Susan Bones didn't even look up from her desk as she spoke. "If you didn't get a warrant through the proper channels, you're not going to get one from me, Auror Potter."

Most of the time, her curt dismissal was, well, warranted. If she had bothered to look up, she would have noticed that his shirt was untucked, and he'd taken off his badge. "I'm not here for a warrant. I was wondering if you'd be able to trace some mail for me."

Susan shot him a reprimanding glance that she had no doubt inherited from her aunt. "That would require a warrant."

He pulled out the letter. "It's my own mail."

Her quill stilled. "Another stalker?"

"No."

"A threat on your life?"

"No. But it is… unusual."

She arched her eyebrow, the equivalent of: Unusual how? He shifted the letter to his other hand, unwilling to give her the complete tale of the time-travelling letter from his arch-nemesis. Even if he didn't rely on her thinking he wasn't off his marbles in order to do his job, he still hadn't forgotten the whispers that came from Hufflepuff his second year. "It's probably just a prank. But it got through my wards, and I wanted to know where it came from."

She studied him for a moment before holding out her hand. "I won't ask to read it."

"You won't?"

"That doesn't mean I won't read it without asking."

He opened his mouth to protest only to find her grinning back at him. "Sorry. Married to a Slytherin." She reconsidered. "Or maybe it's that I'm married to a lawyer."

Between the two, Harry would choose the Slytherin. Not any particular Slytherin, say, a sarcastic janitor. Just in the hypothetical.

After casting a few spells on the envelope, Susan consulted her records. She frowned as she examined the results. "You received this letter recently?"

"A little over a week ago."

"It certainly wasn't written a week ago. It's far too old to track. There is, of course, a return address." Her pointed expression begged for further information. To her credit, she did not vocalize these thoughts.

"Can you tell if it's real?" he asked.

"Aside from interrogating him under Veritaserum, no. A letter of this sort would hardly merit such questioning. I hope you're not using it as a spring board for a separate investigation?"

Harry shook his head. Malfoy had thought the same thing yesterday. Maybe he was taking this too far. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. "Sorry for bothering you."

"Not at all. The last time you received threatening letters, we had to subpoena you to get you to cooperate. This is a step in the right direction."

A thought occurred to him as he reached for the thankfully faceless doorknob. "What happened to my fan mail when I was a kid? Did they throw it all away?"

"The Ministry donated the presents, after screening them for Dark curses, of course. The letters were placed on the monument by your parents' old house." As she spoke, the wrinkles under her eyes seemed to grow, reminding Harry that Susan too had lost a family to the war.

"I heard they're making a statue of your aunt in the Atrium," he said gently. "I think it's a brilliant idea."

The wrinkles disappeared, replaced by soft dimples. "Would you come to the unveiling? It would mean a lot to her—to both of us."

Harry smiled at her. Susan may have had "Magical Law Enforcement" written in her bones, but she had the kindness of a Hufflepuff in her heart.

~D~H~

"It cloned itself!" Harry rubbed his eyes as Ron gestured furiously at the doorknob, or rather, the two doorknobs their office door was now sporting. "Why are there two of them?"

"Relax," Harry yawned. "I'll just talk to Malfoy, and…"

"MALFOY?" Ron exploded. "Malfoy's behind this?"

"Suck it, Weasley," the first doorknob drawled in a remarkably accurate Malfoy impression.

"You know you want to," the second one added, winking sexily.

Harry rested his palm against his forehead. "Which one do you want, left or right?"

"What do you mean, which one do I want?" Ron caught his eye. "Oh, no. I am not kissing either of those things!"

"Too bad," the first knob sighed. "It's the only action you'll ever get."

It really was unfortunate, the combination of Ron's complexion and hair. "Hey! I have a wife!" Inspiration dawned on his face, much like it had back in Fourth Year when he had finally realized that Hermione was, indeed, a girl. "I have a wife!" He offered Harry a sympathetic glance. "Sorry, mate, you know I'd do the same for you if it were the other way around."

"He's lying," the first knob said.

Harry silently agreed but didn't hold it against his friend, especially after he spotted their intern over by the coffee machine. "Brian!"

The recent graduate skipped over, balancing three cups of coffee. He'd gotten the position mainly because he had reminded Harry of Colin Creevey—which made him feel a little bad for exploiting the boy.

