Thank you for all the wonderful reviews last chapter! Sorry for not updating last week. Call it an intermission, if you will (AKA I had to get ready for school). This chapter is relatively long, so I hope that makes up for it. Almost everyone guessed someone different, which impressed me. Let's see who was right!

Harry's breath caught in his chest. "You."

George Weasley stood before him, red-haired and red-handed. Or at least, someone who looked like George Weasley, because the real George Weasley would have invented some flying dust monkey to deliver the letters rather than being so boneheaded as to deliver them in person.

The George Harry knew wouldn't write such hurtful letters in the first place. But then, George wasn't really writing the letters, was he? "Draco" was. George Weasley was too light-hearted and good-humored to write such angry and hateful words, but "Draco Malfoy" didn't have a reputation to censor him.

Harry couldn't bring himself to reach for his wand. He kept waiting for George to burst out laughing and shout, "Fooled ya!" In a way, he was relieved when the redhead met his gaze with guilty eyes. At least George wasn't meaninglessly cruel. He had known what he was doing.

Harry could see it now. The "I Can't Believe It's Not Stutter" quill hadn't been a prototype or prank. George had used it to manipulate Harry's letter to Draco, to turn it into nonsense or worse. Harry could only guess what "other things" George had hoped the quill would do. The things the letters were meant to do.

"Harry!"

George took a step back at the shout. Only then did Harry raise his wand. "Don't," he mouthed, lowering it as Draco appeared in the doorway.

"What's going on?" Draco demanded. He stopped, noticing George lingering in the doorway. "Weasley." He always made the word sound like a disease.

Harry noticed Draco wasn't wearing a shirt. Apparently George had noticed too. "Malfoy," he spat back.

"Potter," Harry added for good measure.

For once, George didn't seem to appreciate his humor. "What are you doing here?"

Draco folded his arms. "You first."

Harry decided to intervene, although he didn't know whether that was because he didn't want them to fight or because he didn't want George to answer Draco's question. "George just wanted to show me a new prank." It wasn't a lie, per se.

"At this hour?"

"I didn't realize I was so late," George said, his eyes flickering between Harry and Draco.

Harry caught his meaning and gave him a stern glance, which Draco seemed to notice. "I'll stop by during lunch tomorrow. And you can explain how the prank works."

George nodded with only a hint of reluctance. Draco didn't seem convinced. "If it's just a stupid prank, we might as well just see it now. Wouldn't want Weaselbee to have come all this way for nothing."

George sneered. "I don't think you would find it very funny."

Draco leaned against the doorframe. "Well, Harry's sense of humor isn't as refined as mine." He held out his hands. "Come on. Let's see it."

"Draco," Harry began. "I really don't think…"

Before he could finish speaking, George whipped his hand out from his cloak and deposited an orange tonic in Draco's palm. "Drink this, and you'll be farting off the walls."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Why would anyone pay for this? Are they too bored to go roast a can of baked beans?"

Affronted, George looked like his normal self for the first time that night. "Beans! He thinks that beans are my secret ingredient!" He lowered his voice. "There may be a trace amount of beans in the salsa component…"

"Salsa?" A flying chunk of metal snatched the bottle out of Draco's hand. Seconds later, Harry heard the bottle shatter across the floor, followed by some frantic licking noises and a burst of thunderous gas.

Draco stormed down the hallway. "ALBUS!"

"It was the pantry's fault!"

Taking advantage of Draco's absence, George turned towards Harry, his voice stronger this time. "Harry…"

"Don't," Harry said. "Not now. Tomorrow. Noon."

George didn't seem happy, but he nodded anyone and departed without another word as Draco returned, airing out the room with his hand. "He left?"

"Like you said. It's late." Harry yawned, then noticed Draco looking at him strangely. "What?"

"He didn't prank me," Draco said, puzzled. "There's something off about him, or he would have give me ferret ears or something."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he thinks you wouldn't notice the difference?"

Albus let out another bout of gas, which launched him into the air until he landed at their feet. Draco huffed. "At least he didn't give me a ferret nose."

As Draco walked off, Harry scanned the porch for George's letter. To his relief, George seemed to have taken it with him. Good. Harry didn't want to know what lies George had cooked up this time.

~D~H~

Draco stayed behind to catch up on sleep in preparation for his night shift, leaving Harry to drop off Teddy before work. The five-year-old was chattering excitedly about his new pen pals, both of whom were currently confined to diapers after the gas explosion crisis. Harry frowned as Teddy referred to Albus and Scorpius as his "younger cousins" for the third time. He didn't know how Teddy had gotten the idea that they were Harry and Draco's children.

