Second Chances

Draco Malfoy lay on the grass and stared up at the sky. He made it. A prefect.

He closed his eyes and pictured himself striding down the halls of Hogwarts, other students and even some teachers getting out of his way in deference to his authority.

For a moment, when Headmaster Dumbledore pinned the shiny silver to his chest, he'd almost burst from happiness. He ran his fingertips over the badge. He'd dreamed of this day for a long time.

But this wasn't how it was to have happened.

His father should've been the one pinning it to his chest, his mother beaming with pride. He wanted to share the news with them.

A lump filled his throat. He wanted to go home.

He had been so concerned with escaping an interrogation from the headmaster that he hadn't thought to ask about his parents. He stood up and walked back towards the spot they had lunch.

Cutting across Hagrid's garden, Draco's foot squelched in the mud. He looked down at himself in disgust. Walking around the grounds barefoot and in ill-fitting hand-me-down robes. He looked no better than... than a Weasley. He nearly spat in revulsion at the thought when he heard voices coming from the hut. Quietly, he tiptoed over to the window to listen.

"What is your problem with the boy?" the headmaster was saying.

"Well, 'is father..."

"Rubeus, I'm shocked! You, of all people, should know better than to judge someone by his parents."

Hagrid ducked his head in embarassment. "Yer right, professor."

"Lucius Malfoy bears no relevance to this discussion, particularly since he doesn't yet know of Draco's presence here." Draco scowled. That didn't sound good. Why would the headmaster hide him from his parents?

"Fine," Hagrid said. "What abou' Buckbeak, then? An' those Daily Prophet articles? An' yeh know he's been makin' Harry's life a livin' hell all these years."

Draco had heard enough. Clearly he wasn't going to get any help from them. He crept away as silently as he'd come, thus missing Dumbledore's reply.

"If Hogwarts is to be a sanctuary, then we must provide asylum to all who need it. Picking and choosing who is worth saving puts us only a few steps away from actually killing the unworthy ourselves. I will not allow that to happen."

"The boy's a monster," Hagrid grumbled.

"Then who better to look after him? After all," Dumbledore chuckled, "you always wanted a dragon."

After a long pause, Hagrid sighed weakly. He knew when he'd been beat. "All right. I'll do it. But I'm not gonna coddle the little brat."

"You don't have to. Find ways for him to be useful. Treat him like any other student. Just keep him safe and whole until September." When Hagrid's gloom didn't abate, the headmaster continued more gently. "I realize this may seem a thankless task, but over the long term, this could potentially be one of the most important things I've asked of you."

Draco stomped across the grounds to the Owlery. He'd show them. Make them regret they'd ever heard the name Draco Malfoy.

He walked inside, grabbed a quill and some paper and then sighed.

How could he explain things to his father? To do so, he needed to understand it himself. Why, when push came to shove, did he refuse Lord Voldemort? It just didn't make sense.

Draco agreed with the Dark Lord's agenda -- he couldn't stand the way Mudbloods were getting into everything and fouling up all the traditions. They didn't understand the wizarding world -- how could they, being raised Muggle and all? It was an utter disgrace. They had no right acting all superior to pure-bloods like himself, and needed to be put in their place.

So, that wasn't the problem. And everything his father told him about the Golden Age of the Dark Lord's previous reign sounded so magnificent, of course he wanted Him to rule again.

Draco's thoughts turned to Lord Voldemort himself. It wasn't fair to say whether he liked or disliked the Dark Lord. The initiation was their first meeting in the flesh, as it were. And, to be honest, that flesh was pretty repulsive. But Lord Voldemort didn't seem to care about that. Liking him was irrelevant; what he demanded was respect. Well, respect and obedience.

And it was the obedience side of the equation where he apparently fell down.

But he wanted to serve the Dark Lord, didn't he?

It just didn't make sense.

Stuck in a loop, Draco tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with obeying the Dark Lord and found no answers. Sure, the possibility of torture or death were terrifying, but life was full of risks and he never shied away from them before. He began to pace restlessly as he worked the angles.

Well, if he couldn't explain, was there anything else he could offer in exchange? He retraced the day's conversations and grinned.

After crumpling up three scratched-out pages, he looked upon his final version with pride:

Dear Father,

I don't entirely understand what happened that night on the tor, but I still want to be a Death Eater.

Please let the Dark Lord know I'll do anything He asks to prove my loyalty. I'm staying at Hogwarts now, so might be in a position to spy for Him. They're in the middle of some sort of renovation project, enhancing the school's defenses specifically against the Dark Lord. If you want, I should be able to find out more about what they're doing in order to work out appropriate countermeasures. I look forward to seeing you again soon.

