If I had timed this better, I would be posting the Fireworks chapter this week in honor of the Fourth of the July. Ah well. Here's an early update to celebrate/enjoy even if you don't celebrate!

Dear Harry Potter,

Can I call you Potty? I am writing to remind you about my previous letter concerning the monster haunting my bed. It has gotten worse. I wet myself last night. Mother didn't believe me when I told her that Dobby did it. Stupid House Elf doesn't know how to act. I flushed his head down the toilet a few times in your name. (Potty—get it?) Then I ironed his ears and made him eat fireworms.

I await your reply.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Goosebumps spiked down Harry's neck. He had seen another Auror's skin turned inside out. He had seen a little girl being strangled by her own arm. (The girl had lived but could now only speak in sign language, relying on arm that had crippled her.)

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen this that put it on par with those cases. Harry often forgot that Malfoy Manor hadn't just been the spot where Dobby had died; it had been the place he had lived for years in servitude. When he did remember, in his mind, it had been Lucius holding the cane, not his wife, and not his son.

Harry didn't know what bothered him more: that Dobby had been abused by a seven-year-old boy, or by Malfoy. The juvenile humor was almost endearing now. To think, as a student, he had been so bothered by it and not the less visible crimes. Reading this letter, he could see why Hermione hadn't given a second thought to rejecting the Wizengamot's offer to make her a chairman. Dudley had never ironed his ears, but he had given him swirlies and made him eat worms.

But he was on Christmas card terms with Dudley now. He didn't know what call this strange, one-sided correspondence with young Malfoy. One thing was certain: someone was purposely sending these letters. One letter could have theoretically gotten lost in the mail. Not two.

Before he left his porch, Harry set up alarm system to alert him whenever an owl got through his wards. Next time, he would be ready for the sender. If not for the contents of the letter.

~D~H~

As soon as Harry stepped into work, Ron assaulted him with a bear hug. "Big news, Harry!"

"I got another letter from Malfoy," Harry blurted.

It took a second for Ron to realize what Harry was talking about. "What, does he have monsters in his sock drawer now?"

"He called me Potty."

"Well, that's a relief. Do you think we could get him on defamation charges?"

"I think the Statute of Limitations has passed about five times over," Harry said, to Ron's dismay. "You said you had big news?"

"Oh." Ron scratched his head. "Wanna come over tonight? Hermione's cooking meat loaf."

"Meat loaf? That's your big news?" He understood that Ron appreciated food, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Great!" Ron replied with a grin. "I'll tell her you're coming." He skipped out of the office, whistling a Celestina Warbeck tune.

"Can't you just owl her?" Harry called after him.

"It'll be a surprise visit!"

"But you saw her five minutes ago."

"Seven and a half!" Ron corrected, disappearing around the corner.

Harry shook his head. Maybe love was overrated after all.

~D~H~

"So," Harry sounded as he chewed his meat loaf. "Ron mentioned you have some big news?"

Hermione nodded and looked to Ron, who nodded back at her. Harry wondered if he'd ever be able to have silent conversations like these with Malfoy— with someone he loved. "I'm pregnant," Hermione announced finally. "We're going to have a baby."

A grin spread across Harry's face. "Congratulations!" Harry nodded at Ron. "Dad."

Ron groaned, then plastered a smile on his face when Hermione glared at him. "We'd like you to be the godfather. If you want to, that is."

"Me?" It shouldn't have come as a surprise, given how close they were. All the same, Harry was incredibly touched and thanked Merlin that Ron had made Hermione cry on the same day Quirrell had let that troll into Hogwarts on Halloween years ago.

"Well, Teddy's turned out alright, hasn't he? Plus there's the part where I have five brothers and choosing between them would mean all-out war." His face sank when he realized what he'd just said. "Four brothers." Hermione placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. Family was one case where the law of diminishing returns did not apply; the loss of one was equally painful no matter how many others you had.

Harry tried to lighten the mood. "Picking out the name is one of the godfatherly duties, right? You know what's a great name?" He meant to say, "Harry." Honest to god. What came out instead was "Draco Malfoy."

