Second Chances

Hagrid sighed heavily as he closed the door of his little cottage. Fang strained at his leash, eager for the walk, but the gamekeeper of Hogwarts dragged his feet, ambling wearily behind the oversized boarhound. It had not been a good summer.

Things began going wrong before the school year even ended. You-Know-Who was back, and had already killed his first victim -- a Hogwarts student. Poor Diggory. Such a promising lad. And poor Harry. For all that he survived the encounter, he looked to be in a world of pain himself -- like he wished he died instead.

But Hagrid couldn't stick around to comfort the boy like he wanted. Professor Dumbledore had asked him and Madame Maxime to recruit the giants to their side -- or at least keep them from siding with You-Know-Who. Although Olympe wanted to work together, he, Hagrid, had suggested they split up to cover more territory. Clearly a mistake. His mission to the Northern giants hadn't gone at all well.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was a complete and utter disaster. Probably the most important thing Professor Dumbledore ever asked him to do -- well, maybe second to retrieving baby Harry from Godric's Hollow. And he'd totally cocked everything up.

Most full-blooded giants wouldn't even talk with him. They turned away and just pretended he wasn't there. A few would listen, but largely replied to his pleas with noncommittal grunts. And some of them... He was lucky, if he could call it that, to escape with his life. He tried to reach his own mother, but he couldn't even get through to her. She never answered his owls, and his attempts to find out where she lived so he could visit were spurned. Finally, he just gave up.

Hagrid had hoped that visiting Charlie Weasley in Romania might ease his mind some. Watching dragons had always raised his spirits before. But even that failed him. Poor Norbert was one of the smallest Ridgebacks on the preserve. He seemed really touchy, and flamed whenever other dragons got near. Charlie kept trying to reassure him that some dragons were just less social than others, but Hagrid wasn't fooled. Something wasn't right with Norbert, and it was probably something he had done wrong in raising him. And when Charlie bent the rules to let him have a closer look, Norbert didn't even recognize him when he'd approached. Just another rejection to cap everything off.

And now, barely a month later, Hagrid was back at Hogwarts with nothing to show for his efforts. Professor Dumbledore was understanding, of course. Dumbledore was always understanding. He claimed that at least this meant that the giants probably wouldn't side with You-Know-Who -- maybe they'd just steer clear of the battles altogether. And Olympe was still talking to the southern giants, as far as they knew, so clearly she was doing something right.

But the Headmaster was a busy man, especially with all the renovations Hogwarts was undergoing this summer, so they'd only had the one real conversation. Hagrid was mostly left to his own devices, which, for the last several days, primarily involved moping and drinking in his hut, his beloved boarhound his only companion.

Fang lunged towards the lake, breaking Hagrid's reverie. "Wha' is it, boy?" The wolfhound growled and barked, trying so hard to drag Hagrid towards the water that he balanced on his hind legs, and frantically pawed the air. With a grunt of surprise, Hagrid released the leash, and the dog pelted down the hillside towards the shore, Hagrid following warily.

Coming over the rise, Hagrid saw Fang nosing at a crumpled black figure. It looked human. Hagrid clambered worriedly down the slope.

It was definitely a body, he saw as he approached. It was face-down in the sand, the tide lapping at its legs. Fang tried to nudge the body with his nose, looked up at Hagrid and whined.

Hagrid gently pushed Fang to one side and knelt before the body. Cautiously, he flipped it over to see whether it was alive. The arm was clammy, wet and cold. Hagrid closed his eyes and rested one ear on the chest. It rose and fell weakly, and Hagrid sighed with relief. Whoever it was, he was still alive. Hagrid looked up at its face. His jaw dropped in astonishment as he saw the last person he ever expected to find at Hogwarts over the summer, much less half-drowned by the lake:

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was having a wonderful summer. Vacation had gotten off to a bad start when those cowardly Gryffindors hexed him on the train home. But now, everything was looking golden. The Dark Lord had been restored, and as he gained strength, the Malfoy family's power was rising once again. What's more, Lord Voldemort was inducting new Death Eaters, and Draco would be among the first wave of recruits.

Too many followers had turned traitor in the interregnum. So Lord Voldemort was taking steps to ensure only the most loyal servants would be part of his inner circle. He was starting, appropriately enough, with the descendants of present and former Death Eaters -- children presumably raised in a proper environment of respect for the Dark Arts. Further, he would begin with students of his own alma mater, though nobody was sure whether this expressed a perverse pride or just a desire to stick it to Headmaster Dumbledore.

