Warning: The letter in this chapter is disturbing. I freaked myself out a little while writing it. I hope the comic relief in later sections makes up for it!

Dear Harry Potter,

The monster is haunting my loo now. The good news is, I can sleep through the night again. The bad news is, I wet the bed even more now because I'm scared my toilet will eat me if I try use it. You had better arrive soon because Mother is starting to notice the extra fertilizer in the garden and she won't believe me when I say it's the peacocks.

I tried vanquishing the monster on my own. I did a whole ritual. I plucked all the feathers off a peacock one by one. (Afterwards, I sold them as quills—I made 12 sickles and 5 knuts! Don't worry, I saved one to write this letter with.) Then, I poked its eyes out with a stick and used the blood to draw a spell circle. (There was enough left over to use as war paint.) Finally, I snapped its neck with my hands. But I wish I had decapitated it. I heard its body can flail around for over fifteen seconds before it realizes it's lost its head. Isn't that funny? Anyway, I might still get the chance, because the ritual didn't work.

I think I'll try my Crup next. Or maybe one of the House Elves.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Reading the letter right after that disastrous dinner had been a poor idea for several reasons. First, it wasn't the kind of letter one wanted to read on a full stomach. More importantly, it destroyed any closure Malfoy's words might have given him. When he closed his eyes, Harry could see the dead bird, snowy white in its albinism, reminding him of an old friend. Harry had to hold the letter up to his lamp to convince himself Malfoy hadn't used the bird's blood as ink. He shivered at the thought, unconsciously touching the words etched on his wrist.

In the two weeks that followed, Harry strained to remember an instance when Draco had positively interacted with animals. Images of Buckbeak flailing his hooves at the blond flooded through his mind. But that had only happened because Malfoy hadn't listened to Hagrid. Not because he was some sort of bird-killing psychopath. What he'd done had been a one-time act of desperation. Besides, rich people often killed birds as sport. But not with their hands…

More likely, it was a manipulation tactic to appeal to Harry's heroic nature, to force him to act quickly. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

Something Malfoy had said during their first dinner that still bothered him. What about the nights when I succeeded? Malfoy had admitted to killing before. Having seen Malfoy's face on the tower that night, Harry still didn't believe Malfoy was capable of killing anyone. But animals…

He sighed loudly, pushing the letter away. The owl alarm he'd set hadn't worked, meaning he was no closer to finding who was sending these letters than he had been months ago. Malfoy had an owl, didn't he? A living one? That had to mean he'd outgrown his bird-killing phase, didn't it?

Ron slammed his file down. "That's it. We're going on a little adventure."

Harry perked up. "New case?" He could really use a good, old-fashioned chase scene right now.

Ron didn't say anything as he led him to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and ushered him into a spare room. After checking that they were alone, he pulled a small tape out of his pocket and plopped it in the VCR.

"What is that, a surveillance tape?" Harry asked. "Are we working a Muggle case?"

Ron merely smiled and pressed the play button. Harry jumped back as a black and white blob suddenly appeared on the screen. "What is that? Something that escaped from Mysteries? Is that our case, to hunt it down and kill it?"

Ron responded by punching him in the face. "That's my daughter!"

"Oh," Harry sounded, staring at the sonogram as the blob's pulpous appendages turned to a body and fingers before his eyes. Wincing, he plastered a grin on his face. "And she's beautiful."

"Damn right she is! So as long as you're not getting work done anyway, you can stop being miserable for five seconds and tell me what a great father I'm going to be." Ron folded his arms and glared at Harry, daring him to disagree.

"Yeah," Harry sounded, plastering a smile on his face. "You're going to be a fantastic father, Harry Jr. is going to love you."

"Did you miss the part where I said she was a girl?"

"Short for Harriet."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Now, do you mind telling me what's got you looking like Kreacher on a bad hair day? Or a good hair day, for that matter."

Harry sighed. Ron would never understand, but maybe if he said it out loud, he'd realize how pathetic he was being and stop pining for a man who not only hated his guts but hated his own guts. "Malfoy and I had a fight," he said glumly.

"Congratulations. Now back on topic."

Harry buried his head in his hands. "I am so screwed."

"Harry!" Ron sounded, horrified. "There are children present!"

Sure enough, the little fetus wobbled around on the screen, seeming to tilt what Harry assumed was her head in their direction. Harry smiled at it. Forget Malfoy. Would he ever have a sonogram of his own to coo over and show off to his closest friends? Sure, Harry would never have a child in the traditional sense, but he'd always known he'd wanted children, whether through adoption or surrogacy. Maybe Malfoy was right, and he did need to move on with his life.