Both Ron and Hermione looked horrified. Panicking, Harry throttled ahead with maximum damage control. "Because it's ironic! It would send a real message, having a baby named Malfoy Weasley." A message, granted, that said 'flush my head down the toilet, by all means, my parents hate me.' Appropriately, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed convinced, so Harry threw in one last pitch. "And it works for both genders!"

"I'm trying to think of a worse name for our baby," Ron said at last. "It's not coming."

"You could name it after Snape," Harry suggested. Ron made a face. "Hey! I named our doorknob after Snape!"

"And you wonder why it hated us?"

Hermione frowned. "Harry, that's the third time you've mentioned Malfoy today."

"Fourth," Ron corrected. "There was the letter too."

"What letter?" Hermione asked.

"No letter," Harry said quickly. "Oh, look at the time, better be off!"

Hermione stepped in front of him. Normally, Harry would have made a go for it anyway, but Hermione was a force to be reckoned with when she wasn't pregnant. Who knew how the hormones would affect her? "What letter, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "You'd better sit down."

After he summarized two letters he'd received, Hermione put on her signature thinking expression. "Hmmm." She studied him carefully, then smiled. "I think I know what's going on."

Harry's eyes widened. Oh, no. So much for being allowed to be godfather.

"It's your hero complex!" she declared. Harry let out the breath he was holding. "These letters have made you see a more vulnerable side of Malfoy, and it's your instinct to reach out and try to save him." She looked at him sympathetically. "But he's not the same person. He doesn't want your saving, and you're having a hard time accepting that."

"Exactly!" Harry agreed, glad she hadn't seen through him. Except for the part where everything she'd just said sounded perfectly accurate. "Wait, what?"

Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll remind you what a git he is whenever you feel the urge to act."

"Uh…"

"Although there's still the matter of why you're receiving these letters in the first place," Hermione continued. "Two letters don't just get lost in the mail for fifteen years, then delivered within a few weeks of each other. Did you check them for curses?"

"No," Harry said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course I did. I am an Auror, you know."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "Have you talked to Malfoy about this?"

"Yes. No. Not about this, but I did talk to him." And almost a little more than talk.

"And what did he say?"

"Er…" They had talked about a lot of things, but not all of them were things he felt comfortable sharing with Ron and Hermione. "Well, he works the night shifts in Maintenance. He thinks my hair looks like something died in it. He's actually a lot nicer than he used to be."

Ron frowned. "Why, what did he used to say about your hair?"

"I think it's good you're putting the past behind you," Hermione said, ignoring her husband. "That rivalry you had was never healthy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. He wasn't too sure what he had going now was that healthy either, but he sure wasn't going to tell her that. He was glad he hadn't brought the letters with him for her to read; he wasn't sure she would feel the same way about putting the rivalry to rest if she knew how Malfoy had treated his Elves. Speaking of which… "Hey, Hermione, are there any good grassroots House Elf organizations I could join?"

Hermione looked down at him through her water glass. "If you're going to change the subject, you could compliment my meatloaf instead."

"No, actually, a few… things I've read lately have made me want to be more active in my support."

Hermione folded her arms. "Have you freed Kreacher?"

His eyes drifted down to his napkin. "Right. Kreacher." He cleared his throat, then stuffed another bite of meatloaf into his mouth. "How's that for a baby name?"

~D~H~

Hermione was right. He did need to start taking the letter investigation more seriously. To that end, he started going through the fingerprint archives at work. Even though the Aurors rarely used them in cases, they still had to record the fingerprints of anyone they arrested in accordance with British law.

Having little to go on, he first combed through the files of former Death Eaters. As much as he wanted to know the answer, he was glad when none of them matched.

"Are you going through all of those by hand?"

Harry looked up to find Hermione standing in the doorway. "I'm trying to find a match."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You won't be able to use that in a court of law."

"I know. It's more of a personal matter."

"The letters?"

Harry nodded. Hermione held out her hand. Reluctantly, Harry handed her the picture of the fingerprint. With a flick of her wand, Hermione levitated the paper across the room, where all of the filing cabinets bounced open. The files danced amongst themselves, comparing themselves to the print before retreating back into their drawers. One file in the very last drawer hovered beside the print. A perfect match.

