Second Chance (2025 Christmas Story) - Chapter 4

Title: Second Chance – Chapter Four
Author: sesheta_66 || AO3: sesheta_66
Prompts used: slythindor100’s early bird prompt F: Jar of Candy Canes and other Ornaments (picture under the cut) and dracoharry100’s prompts 11: Office Christmas Party and 13: Poinsettia
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Word Count: 1.8K (this part)
Rating: R (eventually; this part PG-13)
Warning: none
Summary: This is the second Christmas for Draco without Astoria and Harry's first since Ginny remarried. Will best friends Scorpius and Albus be just what they need to rekindle something they'd thought fleeting and lost forever?
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the slythindor100 Early Bird 25 Days of Draco and Harry and the dracoharry100 Christmas Challenge.

On LJ: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

OR on AO3





Second Chance – Chapter 4

Harry walked into the boardroom and saw that someone had let loose on the place: a poinsettia sat in the centre of the table with jars of candy canes and other ornaments spread across the width of it, and a tree was twinkling with fairy lights in the back corner, the soft smell of pine permeating the room.

Once everyone was seated, looking cheered by the decorations, Harry called the meeting to order. "Right," he said, "status updates. Ron, if you'd summarise, please."

"Sure. We're waiting on several court dates to be set for the Muggle baiting case in York, the Midlands forgery case, the kidnapping in Canterbury and the dark artifacts case here in London."

"They still haven't dealt with that last one? It's been ready to go for weeks."

Ron shook his head. "Courts are backed up. Outbreak of dragon pox took out some of the Wizengamot – not the youngest lot, those ones – for a solid three weeks, so they're still behind."

Harry nodded. "Right. And the balance of the cases?"

As Head Auror and Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Ron took the lead, giving summary updates and guiding his investigators through details on their ongoing cases. The new recruits – only a few months in to the job – sat eagerly taking notes. Harry didn't discourage this, though most of the seasoned Aurors just listened and nodded. Amelia, Ron's assistant, took notes for the records and Harry listened for any potentially political issues – not his favourite part of the job, but as Head of MLE, it fell on his shoulders.

Overall, the Auror Office ran smoothly. He and Ron had made some significant changes, had integrated some of the better Muggle-style processes, and had created a full set of standard operating procedures – not Ron's favourite part of the job, but a 'necessary evil' as he'd put it at the time – and updated what few existing procedures had preceded their employment. Gone were the laborious, nitpicky processes that served no substantive purpose beyond pulling Aurors off the streets to mindlessly fill out forms (Percy had not been pleased upon hearing of these changes) and new were the computerised files. Those had initially been housed off-site, where the glut of magic at Ministry headquarters couldn't wreak havoc on the electronics, until a few years back when they'd finally mastered the ability to run computers alongside electricity, thanks in large part to some of their former Ravenclaw classmates.

Drummond – their lead investigator on a drug case that covered the whole of England – sighed with frustration. "The lab has come up with nothing so far, but they're still working on it. We've exhausted all our leads, and have virtually nothing to show for it."

There'd been a number of raves where kids had taken some new drug – street name Ves*, advertised to "level up" the previously popular gillyweed experience. The drug delivered, and then some. Those that had been interviewed had described hallucinations, euphoria, and a complete escape from reality, almost an out-of-body experience. From what had been reported, and what the lab had been able to determine, the drug lasted an average of six hours. Perfect for a rave setting, if that's what you were into.

Unfortunately, a lot of kids were into just that. In fact, some had taken it more than once after having the "best high of their lives". Others didn't fare so well. Same symptoms, only more intense and they lasted ten, twelve or more hours. The hallucinations stacked on top of one another, attacking multiple senses – bodies riddled with extremes from icy cold to burning hot, the sensation of ants crawling all over their skin; faces and objects melting and morphing into creatures in front of them, walls dissolving, breathing, exploding and reforming, images remaining even after the users tightly shut their eyes; screaming, chanting, cackling and growling noises coming from nowhere and everywhere, some describing the feeling as akin to someone having crawled inside their heads. Sensory overloaded, with no end in sight.

No attempted spells – by friends on scene, emergency responders, or at the hospital when all other attempts failed and they'd been brought in – had any effect. They simply had to wait out the drug, hoping for it all to just stop. Some didn't make it, hearts giving out, throats closing up. Several turned their wands on themselves in desperation, just wanting it all to end. And even when it did stop, not everyone recovered, echos of the experience lingering for days, sometimes weeks, leaving the user suspended in a state of paranoia and delusion.

Drummond flipped through a folder of papers. "Six dead, another eight still in St. Mungo's, and eleven now recovering at home. Only time will tell if some will suffer permanent damage. That's only counting the ones that have come forward. A hell of a lot more took this garbage and Merlin knows how they're doing."

