Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!

Dear Scarhead,

What are you waiting for? Do I have to do all the work? You stupid son of a Mudblood. Father was right about you. You are lazy and useless and stupid. I hope the monster eats you.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Harry peeked over the tip of the letter to where Draco sat stirring his coffee, sneaking an extra spoonful of cream. How had he ever been fooled into thinking this man, with his dandelion bed head and coffee foam on his lips, could have written the letters?

Because, his mind reminded him, he wasn't always this man.

It made him angry to think how much he'd let the fake letters influence his actions. It would have only taken that one word in Draco's handwriting, Mudblood, to have him second-guessing what Draco really thought about Teddy's Muggleborn grandfather. Even if the letters had been real, he shouldn't have put so much trust into fifteen-year-old letters. Merlin knew what he had written at that age.

That was another problem. Susan had confirmed that the letter was fifteen years old. Then again, Susan was married to Blaise Zabini, who had to know more about the letters than he was telling. But what motive would Zabini (or Susan—he could have used her as secretary to get around the Veritas paper) have to write the letters? Even in pureblood culture, the peacock mutilation would have cast Draco in a bad light. Unless Zabini was trying to drum up business in the most inefficient way possible, he had no reason for wanting to hurt his friend. Besides, Zabini would have known Draco hadn't had a Crup when he was little.

If not Zabini, then who?

On his way to work, he stopped at a bakery and purchased the most expensive dark chocolate he could find as a thank you to Draco for being on his best behavior and not because he felt guilty about believing the horrid letters. He must have felt guilty about lying to himself, though, because he bought Ron and Brian a box of doughnuts each.

Brian jumped as Harry dropped the donuts on his desk. "Isn't it my job to get you food?"

"I have a different job for you." The intern leaned closer, casting a shadow of his paperwork. Harry's voice dropped to a whisper. "I totally forgot Hermione's baby shower was coming up, and I have no idea what to get her. Or am I supposed to get something for the baby?"

Brian's shoulders slouched a few inches. Most people would jump at the chance to do Harry Potter's shopping. That Brian was disappointed spoke volumes about his character, which was one of the reasons Harry had confided in him. It wasn't like he could ask Ron, and he didn't trust any of Draco's suggestions. "Both, I think. Er, it isn't an actual shower."

Harry gave the intern a small knock on the head. "Just start brainstorming." He grimaced at the paperwork littering the desk. There were advantages to having illegible handwriting. "I'll try to get you some fieldwork soon."

Brian's eyes lit up like Teddy's did when encountering a new toy. "Thanks, Auror Potter!"

Harry found himself smiling as the intern fumbled through his papers, religiously clearing a small rectangle for the box of doughnuts. Licking the powdered sugar off his fingers, Harry entered his office, stuffing another doughnut in his mouth before extending the box to Ron.

"They found another dead body," Ron said.

The doughnut crumbled apart in his mouth. "Same MO?"

Ron nodded grimly. For the past month, they'd uncovered three bodies, each bearing a different letter carved into their chest: R, A, C, and H. "An E. Looks like Gregson was right about Rachel."

"Don't be stupid," came a voice from behind them. Harry turned to find Hermione standing in the doorway. Or rather, Hermione and baby-to-be, he corrected, taking note of her swollen stomach. "Rache. It's German for revenge."

"Huh. That does make a lot more sense," Ron admitted before doing a double take. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong with the baby? Do I have to donate a kidney— I'd gladly donate a kidney— does our baby even have kidneys yet?"

"Ronald! Your babbling is going to make me go into pre-mature labor!"

Unfortunately, the only part of that Ron seemed to have heard was "labor." He leapt out of his chair and grabbed their emergency portkey to St. Mungo's. He might have activated it too, had Hermione not grabbed it out of his hand. "I'm not in labor, you idiot! I'm here to remind you about our pregnancy class tonight! Which you are clearly in need of," she muttered.