Give my love to Mother. I miss you both.

Draco

With a nod of satisfaction, Draco folded the letter up and sealed it with the a thumbprint and a bit of wax. He called down an impressive-looking owl from the rafters. It was nowhere near as magnificent as Alrakis, but he supposed that couldn't be helped. Carefully, he tied the letter to its leg and sent it on his way, watching it soar off into the sky.

Draco didn't know how much time had passed. The sun was still relatively high, but it was summer so that wasn't as useful a measure as it could be.

When he returned to Hagrid's hut, the headmaster was nowhere to be found.

Hagrid had moved the cot away from the fireplace, and was cooking something stew-like in the hearth.

"Where've yeh been all afternoon?"

"Out." Draco crossed his arms, daring the half-giant to pry just so he could tell the oaf off.

But Hagrid didn't take the bait. "Are yeh hungry?" Draco's stomach rumbled before he could reply. "Well, supper won' be ready for a while yet." Hagrid gave the boy an appraising look. "Yeh'd better wash up firs'," he said, using a ladle to point towards the soap and towels. Never had toiletries looked so good. Draco grabbed them quickly and headed back outside to scrub.

Dinner was a rather silent affair. Draco, feeling once again clean and refreshed, didn't have much to say to the half-giant, and the ingrate was apparently uninterested or incapable of starting a conversation on his own. The stew required a fair bit of chewing, which also discouraged idle chatter. It may not have been the best meal Draco had ever eaten, but it was quite filling, and before long Draco found himself stifling a yawn.

Hagrid chuckled and lurched up from the table. "Yeh look like yeh still need teh rest up." Draco flushed slightly, then slowly nodded. "Well, it's time fer Fang's walk anyway. That should take long enough fer yeh to get teh sleep." Hagrid clipped a leash onto the boarhound's collar and walked out the door with little more than a "G'night!"

Draco sat on his bed and thought longingly of home. He missed his bedroom. He missed his privacy. With no idea when Hagrid would return, he quickly washed up and prepared for bed. A chair beside his cot held a pair of faded pyjamas and a dressing gown. Draco changed his clothes, folding the worn robes more neatly than they deserved, and slid under the covers.

The cot was nowhere near as comfortable as his own bed, but it was cozy. By the time Hagrid returned to the cottage, the boy was sound asleep.

Sunlight and the smell of frying sausages roused Draco from his slumber. "Oh, good. Yeh're up." Draco rubbed his eyes and stretched, then sat up and grabbed the dressing gown.

"C'mon an' help me set th'table. Breakfast's almos' done."

Draco frowned, but didn't feel quite awake enough to pick a fight. Besides, the food smelled good, and the thought of eating cold congealed sausages turned his stomach.

Hagrid smiled to himself as the boy put out the clean plates without complaint. Maybe this arrangement wouldn't be so bad. He dished out sausages and porridge and poured two cups of steaming tea. Like dinner the night before, breakfast was quiet and subdued. After he finished eating, Draco flopped back onto the bed.

"Are yeh feelin' all righ', Malfoy?"

"Yeah."

"'Smatter? Yeh're not bored already?"

Draco sat up and looked scornfully around the hut. Despite the clutter, he hadn't seen a single book worth reading. "What's it to you if I am?"

"Well then, yeh should have no problems de-gnomin' the garden fer me."

"No way." Draco replied, crossing his arms.

"Why not? It's no' as if yeh've go' anythin' better t'do with yer time, is it?"

"But that's servant's work!" Draco sputtered.

Hagrid rose to his feet, glaring so furiously that Draco couldn't suppress a flinch. His voice, however, remained the soul of patience. "No, tha's groundskeeper's work," he corrected. "Or yeh can think on it as an extra lesson in Care of Magical Creatures. Either way, as long as yer stayin' here, the leas' yeh can do is help out."

"Make me," Draco snarled.

The half-giant loomed over him menacingly, shaking his head. "You don' really mean that, do yeh?"

They glared at each other, but Draco was the first to look away. "No," he replied in a quiet voice.

Hagrid gave a nod of satisfaction, then walked towards the door. "Throw on yer robes an' meet me out back no later'n ten minutes." He left without a backwards glance.

