With a loud, lazy yawn, Harry stretched his arms over his head as his tired eyes adjusted to the light filling his bedroom. He turned over, ready to press a kiss on Ginny's cheek, but found her side of their bed empty. It was uncommon for either of them to wake up before the other, but Harry paid it no mind when he kicked off his sheets, slid on old slippers, and headed out.

Harry was hoping his nostrils would pick up the scent of a hearty, home-cooked breakfast, and he did (much to the appreciation of his empty stomach), but his other senses were also bombarded. 

"Morning, Harry."

"Afternoon is more like it."

Harry crossed his arms over his bare chest, blinking in bewilderment at the huddle in his living room. 

"It's not that late, is it?" he asked once he accepted the loud intrusion.

"Past noon, mate," said George. "You were out like a baby after its feeding."

"With the kicking and stealing of blankets," Ginny added as she handed her husband an old t-shirt she had Accio-ed for him. Despite her quip, he stilled smiled gratefully at her before slipping it on.  "It's where James gets it from. I swear, that boy almost crushed a couple of bones when he was in the womb from how much he moved about."

Mrs. Weasley, who had been serving her daughter's guests some tea, said, "It reminds me of the twins. It was like a party for nine months for them. My pelvis was never quite the same after that."

Before stuffing a scone into his mouth, Ron grimaced. "Please, woman, no one wants to hear about your pelvis."

"Fred came out throwing punches," George said with a smirk despite the sad glint in his eyes that would forever be a part of him. "Got a good swing at the Healer, didn't he, Mum?"

Ginny snorted. "Fred nor you have ever had the ability to kick arse psychically."

"Don't try me, Ginevra," George warned. "I can still wrestle you despite your elderly age."

Harry quickly placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, holding her back before she and George broke something in their living room. It wouldn't be the first time, either; Ginny was always willing to settle sibling disputes with her fists if given the opportunity. Despite their height and rougher build, her brothers always obliged, too. Honestly, it terrified Harry to see where their daughter Lily got it from—except none of her brothers dared to challenge her. 

"Not that it isn't nice to see you all," Harry said, "but why are you all here?"

Hermione laughed after taking a sip of her tea. "You look frightened, Harry. Don't worry, this isn't an intervention."

"Yeah, mate, the next one is for Ron," George laughed, too.

"Me?" Ron hissed, brows furrowed. "Why me?"

George grinned wickedly. "Well, you've put on some weight, Ronniekens. Now, we aren't here to body shame you; we embrace your extra pounds, but your relationship with food is not normal. Keeping going like this and you won't fit through the Floo."

"It's baby weight!" Ron shouted in outraged before he dropped his scone on the plate. "And I'm still fit!"

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. "George," her usual scolding tone came out, "stop being rude to Ron. He's fine. He's just older now. As such, his metabolism isn't what it used to be when he was a teenager. It's perfectly normal for men his age."

George didn't release the leer on his face. "Sure, that's why Kingsley is thinking of retiring him next year."

Ron's gaped, jaw dropped. "What?"

"Didn't know?" George continued. "Harry, can't believe you haven't told Ron Bilius here about his future sacking. Not to worry, little brother, there's always a position as caretaker in the shop for you. That's what family is for, isn't it?"

Usually, Harry was one to enjoy George and Ron's antics, but he had yet to have his breakfast and his patience was nonexistent. Alike Hermione, he grunted at the two. "You're not getting sacked, Ron. Now, will someone tell me what's the reunion for?"

"Zabini," Ginny answered. "He and Lavender have been keeping in touch for a few weeks now, speculating about Seamus' death. She reached out to him because he has the financial means to open a private investigation on the matter seeing as they both think the Ministry did not handle the case properly."

Harry avoided making eye contact with Ron. "There was no case because there was no foul play," he said to the audience huddled in his living room in his best, serious voice. "Lavender was given the option to sue the potions shop for the explosion, but she chose not to. Where is all this coming from?"

Although Harry had schooled his facial expression perfectly, he had forgotten that he grew up with the Brightest Witch of the Age. There was not even a single blink he or Ron could make without Hermione being able to decipher it. As such, her own suspicion rose to a whole new level at the anger in Harry's green eyes and Ron's stiff shoulders. 

"Can you blame her?" Hermione pressed. "Her husband just died—our friend. Seamus left behind a child, a child that's all that Lavender has left. She wants to be able to answer Dash's questions as to why he no longer has a father."

"Don't, Hermione," Harry growled at her. "Don't make it seem like I am not invested in Seamus' death like everyone else. You bloody well know I did everything I could to make matters easier for Lavender and Dash, but there is nothing else to do. She can open her investigation with Zabini's help, but all she will do is continue hurting and grieving. She needs to let Seamus' memory rest."

"I didn't mean—"

"You said it yourself, Seamus was our friend. If he'd been murdered, you don't think I would've been out there, hunting down the aresholes that did this? Don't you think I would do everything in my power to get justice for him?" Harry did not allow Hermione to respond to his anger when he added, "Zabini is not my concern. I can't help reign him in, I'm not Cho."

