Sorry for the unannounced hiatus! I needed to temporarily put aside the story to focus on school and such. The remaining chapters will be posted gradually throughout the next few weeks until the story is completed on Valentine's Day, because what better day to give Harry and Draco their happy ending? That is, assuming it's happy. ;) Thanks for sticking with me!

The tent had been slept in, but there was no sign of Draco and a noticeable lack of coffee. Had he had to work overtime? Had he gone to work at all last night? Harry felt like he was back in Sixth Year, scouring the Marauder's Map for Draco's little dot, only to come up empty.

Sleep hadn't erased the uneasy feeling in his chest from last night. If anything, it had amplified it. Now he knew why.

The letters. The "subscription," as Draco had called them. The blond still had no idea. Here Draco was, confessing to murder, and Harry couldn't even bring himself to admit something as simple as opening a letter. Draco was right. He was a hypocrite.

Given the recent nightmare fiasco, he could probably guilt Draco into not disemboweling George. He might lose the other ear, though. Harry was still angry enough at George that he laughed at the thought, for a few seconds at least. Come to think of it, George probably would have appreciated that reaction.

Harry sobered, thinking of what Draco might say about being lied to for months. What did it matter? They'd traded insults for most of their lives. The only difference was, now they called it foreplay.

Then there was that first letter…

Maybe Draco would know where it came from.

~D~H~

When Harry arrived at work, he found a Red Vine sitting on the desk with a note, "For best friend bonding." Across the room, Ron looked up from his work and offered him a smile.

Neither of them got any work done for the next hour. Instead, they charmed Brian's quill to write "Pecan Pie" whenever he tried to write the word "Auror." They spied on Gregson's replacement, Lestrade, recording any suspicious activity in case he turned out to be a psychopath. Their two pranks collided when Lestrade forced a horrified Brian to shine his shoes after the intern called him "Peacan Pie Lestrade" in a memo for the third time.

Even as Harry laughed beside Ron, Harry became painfully aware that this was another person he'd lied to for months. As Ron left for the loo, Harry made a note to remedy that as soon as possible. Tomorrow, maybe. On the bright side, if Draco did dump him, it would make his job a whole lot easier.

He did a double take when he spotted the blond standing outside his office, armed with his signature smirk.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, a little worried but still unable to stop a smile from creeping over his face at the sight of Draco. He looked a lot better than last night. Maybe it was the uniform. Ridiculous? Ha.

Draco held up his tool kit. "Working. They promoted me to day staff."

"I didn't know you applied. Congratulations!" Harry put the pieces together in his head. "That's why you were at the Ministry the other day! Er, how you overheard what I said in my office, I mean. Not the— other part."

Draco nodded, then looked apprehensively behind his shoulder. "About last night…"

"Not now," Harry interrupted. "Not here. Tonight. We can celebrate your promotion. Turn over a new leaf. Come clean about anything else that's been bothering us." He hoped that didn't sound too foreboding.

Silence took over the conversation. Even though Harry knew they didn't have long before Ron returned, he didn't want Draco to leave yet. A grin spread across his face. "Hey. We won't have to have breakfast for dinner for once."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Thank Merlin. I don't know if I could stand more of that infernal Muggle dog food you've been feeding me."

"Coco Puffs are delicious!" Hermione had a theory that his choice of breakfast cereal was a sad attempt to take back his childhood from the Dursleys rather than a reflection of his true culinary tastes. Harry had a theory that having dentists as parents disqualified anyone from commenting on children being deprived of sugary food.

"It looks like you're eating your own shit," was Draco's very dignified reply. So much for ever eating Coco Puffs again. "Is that why Weasley hurried off to the loo? Have you been poisoning him too?"

"Let's just say I probably shouldn't have introduced him to Red Vines," Harry said. "You'd better go. Wouldn't want to get fired on your very first day."

"I don't know," Draco shot over his shoulder as he left the office. "I've come up with some pretty tempting ways."

When Ron returned, it was Harry's turn to visit the loo.

~D~H~

It was barely five when Harry heard the floo light up. "You're here early," he called, glancing at the clock. "Why'd you floo in? The wards aren't acting up again, are—" He turned the corner to find Ron and Hermione standing in the middle of his living room, Hermione with a dish covered in tin foil perched on her swollen stomach. Gumbo. The dinner plans from two weeks ago. Oh. "—they?"

