"C'mon, Lance," growled Harry from his car. It was late and he had just pulled in, only to find Lance wasn't there. "For $500 an hour, where are you when I need you?" He sighed and drove up to his front door, cursing when he heard the phone start to ring inside. He ran, unlocking the door as fast as he could and hurried in, answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Potter, where were you today?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing, Lance."

"I waited for as long as I could. Everything's secure."

"Well, that's good," he said, walking over to his sofa and sitting down.

"I heard about your loss today. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"By the way, I met with your friend, Tom Greenleaf. He's a weird character." Harry chuckled and sat back.

"Really?" he laughed.

"Yeah. First he tells me he did see you there, but then he gets all weird and says that no, he didn't see you, wasn't even driving down that road."

"Well, Tom's old. His memory had a tendancy to fade in and out."

"He was scared shitless," said Lance. "Tomorrow we should both meet with him to try and convince him what kind of a situation this is."

"9:00 at Devan's then."

"9:00. Harry, I've changed by opinion on this Shooter fella. I don't think he's just some other wacko like before. You need to consider the thought that maybe someone's put Shooter up to this. Someone with a grudge against you who wants to intimidate you, just to scare you a little. But now things have gone out of control. Dog's are dying, and houses are burning. Now he has no way of stopping Shooter." Harry closed his eyes and nodded.

"Malfoy," he muttered.

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy. Cho's Malfoy. The one she left me for."

"Did you make him angry?"

Harry briefly remembered Malfoy cussing him out the night he barged in on him and Cho.

"I might have," he muttered.

"See what you can find out about that. In the mean time watch yourself. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually. The fire in our house was started in my office. The magazine is gone. I need a new copy."

"I've already taken care of it," he said. "I got ahold of the publisher for that magazine and got them to UPS a copy of it to you. You can pick it up tomorrow at the post office."

"Thanks a lot. You will be there when we show it to him tomorrow then, right?"

"Most definently. Get some sleep, man. You sound tired."

"It's been a long day. See you at 9:00 tomorrow."

"Alright. Bye." Click!

Harry woke the next day with a mirgrane the size of a football stadium. His vision was a little blurry, and he lay still till it came back in full. Yawning, he stretched his arm out and looked at his watch. 8:58am.

"Shit!" he hissed as he jumped up to his feet. The suddenly blood rush made him dizzy and he staggered around, finding a clean shirt and his beanie to hide his morning hair. When he turned back to the front door, there was four little hooks on the wall next to it, each of them holding keys, except for one. His car keys were missing, and he felt around in his pockets. They weren't there, and he rushed out the door, finding someone had been in his car. The driver's door was wide open, and the headlights were blinking. He stepped foreward towards the car, but felt his foot brush against something. His eyes shot down to the ground and he found a familiar hat laying there.

"Shooter," he growled. He went back into the house and came out with a garbage bag, carefully picking it up so his skin never touched it, and let it fall in the bag. After tying a knot to seal it, he ran to the car, climbing into the driver's seat. Reaching hesitantly, he turned the key and the car turned off. Nothing happened. No bombs went off, no one jumped at him. Shooter had just stolen his car for a joy ride. His cigarette stampings were all over the dash. "Bastard," he muttered and tossed the hat in the passenger seat before he drove off.

The door in Devon's slammed behind him, causing four groggy customers to look up from their seats. "Sorry," he muttered. He frowned. Neither Lance nor Tom were there. Did they leave that fast? It only took him five minutes to drive there. He shrugged and walked over to the counter and sat down.

"Did two men come in here looking for me?" he asked the waitress.

"Nope," she said softly.

"One of them was a black, sort of New York cop type?"

"Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

"I over slept," he said with a yawn.

"Maybe they did too, cuz they were never here." He stood up and nodded.

"Thanks," he said. If Tom Greenleaf and the other man show up, could you tell them I've gone home?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Potter."

"Great. Bye." He walked out the door and got in the car, driving home.

Harry was passing by a gas station when he spotted Malfoy standing there, pumping gas into his car. What the hell was he doing out here? There was only one logical reason, and Harry turned the car around, heading there, ready to tell Malfoy how it was.

"I was just headed over to your place," said Malfoy as Harry approached him.

"Really? You know how much I enjoy our visits," said Harry with a sneer. Malfoy didn't retort.

"Listen, a lot of bad things have happened, some of them being my fault." He stopped and shook his head. "Alright, most of them being my fault. But I think you and I both know what needs to be done."

"Really? What's that?" Malfoy reached into the car and pulled out a clipboard with a familiar paper on top.

"You need to sign your papers, Potter." Harry looked at him in absolute loathing.

"That's why you came all the way up here? You should've just gone to my lawyer."

"I did, but she told me to go to you. Just sign them so we can get out of each other's lives."

"I burried my dog, Malfoy," said Harry angrily. Malfoy gave him a surprised look. "This has gone out of your hands. You know it, and I know it. I don't respond to intimidation very well. Makes me feel icky. Now, call off your goon and I'll sign the papers, asshole!" He pushed Malfoy, and Malfoy took a swing at him, slamming his fist into his dent resistent car door.

"Ack!" he shouted, holding his hand close to his chest as Harry walked off, getting into his car a driving away.