Grumbling and swearing, Draco stomped over to the window basin to wash up. Who did that oaf think he was, ordering him about? That half-breed was definitely getting ideas above his station. Well, once he was back home again, they'd teach him a thing or two. He yanked off his pyjamas and pulled on a greying robe fraying at the elbows. Considering how livid his father was to hear the halfwit was merely teaching students, once they were through he'll be lower than a house elf.

Still bootless, Draco stalked out the front door, slamming it behind him with a satisfying bang.

Hagrid was waiting for him in the garden. "Eigh' minutes. No' bad." Draco scowled and stared back. "What're yeh waitin' fer? They're no' gonna clear off on their own, yeh know?"

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Draco replied scornfully.

Hagrid looked surprised. "Don' tell me yeh haven' never de-gnomed before?"

Draco sniffed as if it should've been obvious. "Of course not."

"Well, it's abou' time yeh learned, isn'it?" With a grunt, Hagrid bent over and rummaged around through the plants. "This is a gnome." Draco looked utterly unimpressed by the grubby little thing.

"All yeh do," Hagrid continued, "is grab it by an ankle, swing it abou' a couple o'times." Draco stepped back to avoid being accidentally struck. "Then, give a toss." The gnome flew off towards the forbidden forest.

Hagrid dusted the dirt off his hands. "Now you try."

Frowning dubiously, Draco walked to the spot where Hagrid found the first gnome and knelt down (he wasn't about to bend over like that). After a moment, he spotted another one, popping its head out of a hole to look for the other one.

"That's right. Go on." Draco stood, twirled it a few times over his head and let go. It landed much closer than the one Hagrid threw, but apparently that was fine, as Hagrid patted him on the back.

"Now yeh've got the hang of it." he beamed. "Jus' keep up like that an' yeh'll be fine. I'll be headin' back inside t'clean."

Hagrid had almost reached the front door when he heard Draco yell.

"Ow! This one bit me!"

Hagrid sauntered back, shaking his head. "Well, that's wha' happens if yeh're no' quick abou' it."

"What are you trying to do? Kill me?"

Hagrid walked over and grabbed Draco's hand to examine it. "Look a' this. It's nothin'. Didn' even break th'skin."

Draco snatched his hand back. "I don't care. I refuse to touch another gnome unless you can assure my safety!"

Hagrid rolled his eyes. "Wait here." He turned around and tromped back into the house, muttering to himself. Draco thought he heard something that sounded like baby.

After a moment, Hagrid returned and held out a pair of thick brown gloves made out of hide. "Here."

Draco pulled the first one on. It reached almost to his armpit, and when he let go, it sagged back down, bunching up around his wrist. "I can't wear these. They don't fit."

"Yeh're not gettin' out o'work that easily." Hagrid pushed the glove back up, and tied an arm garter around Draco's bicep. Hagrid then did the same with the other glove. "There yeh go. Now get back t'work."

Draco glared, but did as he was told. After he sent a few more gnomes on their way, Hagrid went back to the house.

For all his complaints, Draco quickly began to enjoy himself once he was alone. He tried for distance; he practiced aiming at targets; he threw two at once; he imagined each gnome with the faces of his enemies. He was about to dropkick one when he noticed his bare feet almost blackened with mud.

With a start, he remembered something he told Potter that first day on Hogwarts Express. "You hang around with riff-raff like Hagrid and it'll rub off on you." For a moment, he was glad his father couldn't see him mucking about in a garden and dressed like trash.

Feeling the gnome in his hands squirm, Draco tossed it half-heartedly away with a sigh. He simply had to get out of here, and soon.

Suddenly, a shadow passed over him. He looked up quickly for the source, afraid Hagrid was about to chide him for slacking or some other menial offense. As if answering his unspoken wishes, an owl was flying towards him, carrying a large envelope.

Draco strode to a spot out of sight of the house, straightened up and held out his arm as a perch. The owl landed gracefully; it was much smaller and lighter than Alrakis.

The gloves made him clumsier, but after several attempts he managed to detach the envelope without damaging it. He turned it over in his hands, admiring the heavy bond, running his fingers over the embossed family crest even though he couldn't feel a thing through the thick hide he was wearing. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself back home, remembering how he used to beg his parents to let him pour the silver sealing wax whenever they sent mail.

The owl's impatient hoot broke his reverie. "Sorry. I don't have anything to pay you with now, but I should be able to soon. Possibly even after I open this." With a cool flip of its wings, the owl hopped onto Draco's shoulder to wait.

Carefully, he broke open the wax and slid the contents out of the envelope. He found his letter from yesterday still sealed. Puzzled, Draco opened the notecard, which held only a single sentence in his father's bold handwriting.