Lucius had shared the news over dinner, ordering the house elves to open a rare vintage of wine from the cellar to celebrate the honor. Draco's next few weeks passed like a whirlwind. Narcissa took him shopping for new clothing, and had her stylist cut his hair. Lucius told him stories of the Dark Lord's habits and preferences, advised him on protocol, and every evening related the latest news from the inner circle. As details about the initiation ceremony emerged, Lucius reviewed them with Draco until Draco could recite them letter-perfect. One day, Lucius even flew Draco out to the island where the ritual would be held, giving Draco time to familiarize himself with the surroundings. Narcissa joined them for a picnic lunch, from a vantage point where they could enjoy the view from the cliffs, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks below.

And thus, Draco Malfoy stood proudly in his best dress robes with Alrakis, his eagle owl, perched firmly on his left shoulder. Vincent Crabbe, Marcus Flint and Gregory Goyle were also arrayed in their finery, waiting nervously beside him. His yearmates were both carrying their toads, while a thin mean-looking cat twined itself sinuously around Flint's legs and glared at the other boys.

Their fathers and the other Death Eaters had walked over the rise to stand by the cliff, leaving the boys mostly unattended, away from the action. They could hear faint conversation in the distance, but were never totally alone. Dementors wandered about the grounds, sending cold chills down Draco's spine every time they passed close by.

Time passed and the clouds parted to reveal a moonless sky. Suddenly, a masked figure approached the boys. Even though his face was hidden, Draco recognized the rolling gait as Crabbe's father. He approached Vincent, wrapped an arm around him, and led him off towards the cliffside where the other Death Eaters were standing. When they heard Crabbe scream, Flint's back stiffened and Goyle shot Draco a scared look. But the boys remained otherwise still and silent.

After things quieted down, another masked figure approached them. Flint's father raised his mask and smiled at his son, saying "Make me proud, boy." Marcus picked up his cat and the three of them walked towards the circle. Goyle started stroking his toad, though Draco couldn't tell which of them that was supposed to comfort. Eventually, Goyle's father came for him, leaving Draco alone in the clearing. Draco closed his eyes and tried to relax, rehearsing the words his father had drilled him in. He was next.

Finally, his father walked over. Draco felt comforted by his presence, even though he didn't raise his mask. Lucius reached out an arm as if to tousle Draco's hair, then paused as if thinking better of it and merely patted Alrakis' head, smoothing down the feathers. "Are you ready?" he asked. Draco nodded solemnly. "Don't disappoint me," he said affectionately, as the two walked side-by-side towards the cliff.

Lucius led him to a semicircle of Death Eaters, all masked and robed. It was terrifying, and yet exhilarating. His father led him to a shorter dark figure at the apex, bowed, and then stepped backwards into the circle, leaving Draco alone to face the Dark Lord.

With Alrakis perched firmly on his left shoulder, and his wand held reversed in his right hand, Draco bowed before Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord took the wand in his pale spider-like hand and motioned for Draco to rise, giving the boy his first look at Voldemort's face. It was pale and inhuman, more like a snake than a man.

Draco shivered slightly as he nodded and backed away towards the center of the semicircle. He looked anxiously (and he hoped, surreptitiously) around for his father and friends, but a friendly face proved impossible to find behind the masks. Never had he felt so alone.

"Draco Malfoy..." Voldemort whispered, immediately capturing Draco's full attention. Draco swallowed convulsively.

"Yes, my lord?" Draco made the mistake of looking into Lord Voldemort's eyes and immediately regretted it. The scarlet slits scrutinized him, as if uncovering his every secret. Draco felt very small and took an unconscious step backwards towards the cliff.

"I understand you wish to serve me, and think yourself worthy of becoming one of my Death Eaters." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

"Yes, my lord."

"Will you obey me in all things?"

At last, Draco felt he had a toehold on familiar ground. He closed his eyes and from memory recited, "I will obey you in all things, master."

"Imperio!" Draco felt a sudden lassitude drain all thought and feeling from his body. "Again!"

Lazily, he replied, "I will obey you in all things, master."

The sensation of relaxation vanished as abruptly as it had begun. With a start, he noticed Lord Voldemort was pointing his own wand at him. Was that truly the Unforgivable Curse? His father hadn't mentioned that part of the initiation. Draco began to tremble slightly.

A smile curled on Voldemort's lips. "Again."

"I will obey you in all things, master."

"Will you suffer pain for me?"

"I will suffer pain for you, master."

"Crucio!"

Draco's every nerve exploded in excruciating pain. He could see nothing but redness, but couldn't tell whether he had shut his eyes or not.

Behind his screams, he could hear Lord Voldemort order "Again!"

His knees buckled and he tried not to vomit as he stammered out the repetition. "I will suffer pain for you, master."

Immediately, the pain stopped and Draco struggled to catch his breath. He had never felt anything like this before. In what little conscious thought remained after such agony, he realized that the statement didn't just mean resisting torture to protect the Dark Lord, but also could imply that Voldemort himself might inflict his own torments for punishment or entertainment purposes.

