Second Chances

Harry awoke reluctantly. He felt as if a hippogriff had tap-danced on his skull and then crawled into his mouth to die. He was, therefore, understandably unsure as to whether it would be safe to sit up, to open his eyes, or even to breathe. One day he really would learn to stay away from firewhisky.

Shifting over onto his back, Harry groaned as pain exploded behind his eyes. If he could drag himself out of bed, he would swallow his pride and beg Severus for a hangover remedy.

With a sigh, Harry forced his eyes open -- and realised immediately that he was not in his quarters at Hogwarts. He gingerly turned his head to one side to survey the room, trying to recall the events on the previous evening.

"Definitely not Hogwarts," he thought. He suspected he was in a flat belonging to the young man lying in bed beside him.

Harry covered his face with his hands, wishing that when he looked around again that he would find himself safely in his own bed. He recalled very little of what had happened in the Muggle pub the night before; he could only remember choking down the Muggle equivalent of firewhisky and dancing, rather badly, with someone who looked nothing like the man whose bed he occupied. The not-unpleasant ache in his muscles made him think that he had probably done something that he would regret.

Carefully turning on his side, Harry felt on the bedside table for his glasses. His fingers closed over the cool metal and glass almost at once. He slipped on his glasses and took another look at the man lying beside him. At least the bloke was good-looking. In fact, Harry imagined that when he was drunk the night before the man had probably looked a good deal like Draco.

Harry turned away to ease out of the bed, and his eyes fell on a small packet on the table beside the bed. A small, empty packet. His heart gave a twinge as shame and regret settled in.

"A Muggle," Harry whispered into the quiet of the room. "Draco would be horrified." The thought of Draco brought a fresh wave of pain. Pushing his grief aside, Harry began to gather up his discarded clothing, dressing as quickly and quietly as his aching head and churning stomach would allow.

Once he was dressed, Harry turned to look at the man one last time. With his features relaxed in sleep, the man looked young and innocent. Harry sincerely hoped that the young man would not regret their night together the way that he himself did.

As Harry turned toward the door, he caught sight of the clock and cursed under his breath. He was late for McGonagall's start-of-term staff meeting. He slipped out of the stranger's flat, made certain that he would be unobserved, and then brandished his wand. He Apparated outside the wards surrounding Hogwarts, collapsing to his knees and clutching his roiling stomach. The disorientation of Apparation coupled with his hangover was almost more than Harry could bear, but he forced himself to his feet and walked toward the school as quickly as his current state would allow.

Some minutes later, he burst into the staff room. He mumbled an apology at McGonagall and then fell into a chair beside Snape, panting and sweating from the walk and from the effort he was putting into not emptying his stomach. McGonagall glared at him over the top of her glasses, and he couldn't meet her gaze.

"So glad you decided to join us Professor," Minerva said. The disapproval in her voice made Harry want to sink down lower into his chair.

Harry forced himself to sit up straight and not stare at the carpet like a naughty schoolboy. He set his jaw and forced himself to look up at McGonagall. A bit of movement and a flash of platinum blond hair in the periphery of his vision caused him to turn his head. He found himself looking right into Draco's eyes.

Harry knew how he looked. His hair was in wild disarray, his clothing - his Muggle clothing - rumpled and spotted with whisky and ale, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks pale. He knew he stank of alcohol and sweat and sex and despair. He hadn't wanted Draco to see him like this. He lowered his eyes, ashamed.

Around him, the staff meeting had begun, but Harry had no idea what was being said. All he could see was the shock and pain in Draco's eyes. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart. He didn't think he could do this. He didn't think he could see Draco every day and not touch him, kiss him, hold him. He knew he could not - and would not - see Draco every day and not love him. His feelings hadn't changed, and he didn't think they ever would.

Harry tried to attend to what McGonagall was saying, but all he could hear was the echo of his not-so-long-ago promise to Draco. He had sworn that no matter whether their relationship lasted or failed that he would not revert to his old, self-destructive habits. He had broken his word within days of Damien's ultimatum, and the guilt had been eating away at him since. But now Draco knew that Harry had cast aside his vow.

Glancing up, Harry saw Draco looking at him with some odd mixture of pity and disappointment. His heart clenched. Then his stomach rolled and he abruptly fled the staff room. He dashed down the hall, barely making it to the nearest boys' toilet before losing the contents of his stomach. He knelt on the cold tile for what seemed like forever before the violent retching finally subsided.

Harry simply knelt there on the floor, too spent to try to get up. He instinctively recoiled when gentle hands lifted him to his feet. To his surprise, it was Severus who had come to his rescue. The older man helped Harry to the sink to wash his face and rinse out his mouth.

"Can you make it to your room unaided?" Severus asked. His voice was neither gentle nor sarcastic; rather, his tone was the same matter-of-fact one he had adopted for conversations with Harry during the war. Somehow, Snape's lack of emotion comforted Harry in a way that gentleness would not have.

Harry nodded. His rooms seemed impossibly far away, but he wouldn't ask anyone for help. He could feel Severus' eyes on him, weighing the truth for himself.

