Second Chance (2025 Christmas Story) - Chapter 6

Title: Second Chance – Chapter Six
Author: sesheta_66 || AO3: sesheta_66
Prompts used: slythindor100’s early bird prompt I: Christmas Sweater with Reindeer Colourwork Design (picture under the cut) and dracoharry100’s prompt 6: Silver and Gold
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 2.4K (this part)
Rating: R (eventually; this part PG)
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 | Part 5 | Part 6

OR on AO3





Second Chance – Chapter 6

Drummond knocked on Harry's door. "Hey, boss. Got a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Ron's in the field, following up on another case, and asked me to check in with you. I spoke with the lab and they are at an impasse. Said they did what they could. Ron checked; their external contracts have run their course, and they haven't renewed for next year yet. Looks like we'll have to hire on our own."

Harry nodded. "You've been dealing with Mungo's, yeah?" Drummond nodded. "Right, then. See if they might be able to lend us someone, or if not, if they'd recommend anyone. They already know the details of the case, and they've seen the results. They should be able to shortlist some options for us." Better than any of us could. "Maybe get a couple of names."

"On it. Will let you know."

"Thanks. Maybe get Amelia to draft a contract – she can use the lab's existing ones as a template – so we're ready to go right away. I don't want to waste time on paperwork when we've got a drug manufacturer to get off the streets. Just leave out specifics and have it ready to finalise. And get a summary of the hourly or per diem rates from their latest contracts, so I know what to expect." Harry had discretionary funds, but didn't like to max them out. He'd been diligent about keeping costs down, which left him some flexibility, particularly as the end of the year was fast approaching, but better to approach discussions as well-informed as he could be.

"Will do."

About an hour later, after attending the Improper Use of Magic Office's monthly meeting, Harry was back at his desk when Drummond knocked again.

Harry motioned to the visitor's chair and Drummond took a seat. "News from Mungo's?"

"Mm hmm. They don't have anyone to spare, but they're happy to consult with whoever we end up hiring."

"Fair enough. Did they give you any names?"

"Three, actually. Top of their list is Draco Malfoy."

Well, that was unexpected. Harry knew Draco ran his own lab and had made a name for himself, but hadn't realised he was that well respected. "Go on."

"They said he's done loads of work for them over the years, and he's top notch. Best in the field, according to Smithson, particularly when it comes to healing potions. And he's done some analysis on existing potions, made improvements on them, that sort of thing. They just finished some work with him, so he might be available."

Harry wondered if Draco would want to work with the Ministry after everything. "The next one?"

He looked at his notes. "Another is a bloke named Émile Martin from France they use on occasion, but Smithson said he's been on leave for two months. Hadn't planned to be available until March sometime, some family issue, but he might be willing to help out, given the severity of the case."

"Okay, we'll keep that in mind, if push comes to shove. And the third?"

"A witch named Samantha Cresswell, works at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary in Diagon Alley. She's apparently done excellent work for them for years as well. Not quite on par with Malfoy or Martin when it comes to analytical skills, and they don't know her availability, particularly during the season, being in retail, but still someone they recommend." He dropped the paper onto Harry's desk. "I did ask how much they paid each of them, but Smithson didn't have their contracts in front of him, and said he couldn't tell me even if he did."

Harry nodded. Malfoy, eh? Ron would love that. "So what's your take?"

"Me? Sounds like they're all good. I'd say we see if this Malfoy's available and how much he charges. If not, Cresswell. If neither of them, Martin. No sense calling him unless we need to. Family should rank higher than work."

"I agree."

"Shall I tell Ron you've agreed and get him to reach out? Amelia is getting the material as we speak and should have the contract drafted this afternoon."

Harry imagined Ron's approach, and for that matter Draco's response. "No, it's okay. He's out and I'd like to get this going as quickly as possible. Let me reach out to Malfoy and see what he has to say."