"I've told you, it's not good to apparate in the last trimester," Hermione replied, sniffing the air. "Kreacher hasn't gone to any trouble making anything for us, has he?"

"No," Harry said. "I was trying my hand at—well, it doesn't matter. Why don't you come in?" Maybe he'd have time to owl Draco before the blond left the ministry.

Ron's eyes widened. "Blimey, Harry, have you been cooking?"

"Er, sort of." How had he forgotten about their arrangements? To be fair, it had been a crazy two weeks, first with the mission gone wrong, then the visit with Teddy, then, well, everything with Draco. It almost felt like he'd been living a secret double life for the past few months. It wasn't that he'd intentionally hid from Ron and Hermione, but at first, he'd hadn't known if anything would come of it, and it was no use getting Ron all riled up over a few dinner meetings. He could hardly have discussed their initial sleeping arrangements without mentioning Draco's nightmares, and that certainly would have ended things then and there. And after that—well, you couldn't have an end without a beginning, could you?

"And you've fixed the place up!" Hermione stared at the new décor incredulously. "I've been nagging you for years to get rid of those horrid elf heads." She shot him a shrewd glance. "Something's happened. I told you there was something different about him!"

"That doesn't mean he's seeing someone," Ron argued. "She has it in her head that you're seeing someone. I told her I would have noticed."

Poor Ron. Harry had a feeling the redhead unconsciously still expected him to propose to Ginny at the alter during her wedding to Dean Thomas this summer. Or maybe Charlie. Ron's matchmaking skills were rather limited, but that didn't stop him from trying. To make Harry happy, he claimed.

"Ronald, the table's set for two," Hermione said, exasperated. "And that's not Harry's coat on the rack over there."

Ron frowned. "Then whose is it?"

They were both staring at him now, waiting for an answer. Harry opened his mouth.

The front door slammed shut. "You forgot to check for the mail again! This one looks like it's been sitting out there for days."

Ron frowned, trying to place the familiar voice. Hermione merely shot Harry a resigned version of her Know-It-All glance. Harry decided to study his shoelaces.

Draco's voice got louder as he approached. "Can you believe I actually get paid less for working during the day? Promotion? Ha! And there better not be corn flakes waiting for me on the table because I've had a lot of time to come up with metaphors that will put you off your food for—oh," Draco sounded as he entered the kitchen to find Ron and Hermione gaping at him. "You should have told me Weasley was coming. He does the job for me."

Ron certainly looked like he might lose his lunch. "No. Way. Not him. Tell me it's not him, Harry!"

"Maybe you should sit down," Harry said.

Ron's fist hit the table. "What the hell, Harry? Have you gone mad? Has he enchanted you or something?"

"He hasn't done anything to me."

"I wouldn't say that exactly," Draco said, throwing his arm over Harry's shoulders and sneering at Ron like he was back in Fourth Year, wearing one of his Potter Stinks badges.

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Not now, Draco…"

Ron gagged. "How long has— this— been going on?"

"Two weeks," Harry answered as Draco said, "September." They exchanged a glance. Draco's smirk didn't falter, but Harry could see a flicker of doubt pass over his face. Oops.

"September!" Ron exploded, oblivious to the silent exchange. "You've been sleeping with the ferret for—" He counted on his fingers, muttering under his breath, "—six, seven, seven months!"

"I've been sleeping with him for three months, but I've only been sleeping with him for two weeks," Harry corrected. Draco's fingers tightened over his shoulder. "It's sort of a long story…"

"Maybe we could all settle this over dinner," Hermione suggested, remarkably calm for someone who had just found out their schoolboy nemesis, the nephew of the woman who'd tortured her was dating her best friend. Then again, she always was perceptive.

"Like he'd eat anything you cooked," Ron scoffed.

"I'll eat Granger's cooking." Draco shoved a forkful of gumbo into his mouth. "See? Mmmm— hmph—" He spat the bite out and started choking.

"Oh, that's mature," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "What are you scared of, Muggle cooties?"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded.

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco continued coughing. "Okay, Draco, we get the point. That's en—Draco!"

The blond's tongue was swelling up. He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat. Harry was already performing a spell on the gumbo, checking for poisons, when he felt Draco tugging on his robes, shaking his head, and pointing to a piece of food on the floor. Shrimp. Something Draco had told him on their first dinner date, something he'd rolled his eyes at, came back to him: I'm allergic to shrimp.