Harry grinned sheepishly as Hermione handed him the file. "Thanks, Hermione."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were intentionally dragging this out." She glanced over his shoulder at the name of the file. "Blaise Zabini. Hmm. I wouldn't have expected it to be him."

"Well, he had to do something wrong if his prints are here," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head. "Every Ministry employee has to submit a sample."

"Zabini works for the Ministry?" Harry really needed to get to know his own workplace better. This was getting embarrassing. "Is he in Maintenance?"

Hermione gave him an odd look. "No, he's one of our star attorneys. Civil law, not criminal. Why did you think he worked in Maintenance? Because Malfoy does?"

"Uh… no." Harry quickly switched subjects before she could accuse him of stereotyping. "What are you doing at the Ministry so late?"

Seeing through his pale attempts to dodge her questions, Hermione punished him by going into great detail about the new House Elf legislation that was going in effect at midnight, which he should be particularly interested in now that he had upgraded to being a gold class member of S.P.E.W. Thankfully, five minutes into her explanation, a memo called her away, leaving Harry to ponder the evidence in front of him.

Blaise Zabini. Harry couldn't remember a single conversation he'd had with the Slytherin. He knew Zabini had married Susan Bones, a match no one had seen coming. He also knew never to mention Zabini's mother if he wanted to leave the room with his limbs intact.

What possible motive did Zabini have for sending the letters? If, indeed, he had sent them?

Down the hallway, Harry heard a familiar shriek. Throwing the file in the air, he bolted down the hallway. "Hermione!"

He found her breathing heavily but unharmed. As he scanned the hallway for intruders, he came face to face with Malfoy, standing directly across from Hermione.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Before he had time to consider any ugly accusations, Hermione shouted for him to stop. "It's okay! I'm fine." It was then that Harry noticed the large dog lying unconscious at Malfoy's feet, drool dangling between its sharp fangs.

"A wild dog jumped out of one of the paintings," Malfoy explained, nodding his head at the painting behind him, now sporting a giant hole in the middle. "I took care of it."

"Oh," Harry sounded, relieved. "Out of the painting?"

Hermione jumped on the explanation. "It's impossible to convert to ink into living matter. Someone must have inserted a real dog into the painting. Probably as a protest against the new regulations concerning equal hiring practices for centaurs. Did you know 99% of Ministry workers are completely human?"

"More importantly," Malfoy interjected, staring at the sizzling painting, "am I going to get fined for defacing Ministry property?"

"Of course not," Hermione said before Harry could say the same. "You were protecting me."

"I was protecting myself," Malfoy insisted.

"Either way, impressive reflexes," Harry said, eyeing the dog's fangs. "Must have been a pretty powerful stunning spell."

Malfoy scowled. Judging by the amused glance Hermione was giving him, Harry got the feeling he was missing something. "What?"

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, whose scowl deepened. Reluctantly, he explained, "I hit it in the head with my toolbox."

Harry burst out laughing, then covered it with a cough. "Well… that's… thinking outside of the box."

"With the box," Malfoy corrected. He sounded perfectly serious, but Harry could tell he was trying not to smirk. Then again, who knew what tools lay inside the box? There could be torture devices. In the hands of Malfoy, innocent objects like irons could be called that.

Harry forced himself to push away these thoughts. That was the Malfoy of fifteen years ago. This Malfoy didn't use his hammer on his House Elves. Put it that way, it sounded rather perverted.

Malfoy was speaking again. "Now, if you don't mind, there's quicksand in the Goblin Liaison Office I have to attend to."

"Need any help?" Harry blurted.

Malfoy glared at him. "Do you need any help interrogating suspects?"

Harry internally winced. "Er, no. Sorry. It's just… quicksand. Wow." It was a wonder reporters could come up with good taglines for any of his interviews.

Malfoy scoffed. "Oh, please. They do it on purpose." He strode away before Harry could say anything else stupid.

Hermione watched him go. "You're right. He is different."

Harry hardly heard her. "Do you think they really do it on purpose?"

"I doubt it. It probably makes him feel better about his job to think so."