There had been two waves – the first one that had hit the big cities over the course of three weeks, and then another in smaller towns. And then it had stopped. "And no new cases?" Harry asked.

"No, sir. Nothing since that last one out in Essex."

"Maybe it's gone now?" Mulhoney, one of the new recruits, suggested hopefully.

"Shit like this is never gone," Drummond said. "Word gets out about bad trips, things die down for a bit, then it comes back. Sometimes better, if manufacturers work out the kinks, sometimes worse if they tinker with the wrong thing, but most of the time, it's just the same shit, different distribution."

Mulhoney looked horrified. If Harry recalled correctly, a Muggle cousin of hers had struggled with drug addiction. He'd have to have a chat with Ron after this, get him to keep an eye on her.

"There have also been a couple of Muggle cases that warrant investigation," Drummond continued. "Not sure if it's the same stuff, but I've got Muggle Liaison making arrangements for me to meet with a few stations. I should have more on that by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest."

"Sounds good."

"Oh, and Skeeter wants to meet with you, sir." He grimaced, as though smelling something foul. Harry nodded, feeling the same way about seeing her.

"I can call her back," Ron offered.

"No, it's fine," Harry said, grateful for his offer, but knowing full well that she wouldn't settle for Ron's comments. And, given the last occasion when Ron had spoken with her only to make things worse, Harry figured he might as well speak with her directly. "Tell her it's an ongoing investigation and we have no comment for now, but to call my office for an appointment and I'll meet with her in a couple of days. Hopefully by then you'll have further word from the lab and the Muggle police."

"Will do."

The rest of the meeting covered the balance of their cases, all in varying stages of investigation, then moved on to the office Christmas party.

"Is it required that we attend?" asked Sullivan, a painfully shy new recruit. He looked ill at the mere thought.

Ron chuckled. "Not required, but recommended if you want to make connections." Sullivan looked fully prepared to forego that. "If you need an assist from another department, or need information from some source, or a nudge from a higher-up, it would do you some good to have some name recognition." He looked around the room. "You'd all do well to network at an event like this: low pressure, casual. But you don't have to. And for the love of all things holy, don't get hammered. Then they'll remember you forever." That got a chuckle out of everyone, even Sullivan, whose face resumed a slightly healthier pallor.

That was one part of the job Harry and Ron wholeheartedly agreed on. Like standard operating procedures, the Christmas party was, too, a necessary evil.

After the meeting, Ron hung back. "About this drug case, I was thinking. If it goes nowhere, we might need to call in an outside expert."

Harry nodded. He'd thought the same thing. "Do we have any contracts we can draw on?"

"We don't, but the lab might. I'll check on that once we hear back on the latest tests they're running. But ever since Sampson retired, they don't have the same level of expertise."

"I know. They've struggled getting a replacement. Kingsley tells me that the few they interviewed were woefully underqualified. And every qualified candidate that applied balked at the mediocre salary. Refused to even interview." Harry couldn't blame them. The private sector potions business was highly profitable. "Potions Masters don't come cheap, but after Skeeter's last article on bloated public servant salaries, the administration is loath to review anyone's salary, particularly once someone's left. So they've set aside the competition for the year, and will look at it again come January. Better to have a vacancy and salary savings, in their minds."

"Then in five years, when they realise how much we've spent on consulting contracts, they'll cry foul and beg for us to hire internally again."

"And so the cycle continues."

Ron packed up his files and made to leave. Harry stopped him. "Before you go, keep an eye on Mulhoney, yeah? Didn't her cousin have a drug problem? She looked a bit spooked by the case."

"Uncle, actually. And I'm already on it."

"Great, thanks."

When Ron left, Harry spent some time pondering the drug case. He couldn't imagine, as a parent, watching your son or daughter go mad, or even die, from one stupid mistake. A big mistake, to be sure, but this garbage was top-grade poison. Highly potent, and seemingly without an antidote. Not like the relatively harmless experiments of youth they usually came across. A counter-potion, spell, or some combination and the kid walks away with a headache and some bad memories. Mungo's had brilliant medical staff and they hadn't been able to stop it once it got hold.

And kids are notoriously stupid. He could imagine them egging each other on. Those guys survived just fine. We'll be fine. We're strong enough to handle it. Like most stupid dares that get dumber over time. Only this one could kill them.

Sometimes he really hated people. He hoped Mulhoney was right – that the garbage was gone now – but he doubted it. And even if it was, they needed to find the producer and get them off the street. Along with the formula. Before it happened all over again, with potentially worse outcomes.

Meanwhile, six families would spend this Christmas mourning the loss of their child, and another eight families would be spending their days visiting St. Mungo's instead of Christmas shopping. What a clusterfuck.

He ran his hands through his hair, wondering what the hell he was going to tell Skeeter later this week.


      * Ves – abbreviation of Vesanus, from the Latin meaning frenzied or insane