"Here you go, Auror Potter!" He handed Harry a cup, then Ron. "Auror Weasley."

"Thanks, Brian," Harry said with his best smile. "Would you be able to help us with a kiss today?"

Brian blushed at the presumably Freudian slip. "You mean a case?"

"Nope." Harry nodded his head at the door.

Brian's shoulders sank. Two quick pecks later, the Aurors strode into their office, leaving Brian on his quest to find mouthwash. Harry ripped a page out of his notebook, which he used to scrawl a quick note to Malfoy.

Scorpius spawned a twin. Help?

Harry

He added a line after the knobs tried to set him up with every random worker that passed by their office.

P.S. Please hurry.

The irony was not lost on him.

Surprisingly, Malfoy replied within the hour.

Potter,

Do I have to do all the work? You pick out a name for the other one. And if you name it something stupid like James, I might conveniently teach it to regale you with certain love ballads comparing your eyes to a fresh pickled toad and the sort.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

P.S. I'm charging you overtime.

Harry snorted out loud.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Maintenance report," he lied, sort of. He smoothed out a piece of parchment before writing his response.

Malfoy,

Albus Severus is doing fine, thank you very much. How about I thank you for your oh-so-helpful advice with dinner instead? Or rather, my dinner, your breakfast?

Harry

He sent it off quickly to catch Malfoy before the blond fell asleep— and before he could second-guess himself. As he did, something caught his eye.

The signature was identical to the other letter, wording and everything. Sure, Sincerely wasn't the same thing as Best Wishes or god forbid, Your Friend, but Harry couldn't help but revel in one simple fact. The letter was real, probably. (He chose to ignore the fact that someone could have easily forged the handwriting.) Malfoy hadn't always hated him.

Maybe he could make him feel that way again.

~D~H~

To his surprise, Malfoy accepted and was waiting for him outside the Ministry at the end of the day. "Still haven't eliminated me as a suspect, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, knowing it was useless to argue. "Al has been trying to hook me up with Terry Boot all day. Scorpius disagrees."

"He's right. Never date someone whose last name is a piece of footwear. Especially if your first name is Harry."

"Scorpius thinks we should date." Harry threw it out there as the useless opinion of a Ministry doorknob. If he was sweating a little, well, it was unusually hot that spring.

And the redness he felt growing on his cheeks as Malfoy started laughing, that was just sunburn. "Merlin. What did Weasley have to say about that?"

"He might be out of St. Mungos by the end of the week," Harry replied as the diner came into view.

Since Malfoy had to report to work within the hour, they wasted no time in ordering. Harry went with breakfast for dinner to humor Malfoy, although he skipped the coffee. "Why did you choose to work in Maintenance?" he asked, munching on a piece of bacon.

Malfoy shot him a lofty glare, although Harry wasn't sure if he was offended by the question or the fact Harry dared address him while chewing. "I hear it's a stepping stone to becoming Minister. Really, Potter, did they even cover interrogation in Auror training?"

"Fine." He set his fork down. "A question for a question. Unless you're afraid of what I'll ask."

Malfoy raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not a Slytherin at heart?"

"The Sorting Hat seriously considered putting me in Slytherin, but I begged it not to. And yes, that counted as a question."

Malfoy snorted. "Well, that answer proved it. Follow-up question: why did you beg it not to put you in Slytherin?"

"You."

He choked on his water. "Me? Seriously, Potter? You're saying if I hadn't pointed out how many freckles Weasley had, or whatever it was I said, the Dark Lord would be ruling Wizarding Britain right now?"

"Sure, Malfoy. I'm surprised no one's recommended you for an Order of Merlin."

The blond scowled. "I should have known you were behind that."

"Behind what?"

"Someone keeps nominating me for an Order of Merlin."

The disgust Malfoy lathered the words in made Harry burst into laughter. Malfoy didn't even bother looking offended, merely flicking a fleck of ketchup off his robes. "Even if it wasn't you, it was your testimony that did it."

Harry held up his hand. "Hey, if I'd known my testimony would get you commendations, I'd never have done it."

He'd meant it as a joke. A splash of panic flickered across Malfoy's face before he resumed his scowl. "Yes, Potter. I enjoy receiving a rejection letter in the mail once a month, telling me how sorry the Ministry is that I wasn't good enough, or brave enough for their liking. You're doing me favor. I might not get any mail otherwise."

