Second Chances

Not another student. Not like this.

Hagrid pelted up the hill, cradling the limp body to his chest and hollering "Dumbledore!" for all he was worth. Fang bounded ahead of him, barking wildly and leading the frantic half-giant towards the school.

They found the headmaster taking his lunchtime constitutional, walking along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He took in the scene at a glance and hurried over to them.

"Come, take him into your hut. It's closest."

Draco dreamed. He was drowning. Thrashing around under the water, unable to tell up from down. His velvet dress robes grew heavier as they absorbed the brine and his new boots were too stiff for him to kick effectively. He tugged frantically at his high collar, as if loosening it would allow more oxygen into his lungs. But the water was too cold, his fingers too numb to work the clasp. He could see nothing but the blue green murk around him, with no indication of direction. His struggles grew weaker as his strength waned.

Then, just as he was about to relinquish consciousness, something grabbed him from behind. Many somethings. Tug after tug yanked his legs, dragging him downwards. He tried to pull away, but they pinned his arms to his side. Hands pushed something over his face, into his mouth. Draco tried to turn his head, but they forced him still. He clenched his jaw, but something pried it open, forcing the slimy substance in. Draco gagged, but couldn't help swallowing some of it. When he thought he had nothing left to breathe, a desperate gasp wracked his body, and with it, merciful unconsciousness.

Professor Dumbledore sat at the edge of the bed, tilting another spoonful of warm liquid into Draco's mouth. Under Madam Pomfrey's tutelage, they had set up a pallet beside Hagrid's fireplace and tucked the boy in securely under layers of blankets. Hagrid had stoked up the fire despite the summer heat, and placed warm bricks under the covers. The headmaster sighed with relief. "We're just lucky you found him in time. If anything had happened..."

"Should we owl 'is parents?"

"I'd say that's up to Draco. When he awakens."

"Wha' do yeh 'spect happened ter him?"

"I had heard rumors that there was to be a Death Eater initiation last night." Hagrid scowled, but the headmaster continued without regard to the reaction he provoked. "Judging by this, I'd say that young Master Malfoy," his eyes twinkled, "washed out."

Hagrid thought about that for a moment. "So what're we ter do about' it? Or, more t'the point, what d'yeh wan' me ter do?"

"For now, stay with the boy. Poppy said to feed him a dose of this," he handed over the bottle, "every other hour. And owl me if there's any change."

Hagrid held the door open as Dumbledore exited. Thanks to the roaring fire, the room was now sweltering. He opened the window a crack for the owl, grabbed a bottle of his own, then plopped down wearily in a chair to watch the still frail body in the bed.

His nightmares were an endless sequence of propulsion, being pulled along who knows where, and forced feedings. The unremitting blue-green vistas were indistinguishable, giving him no sense of time. He wanted to surrender, wanted to rest, but whatever was doing this to him seemed insistent. Just the relentless repetition of movement and choking.

No, not again. Something was trying to force its way past Draco's lips. Not more of that slimy tangle. Draco tried to struggle, but he was trapped. Warm heaviness held him immobile, but this time he managed to turn his head away. Something metallic banged against his cheek. He heard a soft grunt and he felt wetness dribbling towards his ear. After a moment, a moist cloth wiped his face and then was gone.

Realizing something had changed, but unsure exactly what, Draco opened his eyes, blinking furiously to rid them of grit. He still couldn't move his body to wipe them, so it was a few minutes before he could see clearly. He was facing a fire and winced at the brightness of it. Given what he could recall of his last conscious hours, Hell didn't seem that unlikely a destination. He looked away, and tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness. A large figure shambled over. A lamp flared above Draco's head, the light making his eyes water furiously.

"Yeh're awake!"

Hagrid. He must be at Hogwarts.

"How very observant of you," he croaked in what was intended to be an indolent drawl. "You consider that kind of thing an accomplishment?"

"Well, yeh've been out for abou' two days." Any comeback Draco might've made was lost amid the coughing fit that suddenly consumed him. Damn, but his mouth was dry. "Here. Le'me help you up." And, true to his word, Hagrid pulled the blankets away from Draco's torso and helped him to sit upright, propping some pillows behind his back as supports. As the wracking coughs subsided, Hagrid handed him a tall cup. "Jus' some tea. 'Snot very hot, but tha's prob'ly fer the best."

Draco needed both hands to hold the large mug, astonished by how weak he felt and how badly his arms were trembling. Still, he managed to swallow down most of the tea without spilling any. And despite his earlier cocky remarks, that did seem like a triumph.

Hagrid plucked the cup from his numb fingers and held out a spoonful of liquid. "Yeh'd better take this, too. Madam Pomfrey's orders." Draco obediently leaned forward and sipped it down. It tasted oddly of smoke and marshmallows, both warming and comforting at the same time. Draco yawned.