Harry didn't know which answer he wanted to believe. One made him angry. The other, sad. Saying good-bye, he retrieved Zabini's file and headed for the floo, eager to collapse on his couch and drift off to sleep imagining what Malfoy must have looked like, swinging his toolbox at the dog.

As he passed through the Auror department, Auror Gregson jumped out at him. "That was quick. You really are married to your job, just like they say."

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?" Gregson had a reputation for being carelessly blunt with his words. Often, during interrogations, Harry would find himself siding with the suspect.

"You heard the latest dispatch, didn't you?" Gregson leaned forward. "The victim has the letter R carved on her chest. But I'm sure you'll figure it out in no time, eh?"

"Actually," Harry said, thinking fast. He'd had enough mysterious letters these past months. "I'm investigating… the vandalism."

Gregson frowned. "Vandalism?"

"Yeah, someone defaced Minstry property down in Magical Law Enforcement."

Malfoy was going to kill him.

~D~H~

"For the record, I am exercising my legal right for a lawyer," Zabini said the next day as he pulled out his notepad.

Harry sat across from him. "This isn't an interrogation. I just have a few questions."

"Do you know the definition of interrogation?"

They were sitting at a booth in a crowded café. Harry had learned his lesson from Fifth Year about scheduling private meetings in public places. "This isn't for a case. It's a personal matter."

"In that case, I charge 20 galleons an hour."

Harry raised his eyebrows. What else had he expected from a Slytherin? "It's about Malfoy."

"Make that 30. He's high maintenance."

"Magical Maintenance, actually." Harry struggled not to wince under Zabini's incredulous stare. For the amount of time he'd spent with the Weasley twins, he really needed to work on his sense of humor.

Finally, the lawyer a long sip of coffee. "What has Malfoy been accused of now?"

"Nothing. Well, there is that vandalism investigation, but that's not… Look, this isn't about a case. It's personal."

Zabini studied Harry carefully. "I won't break client-attorney privilege, if that's what you're looking for."

"You're Malfoy's lawyer? I thought you practiced civil law."

"I dabble. What's this all about?"

Harry showed him the letter. "Have you seen this letter before?"

Zabini's lips curled into a smirk as he read it. "It's criminal offense to read someone else's mail."

"Not if Malfoy showed it to you before he sent it."

"Why would he do that?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry showed Zabini the second letter. "What about this one?"

Displaying no emotion, Zabini examined the letter. "How many of these are there?" he asked finally.

"I think you know the answer to that question."

"Why do you think that?"

Harry tolerated Magical Law Enforcement, mainly because Hermione worked there, but times like these made him remember why he hated lawyers almost as much as criminals at times. "Because I think you might have sent them."

"Think? Might?" Zabini laughed. "That won't hold up in court."

"I don't think my mail is enough to warrant a court date," Harry said. If Zabini wanted to settle this the Slytherin way, he shouldn't have gone against the person who defeated the most powerful Slytherin of the century. "A case of identity fraud, however…"

"What are you implying?"

"Your fingerprints are on the letter. If you didn't put them there, then someone out there must be using Polyjuice to impersonate you and damage your reputation. Unchecked, who knows what they'll do next?"

Zabini stirred his coffee slowly. "I never said they weren't my fingerprints."

"You never said they were either."

"I like keeping my options open." Zabini folded his arms. "How about we make a deal? I agree to answer one of your questions if you do the same for me."

Harry wasn't about to be pulled into one of Zabini's traps. "How will I know you're being honest?"

Zabini laid a piece of parchment on the table. "Veritas paper. A relatively new invention. It's supposed to prevent false confessions."

Harry nodded. The Auror department had tested their first batch a month ago and thus far, the results had been promising. Zabini would be forced to tell the truth. Now Harry only had to decide if the truth was worth whatever Zabini planned to unleash on him. At times like these, being a prominent figure in the public's eye had its advantages. Everyone knew almost everything about him anyway; at worst, anything Zabini uncovered would end up in a tabloid surrounded by articles about hair care and a ranked list of eligible bachelors.