The bite of egg Harry swallowed felt like a lump in his throat. He needed to get the conversation away from letters. "I could look into it, if you want."

Malfoy sneered. "Aren't Death Eaters usually on the other end of your investigations?"

Harry shrugged. "You're not a Death Eater."

He didn't expect come eye to eye with the skull of Malfoy's Dark Mark. "Put that down! People are staring." Malfoy complied but didn't roll up his sleeve. For the sake of the five-year-old girl sitting at the table across from them, Harry did it for him.

"Hiding behind a layer of cloth, does that make you feel better?" Malfoy hissed. "I am a Death Eater. I did kill people."

His answer struck a chord with Harry. Surely Malfoy didn't still think of himself as a Death Eater? "Okay, my question. Who did you kill?"

Malfoy seemed to regret bringing up the subject. "Really? You couldn't start with something easy, like what's your favorite color, or are you allergic to cats?"

"Gryffindors are cats, so I'd imagine yes."

"Wrong. Shrimp. I'm allergic to shrimp."

If Malfoy hadn't been trying so hard to change the subject, Harry might have laughed and asked how he'd found out that particular fact about himself. As it was, he kept a neutral expression. "I'm not asking what could kill you. I want to know who you killed. I know you didn't kill Dumbledore. I was there. Hiding behind a layer of cloth," he added for emphasis.

Malfoy scowled. "Of course you were there."

Harry winced. And why was that? Hermione always tried to read something deeper into it, but the truth was, he'd only been trying to figure out what Malfoy was up to. She should have let it go when he was proved right. Instead, she insisted he'd taken it too far. The way he saw it, he clearly hadn't tried hard enough, because he still hadn't been able to prevent it.

"To be fair, Dumbledore had me in a body-bind curse," Harry said. Noticing the way Malfoy twitched at the headmaster's name, Harry added, "I don't blame you for that night. It was what Dumbledore wanted."

"But what about the other nights?" Malfoy was staring blankly into the distance. "You watched me fail that night. What about the nights when I succeeded?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't really call it succeeding, but whatever you want to call it, you never came close."

Malfoy shrugged, but his eyes remained alert. "Ask me about my favorite color."

Sometimes, there was just no reasoning with Malfoy. "Why is green your favorite color?"

"It's not," Malfoy replied. "It's more of an—" He squinted, staring directly into Harry's eyes. "Emerald."

If Malfoy had asked him what his favorite color was in that moment, Harry would have said cobweb grey, even though he had hated the color ever since the time Aunt Petunia had dyed Dudley's hand-me-down clothes for him. Instead, Malfoy asked, "What job would you want if you couldn't be an Auror?"

"Seeker for Puddlemere United." Harry saw his opening and repeated the question Malfoy evaded earlier. "Why did you decide to work in Maintenance?"

Malfoy's face didn't change, but he paused for longer than usual. It made Harry even more curious about his answer. "During my sixth year, I realized I was good at fixing things. You know when. After a while, I couldn't stand looking at all those broken things. So I started fixing them." Malfoy's face fell. "Not that it mattered, they all got destroyed when…" He trailed off. Harry wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. The silence, in the end, was more comforting than any words.

Malfoy straightened up. "And I was not going to be first Malfoy in five generations not to work at the Ministry. There you have it. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to keep that job."

Thanking him for the meal, Malfoy hurried off to work. Harry watched him go, noting how the sunset reflected against his white blond hair as he walked. He wondered what Malfoy would think about being a temporary redhead. It didn't suit him. All the same, something tightened in Harry's chest, reminding him of the time he'd actually been attracted to Ginny, albeit mistakenly. Surely, that was a sign.

~D~H~

Although he'd meant to apparate home, Harry found himself staring the house he used to call home, what was left of it. During the day, the Ministry ran tours through the wreck, an activity Harry had approved under the condition that the money generated got donated the War Orphans Foundation. He'd never set foot in the museum. He didn't want to read the plaques marking the places where his parents had fallen.

Instead, he turned to the monument, littered with wilted flowers and Ministry-sponsored post it notes to replace the graffiti. Overrun with slogans like Harry's our hero! and floo addresses at which certain shameless witches and wizards could be reached, none of the notes drew Harry's attention. None of them said "Potter Stinks" or "Watch it, Scarhead, you stupid halfblood."