"I'll send one of the house elves with a potion," Snape added. "And I will let Minerva know that you've taken ill."

Harry jerked his head up to look at Severus. "Why would you lie for me?" he asked, his abused throat making his voice raspy.

A hint of a smirk ghosted across Severus' mouth. "I would think, Potter, that you of all people would have realised by now that love is the most debilitating illness of all."

** ** **

Thanks to Snape's potion and several hours of sleep, the physical effects of the alcohol faded from Harry's system. He arrived in the Great Hall clean and dressed in his best robes shortly before the students were due to arrive. As he made his way toward the Head Table, a familiar flash of pale blond caught his eye. He swallowed his hurt and fear, and turned to face his fellow professor.

"Draco," he greeted quietly.

"Harry," Draco replied civilly. There was nothing in his words, his tone, or his manner to indicate any of what he might be thinking or feeling.

Harry drank in the sight of the other man, really seeing him now in a way he hadn't in the staff room earlier. Draco was beautiful, as ever. He was dressed in simple black robes, but Harry could still picture him sprawled, naked, on his bed, his pale skin and hair a perfect contrast against the midnight blue of the satin sheets. His eyes held none of the joy or ecstasy that Harry had seen in them when they had made love, but neither did they hold the anguish he had seen in them when Damien had issued his ultimatum. His expression was the same carefully cultivated neutral expression he usually showed the world.

"You cut your hair," Harry said, absently reaching out as if to touch Draco's hair, but pulling away before he made contact.

"Sheila suggested it," Draco replied levelly. "For Adrian's sake. To disassociate me from my father."

"How is Adrian?" Harry asked, unconsciously shifting closer to Draco as he spoke.

"Adrian isn't the one I'm worried about," Draco replied, his emotions carefully masqued. Harry's own expression held concern as well as confusion. "Damien thinks you used your influence with the Ministry to have his Grandfather arrested. He thinks you did it to get back at him, and he's understandably upset about the whole situation."

Harry blanched. He had considered how Lucius' arrest might affect the children - and Draco - but he had decided in the end that he couldn't let their reactions weaken his resolve. He had not, however, expected Damien to blame himself. "You know that isn't true, Draco. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I...it was just time."

"And how exactly am I supposed to explain that to a twelve-year-old?" Draco spat, the masque slipping for a moment to reveal the hurt and fear in his silver-grey eyes.

Harry turned away sadly. He had no idea what to say.

The other teachers were trickling into the Great Hall now. Harry took a seat as far from Draco as he could without being terribly obvious about it. He ended up sitting between Snape and an empty seat that would be occupied by whoever had been found to replace Madame Hooch as Hogwarts' flying instructor.

Harry watched as the Malfoy children entered the Hall; he assumed that they had arrived earlier in the day with their father and had been tucked out of sight somewhere until now. Adrian gave his sister a quick hug before moving off to find his seat, but he ignored his twin completely. Damien flopped down at the Slytherin table, sulking. Between Draco and his children, Harry knew he had a difficult year ahead of him.

A few minutes later, the students began to file into the Hall and take their seats. Eleanor Weasley gave Sera a friendly wave from across the room and patted Adrian's head as she walked by him on the way to the Gryffindor table. Armand followed behind her, but gave no acknowledgment to Seraphine; once he was seated, however, he allowed his eyes to stray to the girl, and the two exchanged a shy smile.

The side door opened as Professor Sprout brought in the stool and the Sorting Hat. It opened again a moment later to admit the Headmistress and the new flying instructor. Harry stared in shock, the colour draining from his face.

"No. Oh Merlin, no. No, no, no." The colour returned to Harry's cheeks in the form of an embarrassed blush. He glanced around the Great Hall, looking for a way to avoid being seen by the new teacher. Flustered, he turned to Snape and said "Tell Minerva I quit."

Harry stood, intent on getting as far away from this unwanted encounter as possible, but Snape closed his hand around Harry's wrist in a vice-like grip, preventing his escape. "Sit down," he hissed.

"Let me go," Harry said, his voice weak. "Please."

The shock of hearing Harry beg him for anything registered briefly on Severus' face before the emotionless masque slipped back into place. "I will not spend the rest of the term making excuses for you," he said coldly.

"You won't have to. I'm going. I can't do this," Harry said, struggling ineffectually against Severus.

"Let him go," Draco said quietly. Snape let go at once, as Harry looked up at Draco in confusion. "Take my seat, Harry," he murmured. "Go."

Harry fled. Draco turned just in time to greet a puzzled-looking McGonagall and the new flying instructor.

"Ah. The famous Oliver Wood," Draco said courteously. He extended his hand to the new teacher and forced himself not to gouge the other man's eyes out. "Hogwarts is a bit of a step down from the International Quidditch League, isn't it?"

Wood launched into a boring and likely well-rehearsed spiel about needing something more challenging. His rambling was thankfully cut short as the Sorting began.

At the other end of the High Table, Harry forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He pretended to watch the students being Sorted, but his mind wandered. He wondered if Oliver's unexpected appearance was karma fucking with him. Now that the school term had started, he wouldn't be able to indulge himself the way he had over the summer; he had promised himself from the beginning that his drinking binges would stop on the first day of the academic term. He would have to find a constructive outlet for his misery.