A breath caught in Harry's throat. In the background, he heard Hermione gasp suddenly. Did she know? She was saying something almost too soft to hear— "Take a deep breath." To Ron?

From his position on the ground, Draco looked at her murderously. Harry could read the response in his eyes: Sure, Granger, a deep breath's going to save me from choking to death.

Harry pulled Draco closer to him. "Do you have an epee pen?"

Even while choking, Draco managed to create a new What the Hell Is a Pen, and Why Are We Talking About Its Bladder Problems While I'm Busy Suffocating? glare.

"Harry," Hermione began.

He scooped Draco up and met Hermione's eyes. "We have to go to St. Mungo's," they said simultaneously.

"He's allergic to shrimp," Harry explained.

"My water just broke," Hermione said.

~D~H~

Ron paced around the waiting room restlessly. Hermione, in a move that reminded Harry much of Molly Weasley, had kicked her husband out of the operating room after the first five minutes. Harry didn't know what had transpired during that time, and, very wisely, had decided not to ask Ron about the tulips that were sprouting from his ears.

Step. Step. Step. Swivel left. "I swear, if that git's seafood allergy ends up in my baby being deformed in any way…"

"Hermione's fine," Harry said automatically.

Ron took a few more steps, then shook his head. "Shrimp is such an aristocratic thing to be allergic to! I mean, who's ever heard of an allergic reaction to shrimp?"

"Not the doctors," Harry muttered, hands pressed against his legs.

"If only we'd known at Hogwarts, we could have…" Ron caught a glance of Harry's expression. "Er, tried the Eat Slugs thing with a wand that actually worked?"

Harry sat up straight. "Slugs look a lot like shrimp, don't they?"

"They sure don't taste a lot like them, that's for sure."

"Do you think he might have had an allergic reaction to them?"

Ron looked at him oddly. "You're serious about him, aren't you?" When Harry nodded, Ron slumped in the seat beside him. "When were you going to tell us, Harry?"

Harry winced. "This is going to sound really bad, but tomorrow."

"It sounds bad whenever you put it," Ron pointed out.

Harry let his hands slip down the sides of his legs. "I didn't mean to hide it from you, Ron. I just didn't know what it was. You danced around Hermione for years."

"Don't ever compare Draco Malfoy to my wife," Ron warned. "How did it happen?" His eyes widened. "Please tell me he's not the 'someone' who confessed to murdering twenty-five people." Before Harry could speak, Ron answered the question himself. "Wait. You said I didn't know the person. So it couldn't be him."

Harry didn't correct his misassumption. Even if they were in a hospital, there was no need to send Ron into cardiac arrest. "How did it happen, then?" Ron continued. "Was it the letters?"

"He, uh, actually doesn't know about those."

Ron looked shocked. "What do you mean, he doesn't know? He wrote the bloody things!"

Harry sighed. "No, your brother wrote them."'

"Merlin! I knew George laughed too hard when I showed the first letter to him. Should've known he was laughing at me."

"Actually…"

Ron gaped at him. "Don't tell me it was Percy! He can't even tell Knock Knock jokes."

"No, it was George. Just not that first letter."

"You mean Malfoy actually sent that letter?"

"…maybe?"

"Maybe? You've been living with him for months, and all you can come up with is maybe?" Ron shook his head. "And you thought Hermione and I were dense!"

Harry smirked. "I thought we weren't supposed to compare Draco to Hermione."

Ron sputtered. "I'm not— he— look, I don't particularly like or even not hate the git, but I still want you to be happy. You know that, right?"

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "If you're half as good of a father as you are a friend, you are going to have one lucky child."

"Maybe two," Ron said. "I've always thought two was a good number. And I don't think Hermione would forgive me if we had seven."

"At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about," Harry remarked dryly. Earlier in life, when the Mirror of Erised would have shown him and Cho surrounded by hoards of children, he might have considered it a curse. Not anymore. There were too many things to worry about already.

Today hadn't been the first time he'd watched Draco almost die—hell, he'd even been behind some of those times—but Harry was determined that it would be the last. Thinking about Draco's reaction to the letters wasn't so nerve-wrecking anymore, not after hearing Draco choke for air. Of course, that could be because Draco couldn't exactly shout at him with a swollen tongue.

