Hermione looked up from her book as her husband returned from duelling practice.
"Where is our daughter?"
"Oh," he replied casually, and quite dismissively, "I've sent her away to her uncle Potter for the day."
Hermione's eyes narrowed; she knew how little Harry's rapport with her husband had changed, so his studied nonchalance stoked her suspicions instead of assuaging them.
"With any luck," he continued in that same tone, "Potter might catch her ailment, instead of us."
Try as she might, Hermione couldn't suppress her amused snort. "For God's sake, Draco! She hasn't got dragon pox; it's only the flu!"
"Draco, why did you bring me here? I thought we were to have a quiet lunch."
"We are; only this intimate setting seems much more palatable.
"Besides," he murmured, his moist breath caressing the nape of her neck as he drew closer, "I thought some well overdue time alone would prove all the more enjoyable."
"Mm, yes…
"Oh, wait; I needed to tell you. I went to see my Healer today and I– She– Well– Oh, God. I'm pregnant!"
"You're– Wait, Hermione, you're what? But you performed all those diagnostic spells; I thought you were 'positive you only had the flu'!"