"Oh." Ron had the decency to look embarrassed. "Right. I'll be there. Promise."

"Good," she said. "Because they're covering Lamaze breathing, and I have a feeling you might need it more than I will." She smiled at Harry. "Are we still on for dinner two weeks from now?"

"Of course," Harry replied.

Hermione beamed. "Great! There's this new Gumbo recipe I've been dying to try. The doctor recommended 8 to 12 ounces of seafood a week, after all, and I've been craving something spicy all week."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief as she left. "I don't know how much more I can take of it!"

Harry frowned. "Spicy food?"

"No! Well, yes, although the ketchup on toast is worse. I mean the waiting! I think I'm going to have a mental breakdown!" Ron collapsed on his chair.

Harry patted his back. "Cheer up, mate. At least now we have a great new lead on the case."

"Yeah," Ron moped. "Someone is killing these people for revenge. Really blows the case right open."

Harry tried to look on the bright side. "At least we know they speak German."

"Or Hermione's wrong, and I owe Gregson ten galleons," Ron replied glumly.

"Well, what if it's an anagram?" Harry suggested, ignoring the fact that the Auror department probably shouldn't have a betting pool on serial killers. "Maybe the letters are out of order. Instead of Rache, it could spell… Car he? Ach er? Oooh, I've got it! Reach!"

Ron stared at him. "Yeah, that's a reach alright."

"Oh, shut up," Harry muttered as he grabbed his coat. "Come on. Let's go check out the crime scene."

Unfortunately, the crime scene didn't bear much fruit. Besides the letters, the victims didn't seem to share anything in common, aside from the fact they were all wizards and witches in their twenties. Aside from that, they were all different genders, body types, and races. None of them shared the same occupation or social circles.

"This guy's a real pro," Auror Gregson commented. "Didn't leave any traces on the crime scene."

"It has to be the letters," Harry said, craning his mind to think of possibilities. It seemed that everything in his life lately came down to some kind of letter. "A Cher?"

"What's a Cher?"

"Japanese fashion brand," Harry answered automatically. "They have very nice canvas bags."

Ron eyed him carefully. "And you know this because…?"

Because Draco kept leaving his fashion tabloids all over the house. "Er… no reason," Harry lied. "Besides, it probably says… chare." Ron looked at him skeptically. "Our killer could just be a really bad speller."

"Maybe we're looking for a guy named Harec," Ron suggested. "That could be a name, right?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Gregson cried. "It clearly spells Rachel!"

"Ha! You're not getting those galleons that— whoa!"

Before Harry could see what had caused Ron's reaction, his world turned black. The last thing he remembered was hoping he didn't crush the dark chocolate, still in his pocket from that morning.

~D~H~

"Harry. Harry. Harry…"

He let out a groan as his eyes fluttered open. Had Draco had another nightmare? Was that why it was all black out? He blinked a few times before he realized that face in front of him didn't belong to the blond.

"What happened?" he asked Ron as he tried to sit up. He only got about an inch of the ground before his body gave out on him, sending him thudding against the rock hard floor of the– what was it, a cave?

"Jelly-leg jinx," Ron informed him glumly.

Harry swore. He could never remember the counter-curse to that one for some reason. Not that it would do any good without their wands. "Where's Gregson?"

"Right here." The voice split through the cave, right before a bright light blinded him. Harry gasped as soon as his eyes adjusted.

"You!" he exclaimed, staring at Auror with wide eyes. "You're the ABC Killer!" Gregson didn't deny it, merely grinning at the accusation. Harry shook his head in attempts to get rid of his growing headache. "I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, betting when you already know the outcome is such bad taste," Ron complained. Harry let out a small growl. "Er, and murdering people. That's bad too."

"Should've said that Rachel when died," Gregson hissed. He paused when they didn't react. "You know Rachel. She went to Hogwarts." Harry and Ron frowned and exchanged a look. "In Slytherin?" They shook their heads. Gregson looked furious. "She was in the dueling club with you your second year!"