Teddy raced into the living room. "Grandma! Grandma! Look what Uncle Harry—" Teddy broke off abruptly as the woman in the chair turned her head. "You're not Grandma," he said, folding his arms.

Narcissa Malfoy smiled at him the way one might when practicing in the mirror. "You must be Teddy."

The boy hovered around Harry's knee. Harry didn't fault him for it. If he had spoken at that moment, he was sure he would have stuttered, if only at the shock of seeing Narcissa—his boyfriend's mother, at that—at her sister's house. He gave his hair a quick pat-down and prayed she wouldn't notice his mismatching socks. Or the fact that one of them definitely belonged to Draco.

"Teddy!" Andromeda hurried out of the kitchen. "Did you behave yourself last night?"

Teddy nodded, casting a side-glance at Harry. Andromeda noticed and arched her eyebrows. Harry gave his head a slight shake, not wanting to bring up the Dark Mark incident in front of Draco's mother.

"I'm glad to hear it," Andromeda continued, pushing the matter aside for now. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." Narcissa rose from her chair to stand beside her sister. "Teddy, this is my sister, Narcissa Malfoy."

Teddy loosened his death grip on Harry's robes. "Are you Uncle Draco's mommy?"

"Draco is my son," Narcissa affirmed, enunciating each word carefully. Clearly, it had been a while since she had spoken to a child.

"Oh." Teddy considered this. "Do you have a tattoo too?" He giggled and repeated the phrase "tattoo too" several times.

Narcissa's expression didn't change, not even to glance at her left arm. Harry would have been impressed if he hadn't been so mortified. Putting his hand on Teddy's shoulder, he asked, "Hey, Teddy, want to go bake me a potion with your new kit?"

The boy's eyes lit up. "I'm going to make one that turns you into a hippopotamus."

As Teddy skipped out of the room, Harry turned to the Black sisters. "I'm sorry about that. We had to have a talk about that last night."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said before Andromeda could speak. "As I recall, Draco once drew one on Blaise Zabini's arm during naptime. I remember his mother was furious when it wouldn't wash off in time for the photos at her third wedding." Narcissa frowned. "Or was it her fourth?"

Andromeda made a noise that sounded awfully like a giggle. "But Blaise and Draco get along now, don't they?"

Narcissa smiled, more naturally this time. "Actually, that was what cemented their friendship. I saw Blaise just yesterday, in fact. He has been helping me get my affairs in order for the past year."

"Oh?" Andromeda frowned. "You're not in any trouble, are you?"

Narcissa shook her head. "The reparations are almost paid. But the paperwork was in a ghastly state, and should anything happen to me, I want to make sure Draco is taken care of." She shifted her gaze. "Which brings us to you, Mr. Potter."

Harry, who had been awing at the sisterly banter, snapped back to it. "Er… me?"

"I'll go make some tea," Andromeda offered, fleeing the room before Harry could protest.

Narcissa laid her hand on a chair, a clear invitation. He accepted it as she took the seat across from him. "How is my son, Mr. Potter?"

"Er…"

"I know you've been residing together for quite some time."

The way she paused over the word "residing" convinced Harry that she knew the exact nature of their relationship, even though Draco hadn't mentioned writing to her. Harry didn't think Andromeda had told her either. Even so, he wasn't surprised that Narcissa had managed to find out. "Yes. We have."

Narcissa nodded and relaxed her shoulders. "Did you know Draco dressed up as you for Halloween when he was eight?"

Harry bit back a smile, imagining what it must have taken to get Draco to muss up his hair. "No, he didn't mention that."

"I'll have to bring the pictures next time. Lucius and I didn't encourage it, but he was quite fond of you as a child. Something tells me he still is."

Harry melted under her gaze, his cheeks heating up. "We get along, if that's what you mean." Had Draco even told his parents he was gay? The absence of an arranged marriage suggested Narcissa was agreeable to Draco choosing his own future, but that didn't mean certain options weren't off limits.

Reading his thoughts, Narcissa said, "Your silence is admirable, Mr. Potter, but unnecessary. I have known quite some time about my son's preferences."

Harry didn't bother denying it. "Does he know you know?"

"I can't imagine he doesn't," she replied, which was probably the closest purebloods got to saying yes. She looked uncomfortable in her chair. "Is he happy?" she asked, in the same tone she had whispered in his ear behind Voldemort's back.