"Thanks, Ron," he said, standing up.

Ron frowned, oblivious to Harry's inner epiphany. "For what?"

Harry nodded towards the screen. "For her. For showing me how small-minded I was being." He chuckled to himself. "And to think, I accused him of living in the past." He stopped in front of the sonogram, transfixed at the screen. "Just look at those fingernails."

Ron seemed to think he'd lost his mind, but at the last comment, he broke out into a dopey smile. "Did you know most babies take eleven weeks before they have fingernails? Our little girl's ahead of her time. Just like her mother."

"Her father's not too shabby either," Harry replied, watching Ron blush and turn his attention to the repeating loop on the screen. He didn't know how long they stood like that, in silence, watching the scratchy footage of something that weighed a third of an ounce. All Harry knew what that it lifted a huge weight off his soul, and he went home feeling better than he had in weeks.

~D~H~

Of course, that was when Malfoy chose to reappear in his life. Harry found the git sleeping in his desk chair— his specially ordered, dragon hide massage chair— when he came into work the next day. Thankfully, Ron hadn't arrived yet, or Harry probably wouldn't have ever seen his chair again. Briefly, he debated pulling the chair out from under Malfoy when he noticed the expression on Malfoy's face.

It was peaceful. He'd never realized just how much that dead stare aged the blond's face. Without it, he looked years younger, almost like the boy who had offered his teddy bear to Harry Potter.

With a jolt, Harry realized any progress he'd made yesterday had just been lost. Could Malfoy's timing be any worse?

"Hey, Harry!"

Speaking of bad timing…

Frantically, Harry searched his office for an excuse not to let Ron in. His eyes fell on Malfoy's open toolbox. Wait, was that…?

Making a split second decision, he grabbed the object and leapt into action, slamming the door shut (quietly, so as not to wake Malfoy and render the rest of his plan useless) and yanking off the doorknob. He barely had time to slide the replacement into the hole before Ron approached him.

"You can't go in there," Harry told his partner, his back to the door, still fiddling with the doorknob. Come on, come on…

"Why not?"

"Because…" Got it! There was a satisfying clicking sound before Harry stepped away from the door, revealing his masterpiece. Ron's mouth dropped.

"Hello, Weasel," Scorpius drawled. "Are you sure you should be working when you have Dragon Pox? No, wait, that's just your regular face."

"By the way, you have some dirt on your mouth," Albus informed him. "You really should look in a mirror once in a while, as horrifying as the sight would be."

By now, Ron's face lost most of its color. Harry patted him on the back. "Why don't you go report it to Maintenance, and I'll work on negotiating with the twins, eh?"

Ron didn't argue with that. As soon as the redhead was out of sight, Harry turned to the knobs. "Do I really have to kiss you?"

"Oh, no, we'd rather you kiss him," Albus giggled.

Harry nearly choked at the idea. "Ron's married! With a kid on the way!"

"Ew, no!" Scorpius gagged. "Not that eyesore. Blondie in there." It was a little creepy, having a doorknob wink at you. "He certainly wouldn't mind."

"Are you still going on about that?" Harry shook his head. Stupid doorknobs, entertaining his delusions. "He doesn't want a thing to do with me."

"Really? Then why did he fall asleep in your chair and not the Weasel's?"

Harry didn't waste any more time arguing as the door swung open. He figured he had about two minutes before Ron returned from Maintenance. Casting a quick Notice-Me-Not charm on Malfoy, he scooped the sleeping blond into his arms, trying to ignore that shivers it sent down his spine.

"Cover for me," Harry told the doorknobs as he left the room.

"Will do, boss," Albus called back.

As soon as he apparated away, Harry got the feeling that this was probably a bad idea, bringing Malfoy to his house. His hunch was confirmed when he tripped over the troll-leg umbrella stand, sending Mrs. Black into an ear-grinding rant about blood traitors, brimstone, and lepers.

To his great surprise, despite being dropped on the floor, Malfoy didn't even flinch in his sleep. That settled it. Malfoy had to have some sort of sleeping problem, because no one in their right mind could sleep through one of Mrs. Black's monologues.