Draco barely had time for the four words to register when the whole thing exploded into a dark greenish powder. The owl screeched, flew backwards and away. But Draco ignored the bird, staring instead at his hands in shock. The envelope, notecard and letter were all gone, leaving nothing but tiny olive ashes floating to the ground.

Draco didn't know how long he stood there, trying to make sense of it. He heard Hagrid bellowing from the hut. "Draco! Lunch!"

"I'm coming!" he reflexively hollered in reply.

Draco walked back to the hut. A few paces from the door, Fang blocked his path, baring his teeth and growling.

"Easy, mutt," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. "He called me in." The boarhound refused to budge, so Draco reached out to push the dog away.

Something dripped from his glove. It hissed into the dirt just in front of Fang's paws. Startled, Draco looked at his hands, and saw they were covered in some oily viscous liquid.

Hagrid opened the door. "What's that on yer gloves?" He asked suspiciously.

"I don't know," Draco replied. "I just got an owl from my father, and..."

"Hol' on! How'd yer father know yeh were here?"

"Well, I sent him an owl," Draco said, as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. "It just returned, and..."

"Yeh used one of the school owls?"

"Yes, but..."

"Which one?"

Draco thought for a moment. "One of the bigger ones: roundish head, dark eyes."

"Don' move!" Draco couldn't help but cringe at the exclamation. "An' don' touch anythin'!" Hagrid turned towards the Owlery. "If you hurt 'er..." He was too upset to finish the threat, but dashed towards the Owlery, moving at a speed that belied his size.

Draco stood there, watching the half-giant recede into the distance. His gloved hands were still outstretched before him, palms up, covered in the greenish substance. He couldn't remove the gloves without Hagrid's help -- especially if he wanted to keep the goo from touching anything else.

What was it? He rubbed his fingers together cautiously, heard something sizzle, and froze again. With a start, he recalled his father's message: I have no son. This was somehow intended to guarantee that. If he hadn't been wearing gloves... Draco began to shake uncontrollably.

Draco sat down hard. Carefully, he rested his elbows on his knees, turned his head to one side to lean it against his shoulder, closed his eyes, and tried not to think.

Draco lost track of how much time passed until he heard the clomping footsteps stop in front of him. He opened his eyes to see the oversized boots, and looked up. The gameskeeper seemed even more massive and imposing from Draco's vantage point on the ground.

Draco held out his hands. "Could you take these gloves off me?" he asked. Hagrid crossed his arms and scowled. "Please?" he added.

"Firs', why don' yeh tell me what happened."

Draco licked his lips. "Well," he began slowly. "As I said, I sent my father an owl."

"When?"

"After I finished lunch with you and the headmaster."

"An' what'd it say?"

"Does it matter? He returned it to me unopened."

Hagrid nodded gruffly. "An' then?"

"The owl brought it back in a much larger envelope. My letter was still sealed, but there was a notecard accompanying it. It said," Draco swallowed. "I have no son. Then the whole thing exploded!"

Draco looked up expectantly. Hagrid's eyes were dark as he looked down at his charge. Draco chewed the inside of his cheek and wondered whether to break the silence. Finally he could take it no longer. "Is the owl okay?" he asked.

Hagrid appeared momentarily startled by Draco's concern, then smiled more gently than Draco could recall. "Strixie's fine. A few singed feathers, but she's a smart girl."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, and released some tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't think he could bear having another owl's death on his conscience.

"Now c'mere an' let me get those gloves off yeh."

Draco struggled to his feet, unassisted and without using his arms. Gingerly, Hagrid untied the glove from his left bicep. Fortunately, none of the goo had splashed higher than Draco's elbows.

"Now make a fist, and don' release it until I tell yeh to." With that, Hagrid carefully peeled off the glove, turning it inside out to keep all the toxins inside. He then repeated the process with the other glove. "We'll have to figure out a safe way to clean 'em before yeh can wear 'em again."

Draco nodded numbly but didn't move.

Hagrid put a companionable arm on Draco's shoulder. "I'm sorry abou' yer father."

Draco scowled, shrugging the oversized hand away. "What do you have to apologize for? It wasn't anything you did."

"I meant that I sympathize."

"Why should you? You never liked him."

Hagrid slammed open the door. "Yeh know, yeh make it real hard fer people t'be friendly t'yeh!"

Draco yelled back, "Well, who said I wanted you as a friend anyway!?" and ran off.