"Why don' yeh go back ter sleep. I 'spect Dumbledore can wait ter talk t'yeh till the mornin'." Draco nodded and his eyes closed of their own volition. He felt Hagrid adjusting the pillows, helping him lie down again, and wrapping the blankets loosely over his chest. Draco rolled over on one side, facing the hearth, and fell into a peaceful slumber.

Draco awoke to the sounds of a conversation held right above his bed. He feigned sleep in order to listen unobserved. Hagrid's voice quickly reminded him of his current situation. It took him a little longer to recognize the other speaker as Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. About time. If he had to be laid up like an invalid, the least they could do was provide him with proper surroundings and trained medical care.

Now that he'd identified the players, Draco listened more closely to their words. They were talking about him as if he wasn't there. How rude!

"Well, it's good that you got him to drink something, but between the potion and your tea, he'll probably need a bedpan before too long."

Draco squawked in indignation.

"Oh good," said Madam Pomfrey from the fireplace. "You're up. I'd hoped for a chance to give you a checkup before I had to leave." Leave? Well, that probably ruled out a cushy stay in the infirmary.

"I feel perfectly fine," he replied sullenly.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," she said briskly. "And your color looks much improved, but I really must insist."

"Insist all you like," Draco drawled. "So long as you're in that fireplace, there's not much more you can do." Draco sat up, intending to walk out of the cottage, when he discoverd something that made him squawk for the second time that morning.

Through gritted teeth, he intoned, "Where are my robes?" Mutely, Hagrid merely pointed towards a window. Draco could see the lacy cuffs hanging from a clothesline outside.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey smiled, "since it doesn't look like you're going anywhere, we may as well begin the examination." She looked over at Hagrid. "If you have nothing else for me, would you mind giving us some privacy? I think the boy is a little shy." Draco closed his eyes and tried hard not to blush.

Hagrid shrugged and headed for the door. "If yeh need me, I'll be outside. Don' take too long, Dumbledore's eager ter finally speak with the lad."

Draco never thought he'd actually wish to have Hagrid around. But operating through a fireplace had done nothing for Madam Pomfrey's bedside manner. She officiously put Draco through his paces, poking and prodding. And, after all that, she agreed with his initial self-diagnosis, giving him a clean bill of health, though supplemented with admonishments to stay warm and dry, drink plenty of fluids, eat well, and wait at least thirty minutes after doing so before going swimming. And with that, she vanished back into the flames.

Draco fell back on the bed, thinking he had just exceeded his humiliation quotient for the day. But he hadn't reckoned on having to leave the hut wrapped only in a sheet to ask Hagrid for some clean dry clothes.

The wait gave Draco time to consider his situation, which didn't seem terribly promising. He still wasn't sure what went wrong in the ritual, how he wound up in Hagrid's hut, or what happened in the two days(!?) between, but couldn't waste time dwelling on that now. The question was, how much did Dumbledore know and what he suspected. Maybe he could make it look like a simple accident. But he couldn't put all his faith in others' ignorance. And getting caught in a lie would only make matters worse, so his best bet would be to say as little as possible. Draco frowned and stared up at the ceiling.

The worst case scenario was that Dumbledore already knew everything. Draco didn't think that the events he participated in would be sufficient to condemn him to Azkaban, but after all he did to avoid getting up close and personal with dementors, handing him over would be the ultimate irony. Ransom was another option, but given the Dark Lord's apparent desire to see him dead, Draco didn't think he'd be worth too much as a hostage. And, of course, being tortured for information was certainly possible under either alternative. Dumbledore seemed too weak to actually get his own hands dirty, but he'd certainly hired others at the school who weren't softhearted. Draco couldn't help shuddering at the memory of Moody/Crouch, then shook his head briskly to clear his thoughts. He hadn't seen any Floo powder, so without a broomstick, he didn't think he could escape the grounds without being recaptured.

He was still trying to think of a plan when Hagrid knocked on the door, handing Draco a dozen or so neatly folded robes. "Professor Dumbledore's gettin' brunch ready now. Join us on the lawn when yeh're dressed." And he shut the door again, leaving Draco alone.

Draco discarded several robes as hopelessly too small. Others were so large he could've used them as tents at the next World Cup. How frustrating. He could've used the extra boost of confidence that dressing well gave him, but it seemed as if that too was to be denied him. He eventually selected a robe that was only a little loose around his chest, with sleeves and hem a bit too short. He'd have to go barefoot, as no boots had been provided. Finally, he couldn't put off his meeting with the headmaster any longer. Taking a deep breath, he left the cottage for the first time in (apparently) days.