He picked Malfoy up and carried him over to the couch. Once there, Malfoy shifted positions but otherwise didn't give any indications of waking. Harry spent longer than he should have standing over the man, soaking in the scene. Draco Malfoy. Sleeping on his ratty puce coach. Why hadn't he placed the blond in one of the guest bedrooms? As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy curled his arms around one of the coach pillows. A smile flittered across Harry's face as he leaned over and pushed the fluff spilling through the pillows seams out of the blond's hair. He lingered down there, even as Malfoy turned his neck. Had his eyes been open, Harry would have said he was leaning in for a kiss.

Harry left a quick note on the mantle before hurrying back to the Ministry, only to find Ron in a right state. "HARRY!" The redhead's eyes widened, flickering up and down Harry's body. "Are you okay?"

"Yes…"

Not taking him at his word, Ron gave him a thorough lookover before reaching forward and shaking him vigorously. "You can't pull stunts on me like that, Harry! I have a family to think of now!"

"It wasn't like I was gone for that long," Harry protested. "Didn't the knobs tell you where I was going?"

Ron grimaced. "In great detail."

Harry groaned internally. So much for keeping it a secret. "Ron, I can explain. You see, I found him sleeping in my chair, and then I came, and—"

Ron made a choking sound. Honestly, he knew the two weren't keen on each other, but he didn't think what he'd done deserved that much of a reaction. "Harry, I don't need the details. And next time, use a code word. Like say you're going out to buy turnips or something, okay? I don't need to be told by a doorknob that my best friend's getting laid."

"Sorry, I'll… Wait, what?" Harry sputtered. "What do you mean I was…" Realization struck him. Around the same time, Scorpius and Albus started giggling from the doorway, smiling innocently when Harry glared at them. "I don't want to talk about it," he said curtly, slamming the door shut a little louder than necessary. "So what was that about Maintenance demolishing our door?"

~D~H~

When Harry returned home, he found Malfoy lying in the middle of the hall under the umbrella stand, his sleeves rolled up. Sweat covered his brow. Somehow, it made him look even more dignified.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy jumped, hitting his head on the stand. "Gah! Oh, uh, hi. Sorry, I meant to be gone by the time you came home."

Harry noticed the tools spread across the floor. "Are fixing up the house?"

Malfoy blushed. "Well, it is my job. And not that I don't love being dropped on the floor and having my ear drums explode, but it would be much easier if you just made the legs to the umbrella stand level so that you wouldn't trip on it."

"I knew no one could sleep through that," Harry muttered, thanking Merlin he'd resisted the urge to give Malfoy a kiss on the cheek.

Malfoy grinned. "Oh, yes, Aunt Wally and I had a nice cup of tea earlier. She'd really prefer if you used a more subdued color for the curtain. Scarlet clashes with the decor."

Harry shook his head. "Do you get along with every animate object you come across?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't tend to have much luck with the living ones, so I have to make do." He stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality, Potter."

"You don't have to go!" Harry blurted. "I mean, I wouldn't mind fixing up the place. Do you mind having a look at the House Elf heads mounted on the wall?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "They're attached with screws. What's so difficult about that?"

"Maybe I'm not very good at screwing."

Malfoy laughed out loud, then clamped his hand over his mouth. Mortified, Harry realized what he'd just said. First Ron, now Malfoy?

"That's not what I meant!" he sputtered, trying to maintain some level of dignity. "I'll have you know, I'm rather talented at screwing."

"Oh?" Malfoy cocked his head to the right. "And why would you want me to know that?"

"No reason," Harry shot back. "Can you just look at the heads?"

At that, Malfoy toppled onto the floor, laughing manically, clutching his side and wheezing in a very undignified manner.

"Oh, I give up," Harry muttered, pouring himself a glass of Firewhiskey. "Have you ever had Chinese food?"

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy hadn't, which provided them with a plethora of safe conversation topics that didn't come close to broaching anything they'd fought about two weeks ago. When Malfoy excused himself to the loo, Harry stuck his hand in Malfoy's bag and removed what was ostensibly some sort of tool— a translucent orb that levitated in the air when Harry let go of it. It didn't look like any torture device, except that it reminded Harry of Divination with Professor Trelawney.

"Well, well, well. A thief Auror."

He jumped at Malfoy's voice. As he turned, he saw the two Ministry doorknobs hopping across the kitchen tiles. Scorpius's Malfoy impression had certainly improved. "I thought I told you to stay in my briefcase!"

"Briefcase?" Albus sounded. "Oh. We thought you meant the case where you kept your briefs."