As Andromeda entered with the tea, Harry gave her the same answer. "Yes. I imagine so."

Narcissa didn't acknowledge his answer, but he thought she might have hidden a smile in her teacup. "Wonderful tea, Andromeda," she said, placing her cup down. "If you'll excuse me, I have to use the loo." Harry noticed she took the long route, which would take her by the room Teddy was playing in. When he looked back, Andromeda had taken her seat.

"I didn't know she was visiting England," Harry said.

"Neither did she." Andromeda wore a grin on her face that could rival the Marauders'. "What you said last night made me realize there was one other person on that tapestry who was dear to me, and I'd waited long enough for her to make the first move."

Harry chose not to ask how she had gotten to France, given that Portkeys were booked days in advance. "And it went well?"

"I haven't dueled as well since Ted tried to take me to Madame Puddifoots Sixth Year." Harry made a note never to get in a duel with the Black sisters. "But after we were done yelling—and after her teapot stopped yodeling— we had a nice chat. I'd forgotten how alike we were."

She let out a small sigh. Harry knew which particular similarity she was thinking of. He didn't think she would cry in front of him two days in a row, but not wanting to take any chances, he steered the conversation away from Ted's death. "Why hadn't she answered your letters?"

Andromeda laughed. "She hadn't gotten them! The House Elves were still screening the mail based on Lucius's system from years ago. Apparently, I fall under the category of 'junk mail.' Next to taxes."

Harry snorted. Across the hallway, he could hear Teddy doing the same. Apparently, the boy had decided to show his Aunt Narcissa his visual interpretation of Hogwarts. To her credit, Narcissa was applauded politely.

Andromeda frowned. "Aren't you going to be late for work?"

Harry grimaced at the clock. He was tempted to take a Nosebleed Nugget and Floo in sick. Of course, he'd used up his supply during last month's liaison with the goblins in charge of finance. Getting more would require visiting George.

Flooing in suddenly seemed like a very, very good idea.

~D~H~

Harry wished George hadn't been tickling a Kneezle as he walked into the shop. It made him think of the dead peacock. He shuddered for the Kneezle's sake.

George's grin vanished as he noticed Harry standing in the doorway. "Harry. Nice to see you."

"You're already in trouble for lying to me. Don't push it."

"Right." George juggled the Kneezle onto his shoulder. It purred. "Er… tea?"

Harry crossed his arms. "You must be crazy if you think I'm going to drink anything you give me."

"Isn't that always the case?" George set the Kneezle down on the table. "Look, Harry. I'm sorry for writing those things about your mother." The Kneezle rolled against his arm. "And the peacock. I felt horrible doing it, I really did…"

"Then why did you?"

George's voice shrunk to a mumble. "I was just trying to be realistic."

Harry laughed. George always made him laugh. This time, however, it was in disbelief. "To be r— I meant why did you write the letters, not why did you make them as disgusting as you possibly could. Merlin. You're sorry for hurting an imaginary peacock but not for impersonating Draco. That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?"

George met his gaze. "I wish you'd understood my first message that easily."

"I can't believe this." Harry threw up his arms. "Draco has never once told me to stop being friends with you, or Ron, or Hermione. What right do you have to decide who my friends are or who I date?"

"It's not like I put you under the Imperius!"

"If you had a problem, you should have said something to my face. I wouldn't have agreed with you, but I would have understood. This… this…" Harry shook his head. "Well, aside from being cruel, it seems pretty ineffective, if splitting us apart was your main goal."

George cast his eyes down. "I got the idea from Ron."

"Ron was in on this?" He knew Ron hated Draco, but not that that degree. Not to mention he didn't think Ron could keep a secret that long.

"No, he didn't know about this," George said to Harry's relief. "He was the one who told me about the first letter. I thought it would be a great idea as a prank. I wasn't going to do it, but then I saw you and Malfoy sitting in the café, looking… well. I had to do something! I was just going to poke fun at him. But when I sat down, what came out…" He closed his eyes. "I just got so angry, I thought of the most disgusting things I could, and… I just thought, 'it's what Fred would have done.'" He trailed off, shuddering with deep breaths.

Harry wasn't about to forgive him just because he used Fred's name, but the fact that he did at least meant that he was sincere. Although Harry didn't believe Fred would have supported the letters—and he didn't think George did either—Fred had had an aggressive side to him, more so than George. He wouldn't have had a problem with hurting Draco. No, he would have hated the letters because of how they changed George. At heart, George wasn't the bitter and cruel person he pretended to be in the letters.