"Oh, you mean the one where I spoke to the snake Dra— er, Malfoy summoned, and everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin?"

"That's all you remember?" Even though an invisible barrier separated them, Harry swore he could feel Gregson's spit on his face. "She came in third place in the end of the year dueling competition!" His eyes glazed over. "Beat me with a classic Bat-Bogey hex. She offered me her handkerchief afterwards. Wasn't long before I asked her out." He jabbed his wands at them. "We were going to get married! But the Snatchers got her— because of you!"

Personally, Harry thought his logic was flawed, but that seemed to be the least of their problems. "What about all those other innocent people? None of them had any connection to the Snatchers."

Ron made a sound from the other side of the room, seeming to come to a realization. "It's not the letters. It's the dueling club, that's what they've all got in common. They were all members."

Gregson graced them with an evil grin. "Well done, Weasley. No wonder it's taken so long to bring my poor Rachel to justice."

"Killing more people won't bring Rachel back to life," Harry said, trying to reason with him. "The war trials…"

"Don't talk to me about the trials!" Gregson roared. "It's not the criminals who are the problem, it's the people like you! All the people the Snatchers didn't get! Why should they live and Rachel die? Not when she was so much better than all of them."

Harry winced. He really had to talk to Robards about reworking the psych evaluation Aurors had to take to pass training. "Looks like you've got yourself a problem, Gregson," he said. "Someone's going to miss us at the office."

"Yeah, and I've got Lamaze breathing at five!" Ron tagged on. Then, he added, almost to himself, "Please tell me it's not five yet. Hermione will kill me if you don't."

Gregson sneered at them. "Oh, you're not getting out of it that easily. I never said the Snatchers killed her now, did I?"

"Actually," Ron said, "I think you did say that."

Gregson grinned. "They starved her first. Did other unthinkable things to her too. You're lucky that I don't swing that way." Extinguishing the light, he started to walk down the passage. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go sharpen my blades."

Ron's stomach chose that moment grumble. "I can't believe we trusted that guy!" he complained, rolling over to his back.

Experimentally, Harry tried flexing each and every one of his appendages. Nothing moved. He could roll around a bit, but Gregson had sealed off the passageway with an invisible barrier. One that stung when you banged into it repeatedly. He and Ron rattled possible escape plans off one by one to no avail. After what seemed like hours, they were both exhausted and out of ideas.

"My baby's never going to know me," Ron whispered. Harry swore he could see tears in his friend's eyes. "Merlin, Harry, I'm never going to know her!"

"You will," Harry reassured him, rather hypocritically, since the same doubts were plaguing his mind. What was going to happen to Draco if they never got out of here? He'd probably be okay— Harry had left the house to Teddy in his will, should anything happen, but surely Andromeda would let him stay in it if he wanted, after what had happened yesterday. He thanked Merlin that he hadn't pushed the visit off for a week, as he did sometimes. He was glad to have gotten to see Teddy one last time, but more importantly, he was glad to have forged a bond between Draco and Andromeda.

But it was the bond he'd formed with Draco that he thought about the most. It hurt to think about all the times they'd almost touched. All the times they had touched and hadn't gone further. All the times he hadn't told Draco he…

Frustrated, Harry banged his head against the floor. If he got out of this alive, he was going to stop skating around the issue and act like the Gryffindor he was. Draco lived in his house. Sometimes, he slept in his bed. Taking their relationship to the next step would practically be a step backwards in their case.

"Ron, this is going to sound weird, but do you think you could reach into my coat pocket with your mouth?"

"Why? What's in there? Gregson summoned anything that could be used as a weapon away when we got here."

"I don't think chocolate counts as a weapon."

Ron didn't need to be asked twice. "Pfff! Lint. Uh… I'm not finding any— Oh, here's someth— bloody hell!"

