When Harry got home, Chico was begging for his dinner, and he fed him, scratching him behind the ears and telling him what happened. After being alone for so long, he was willing to talk to anyone, even the dog.

"Guess I'd better call Cho," he muttered. He got down on the ground and laid on his back, Chico sniffing his face before licking him. Harry flinched and pushed the dog's face away from his mouth. "I don't wanna call her," he said in a whiny tone. "I wanna take a nap." Chico licked his cheek and Harry snickered. "Okay, I'll call her, write some crap for an hour, and then I'll take a nap." Chico barked and walked over to the dog door. "Chico?" called Harry. Chico turned and looked at him. Harry placed his hand under his chin, gently bumping it up and down so his voice went shaky. "Chico-o-o-o-o. Don't be discoura-a-a-a-aged." Chico barked again and headed out the door. Harry realized how sad it was, what he did for entertainment and stood up. "Don't be discouraged you little bastard," he muttered, laying down on the sofa. His eyes started to close when he spotted the phone. If Cho called while he was asleep he'd be grumpy. Standing up, he walked over and unplugged the phone, and then turned back to the sofa, laying down and falling asleep.

In his dream, he was sleeping on his sofa, but when he opened his eyes, he was hovering over a cliff with a lake underneath. He lost his balance and toppled over, landing on the living room floor as he woke up.

Harry rubbed his head, grumbling to himself and stood up, realizing it was dark out. His nap had gone on a little longer than he had hoped for, but he didn't care. It wasn't as though he had plans to see anybody. He walked over to the fridge and started looking for something to eat when he heard a rustle near his window. He stood perfectly still and waited till he heard it again. It wasn't Chico because he knew better than to jump on anything outside.

Standing to his full height slowly, the only explanation that came to mind made him shudder. Shooter. What the hell was the bastard doing in there, he wondered. He turned and looked out the window, spotting what was making the rustling sound. There was a sheet of paper taped to the wall outside, and the breeze was making it fly up and down, brushing against the wall.

Harry's brow furrowed. He closed the door to the fridge and stepped outside with a flashlight. When he opened the door, he found the outside light had been smashed, and wondered how he slept through that. The note was still hanging from the wall, and he walked over to it, reading it.

You have three days. This is no joke.

NO police.

Below it, a tarp was covering a lump, and Harry starred at it for a moment. He didn't remember leaving anything there. Reaching cautiously he pulled it back, jumping as blood splattered from it. Chico lay on top of a crate with a screwdriver rammed through his neck. His mouth was wide open in a silent bark, and his eyes were wide open. The blood was still warm and flowing around the screwdriver. Shooter had been there, not too long ago.

Harry felt his stomach turn and he looked away for a moment to compose himself a little. "SHOOTER!!!" he shouted angrily. "I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS! YOU HEAR ME?!! I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS!!!"

Picking up his dog in his arms, he walked over to a place to bury him. Chico was the only life he had near him, besides the maid he loathed. Shooter had just killed his only companion, and now he was alone. What the hell was wrong with this man? Chico was all Harry had left to keep him company in his lonely home. Now what?

He buried his dog, moving slowly and mournfully. Once he was done, he'd go strait to the sheriff and report this. If Shooter felt no remorse in killing an animal that couldn't fend for itself, he'd just as easily kill a man. The dirt was piled in place, and Harry stared at his dog's grave for a little longer, wondering if he had suffered long once Shooter had gotten him. Few people knew it, but Chico was almost completely blind. He probably never saw Shooter coming, literally.

"Sorry boy," he muttered, and then turned back to the house, going inside for the rest of the night, but barely sleeping through it.

"Chico?" asked the old sheriff in shock. "Why would anyone want to kill Chico?"

"That's why I came to you," said Harry. They were both walking into his office where a teen sat behind her desk, talking on the phone to God only knew who. "He left this on my wall, right above Chico." The sheriff took the note from Harry's hand and read it.

"You have three days. This is not a joke. No police?" He chuckled and gave the note back to Harry. "When someone takes the time to write down, 'No police', that's about the time when a person should go to the police."