If Draco had ever written to him again, the letter had long since been torn by the wind, spread across the country, and shredded into dust. He hadn't expected to find the mummified remains of later letters. Even if there were a Ministry-approved Harry Potter Fan Mail Archive, Harry doubted he would have found anything.

He set the letter on the ground next to the monument and grabbed one of the bouquets, rearranging the flowers into a wreath that served as a frame for the letter. Shivering, he tried not to remember how many graves he'd decorated with similar arrangements. If he squinted, he could make the letter disappear in the sea of accolades. Apart from its fifteen year detour, it was no different than any other note.

It was still there when he apparated back five minutes later to retrieve it.

~D~H~

After weeks of experiments, Harry had finally achieved his goal.

He had learned how to pull fingerprints off objects like Muggles did. Then, he had enhanced the technique using magic, which had resulted in several explosions and one small house fire. (He'd never liked that section of drywall anyway. He did feel a little bad that it had burned Kreacher's pillowcase garment when the Elf had tried to intervene—although whether that was because he was concerned about Kreacher's wellbeing or because he had been exposed to what lay underneath the garment, Harry wasn't sure.)

Hermione would have been proud of him. She also probably would have invented a better spell in half the time, but still. His invention could pull fingerprints, even ones faded by time, off any surface.

If only he were as motivated by real work as he was by the letters. He'd probably tell Robards about his invention when he was done. It wouldn't help put any suspects away, with Polyjuice Potion as a convenient excuse, but he might get points for creativity.

Heart racing, Harry pulled out the letter and raised his wand. He had made copies in case something went wrong, but those copies wouldn't have the fingerprints on them. Plus he really liked having the original around. He could swear it smelled like Malfoy at times.

He didn't know which was creepier, that he thought that or that he knew what Malfoy smelled like.

A partial print started glowing on the page as he performed the spell. As he lifted a second print off, however, the paper started to smoke uncontrollably. Swearing, he cut off the spell just as the letter burst into flames. A quick Aguamenti, followed by a drying spell, rescued most of the letter. The edges were scorched, and some of the ink had started to run, but it was intact.

No way was he trying that again.

He looked at the evidence he had gathered. Two prints. Two prints from separate hands. Using Malfoy's napkin from the restaurant, Harry matched the partial print to Malfoy. That confirmed it. The handwriting could have been forged, but the fingerprint was unmistakably real.

The second fingerprint was a mystery. It wasn't his own (that would have been a giant waste of time). It wasn't Malfoy's either.

At the very least, he knew his sender had a pinky finger. That ruled out the ghost of Peter Pettigrew.

Some Auror he was.

~D~H~

"There's an opening for a day job in Maintenance," Harry told Malfoy one day. Their breakfast-dinners had turned into a weekly event. Malfoy had been too proud to ask Harry for another invitation, and Harry had been too worried Malfoy would wonder why the Boy Who Lived wanted to dine with him. Somehow, it had happened anyway, enough that they gave it an official time slot in their weekly schedules. "You should think about applying."

Malfoy merely laughed.

"What? You're more than qualified. You got rid of those blasted doorknobs. You never told me how, by the way."

"Or why," Malfoy added helpfully.

Harry waited, but the blond refused to elaborate. "Well, regardless, you should apply."

"Why don't you apply, Potter?" he suggested snidely.

"You don't have to stay in Maintenance if you don't want to," Harry said. "There are some positions in Magical Game and Sports, and I heard a rumor that International Magic Cooperation is looking for a…"

"Ex-Death Eater whose specialty is talking to doorknobs?" Malfoy interrupted. Taking Harry's silence as a no, he sat back in his chair. "I thought not."

"What about the private market?" Harry pressed. "You were always good at potions back at school. What were you telling me about last week, how you've nearly perfected Alihotsy Draught?"

"Do you even know what that is?"

"It causes hysteria."

Malfoy took a long sip of his drink. "I'm impressed you remember."

To be honest, Harry was surprised himself. Potions had always tended to go in one ear and other the other. There was something about Malfoy's voice that made him want to remember every word.

"But do you really suppose there's a huge market for that?" Malfoy continued. "I seem to produce that effect without having to sell a potion for it."

Harry shook his head. "I don't get you. You still flaunt your hundred gallon cashmere sweater—"

"Made in Luxembourg," Malfoy interjected.