A thought occurred to him. "Wait, Ron told you about the first letter? You mean you didn't send it?"

Surprised, George shook his head. "Monsters under the bed? Come on. I would have been far more creative." Recalling his particular "creativity," he bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"I don't forgive you." It was too soon for that. George's face sank. Harry continued, "But I'm not the one who needs to."

It took George a second to grasp his meaning. "Malfoy? You expect me to apologize to Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. "Not exactly. Luckily for you, I never told him about the letters, and I think it would do more harm than good to tell him now. But when I bring him to Christmas at the Burrow—" George struggled to keep a straight face. Harry had been partially joking, but now he was determined to make it happen. "—I expect you to support us. You don't have to be his friend." He frowned. "Actually, I'd rather you weren't his friend. But don't fight us."

George nodded. Not wanting to surrender his advantage, Harry added a condition. "And you need to see someone."

George frowned. "I tried to see a shrink once. By the end of the session, she could've fit in a thimble. In my defense, they do call themselves shrinks." George noticed the look Harry was giving him. "Hey, didn't you inflate your aunt Third Year?"

"Not a shrink. Someone. Oliver. Katie. Angelina. Someone who's not a family member or customer."

George looked away. "I couldn't. Not after everything that's happened."

Harry reached into his pocket and unfolded one of the letters. "You stupid son of a Mudblood." He lowered it. "I'll bet you once thought you couldn't call me that either."

He left the letters on George's table. He didn't need letters from Fako (it had seemed like a clever name at the time) anymore. His hand wavered over the first letter, the one George hadn't sent, ultimately passing it over and leaving it in his pocket. There was no harm in keeping it as evidence, just in case.

As he left, he thought he heard the Kneezle peeing on the pile.

~D~H~

"I finally saw Malfoy at the Ministry," Ron said the next day. "A janitor! I might come in early tomorrow just to see it again."

Harry frowned, looking up from his list of stolen artifacts. "What's wrong with being a janitor?"

"Nothing. But Malfoy? Come on, Harry, he wears Cezare Armandi robes with a jumpsuit. He looks absolutely ridiculous!"

"A little," Harry admitted. Personally, he found it adorable and endearing, which Malfoy would probably find even more insulting.

"Of course," Ron continued, "I think he'd look better in stripes. Black and white stripes."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't you have some paternity leave papers to fill out?"

Over the past few months, Harry had learned that whenever Ron refused to shut up about something, Harry only had to mention something baby-related to make him forget all about his rant. "I still have a few weeks," Ron said, reminding Harry of all the times they'd put off their Transfiguration homework until the last second. "Hey, want to get Mexican food? I'm craving tacos. Don't look at me like that, Hermione says vicarious craving is a real thing. It's my way of bonding with the baby."

Harry snorted. Hermione had created "vicarious craving" to deal with Ron's parenting anxieties. Ron had blown it all out of proportions. It was starting to change his proportions too, but so long as Hermione was sensitive about the topic of weight gain, the problem remained unaddressed. "Fine, but no black beans. I do have to share an office with you."

Ron's retort was cut-off as they turned into the alleyway outside the Ministry in time to see a cloaked man shoving a woman against the wall. The man jabbed his wand into the woman's throat, but before he could go any further, Harry and Ron had surrounded him.

"Hands in the air!" Ron could rival his own mother when it came to shouting. Criminals always assumed Harry was the more intimidating one. After thirty seconds in the interrogation room with Ron, they stood corrected—or they would if they still had control over their limbs.

Harry whipped the wand out of the assailant's hand, meeting little resistance. It felt familiar in his hand, as if he'd held it before. As if he used it before. Shit…

He tore the hood away from the assailant's face. "Draco?"

The blond did not look happy to see him. Harry could relate.

"'e attacked me!" the woman cried.

Draco seemed to welcome the chance to look away from Harry. His classic defense mechanism had kicked in, that arrogant sneer. "You dumped a dead body in the dumpster across the street!"

"Liar!" The woman looked straight into Harry's eyes, brimming with confidence. Which was a little surprising, considering she was surrounded by Aurors (celebrity Aurors, at that) and still pinned to the wall by a former Death Eater. "It was 'im that was dumping the body. I saw 'im me-self."

"Malfoy!" Ron barked. "Hands behind your back!"

"Are you kidding me?" Draco looked at Harry for support.