It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the sunlight, and he stood there in the doorway blinking. After the stifling heat by the fireplace, the weather outside was actually comfortably cool. Hagrid's boarhound Fang bounded over, barking loudly. He circled Draco's legs three times and then ran ahead, leading Draco across the grounds. He found the headmaster and gamekeeper sitting on the grass around a red and white checked tablecloth covered with several empty plates and goblets. Draco sauntered over, trying to exude an air of bravery and nonchalance.

As he approached, Dumbledore looked up and his eyes twinkled. "Ah, excellent! Good to see you up and about." He patted a patch of ground beside him for Draco to sit. "Let's dig in, shall we?"

The plates filled with sandwiches and salads, devilled eggs and quiche, and other tidbits. The Headmaster handed Draco a glass of pumpkin juice and smiled gently. "Drink up. If I know Poppy, you're probably under orders to consume enough liquids to drown a kelpie." Draco flushed angrily, grabbed the goblet and took a large swig as instructed. Dumbledore had the grace to look abashed by the slip.

For a few minutes, the three of them ate in silence. Then Hagrid turned to Dumbledore. "So, how're the, er," he gave Draco a sidelong glance, "renovations goin'?"

"Quite well. I think we should have them all finished before the students return."

Draco chewed impatiently to clear his mouth. "What're you doing?"

"Well, we've been talking for a long time about improving the school's defenses." Draco noted that the gameskeeper seemed surprised by the headmaster's openness. Was this a secret? "Lord Voldemort's recent return spurred us to finally implement those plans. I intend Hogwarts to be a safe haven for all who need its protection. So long as I live, no other student will be taken from these grounds."

Suddenly, Dumbledore noticed that Draco and Hagrid had stopped eating to listen. He coughed and removed his glasses for polishing. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to give a speech." He took a sip from his juice. "At any rate, it's too nice a day to sully such a lovely meal with talk of business."

For the rest of the meal, Dumbledore kept the conversation firmly to inconsequentials -- Quidditch results, the new broomstick models, and funny anecdotes from some book he was reading -- while pushing Draco and Hagrid to try some of the more unusual dishes. Hagrid contributed descriptions of the dragons he'd seen on the reservation. Draco found it surprisingly pleasant, and started to let himself relax.

When they had finally finished eating, Dumbledore leaned back. "So, tell me Draco, do you often go swimming in your dress robes?"

Draco's face flushed. "I fell in. It was an accident."

"And nobody jumped in to save you?

"I was alone," he declared.

Dumbledore scrutinized him, then seemed to give a mental shrug. "Well, take care of yourself. Especially during new moons. Those nights can get quite dark." Draco wondered whether that was a hint.

"Don't worry. It won't happen again." Draco's tone brooked no disgreement.

Dumbledore's smile seemed genuine. "I'm relieved to hear that."

Draco started to get up. "May I be excused?"

"Actually, I meant to give you this." Dumbledore handed Draco a thick envelope. "Since you're here, we may as well spare the owl a trip." The envelope was addressed:

Mr. D. Malfoy
Hagrid's Hut
Hogwarts

Draco flipped the envelope over, carefully broke the wax Hogwarts seal, and pulled out the papers within.

Dear Mr Malfoy

Over your first four years at Hogwarts, you have demonstrated academic prowess and leadership skills that have set you ahead of your peers. For these and other reasons, we have selected you to become a Hogwarts prefect.

If you feel there is any reason you cannot discharge the added responsibilities this will entail, please owl back immediately so we can discuss the matter with you.

Your privileges as prefect begin with permission to ride in the special private cars at the front of the Hogwarts Express. Please exit the train promptly into the designated coaches, as there will be a preliminary prefects meeting before the sorting ceremony.

We look forward to seeing you there.

Congratulations.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Draco flipped through the other pages, but they were merely his booklist for the new year. Numbly, he reread the first sheet several more times before he could move.

When he looked up, Dumbledore was beaming proudly at him. "You'll probably want this as well," he leaned towards Draco and pinned a shiny silver badge onto his chest.

To his surprise, Draco found himself blinking back tears. He got to his feet, mumbled something possibly intended to mean thanks, and ran off.

Hagrid waited until Draco was out of earshot, then shook his head. "I can' believe yeh're makin' that brat a prefect."

"You can't deny the other students follow him."

"Yeh, but it's wha' he's leadin' 'em into tha' worries me."

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Oh, Rubeus. Since you've returned from the Northern giants so much earlier than expected, I've come up with another task you could help me with." Hagrid nodded, hiding his grimace. Why did Dumbledore have to bring up his failings? "Come, let's stroll off some of this food, and I'll tell you what I have in mind."