"Case in point— in everyone's face, but the way you talk about yourself…" Harry trailed off, not wanting to insult the blond. "Not everyone sees you the way you think they do."

Malfoy looked a bit like Hermione with his 'It's-Obvious-Isn't-It?' expression. "Why do you think I buy all those things for myself in the first place? You can walk into work with your hair looking like something nested in it and died there, and people would still respect you. Of course, I don't see why it's such a big deal to run a brush through it once in a century, but it's not like anyone expects anything different from you. I, on the other hand, have to have standards, or I have nothing."

Harry frowned. "That's crap. You have yourself. You're worth just as much as anyone else."

Malfoy let out a dry laugh. "You forget, I don't believe in equality. Regardless of which side of the spectrum I fall on, the war hasn't changed that. Some people are better than others. Wizards are better than Muggles. Purebloods are better than Mu—ggleborns."

Harry closed his eyes. He hadn't missed the slight stutter over the last word. "So you're saying that people respect me more than you, but that you're still better than me because purebloods are better than halfbloods?"

"No, I said purebloods are better than halfbloods in the abstract," Malfoy corrected. "Any given halfblood can be better than any given pureblood. But, other factors aside, it's better to be born a pureblood. You're more likely to be rich and have connections, and you have an eleven year head start of magical experience."

It was useless arguing with Malfoy on the subject, so Harry chose to focus on one specific portion of his argument. "Basically, you just said that I'm better than you."

"I admit you may have a few redeeming qualities," Malfoy relented.

"Like?" Real subtle.

"Your eyes."

Harry had to cough to disguise the smile that leapt to his face. "What?"

"I said, you're wise." Malfoy cleared his throat. "I mean, I think you're a complete idiot, but the fact that you're still alive suggests otherwise. And just by standing next to me, you make my hair look good."

Harry rolled his eyes at the last part. Like you need me to make your hair look good.

"But if you're looking for compliments, all you have to do is open a newspaper." Malfoy preened himself, flicking a stray strand of hair away. "I want to hear good things about me."

Harry chuckled, mostly as a dilatory tactic. He could tell Malfoy a million good things about himself, but he sincerely doubted Malfoy wanted to hear most of them. "Well," he began eloquently, "you always have an impeccable sense of fashion."

Malfoy furrowed his brow in mock offense. "Coming from you, that's practically an insult."

"And there's your charming personality," Harry declared. "You put a lot of thought into your insults. And…" His eyes flickered down to his hand and found it all the way across the table, snuggled in Malfoy's grip like a puzzle piece. It must have gravitated there sometime during their conversation. "You have soft skin."

Malfoy noticed too. "So do you," he returned softly.

Harry leaned closer.

A firework exploded across the restaurant. Both of them started, accidently banging their foreheads against each other. Rubbing his scar, Harry noticed George Weasley handing out flyers at the other end of the diner, a halo of sparks circling his head.

"I should go," Malfoy said abruptly.

He was practically out the door before Harry could reply, "Me too." It was just as well, since George had spotted him and was racing over with a prank buzzer in hand.

"Wotcha, Harry!"

"George. What are you up to?" Harry hoped he didn't sound as unenthusiastic as he felt. He still couldn't have a decent conversation with Malfoy without fireworks exploding in some form or another. Before the distraction, he had sworn Malfoy was leaning in for a kiss. For Merlin's sake, the blond had practically begged him to flirt with him.

Or had he? Maybe it was only wishful thinking. Just like he'd wished for Malfoy to have miraculously abandoned his beliefs overnight. But no, Malfoy still had the Dark Mark etched on his arm. He still believed purebloods were the epoch of society. And Harry still, for some unthinkable reason, was fascinated with him.

Or, at least, that was the word he was choosing to use.

Harry was drawn out of his thoughts as George raised his voice. "Who were you eating with?" The teasing glow in the prankster's eyes suggested he had ended his explanation of his latest product some time ago and had been enjoying watching Harry drown in senseless contemplation.

Harry sighed. "No one."

There was another letter sitting on his porch when he got home.

Thanks to reviewers, lovebites123 and misguided gh0st, and everyone who favorited/followed the story! If you can spare a minute, I'd really love your feedback. Next Friday, Harry gets a couple of surprises, Draco does some thrilling heroics, and we get to meet Susan's mysterious Slytherin lawyer husband.