Something crinkled beside him. By the time Harry turned, Ron had ripped the tinfoil off Hermione's dish and was in the processing of shoveling forkfuls of gumbo into his mouth. He gave Harry a half-hearted shrug. "Want some?"

Harry merely rolled his eyes.

~D~H~

An hour ago, the newest Weasley had entered the world. Ron, during his victory lap of the hospital, had paused for a moment to shout out a few statistics— "Six inches, eight pounds, most beautiful baby you'll ever see"— before rushing away— "Can't risk missing any of her firsts— she smiled at me, Harry, she smiled!"

And Harry smiled too. How could he not? He was a godfather for a second time. That was almost as good as being a boyfriend for the third time.

"Harry!" Of all people, Harry had least expected to find George Weasley running towards him. He thought for sure Molly Weasley would be first in line to coddle Rose. To his surprise, George didn't follow Ron to the maternity ward but instead planted himself next to Harry. "I heard Malfoy was in the hospital. I just wanted to tell you that I had nothing to do with it—"

"I know," Harry interjected. "It was Hermione."

"—because I was having coffee with Angelina!" George finished triumphantly. He did a double take. "Hermione?"

"An accident. Angelina, you said?"

George, possibly for the first time in his life, looked bashful. "You were right. Anything can happen."

"Anything?" Harry wiggled his eyebrows.

"Maybe," George said.

Harry understood him completely. "You'd better go see the baby before Ron parades her around the entire hospital."

"Actually… that's not all I came here for." Reluctantly, George handed over a letter. "I wrote this this morning."

Dear Harry Potter,

Would it kill you to answer one of my letters? Perhaps you'd like me to pass along that information to the Dark Lord—Father swears he's still alive, and someday, I'm going to be his most loyal— no, that makes me sound like a Hufflepuff— his most important Death Eater in charge of slitting open Mudbloods' veins and turning their blood into dirt.

But I could be your Death Eater instead, if you killed the monster under my bed. Or it could kill you, and then the Dark Lord would have to make me his right hand. Either way works for me.

Go on, then. I triple-Crup dare you.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Harry let the letter slip from his fingers. "You have anger management issues."

"I guess so." George looked uneasy. "I didn't mean to, I swear. It was supposed to be an ingredients list for the lab."

As much as George hated Draco, Harry didn't think the redhead was lying. Perhaps the letters weren't as straight-forward as they seemed. Maybe George hadn't been behind them after all— or at least, not entirely. Maybe someone else was influencing his actions. Like the person who sent the first letter. Harry's eyes centered on a single word from the letter. "Do you experiment on Crups?"

George shook his head. "I use birds mostly."

Harry sighed. Was this not the work of the Animal Artist? He didn't see what purpose sending disturbing letters would serve to someone who wanted Draco dead. Still, he couldn't ignore the possibility. He also couldn't ignore the possibility that this was yet another person Draco had managed to piss off.

Before he could inquire further, a mediwitch interrupted him. "Mr. Potter?" She was staring at her clipboard incredulously. "Mr. Malfoy—he's in your custody, is that correct?"

"I brought him in," Harry said, pocketing the letter. "He's not in my custody."

"Of course," she said, not seeming to believe him. "He's been asking for you. Or, at least, I think he is. It's a little hard, with his tongue…" She cleared her throat. "Shall I tell him you're unavailable?"

"I've been charming my shoelace to tie and untie itself for the past hour. Do I look unavailable?"

"If you'll come this way then." She led him up a set of stairs to the wing where Draco was being treated. Harry hesitated by the door long enough for the mediwitch to realize that her presence would not be required and no, Witch Weekly was not Draco's next of kin and therefore had no reason to notified about Draco or Harry's presence at St. Mungo's.

Draco tried to sit up the moment he spotted Harry. "Harry!" Of course, with his still-swollen tongue, it came out something like, "Huwy." Harry would have laughed if the blond weren't so fragile looking, with needles sticking in his arms and hives across his face. Harry imagined the blond would be mortified to look in a mirror right now. Somehow, it made him seem all the more attractive.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked. "Are you hungry?"

Draco pulled one of the IV needles out of his skin and poked Harry with it.

"Bad question, sorry… uh, listen, they said you'll… uh, you're going to have to stay overnight." Draco didn't react, but Harry knew him well enough to recognize the panic that was building up behind his eyes. Harry tried to make light of the situation. "Don't worry, if there's one thing I'm actually good at, it's staying overnight at St. Mungo's."