Two figures darted out of the pocket and hopped across Ron's face. "Scorpius? Al?" Harry's jaw dropped in disbelief, which turned out to be a mistake when Al zoomed into his open mouth, sticking out like a pacifier.

Gagging, Harry spat out the doorknob, which let out a groan. It spiraled like a top then collapsed on the floor, leaving a trail of rust in its wake. "I don't feel so good."

"No lake!" Scorpius pouted, oblivious to their predicament. "Your real estate choices leave much to be desired."

Ron's limbs wobbled uselessly as he tried to swat Scorpius away. "What in Merlin's name are they doing in your pocket?" He tried blowing Scorpius away to no avail.

Harry planted his face in the ground. "I should have never told them I was going to the bakery."

"This doesn't look like any bakery I've ever seen," Albus protested. Given how sick the doorknob looked, Harry didn't see how the doorknob could possibly be thinking of food. "Then again, I've never seen a bakery."

"And you never will if we don't get out of this mess." As demanding as they could be, their resistance to magic could be useful against Gregson. "Al, Scorpius— do you think you could get through this shield?"

From his expression, Ron could have been viewing the grizzly crime scene from earlier. "You gave the things names?" He frowned. "Of course, Scorpius sounds more like a disease…"

"Cooties!" Scorpius pounced on Ron, who predictably began flailing around as if in an epileptic fit.

Harry groaned. Beside him, Albus threw up.

A sudden light broke up the fight and sent everyone ducking for cover. (Harry rather wished Albus had chosen a spot that wasn't in his trousers; Gregson might think Harry was excited to see him.)

Moving deliberately, Gregson used his blade as a walking stick. "You know, I normally do this part post-mortem," he announced, stroking the curved handle. "But for you, I'm going to make an exception."

Harry gulped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scorpius inching towards the shield. If only he could get Gregson to lower it for a second… "You can't."

Gregson raised his eyebrow. "Oh, really? And why's that?"

"Because there's two of us," he blurted. "And only one letter left."

Ron seemed pick up on his line of thought. "Yeah, which one of us is going to be the L?"

"Easy," Gregson replied, turning towards Ron, who paled considerably. "Think that betting on my fiancée is so funny now?"

Harry spoke up. "Now, now, that's not what Rachel would have wanted, would she?" He could see that the mere name of his dead fiancée angered the Auror. Good. He wanted the Auror in an irrational mind frame. Irrational people made mistakes. "You said it yourself, Gregson. She was a dueler. She would have wanted us to duel for it."

A spark lit up in Gregson's eyes. "That is true," he said, pacing around the cave. "Although neither of you is anywhere near her level."

"True," Harry replied, although he internally rolled his eyes. He'd defeated Voldemort, for Merlin's sake, what sort of credentials was this man looking for?

Gregson studied them carefully. "It would be entertaining," he said slowly, a smirk growing on his face. "Okay. Let's do it." He began to remove their restraints. "Don't think you can escape. There are anti-Apparation wards all over the place, and nothing gets through my shield." He must have been pretty confident in his plan, if he was really planning on handing over their wands to them.

He retreated behind the shield before releasing their wands. As the pieces of wood raced through the shield, Harry swore he saw two specks in the darkness, zipping across the cave.

"Alright, let's see it! And if I think you two aren't trying, well…" Gregson chuckled. "This shield may stop spells from going out, but it won't stop spells from going in."

As loudly as possible, Harry turned to face Ron and assumed what he hoped was a menacing expression. "Melofors!"

A giant pumpkin bloomed around Ron's head so that the redhead resembled a jack o'lantern. Voice echoing, Ron shouted, "Are you mental?"

From behind the shield, Gregson clapped his hands. "Well done! Rachel would have used a watermelon, of course, but—" He sniffed the air. "What is that smell?"

"Sorry!" a sheepish shout came. Gregson whirled around, only to be knocked to the ground by two rambunctious doorknobs, whose fangs had grown to the size of nails. Wincing, Harry watched as one of Gregson's ear spattered into the shield, leaving a brief trail of blood as it slid down the invisible barrier.