"Sounds good. I'll have Amelia pull together a briefing package so it's ready for when the person starts. She'll get all the lab notes and whatever else they might need."

"Thanks. I'll keep you posted. You can let Ron know when he comes back."

That should be a fun conversation.

Speaking of conversations, Harry wondered how his conversation with Draco would go. He hadn't spoken to the man for years. Had thought about him on occasion, when his name was said in passing. When the Malfoys' names appeared in the news, attached to some charity or another. When Albus had written home, telling Harry all about his new best friend. When Gin had left. When Al had told him that Scorpius' mom died. And now here his name was, showing up again in Harry's life.

He'd wondered, during those times when his name triggered a memory in Harry's mind, how they'd got to where they were now. He'd been a fixture in Harry's life – a thorn in his side – for a solid six years at Hogwarts. Then the war had pushed all that to the background, just noise in amongst the rest of the noise that wasn't directly about getting and destroying the horcruxes. Getting to and destroying Voldemort.

Even then, though, he'd seen flashes of Draco, through Voldemort's eyes. Harry supposed that had been when he'd forgiven him. Or maybe not forgiven him, but laid the groundwork. He'd pitied him as he'd watched what Voldemort was making him do. Dumbledore's words on the tower that night – kindness shown to the boy that might kill him to save his parents – might have been the kindest ones directed at him by anyone besides his mother. God! Imagine growing up with Lucius as a father? Fucking hell, maybe Harry hadn't had it so bad.

Fleeting thoughts that entered his mind from time to time during the war. And then afterwards. The initial trials had taken months. Harry had thought he'd be called to testify against all the Death Eaters, but he hadn't. His testimony had been given multiple times over the years, only to be ignored or twisted by the Ministry, so they knew what he had to say. He reckoned there were a fair few officials that would rather not have Harry speak in open court, lest their complacency – or in some cases, active resistance – become a matter of official public record. Whatever the reason, Kingsley had taken a full statement from Harry which he'd had transcribed. Harry had signed it and they'd presented it to the court as evidence with no objection from any of the defendants, and no requests to cross-examine him. He'd been shocked but relieved.

Still, when Lucius had gone on trial, a part of Harry had wanted to go there, look the bastard in the eyes, and give him the same condescending smirk he'd given Harry all those years back. Wanted to hear them read the guilty verdict. Wanted to watch them cart him off to Azkaban for the last time. But he'd resisted. Hermione had seen to that. She'd insisted that he'd get the closure he needed from the records after the fact. He could watch that last disgrace via a Pensieve memory. No sense getting himself worked up and reliving everything.

In the end, she'd been right. He'd had nightmares nearly every night since the final battle, seeing the faces of the dead, replaying the battles, and in some cases, his sleeping brain would make minor adjustments to events and Voldemort would end up winning. He'd woken up in a cold sweat and had to run to the loo a number of times after those ones. But they'd started to become less graphic, less frequent as time went on. The trials had brought them back. Not with as much frequency or intensity, and no Voldemort wins, thank Merlin, but still. No use prodding his memories even more by going to court. And eventually the nightmares began to ease again.

Then had come the second wave of trials – those for the accomplices. Among them Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. There would have been nothing for Hermione to say or do to stop him going to those. Both of them had saved Harry's life. Both of them had defied Voldemort – in whatever small way they'd been able to – and had defied Lucius as well.

Harry was no fool. He knows now what he'd known then: Narcissa had been protecting her son, not standing up for what was right or trying to save Harry. But he didn't care. He'd seen in Snape's memories Narcissa enlist his help to protect Draco, against Voldemort's orders, against her sister's wishes. Whatever side she'd been on, her top priority had always been her son. Protecting her son. Just like Lily had protected Harry. And Harry had grown up without her. He'd be damned if he wouldn't do everything he could to be sure Draco's mother wasn't taken away from him. Sure, Draco was a man by then, but one that had been raised by Lucius, indoctrinated by Death Eaters, and taught to hate. Maybe he needed time away from all that, to just be loved. By his mother.