The tension in the Potters' living room was pliable. Everyone held their breaths as Harry and Hermione stared each other down. It was common knowledge that among the two best friends, he'd be the one to give in first, but this time it was Hermione that looked away from him, holding her tongue.

Mrs. Weasley rose up from her seat, wiping her hands on the floral apron she had taken from Ginny's stash. "How about a spot of breakfast, Harry? I'll get you something before you're off to the Ministry."

Despite not feeling all that merry, Harry still managed to smile at his mother-in-law. He knew he did not have her fooled, either. Mrs. Weasley had lived through two wars in her lifetime; she knew when danger was near. But like the mother she was, she could sense Harry's distress over the terrible circumstance and did not press him. All she did was place a hand on the side of his face from time to time, scanning him for reassurance that he was alive and whole before she carried on like nothing was amiss. 

"Mum, don't—Mum!" Ginny groaned, turning to glare at her husband. "If you'd gotten up at a reasonable hour to have breakfast with Teddy and me, my mother would not be waiting in my kitchen to tell me I lack in wifely duties."

"Uh, please," Ron grunted, "no one wants to hear about your wifely duties."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him, but said, "Hermione, join me, will you? Face this lecture with me, please."

Right as the women walked off in the direction of the kitchen, Harry's ears were invaded with—

"Close call, mate."

"You should consider telling Lavender like you did Luna, Harry."

Harry narrowed eyes at his best friend. "Really, Ron? You told George?"

Ron shrugged, reaching for his scone again to stuff it in his mouth. "It 'ort uff 'lipped out, 'ate."

George looked incredibly satisfied with himself. "Can't keep anything from me, Potter. Now, since we're kicking arse, and I am known to be bloody good at that, when do I get my Auror title?"

Harry snorted. "I don't think so, George."

However, George was no longer listening when he said, "I want an office with a loo inside and a giant sign that reads George Weasley: Wicked Auror and Sexy Man."

X

Draco's silver eyes were glued to a new report on the man who raided Malfoy Manor, fists balled and jaw clenched; he was too wrapped up in the hate and thirst for revenge that would never go away (no matter how many times he swore Hermione pacified him) to notice the man on his desk.  

It was not until Blaise said, "You're late," that Draco even registered he was at his office. 

"Didn't know I owed you explanations about my whereabouts," he huffed at his friend. 

"Not me, but the Ministry. Just because you're an Auror now, Draco, doesn't mean they don't keep tabs on all their former Death Eaters."

Draco glanced down where Blaise's finger pointed to. The sleeves of his black button-up had been rolled up, exposing the shameful mark.

"You have three seconds to get out of my chair before they find you missing," Draco hissed as he dropped his workload on the edge of his desk. "And I will make it painful."

Blaise scoffed. "You're no fun," he said as he put down his feet, spinning twice on the black leather chair before turning to look at a frowning Draco. "We were supposed to have lunch, you dickhead. You left me waiting. Then I come here and you're off running your own errands like some rookie. And no one offered me a glass of Firewhiskey. The Ministry has terrible service."

"We're not a pub," Draco grunted. "Honestly, how the hell Zabini Corporations survives with a dunce like you as president is beyond me. Shall I start giving your children money for their birthdays so they can save just in case you lose everything?"

Blaise's amused expression was now gone. "First of all," he said as he stood, "my children are currently worth more than the entire Auror Department, twice over. Secondly, fuck off, I'm an amazing businessman. Besides, everyone loves me. People invest in Zabini Corps just to see my face."

"Can I pay to not see your face? You'd be twice as rich if you have that feature." Draco moved to his chair when Blaise moved to the opposite side, not before elbowing him hard on the ribs. "It's good you're here, actually," he said before Blaise got his feelings hurt (and Draco would have to deal with his tantrum) "I've been getting owls from Goyle for weeks now with no real message. Until now."

Blaise took the envelope Draco had to search for in his uncharacteristically messy drawers. "Salazar, mate. I haven't spoken to Goyle since Luna and Dean married." He pulled out the letter from inside, but did not read it immediately when he started to smirk. "He read the article about young, billionaires in Britain and now wants to borrow money from me, right? I don't blame him, either, actually. He married Padma Patil—if her habits haven't changed from schooldays, the bloke must be on the verge of bankruptcy."

Draco sighed in frustration. "He married Pavarti Patil, idiot."

"Different name, same person," Blaise waved off before finally reading Goyle's letter. 

Draco,

I am sorry for my previous ambiguous letters. It seems, after all these years, I still have not found the right words. Perhaps it is that I have never had the right incentive. Now I have two.

You have done well for yourself as an Auror. I am proud of you, my old friend. You kept your name, but polished it to mean something new. It is admirable, really. I hear you are Potter's second in command, no matter how much Weasley insists otherwise or Potter tries to appease him. You are in a high position and I need to exploit that. 

I need information on your protection program for children. I need to know what happens to them after both their parents have passed away. I need to know where they go and who qualifies to adopt them aside from immediate relatives. 