"Yeah, we didn't know you went commando," Scorpius said.

Harry rubbed his forehead. The thought of Ministry doorknobs crawling through his boxers made him actually want to take up their suggestion. "I don't go commando. And I'm not a thief." As he spoke, he tried shoving the orb into a drawer.

If Albus and Scorpius had possessed eyebrows, they would have raised them then as the orb jumped out and whizzed around the room.

"True," Albus said. "I suppose you can only be called a thief if you manage to steal something."

Harry made a growling sound as he arm-wrestled with the orb.

Scorpius winced as the orb shot up Harry's trousers. "I really hope he wasn't lying about the commando part. Because otherwise—"

"GAH!" With a final push, Harry managed to trap the orb in the drawer by slamming his body weight against it. Panting, he heard the toilet flushing. Pointing a threatening finger at the knobs, he said, "Not a word about this. Got it?"

Scorpius smirked. "A few conditions…"

Harry groaned. The knobs' imperviousness to spells wasn't so funny when it wasn't Ron shooting hexes at them. "Can we settle this later?" Already, the bathroom sink had stopped running.

That didn't deter Scorpius. "I want a lake view."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't live by a lake."

"So? Make one. You are a wizard, aren't you?"

"I just want chocolate," Al said, licking his lips.

"Maybe one with a waterfall."

"A chocolate waterfall!"

Harry buried his head in his hands.

"Did the dumplings not agree with you, Potter?"

He snapped up, hoping to find Scorpius sticking his tongue out at him. But no, Malfoy had returned from the loo. His voice teased, but there was genuine concern in his eyes. Al and Scorpius had retreated underneath the table. "No—OW!" Refusing to admit defeat, the orb slammed itself against the inside of the drawer, pushing the handle into his back. "Uh, the eggrolls," Harry lied.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as he grabbed his coat. "Next time, we have pureblood food."

"Pureblood food?" What he wanted to shout was, next time?

"Sure. Eye of a Muggleborn, spleen of a House Elf…"

It took Harry a few seconds before he could laugh, mixed with a relieved sigh, which was cut off by another attack from the orb. This time, Malfoy noticed the movement and frowned. "Is there something in that drawer?"

"No, it just… likes to do that… a lot."

Malfoy shook his head. "I don't understand. Why do you live in this decrepit pit when you could buy a castle? Or maybe even a whole country. One of the little unimportant ones. Like Belgium."

"This decrepit pit is your ancestral home."

The blond let out a small noise. Harry had assumed Malfoy would recognize the place from his childhood. Then again, he had a hard time imagining the Malfoys vacationing here. "This is…?" Malfoy caught his breath. "Of course. Aunt Walburga's portrait. Then that means…" He trailed off, but Harry thought he knew what Malfoy was about to say. Then that means this was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

"I could show you around, if you'd like."

Malfoy shook his head before Harry even finished speaking. "I have to get to work." He gave Harry a curt nod. "Thanks for having me, Potter."

Harry nodded back, wanting to show Malfoy to the door but held captive by the orb's attacks. He hoped Malfoy didn't need the orb too badly for work, because he had other uses for it.

~D~H~

The next morning, he was woken by Walburga Black shrieks about chopping off the fingers of whoever was knocking on the door at this hour. Opening it, he found Malfoy, eyes darting from house to house. It occurred to Harry that Malfoy hadn't been fully awake the first time he'd entered and likely hadn't realized they were in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood.

"My gimmicks orb is missing," Malfoy said, folding his hands behind his back, a nervous habit of his. "I thought I might have left it here."

Harry yawned. Stupid orb had kept him up all night. Clearly dissatisfied with that greeting, Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Sorry. Yeah, look around. Want some coffee?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Why not?"

It was only after Harry poured him a cup that Harry remembered that it wasn't morning for Malfoy, who had just come off a long night shift. "It's caffeinated, just so you know," Harry said as he handed him the mug. He failed to suppress another yawn.

"For someone so concerned about my sleeping habits, you don't look like you're doing too well yourself."

Harry was spared coming up with a comeback when a green jet of light blasted into the kitchen, headed straight for Malfoy. Instinctively, Harry pushed Malfoy away. The mug crashed on the ground, sending a spray of sizzling coffee up his leg. Malfoy was less fortunate—he'd faceplanted into the puddle of coffee and broken ceramic. Blood and coffee dripped down his forehead into his eyes, but he didn't close them. If anything, he opened them even wider as he looked up. Harry didn't have time to interpret their meaning as the light struck him in the chest.