"No!" Gregson's incoherent shouts suggested that he'd just lost his nose as well. "It doesn't end like this! Calligraphus!"

At the same time, Harry raised his wand to shield everyone from Gregson's curse. Albus and Scorpius were flung against the shield and clattered to the ground. No further impact came. Amidst the cloud of dust, the screaming stopped abruptly.

When the dust cleared, Harry saw that Gregson had finished his tribute to Rachel after all. The fact that he'd chosen to carve the L on his own forehead considerably lessened the impact.

"Albus! Scorpius!" He reached forward, only to be repulsed by the shield. Amidst the rubble, he saw Scorpius leaning over Albus, who was using Gregson's ear as a pillow. The doorknob had a pale sheen to him. Had the spell ripped him apart as well? Scorpius's expression was grim as he turned to face Harry.

"Albus has gas," he complained.

Ripping a hole in his pumpkin, Ron peered at Gregson's body. "Is he dead?"

"As a doornail," Harry confirmed.

Scorpius frowned. "But I thought we killed him."

To pay his respects, Albus hobbled over to the corpse and released the contents of his stomach (or at least, that's what Harry hoped it was) into Gregson's mouth.

"Harry?" Ron squeaked. "If he's dead, how are we getting out of here?"

"Please. You don't really think his shield is that strong, do you?"

~D~H~

It was. They had been missing for three days by the time they got out of the cave. Hermione went into contractions the moment she saw Ron, sending the three of them to St. Mungo's for an incredibly stressful five hours. It ended up being a false alarm, the contractions stopping as soon as she calmed down. When the doctor cleared them to go, Harry had sent Ron home with his wife, agreeing to fill out the paperwork for the both of them.

As he sat down to write, he noticed "Draco's" letters sitting to the side. Had he really left them out in the open like that? Focus on your paperwork. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you can see the real Draco.

He was still filling out the first page when there was a knock on his door. "Night crew."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to dismiss the janitor, when the voice registered in his mind. Draco.

Sure enough, the blond walked through the door. His toolbox dropped from his hand when he saw Harry sitting in the chair. "You're… you're…"

Harry pushed his chair back with a little too much force, sending it crashing against the window. He'd been preparing for this encounter over and over in his head while he was filling out paperwork. Robards was going to have some questions for him when he reviewed it, such as why Harry had written "you have good hair" under "Describe the perpetrator." But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was Draco. "Draco…"

The blond kicked his toolbox, setting the Gimmicks orb loose and sending it straight at Harry, who managed to duck just in time.

"Three days!" Draco towered over him, fury alight in his eyes. For the first time in months, Harry could see the Death Eater in Draco. It excited him. "You're missing for three whole days, and you thought filling out your paperwork was more important than flooing home, or Merlin forbid, writing a letter telling me you're okay?"

"No!" Harry dodged the orb. "Speaking of how important you are, there's actually something I'd like to tell—"

"You never fill out your paperwork!"

"Look, I'm sorry. I—"

Draco snatched the orb out of the air and pushed Harry against the window glass. "Since you obviously don't think it's important to tell me what happened to you, I'll tell you what happened to me while you were gone. That bloody oaf Hagrid dropped off his stupid pet, and I let it eat your loafers! The Chardonnay ones!"

"Draco…" The blond's rant was spectacular, but all Harry could focus on were those lips. Chapped and hastily glossed over with some gel. Puckered in rage but with room for improvement. And closer with every breath.

"… and I painted the drawing room a horrid shade of Slytherin green that you're going to hate!"

Harry swallowed the rest of Draco's rant with his mouth.

Since the specific case was irrelevant to the overall plot, I decided to base it very loosely on A Study in Scarlet (and A Study in Pink)to spread the Sherlock love around. (Remember Gregson from a few chapters ago?) How do you think Draco is going to react to the kiss?