I need to know if my children will be safe after I am gone. 

G.G.

Blaise looked up at Draco. "Shit."

"I know."

"Who knew Goyle could write. By Salazar, he used proper grammar and everything. I am impressed, mate. Truly. It seems getting married to that Ravenclaw actually helped. You can't deny the sorting hat got that pairing right."

Draco grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at Blaise. "Not the writing, you thickhead! The content of the damn letter!" He snatched the envelope back. "And for the last time, he married Pavarti, the Gryffindor twin."

Blaise snorted. "Like I bloody care who he married."

"I'm serious, Zabini."

"Fine, yes, something's amiss," Blaise said with a frown of his own. "But given all of the bullshit we've had to endured in the last couple of months, I really don't want Goyle's added on. I'm a shit excuse of a person, I know, but that's the truth."

Although Draco had to learn to live with the curse that came with having Blaise Zabini as his best friend, one of the things he appreciated was his ability to say exactly what Draco was thinking. Most often than not, the thoughts were terrible, but they were true. There was a lot of shit they had to deal with here, Draco could not think about the troubles that plagued his old friend's life.

Except...

"He has children, Blaise," Draco said, crossing his arms. "He's asking for help for them. I don't know what he got himself into, but he wants to protect his kids. And as someone who has a daughter caught in a permanent state of coma...I don't want them to get hurt."

With a sigh, Blaise nodded. "Yeah. I know. So...What do you need me to do?"

Before Draco could discuss his plan of action, the door of his office opened to allow his secretary in. 

"Excuse me, Mister Malfoy," Tanya said with a bright smile. "Auror Potter sent this archives over. He asked if you could look them over and then report back to him."

"Potter's here? It only took him all bloody morning." He scoffed before motioning the woman to bring in the files.

Blaise flailed on his way up from the seat he had taken on the open chair in front of Draco. His hands smoothed out the wrinkles of his expensive attire as he grinned crookedly at Tanya. "How lovely to see you, Miss Rowle. You're looking beautiful today."

Tanya laughed, cheeks pink. "Oh, behave yourself, Mister Zabini, or I will have to tell your wife about your flirting."

"Cho knows who she married, sweetheart."

Draco knitted his brows. "What the fuck are you on about? You're more monogamous than anyone, Zabini. Now, either sort my mail, or get the hell out. Better yet, go check on Teddy. Make sure he is organizing those Azkaban files properly."

"Good one, Drake," Blaise scoffed. "Like I'm going to be doing manual labor for the Ministry without wages. Ha. I'll just go find Potter; there's something Lavender wanted me to run by him."

Blaise bowed at Tanya with a grander, more flashy smile before swagging out of Draco's office door. Outside of the glass walls, he hip-thrust twice and winked before really being out of sight. Tanya laughed and Draco really wished he could  go back in time and not befriend Zabini.

"Oh, before I forget, Mister Malfoy. The Head Auror wanted me to let you know he is moving the location of the recent cases from their current deposit. He seems to think they are not well secured there."

Draco nodded at the information, not really listening as he looked back at the file that had his attention before he stumbled on Blaise. "Did you send Mrs. Finnegan the information on her new vault at Gringotts?"

"I did, sir."

"Good."

Lucius Malfoy—Death Eater; murdered

Seamus Finnegan—Former D.A member; murdered in Diagon Alley.

He could not blink away from the last two entries the Aurors had written in for the list of the dead. Draco felt a weight on his chest, squeezing at his heart. The rate of it kicked up in a second. A cold shred of fear licked up his spine, humming in his eardrums. He shook his head, trying to evaporate the odd sensation, but then he felt his Dark Mark burn. Draco knew Voldemort was dead, but it was like evil could sense evil.

Kevin Goldstein—Ten year-old son of deceased Anthony Goldstein; murdered

Zoe Smith—Fifteen year-old daughter of Zacharias Smith; tortured and murdered. 

A cold hand was place on Draco's shoulder. "They're just children," Tanya said to him. "That's what scares you, isn't it? That they can kill anyone. Even your children."

"Not...Not my children," Draco forced his words past gritted teeth.

Tanya's hold on his shoulder, tightened, sinking nails in. "They will kill your children," she bent slightly, whispering harshly into his ear. "The first one to go is your youngest. Poor little Demetria. You failed her."

Draco tried to protest, to defy her, but there was something about her eyes that transfixed him, that forced him to keep his mouth closed. He was losing control of his body; his muscles locked, his skin ran cold, and his senses were fading. 

"Don't worry, you will solve this case before it is all done." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And it will be done soon."

With that, she pulled herself upright, removing her hand from him. She took her seat in front of him, quill and notepad ready.

"Did you send Mrs. Finnegan the information on her new vault at Gringotts?" Draco asked, the color returning to the room and the oxygen coming back to his lungs. The past minute faded from his mind. 

"I did, sir. "

"Good," said Draco as he looked back at the file he had been invested in before he stumbled in on Blaise.