When "Weasley, Lauren," was called, Harry forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Lauren, unsurprisingly, was sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry made a mental note to owl Ron and congratulate him. The Sorting done, Minerva made a few announcements and introduced the new teachers before giving the signal for the feast to begin.

Harry pushed his food around on his plate. When Professor Sprout asked if he was still feeling poorly, Harry merely nodded. How could he possibly explain even half of what was really wrong with him? His life was a complete mess. He was a complete mess. In fact, he felt very much the way he had in the months following Sirius' death. There was something about the unknown that was infinitely harder to deal with than cold, hard fact.

He remembered various people - Dumbledore, the counselor, Remus, and others - mentioning 'lack of closure' after Sirius fell through the veil. That lack of closure - that sense that things were not settled - applied to the end of his relationship with Draco, as well. And to the disaster that was his short-lived romance with Oliver. Nothing had truly been settled in either case, though decisions had been made. Maybe what he needed was to face the both of them - separately, of course - and really settle matters.

Harry was startled out of his ponderings when the dishes changed to desserts. He eyed the sweets warily, but finally gave in to the desire to try just a bit of the treacle tart. He forced himself to focus on the tart and give his mind a rest. When the students left for their houses, Harry hurried away to his room. Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with Draco and Oliver. Tonight he would wallow in his misery a bit and hopefully get a little more sleep.

** ** **

The next morning, Harry skipped breakfast in the Great Hall, opting instead for tea and biscuits in the comfort and seclusion of his room. After his impromptu meal, he placed a quick fire call to Dr. Ponsford to schedule a meeting for the afternoon.

By staying away from the Great Hall and keeping only to his classroom and office, Harry was able to avoid any sort of confrontation with either Draco or Oliver. His first day of teaching passed with a minimum of fuss - thanks in no small part, he was sure, to the fact that none of the Malfoy children were in his classes. As he settled back into the comfort of the familiar routine, he began to think that perhaps he had overreacted to Wood's presence at Hogwarts. Just the same, he felt it wise to keep his distance from the other man.

So thinking, he wandered from his classroom down toward the entrance hall. If he left for Hogsmeade now, he would have time before his appointment to fill Remus in on the latest. He had barely stepped through the front doors when a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Professor Potter?"

Harry looked around, smiling automatically as Adrian Malfoy jogged up the steps toward him. "Hello, Adrian."

"Hi," Adrian replied, grinning. "Uh...I have to go into Hogsmeade today, and I was wondering if you'd like to walk with me and Dad. You know, like you used to?"

Before Harry could think of an appropriate response, Draco appeared from somewhere behind Harry. "I don't think that would be wise, Adrian," he said simply.

"Because of Damien?" Adrian asked, his hands clenching into fists.

"We are not going to discuss this here," Draco hissed.

"No?" Adrian challenged, his eyes blazing. "I think we are. I think I intend to stand right here and tell you exactly what I think of your perfect son." Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Adrian cut him off. "No! I'm not going to listen to any more of your...your bullshit about family ties and loyalty and sticking together. Damien hurt you. He hurt all of us. And if you don't have the balls to stand up to him, then I guess it's up to me to do it for you."

Adrian turned and stalked away, leaving Harry and Draco staring after him, speechless. Harry was startled and somewhat disturbed by this sudden outburst from the usually mild-tempered child. Tendrils of guilt wrapped around his heart again; he knew that he was at the center of this family's turmoil and responsible for hurting the very people whom he wanted most to protect.

The boy marched across the grounds to where his brother stood talking to a group of fellow Slytherins, and Draco swore beneath his breath. He fully expected yet another fistfight to break out between the two boys. To his surprise, Adrian grabbed Damien by the front of his robes and dragged him away from the other Slytherins. Damien resisted at first, but something that Adrian said obviously persuaded him to go along willingly. He shook off Adrian's hand, and the two walked side-by-side towards Hogsmeade.

Draco started down the steps, intending to intercept the twins, but Harry's hand on his arm stilled him.

"Maybe it would be better to let them work this out on their own," Harry said. "Likely, Adrian is only going to give Damien a piece of his mind on the walk to Sheila's office. Perhaps it will help relieve some of the tension between them." Secretly, Harry also hoped that Adrian would be able to persuade his brother to set things right.

His eyes never leaving the retreating forms of his sons, Draco nodded almost imperceptibly. Harry had a valid point. The boys were quickly becoming young men. Sooner or later, they would have to fight their own battles, and he would have to let them. Might as well start now.

Suddenly aware of the warmth of Harry's hand on his arm, Draco pulled away. "I've got work to do," he said. He turned toward the doors and trudged up the steps, forcing himself not to react to the wounded look in Harry's eyes. He had to be cold; he had to be cruel. If Harry knew how much he cared, he wouldn't move forward with his life. He would not, could not, break his word to Damien, which left no future together for himself and Harry. It didn't matter whether Draco loved Harry; in love or not, his children came first. And he did love Harry. He loved him enough to let him go.