He decided to risk it. "No asking about ongoing investigations or how to break into my house or hurt my friends. And I ask the first question." Zabini nodded his agreement. Harry took a moment to perfect the wording of his question, then laid both letters on the table. "To your best knowledge, or best guess, who sent the letters—the ones sitting on the table in front of us— to me?"

Smirking, Zabini wrote in flawless cursive: I would guess that Draco Malfoy sent the letters.

Harry deflated under Zabini's pleased gaze. "You know something else, don't you?"

"I only agreed to one question, Potter," Zabini replied. "But, if it will give you peace of mind…" He added a line to the parchment: I did not send those letters to you. "Happy?"

Harry took the parchment and wrote: No. "But I'll give you another question," he continued, enjoying the flash of bemusement on Zabini's face.

Zabini didn't waste the opportunity. "What's something I can blackmail you with?"

Harry gaped at him. "Seriously?"

Zabini shrugged. "It's an open-ended question. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Blackmail is illegal," Harry reminded him.

"Only if you use it."

Shaking his head, Harry thought hard about his answer, then, growing impatient, sprawled down the first thing that came to his head. "Happy?"

Zabini grinned widely. "If you ever need to settle a dispute, Potter, you know who to owl."

As Zabini left the room, Harry glanced down at what he had written.

I think I'm falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

~D~H~

The next time they had dinner, Malfoy was twenty minutes late. The food had arrived by the time he strode in, looking flustered, his normally impeccable hair slightly mussed in the back.

"Sorry," he apologized. That once unthinkable word was so easy to say now as long as it pertained to something mundane like running late and not trying to kill each other. "I fell asleep."

"That's okay," Harry replied before stopping abruptly.

Malfoy looked up from his food. "What?"

"You said you fell asleep," Harry said slowly. "Not that you overslept."

Malfoy shrugged. "Semantics."

Harry wasn't buying it. "Malfoy, do you have trouble sleeping?"

"No." That was a definite yes, then.

"That's not the first time you've said something like this," Harry continued. "Plus there's the part where you voluntarily work night shifts."

"Because there are fewer people to stare at me like I'm something that crawled out of a dung heap."

"Or because you can't sleep at night," Harry countered.

Malfoy glared at him. "Shove off, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected, fighting back the urge to smooth out the tuft of hair that had gravitated onto Malfoy's forehead. "If you're going to tell me to shove off, at least do it properly." He was tempted to punctuate that with a Draco, but he had enough time figuring out who Malfoy was without the added confusion of a new name.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure I'm the expert in that regard… Potter."

"Guess not, because it's not working." Harry pulled him back on topic. "What do you dream about?"

"You." Harry waited for the rest of the sentence, but Malfoy was silent. Hesitantly, Harry raised his head, only to find Malfoy staring back at him with his soft grey eyes. Who the hell had grey eyes anyway? Only Malfoy could take such a dull color and turn it into something desirable. For that one moment, their eyes met, one perfect moment of green on grey. Then Malfoy ruined it by rolling his eyes. "Such an easy mark, Potter."

Harry flushed, looking away. How could he forget? This was Malfoy he was talking about, not Draco. Draco was a seven-year-old boy who only existed on paper and, judging by his last letter, could be just as unpleasant. Harry let the silence linger long enough for Malfoy to think he'd won before striking back. If Malfoy was looking to embarrass him, then so be it. Two could play this game. "You wish, Malfoy. I know what kind of company you keep at night."

Confusion flickered across Malfoy's face— so he is single, Harry thought giddily— before he assumed a neutral expression. "I don't know what you're talking about, Potter."

"So the name 'Orion' doesn't ring a bell?" Harry winked as Malfoy reddened, struggling to maintain a dignified pose. "The Weasley twins toured him around the Gryffindor Common room First Year. No one could ever really take you seriously after that."

Malfoy started to speak, then bit back whatever he was going to say in favor of a sneer. "Like you didn't have a teddy bear when you were young."

"I didn't," Harry answered honestly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, Potter. Everyone sent you free stuff." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. A year ago, Harry would have called it jealousy. Now, however, the letters sprung to mind, giving Malfoy's tone a new air of… disillusionment?