Instead of being absorbed by his body, it knocked the breath out of his lungs, then rebounded across the room. Gasping for air, Harry fell to his knees and stared at the light, now floating contently over the sink.

The orb. The stupid, glowing orb.

Next to Harry, Malfoy had come to the same realization. Harry winced at the nasty gash on Malfoy's forehead. "Malfoy, I am so sorry…"

"You thought it was the Killing Curse," Malfoy breathed.

Not sure whether to be embarrassed or not, Harry went to gather some napkins. As he pressed them against Malfoy's wound, the blond grabbed his wrist. "You would have died for me."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Even as he spoke, he winced again. He didn't want to remind Malfoy of that night. "What I mean is, I'm trained to do that for my job. I would have done it for anyone."

Some of the shock seemed to have worn off, since Malfoy scowled. "I'm not the Prophet, Potter. You don't have to say that drivel to me."

"You're right. If you were the Prophet, I probably wouldn't have pushed you out of the way."

"Doesn't the Weaselette work for the Prophet?"

Harry glared at him. "You're not going to make me feel sorry for saving your life."

Malfoy batted his eyes— to clear the coffee out of them, Harry reminded himself. "Isn't that the first thing you said to me? That you were so sorry?"

He had a point there. More so than he knew, given that Harry had stolen the orb in the first place. But now probably wasn't the best time to mention that.

"I am sorry," Harry said sincerely. "Not for trying to save your life, but for making a mess of it."

He left an opening for Malfoy to start his inevitable tirade of how Harry should have pushed his own face into a pile of ceramic, given that it always looked like a roller coaster had bulldozed over it. To his surprise, Malfoy's lips curled into a smile. "I suppose it hurts you more than me. You're the one who has to look at my face. In fact, I should probably be thanking you." Malfoy stood up. Probably a calculated move so that Harry would be forced to gape up at him from the floor. "I noticed your toilet was making strange noises last night. I could take a look at it while you're at work?"

He left it as a question. Harry remembered the letter from a few days ago. No wonder Malfoy seemed hesitant. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I think something's just nesting in it." Harry swallowed and prayed it wasn't some species of bird. "I've been meaning to check it out."

"And I'm offering to do it for you." That wasn't a question. Smirking, he used Harry's own words against him. "I would have done it for anyone."

Harry folded his arms. "You don't have to return the favor. You could work on the House Elf heads, if you want." As Harry recalled, the blond been hesitant to remove those too. He'd complained about Harry being incompetent, but maybe that was only a cover. Maybe he actually enjoyed the decorations. His second letter suggested as much.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Thanks, Potter, but I'll stick with the plumbing."

Harry gave him a small shrug. "Okay, Malfoy. I was just looking out for you. I know you haven't always had the best luck with bathrooms."

Malfoy looked like he'd just been the one hit in the chest by a flying orb. Against that defeated expression and those dejected eyes, Harry couldn't even celebrate the confirmation that Malfoy had indeed been haunted by his loo. Had he really been that traumatized by that imaginary monster when he was a kid?

A wave of horror passed over Harry as another possible interpretation sprung to mind. "Oh no. Malfoy, I didn't mean… I wasn't talking about…"

I was talking about when you were six. Not Sixth Year. Not that.

But his carelessness couldn't be erased, no matter what explanation he gave. Malfoy had been right to think Harry was investigating him. The fact that it wasn't for an official case only made it worse.

Malfoy's hands had disappeared into the sleeves of his robes. Blood from the gash had started trickling down his face again, blocked by the wall his eyebrows made as he sneered. "Let me guess, Potter. You're sorry?"

Harry reached forward, not sure what he was aiming for—a shoulder, maybe a cheek. Malfoy jerked back as if Harry's touch was an infection. "I hate those words. More than anything else you said."

The Slytherin stormed off. Moments later, Harry heard a loud crack and the gasps of a few shocked dog walkers, the only sign Malfoy's composure was cracking. More likely, he'd done it on purpose to make Harry late for work.

Harry sighed. He had stolen the orb foolishly to lure Malfoy back. Now he wished he had settled for a hammer or taken a risk—taken nothing at all.

To any Belgians who are reading this: Malfoy says he's sorry. Or he would if it didn't ruin his storm-out one-liner from above. Thank you to all the guest reviewers I wasn't able to reply to! You guys all rock!