As for Draco, he'd done worse than Narcissa, but most of his actions had been as an underage wizard. One who'd looked up to his scumbag of a father, who, as far as Harry could tell, didn't have a redeeming bone in his body. He'd been taught that Voldemort's way was the true and righteous path. Should he have seen through it all? As a boy, not likely. Once he got to school, perhaps. As a young man, sure. But by then, Voldemort was back and threatening his parents. His entire world was collapsing and he had no way to stop it. Except to follow through, do what his father told him to do. Rock and a hard place, that was. And in the end, he'd lied – there was no way in hell he hadn't recognised Harry – and had saved Harry's life. And again when Crabbe had wanted to kill him.

So Harry had testified. Had skirted over the Hogwarts stuff – even what had happened to Katie Bell and Ron as Draco had attempted to kill Dumbledore – not because he didn't think he should pay for that, but because he knew that the wizarding community was out for blood. And from what Harry had witnessed through Voldemort's eyes, he knew Draco had paid. Enough? Probably not, but acting under duress, as a brainwashed minor, was not the same as being a dedicated Death Eater like Lucius. Dumbledore had even said that Draco's attempts had been feeble, and that his heart hadn't been in it.

When the news had broken later that evening, Ron had sent him a Howler. "What the hell were you thinking? And why didn't you tell me you were going to testify?" Why hadn't Harry told him what he was going to do? Because Ron would have tried to talk him out of it. In fact, Harry hadn't told anyone he was going to testify – not Kingsley, not the prosecution, not the defence; he'd just shown up on the day.

Then Ron had shown up at Grimmauld Place that night. "What the fuck did you defend that tosser for?" he'd said as Harry opened the door and he stormed in, nearly knocking Harry off his feet. Harry had tried to explain his reasoning, the fact that Draco had been forced into a horrible situation, but Ron was having none of it. They'd screamed themselves hoarse and by the time they were done, Ron had basically told him to fuck off for choosing Draco over him and had stormed out. They hadn't spoken for months afterwards.

Auror training had started soon after, and both he and Ron had been accepted into the program. Training had proven to be a challenge, with Ron visibly furious, only ever speaking to Harry when absolutely necessary, and taking every opportunity to throw rogue spells at him during practice. Harry had got his own in, to be fair, but his heart hadn't been in it. In the end, it had been Hermione – of course it had been Hermione; it was always Hermione – who had brought them together. After a tough Christmas – he hadn't gone to the Burrow, giving the excuse to leave them to mourn as a family – he'd received an owl, telling him to be patient, with a store-bought reindeer sweater enclosed, instead of a traditional Weasley one. Whether that had been because Molly didn't knit any that year or because she too was upset with Harry, he'd never asked.

They had been halfway through their first year of training when Harry had all but given up. If she hadn't broken through Ron's wall of stubbornness by now, she never would. Harry knew she'd explained to Ron his reasons for testifying (the same reasons that he'd been too stubborn to hear directly from Harry) and he suspected she'd enlisted Molly's help. But he and Ron had never discussed it, not since that night. Had barely spoken at all.

Then out of the blue, Ron had walked up to Harry and said, "I reckon we've been through too much to let it end like this." And that was that. He had no idea what Hermione or Molly had said or done to bring that about, and they never said. Things hadn't gone back to the way they'd been before, not for a long time, but at least Harry hadn't had to watch his back every training session they'd had. And he'd been invited back to the Burrow. And then there had been Ginny. And now, here he was.

He'd never told Ron or Hermione about what had happened during the time they hadn't been speaking. It was all in the past, after all. He'd never told anyone. And he never planned to. He didn't know if their friendship could survive that.

And now here he was, about to invite Draco to work with them.

He picked up the silver-trimmed parchment with the gold "Department of Magical Law Enforcement" letterhead.

Fucking hell. What was he doing? He took a deep breath, dipped his quill in some ink and began to write.