn't ever, ever, ever want it to end.

Ever.

But you didn't have to be a trained Healer at St. Mungo's to know that air was a necessity for life.

And you didn't have to be Draco Malfoy to know that life was a necessity if you wanted to really snog someone… Which, coincidentally, was what he wanted to do to Harry on a regular basis.

They pulled apart, but Draco's hands were clutching the front of Harry's shirt, so he didn't get very far.

"Ha-Harry," Draco gasped. "What –?"

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, trying and failing to act nonchalant. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I… The divorce just came through."

"Oh…" Draco said faintly, releasing Harry's shirt. "The – the divorce?"

"Yeah," he replied just as faintly, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning his head on the arm of Draco's chair. "Feelings change, you know?" and then he looked straight at Draco. "But mine didn't. Not the ones for you."

Draco's heart hammered so hard in his chest that he felt like he was being jerked back and forth by an invisible string.

"Draco, all I'm asking for is just… One more chance." His eyes were so large and pleading that Draco felt like he was drowning in them. "I need you, Draco, I need you so bad it hurts to even think about life without you. Please."

"That's the thing, Harry," Draco admitted, staring at his knees. "You didn't – I should've… We sort of… Well, I'm…"

Harry was looking at him expectantly.

Draco bit his lip and murmured, "I'm pregnant." He gave a short laugh and added, "I actually took the test this time."

Harry's green eyes filled with tears.

"Is it mine?" Harry whispered, his hand shakily finding its way into Draco's.

"Of course it is," he said, pressing his face into the softness of Harry's hair. "There was nobody after you. Always people before, but I never had anybody after I had you. Never."

Harry laughed softly, his thumb tracing slow circles on Draco's palm, and said, "That good, eh?"

"Nah, people just didn't want me after they heard I'd had sex with you."

Harry scowled. Draco kissed him lightly on the forehead and chuckled.

"I have to go," he whispered, as Harry's hand found its way under his shirt and began to rub his stomach gently.

"Okay," Harry replied, and the rubbing ceased. Draco reluctantly got to his feet, gripping Harry's hand for support, and waddled towards the door.

As he placed his hand on the door knob, Harry turned him around and wrapped his arms around him. Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, just breathing in the scent of his aftershave and fighting back tears.

"You're getting a little belly," Harry whispered softly, his hands gently rubbing Draco's shoulders. "That's our baby… Our baby, Draco…"

A tear trickled down Draco's face. Harry pulled him closer for a fraction of a second, and then released him. He pressed a piece of paper into Draco's palm and gently wiped Draco's cheeks with his thumbs.

"I'll see you later," Harry said, but there was also a questioning tone in his voice.

Draco swung open the door.

It was still too early for rash decisions. He'd had enough of those; now he wanted responsibility. He wanted a steady career, or someone with a steady career. He didn't want to make the wrong choice, and jeopardize his and his child's future.

He wanted someone to be there for him during the long and lonely nights. He wanted to raise his child in a safe, loving environment, just like he one he'd never had. He wanted…

Above all, he wanted Harry.

He wanted Harry there to love him and for him to love. He wanted Harry to hold and be held by.

But could Harry provide him with everything he needed?

He looked over his shoulder at Harry, his face totally blank, and, before the door shut between them, Draco said just one word to answer both their questions.

"Maybe."

.-xXXx-.

A/N: And here you are… You just finished the second-last chapter… Congratulations. It's still a cliffy!

Next chapter: the epilogue. What is Draco's choice?

It'll be a short one.