"I know," said Harry as he sat down. "I just wanted to know if you could find this guy for me so I know who I'm dealing with."

The sheriff looked at him. "Do I look that intimidating to you?" he asked.

"I've got a full description of the man, and his license plate number written down somewhere in my house. I think it started with an 'A'."

"So, you've got yourself an member of the loony tribe," said the sheriff.

"Uh, yes," said Harry. "They show up every once in a while. Guess it's the price for writting a few books." The teen girl started laughing hysterically from behind her desk, and Harry looked at her.

"Sorry," she said, smirking. Harry smirked back but secretly thought she didn't look any more sane than Shooter.

"I don't really know if you can press charges on this guy," said the sheriff.

"What about trespassing? What about animal endangerment? What about destruction of private property?"

"The last one perhaps," he muttered. "Okay," he said, pulling out a note pad and pen. "First, I'll need a description."

"Killed Chico, are you serious?" asked Lance. Lance was an overweight black man who had been a cop for a long time, and recently retired from the force to start his own company, working as Harry's personal body guard sometimes whenever a nutcase fan turned up.

"Yes," said Harry. "Bastard killed my dog."

"So did you steal the story?" Harry turned to him, slightly appalled.

"What? Hell no!" he said firmly.

"Sort of an amazing coincidence, don't you think? The stories being so much alike?" He seemed to be hinting to something and Harry sneered.

"I did not steal his story, and would you like to pick a side before we continue?"

"Sorry," said Lance. "I just want to know what we're dealing with. Is it another crazy nut like what we've had before, in which case I can help you? Or is this something you should be going to your lawyer about?"

"This guy is just simply out of his mind," said Harry, taking a seat across from Lance's desk. "I was wondering if you could help me again like you did before."

"That," said Lance. "Was a cracked man who couldn't tell the difference between life and the crap you write for a living, no offense." Harry smirked. Lance had never been much of a reader.

"I want you to be there with me when I give him the magazine," said Harry.

"Damn right I'm gonna be there," said Lance. "I don't know what else I can do from there until I've actually met the guy. But for now, I think I can spare you a couple of minutes."

"He said-" Click! Lance pushed the 'on' button on his timer and Harry raised an eyebrow, shrugged and continued. "...that he knows where Cho lives and he was going to go there to get it if I didn't, or something like that. I want to make sure she stays safe from this nut."

"Aren't you married to Cho?"

"We separated six months ago," said Harry glumly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Lance. "What happened? You finally nail one of your groupies on one of your book tours?" He chuckled, but Harry didn't find it amusing. He reached over and turned off the timer, giving Lance a nasty look. "That was a shitty thing to say," muttered Lance. "I'm sorry." He turned the timer back on. "You were saying?

"I just want to make sure this guy doesn't try to kill either of us in our sleep. And I want to know who he is and what he's got against me, besides the story."

"Has he threatened you yet?" he asked. Harry looked at him.

"He put a screwdriver through my dog, Lance."

"I'll see what I can do," said Lance. "Now, when you pull in to your house tonight you'll see a black Cadillac in the driveway. Don't panic, it's just me keeping an eye on the place. You do remember my rates, right?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But you're the only man I'd trust for something like this." Lance smirked.

"Glad to hear it." Harry stood up, picking up his jacket and heading for the door. "Have a good day, Harry." Harry waved over his shoulder and left, climbing into his car.

There was one last place he wanted to go to before he went home. Cho's house. If she was alone, he'd ask her for the magazine. If not, he'd leave like he had never been there in the first place. If Malfoy was there, it'd take great restraint not to lash out against him.

When he pulled into the drive way of a house, across the street from Cho's, he saw two cars in the driveway and forwned. Cho and Malfoy had just stepped out and were laughing as they stepped into his car, driving away for a date.

"This is not my beautiful house," Harry muttered to himself. His eyes strayed to Cho before they drove off. "This is not my beautiful wife... anymore."

(A/N: Hola chicos i chicas! I forgot to post this up this morning, my bad. So here it is and I hope you liked it.

Random Words of Wisdom:

Don't hit an old man with glasses. Hit him with a baseball bat.