Maybe it was time to break the illusion, then. "The first thing I ever got sent was my Hogwarts letter," Harry said in a low tone. "If anyone sent me anything, I never got it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he measured Malfoy's reaction, but the blond hardly moved, seeming to have expected the answer. Of course, being Malfoy, he was probably focused on his own letters. He didn't yet understand the weight of the statement. Harry was all too eager to enlighten him. "I never had any toys."

That got a reaction. "What do you mean, you didn't have any toys?"

"You think that's shocking?" Harry scoffed. "I never had any anything! I didn't even have my own clothes. I didn't have to worry about monsters hiding under my bed because I slept in a cupboard under the stairs. Ten years, Malfoy! And you don't think I have trouble sleeping?"

It was a good thing that last part was rhetorical, since he seemed to have broken Malfoy. The Slytherin opened and closed his mouth several times, his expression shifting like a Boggart confronted by too many people. What finally came out was, "Cupboard?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "Of course. You know all about cupboards, don't you?"

It was a cruel thing to say, but Merlin's beard, just because Malfoy turned him into a lovesick puppy didn't mean he couldn't bite. Judging by the sudden sheen to Malfoy's eyes, it had hurt. "You've been waiting to say that all this time, haven't you?" he hissed. "Merlin, Potter, I thought you of all people…"

"You don't know me, Malfoy," Harry interrupted coldly. "Didn't you learn anything from what I just said? You don't know me. But that's not your problem, Malfoy. Your problem is, you don't know yourself. You call yourself a Death Eater, a 'pathetic janitor'— like the two are the same! I think you're still the same old Malfoy at heart. You just want to be what everyone expects you to be. The only problem is, most people think you're nothing! Is that what you want to be, Malfoy? Because you're going to have to try a lot harder to convince me!"

He was out of breath by the end and had to fight the strange urge to laugh at nothing whatsoever, or else cry.

Malfoy's face was stoic throughout, with the same tired eyes he wore to work every day. "Is it my turn now?" He didn't give Harry a chance to answer before he launched into a tirade. "If my problem is that I'm nothing—" He spat the word. "—then your problem is that you try to be everything! For Merlin's sake, Potter, you're a hero! Isn't that enough? Just accept the fact you can't save everyone, and move on!"

"Move on! You're telling me to move on? You're the one who needs to move on!"

"Then let me!" His hair flew in every which direction, as wild and untamable as the boy he'd always teased. His porcelain skin was red from exertion and exhaustion. And his eyes—they weren't just grey, they were colorless. "If you're waiting for me to have some epiphany or—or to sleep through one night without screaming, then just leave now. I—I do believe you're trying to help, but…" Malfoy shook his head. "I'm not—don't make me say it."

Harry's heart nearly burst at the sight. Did he know what his words meant? Was there a double-meaning buried in there, or was Harry just so far gone that he could no longer separate his own feelings from reality? He remembered Ron's words from long ago, right after Hermione had punched Malfoy in the face. Never had he thought Malfoy echo them so closely. Slowly, he reached across the table and grabbed Malfoy's hand. "I told you, Malfoy. You're worth just as much as anyone else."

Malfoy closed his eyes. "Maybe that's what hurts the most." He took a deep breath, then, in a decisive movement, yanked his hand out of Harry's grip. Refusing to meet Harry's eyes, he said, "I'm sorry, Potter. I'm flattered, but… I'm not who you think I am."

Then he fled from the scene, leaving only a half-eaten omelet behind. Sighing, Harry waived the waiter over as soon as he could, but to his surprise, he was informed that the bill had already been paid. Apparently Malfoy wanted no debts left between them.

There was another letter on the stoop when he got home, but he didn't open it, choosing instead to collapse on the couch and hope he'd wake up realizing this all had been a dream. Of course, that was what had caused their argument in the first place: dreams.

Harry could hardly criticize Malfoy for his sleeping habits. He hardly slept a wink that night either.

Does Zabini know more than he is telling? Who is sending these mysterious letters? Next chapter, Harry meets a "monster," and some old friends made a reappearance. I still haven't decided if I'll go back to updating on Fridays or switch to an earlier day, but I will listen to input in reviews!