"Again."

Fearfully, Draco responded. "I will suffer pain for you, master."

"And, will you accept death for me?"

Draco licked his lips. There were three Unforgivable Curses, just as there were three parts to the oath. And if the previous two vows were any indication, he was about to experience death in a very personal way.

Draco took a deep breath, stared at his feet and whispered, "I will accept death for you, master." As he finished the statement, he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Draco could still see the green blast. He felt a weight fall from his shoulder and land on his feet with a thud. His eyes fluttered open in shock and he stared at the ground. He quickly saw his beloved Alrakis, whom he had raised from a chick, staring blindly at the sky he would never soar through again. This time, Draco did fall to his knees, blinking back tears and brushing his fingertips against the rapidly cooling feathers. He hadn't noticed before that the oath wasn't limited to his own death, and briefly mourned the loss of his childhood pet.

"Again."

After an expectant pause, Draco rose again, looked Voldemort in the eyes, and in clipped tones said, "I will accept death for you, master."

"Will you obey me in all things?"

"I will obey you in all things, master!" He practically spit the final line.

"Imperio! Again."

The floating feeling overtook Draco again. Almost giddily, he replied "I will obey you in all things, master."

Draco's weightlessness continued as he noticed a Death Eater bearing a mask and robe take a step forward, look up at Lord Voldemort, then step uncertainly back into line. This concluded the ceremony that he'd been told about. Was this something new?

A musing voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hmm. This one has wit and spirit. Could be useful. Could also be dangerous. How do you feel about me, boy?"

"Afraid." 'Was that his voice?' Draco wondered. It sounded so small. His eyes wandered down to the stiffening corpse at his feet. "I hate you."

A horrified flush colored Draco's cheeks, and he heard his father's voice from the circle begin to sputter out something he assumed was an apology.

But the Dark Lord merely chuckled. "I don't care whether you like me or not. Will you obey my orders even at the expense of your own needs or desires?"

Various memories swirled and mingled in his mind. Screams and fires and fun at the Quidditch World Cup. Snape favoring him in Potions class as the Gryffindors glowered. Lording over the younger Slytherins in the common room. Ron Weasley belching slugs. Dueling with Potter. Cursing Hermione. Making Hagrid cry over that stupid hippogriff. Moody turning him into a ferret and slamming him into walls -- wait, that was Crouch and he had been a Death Eater! His father selling family heirlooms for a pittance to that greasy Borgin. The nightmare creature drinking unicorn blood -- wait, that was Voldemort himself!

His heart beat a drum demanding he answer. Answer. Ans-wer. It overpowered the reflections, both pleasant and un-, the tension forcing his lips to respond with something. Anything.

"No."

Reality returned with a thud. Draco felt very solid again, as his stomach plummeted. Did he actually say that? Why did he say that? He wanted to be a Death Eater -- didn't he? He looked around for his father, but couldn't pick him out of the crowd. The Death Eaters in the circle muttered to one another in confusion.

"Pity." The circle silenced immediately.

Draco wanted to explain, but for once, no words would come out. He looked around, hoping for a friendly face, but the sea of masks stared blankly at him, as inhospitable as a Greek chorus.

"You are of no use to me, boy." Voldemort twisted Draco's wand in his hand, musing aloud. "Now how should I dispose of you?" He walked idly around the circle, stroking the shoulders of the followers he passed.

"I could order your father to kill you, to demonstrate his loyalty." Draco took a fearful half-step backwards. "Or maybe I should give you to your former friends. Of course, they don't yet know the Killing Curse, so that could get messy." Draco backed up another step, as other cloaked figures approached, filling the gaps between the Death Eaters.

Voldemort beckoned them forward and smiled lazily. "My poor pets are hungry. Perhaps I should let my dementors feed upon you, and then let your friends dispose of your remains." The blood froze in Draco's veins. "Yesss," the Dark Lord hissed. "That sounds like a suitable solution."

Dementors oozed between the Death Eaters and began to converge upon Draco. He looked around frantically for an escape, feeling like a trapped rabbit. He was almost completely surrounded, with the cliff behind him the only gap. As the circle closed in, Draco took a step backwards, and then another. He was too scared to look away as the dementors came closer and closer. As the first bony hand reached out for him, Draco panicked. He spun around and frantically bolted away the only direction left to him -- the cliff.

He heard the Dark Lord scream "Stop him!" and ran faster, leaping recklessly as he reached the edge. This time, the weightlessness snapped his mind into focus, but he had no time to gather his thoughts before he struck the surface. The cold water felt like knives as the swift currents quickly pulled him under.