The beginnings of a smile appeared across Draco's face. He made a sound that was supposed to be a word.

"What was that?"

Draco crossed his arms and rocked them across his chest as he repeated the sound.

"Oh, baby. No, the baby's fine," Harry reassured him. "So's Hermione." At the same time, his mind was whirring. Draco Malfoy? Concerned about Hermione Granger and her baby? Harry wondered what meds the hospital was feeding him.

"Sex," Draco said.

Harry's eyes widened. "Draco, I don't think that's a good idea. Not here. Not in your condition." Seriously, what meds were they giving him?

Draco rolled his eyes. "Baby. The babyth sexth."

"Oh. Er, it's a girl. Rose."

Draco nodded. "Good name."

Harry snorted. Misinterpreting it, Draco shot him a defensive glance. He tended to get defensive when he suspected people were making fun of his name. One of the many reasons they'd gotten off to a rocky start all those years ago. "I'm not doubting your judgment. I just think it's funny that you'd care about the baby's name when you were making fun of her father just hours ago."

Draco shrugged. "If Rothe hath halfth a brain, the'll know to take afther her mother."

"Her Muggle-Born mother," Harry pointed out.

Draco shrugged politely, then shivered. He whined a little when Harry took off his coat and laid it over Draco like a blanket, but even a swollen tongue couldn't stop that famous self-satisfied smirk. Across the room, two knights in a portrait snored loudly.

The mediwitch strode into the room. "We've gotten the remnants of the shrimp out of your system. You can drink this now. It should reduce the swelling."

Draco swallowed the potion gladly. The mediwitch beckoned for Harry to follow her. "Mr. Potter, a word?"

"I'll be right back," he promised Draco.

Draco nodded, shoving his hands in the pockets of Harry's coat to warm them up.

As it turned out, "right back" wasn't soon enough. Harry returned to find Draco sitting up in his bed, reading a piece of parchment. The parchment shook in his hands. Surely, he couldn't still be cold, not with the coat…

Harry swore, suddenly realizing what Draco was reading. George's letter.

He couldn't see Draco's expression behind the parchment. His voice, flat and expressionless, didn't offer any clues. "What is this?"

"It's… it's…" Harry bit his lip. "Complicated?"

"I've always been smarter than you. Maybe I can 'uncomplicate' it." He dropped the letter so that Harry could see his poorly disguised grimace. Harry hoped it was a reaction to the medication.

"I hope so," Harry replied. "I was actually going to show it to you—"

"Two weeks ago?" Draco interjected. "Was that why that letter was hiding in your desk drawer?"

Harry remembered returning to his office after the incident with Gregson to find the first letter wide open on his desk. He had assumed Brian had done it, but he'd forgotten the other group that had access to his office: janitors. "You were snooping through my things."

Draco let out a dry laugh. "Please. If you hadn't wanted me to find it, you would have put wards around it. Besides—" His voice cut through Harry's protests. "—you were missing for three days. I was looking for clues as to where you might have gone."

"That's true. I…" Harry lowered his eyes. "I really wanted to tell you. I was just so afraid of screwing things up…"

"What I wouldn't do to have a Boggart right now," Draco mused, clearly not buying his excuse. "I'd love to see how it would act out that particular scenario."

Harry shuffled his feet. "I didn't say it was a good excuse, but it's true."

"Oh, now you want to talk about truth?" Draco's grin was chilling. His hands disappeared under his sheets. Too late, Harry realized that that lump in the covers was his wand, not his fingers, or any other part of his anatomy for that matter. A grey mist plummeted towards Harry, forming a storm cloud over his head. One crack of thunder later, Draco leaned back on his pillow.

Rather than attempting the dodge the rain, which would undoubtedly amuse Draco to no end, Harry transfigured one of the blond's magazines into an umbrella. "I know I screwed up, and I'm sorry. I'll do everything I can to make it right."

Another crack of thunder. One knight in the portrait jolted awake, dropping his lance on the other knight in his surprise. Draco didn't react.

"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked.