Mind whirring, Harry pointed his wand at the woman. "Give me your wand." Visibly relieved, Draco started to move, only to be cut short by Harry. "No. You stay. We're taking you both in." Draco shot him an expression of disbelief. "Ministry policy. We'll get this sorted out." Trust me. Harry didn't really even feel bad for saying it. Draco should be the one shooting him subtle glances that said, Trust me. Not the other way around.

The woman was smirking. Harry recognized that smirk. He had fondly labeled it the Let's Pin This On the Death Eater in the Room smirk. Even five years after the war, common criminals were still using Voldemort as an excuse. It was these criminals that Harry made sure got the maximum sentence.

Sure enough, there was a dead body in the dumpster across the street. It was sloppily disposed of and, thankfully, completely free of Draco's magical signature. Harry felt like a coward for sending Ron in to supervise Draco as he wrote his witness statement while Harry took the job of interrogating the woman. He got a confession in record time.

Draco, on the other hand, took "ages," according to Ron. The blond's witness statement was more of a complaint, written in slow, deliberate strokes—how he spotted the suspect, Ms. Drusilla Flemming, disposing of the corpse; how he had never seen said corpse before or murdered the Muggle, Mr. William Blake; how he was greatly offended by the conduct of the officers who arrested him, particularly the ginger one. One thing was sure, Draco had talent with the written word.

"Are you sure we can't charge him for libel?" Ron asked as he read the confession over.

Harry wasn't in the mood for Ron's attitude. "No, Ron. We can't. It was cramped in the phone booth because you are putting on weight. And your breath does smell like onions."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Bloody hell, Harry, it was a joke. Jeez, what crawled up your knickers?" Harry preferred not to answer that question. Not expecting an answer, Ron walked off, grumbling about how it wouldn't have killed the git to have written anything bad about Harry.

Harry knew better than that. The statement was written on Veritas paper.

~D~H~

When Harry got home at nine o'clock—well after when Draco should have reported to work—he was greeted by a slow clap, all the portraits applauding in synch.

"Well done," Draco drawled as Harry threw his coat on the rack. "It's a lock. Employee of the Month!"

"You won't be, if you're skipping work."

"Apparently, getting arrested by your boyfriend counts as a personal day. Who knew?"

"Come on, Draco, you know I had to do it! I never for a second believed you were guilty. I was just doing my job."

"Oh, I know how your job goes," Draco scoffed. "Case One: gossip about how ridiculous Malfoy looks in his lowly janitor uniform—which is so hypocritical, given your sense of fashion."

"How did you…?" Harry trailed off. "Were you spying on me? Is that why you were at the Ministry?"

"Wow, Potter. Not even giving some half-hearted excuse about how you didn't mean what you said. That's good. We could use a little honesty in this relationship."

"Don't tell me you've been completely honest with me."

"I haven't." The quickness of Draco's reaction unnerved Harry. "But you're an Auror. It's your job to uncover lies."

"And you're a janitor. It's your job to throw things in dumpsters, isn't it?"

Draco's face lost all color. What was it about Draco that made Harry say things he immediately regretted? The hell with it. Why should he have to regret anything? It wasn't like what he said was any worse than what Draco said. And yet Draco's crushed expression always made Harry feel like he'd just taken his heart in his fist and squeezed. Maybe he had an expression like that that affected Draco just as much. Or maybe Draco simply didn't have thick enough skin.

Harry put his hand on said skin. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Draco wormed out of Harry embrace. "No. You did. You're right. We should be honest with each other."

"Honestly?" Harry stepped closer. "I love you."

"Don't say that!" Draco threw out his arms, blocking Harry from getting any closer. "Don't you get that when you say that, it just makes it harder and harder to tell you the truth?"

Harry frowned. "What truth?" He thought he sounded calm, but his heart trembled. Had the incident at work made Draco realize he didn't feel the same way about Harry? When he had packed his suitcase just days earlier, had he really meant it?

The way Draco turned to half-face him, dread welling in his eyes, made Harry's breath catch in his throat. If Draco was angry about Ron's mild teasing, imagine how he'd be if he found out about George's letters. Probably a lot like he looked now.

When Draco opened his mouth, only a whisper came out, but it hurt Harry's ears like a scream.

"That woman did see me dumping a body."

And you thought last chapter's cliffhanger was bad! Congrats to NobleAndAncientLineBlack( for guessing George and to HPSlashAddict for cuing into the fact that something was different about the first letter.