"It's more what I wanted you to say a long time ago."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. "I get it. I should have told you about the letters…"

"I don't care whether you told me about the bloody letters or not, you should have written back!" A lightning bolt burst from the cloud, knocking the umbrella from Harry's hand. The cloud expanded rapidly as thunder shook the room. Harry grabbed the bedpost for balance, then attempted vanish the cloud. It didn't entirely work, but at least the storm quieted into a harmless drizzle.

He turned to find Draco staring at the soggy parchment, his emotionless mask gone. Raindrops dripped down his cheeks. "Why didn't you write back?" Draco repeated, softer.

Harry frowned. "Why would I write back when I could just talk to you?"

"No, you couldn't," Draco scoffed. "And even when you could, you were hardly nice."

Hardly nice? Harry would give him the "hard" part, but "hardly nice" was certainly not the way he'd describe their first dinner dates. "Sure, we argued, but those arguments were nothing compared to the ones we had at Hogwarts."

Draco was giving him the A Flobberworm Has A Bigger Brain Than You glare again. "Did that lightning bolt fry your brains? What did you think I was talking about?"

Harry stared at him blankly. "Hogwarts?"

"Yes, you clotpole! When I was younger, I thought my letters had gotten lost in the mail because my stupid owl turned out to be a peacock my father transfigured. But you had them all along! And you never even mentioned them!" Draco gestured emphatically, knocking one of the needles out of his arm. "If you had written letters to me, I would have definitely teased you about it. Crabbe loved hearing my reenactments of that one Potions essay I nicked from your knapsack the hour before it was due. That is, if you had written letters to me without me having written to you, because if you had actually replied to mine, things would have gone a lot differently."

Harry rested his palm on his forehead as he tried to process Draco's rant. Something about his owl being a peacock? And damn it, Draco had been behind that missing Potions essay from Fourth Year? He forced himself to focus on the real problem. "Wait… are you saying you wrote this?"

"It's my name on the letter, isn't it?"

Harry sputtered. "But…"

"Yes, I wrote letters to Harry Potter as a kid, get over it." Draco scowled. "I did."

Draco had written him letters? Letters which had gone unanswered, until Harry had insulted him on the train? Harry began to realize why Draco had hated him so much as a child. The first letter had to have been from him, then. Even so… "But you didn't write this."

"Oh, did I dream that up too? Seriously, Potter, you can't keep blaming all of my faults on nightmares."

It bothered Harry that Draco thought writing to him was a fault. It bothered him even more that Draco was back to calling him Potter, but he certainly wasn't going to retaliate in kind. "I'm not saying you didn't write to me. I'm just saying you didn't write this particular letter. Watch. Tempus!" Glowing letters appeared above the letter, revealing that it had been written a few hours ago.

"But…" Draco seemed at a loss for words. He turned to Harry. "Did you do this?"

"Why would I write letters to myself?"

"I write letters to myself sometimes," Draco said indignantly. "It made Pansy jealous. Doesn't work on you though."

Harry buried his head in his hands. "Well, I don't write letters to myself. Someone saw the letter you sent me—which, by the way, I received this year, not when I was a kid— and sent this one as a prank."

"Someone?" Draco prodded. "It was George Weasley, wasn't it?"

Harry's mouth dropped open. "It took me months to figure that out!"

Draco scoffed. "It would have taken you seconds to figure out if you had told me earlier. I knew he didn't show up on our doorstop at midnight to show you a joke." Draco gestured with his hand. "Let me see them."

"What?"

"The other letters," Draco said. "If this one was written today, and it took you months to figure it out, George must have sent you other letters."

"I'm not sure you want to read them."

Draco offered him a condescending smile. "Forgive me if I don't trust your judgment at this moment."

Harry shuffled his feet. Draco reading the letters could only possibly hurt him more. Still, what right did he have to hold them back? It was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. It wouldn't be again. "Alright. Let me fetch them."

He returned with copies of the letters George had sent. (With any luck, the originals were now lining some Pygmy Puff's litterbox.) A sinking feeling grew in his chest as he resumed his previous task of tying and untying his shoelaces.

The first letter made Draco tremble. The second one made him cry. He crumpled it into a ball and threw it at Harry. "Get out," he gritted.

"Draco…"

"Nurse Atwood, he's hurting me!" Draco shouted.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Harry grabbed his coat from the floor. "I'll come back," he promised.

"Try," Draco sneered. "I triple-Crup dare you."

Draco triple-Crup dares you to review. Thank you again for your patience! The next chapter will be coming soon.