Disclaimer: Let's just assume that J. K. Rowling's sister didn't name her, shall we? Good. Mine did. Therefore, I'm not J. K. Rowling. Can we discover the logical conclusion here?

Author's note: This will, at some point, contain Slash between Harry and Draco. It will also, at some point, earn its rating. If you are uncomfortable with these things, I'm certainly not going to make you read it. Unless you're my sister...


Second Chances
Ch. 1 A Second Chance

“No!” Harry slammed his fists down on the table, glaring at the Minister of Magic. “They’re just kids; they’re my age. You can’t just give them the Kiss. They were raised that way; they didn’t know any better. They deserve a second chance!”

The entire council room went silent. Most of them had assumed this was just a formality; children or not, the prisoners in question were Death Eaters, had fought for Voldemort in the final battle and bore his Mark, and the penalty for that was the Dementor’s Kiss. And Harry Potter, the Hero of the Wizarding World, was no older.

But that same Harry Potter, secondary leader of the Order of the Phoenix, was the one balking them now. “These are people I went to school with. The youngest of them are going into their sixth year with me. None of them was born evil; they were just raised in the Dark Arts. I repeat: they’re just kids.”

The Minister coughed uneasily. Balking Harry Potter was not something one did, but surely he couldn’t be suggesting they turn convicted Death Eaters out on the world. He voiced his query uneasily.

“No, I’m not suggesting that. I’m just saying; you can’t just give them the Kiss. Their wands were already snapped on the battle field.”

Professor Dumbledore, seated to Harry’s right, observed, “Harry has a point. For now, giving them the Kiss appears to be out. Does anyone have any other suggestions?”

It was rare that Dumbledore spoke up in meetings anymore; he was old and dying, hit hard by the final battle. McGonagall was taking over his duties at the school, and Harry was taking the Order. Looking around, it was clear how much the war had cost them.

There were ten people at the table. They were the only surviving members of the Order’s Council. Harry Potter, Headmaster Dumbledore, Arthur Weasley, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and five Ministry officials, including the new Minister.

There was a long moment of silence. Arthur spoke up, offering, “We could send them into the Muggle world, stripped of magic and memories wiped clean.”

“No,” Harry vetoed. “They don’t know how to survive there.” Taking abrupt charge of the meeting, he said, “Let’s all go home and think about it. We can reconvene tomorrow to finish this, when everyone will have suggestions. It’s late, and I wanted to start on my Summer Assignments today. Professor Snape here assigned overkill.”

That caused the desired laughter. Even with the war over, it was still summer vacation for the Hogwarts students, and that meant homework. Said students still included the Hero of the Wizarding World, and he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. Smiling slightly, he followed Sirius home.

The ex-convict’s name had been cleared partially through fifth year, when Harry had caught Wormtail, and the boy had been delighted to move in with his Godfather at last.

They lived in a flat in Hogsmeade, near the Three Broomsticks, and it was a surprisingly cozy home, considering it housed a pair of bachelors. It was done mostly in the red and gold of Gryffindor, with three bedrooms, one for Sirius, one for Harry, and one for guests, a living room, a study, and a kitchen. Unaccustomed to having a family, the green-eyed orphan had been uneasy at first, but had settled in amazingly well. Now, three weeks into summer, it was hard to imagine wanting to live anywhere else.

The wards on the flat, despite the fact the war was over, were impressive. Harry and Sirius both had to identify themselves to be allowed to pass. If visitors came who weren’t on the approved list, it required both of them to vouch for the person if the wards were to let him or her in.

A House Elf from Hogwarts had apparently been by, because dinner was laid out on the table. Harry immediately sat down to eat. Sirius was slightly slower. “Harry, where are you going with the Council? They may be children, but the things they’ve done. . .”

“Where I’m going is that I’m not going to watch my classmates take the Kiss. Partially, it’s the same reason I wouldn’t let you kill Pettigrew. Justice is better served in other ways. I’ve got a plan, Sirius. Trust me. Sit down and eat, and we’ll talk about it. This roast’s really good.”

Sirius obeyed, and for a time the only sounds were appreciation of the cooking, but over the bones, black eyes met emerald very seriously. “All right, Harry. Talk.”

“I don’t want to tell you too much. You need to be as surprised as everyone else. But I really and truly think that some of the Death Eaters, the younger ones, can be shown a different way. Maybe they’ll never be completely trusted again, but their lives won’t be thrown away. So many people died, Sirius. Why make it worse?”

“All right, I can see your point on that, but where are they going to go?”

“That’s what I don’t want to discuss with you right now. Just, for this to go forward, I need your permission on one thing. Would it be all right with you if one of the younger Death Eaters stayed here for a while? Just until I go back to Hogwarts; then whoever it is will go with me. I’ll take full responsibility for them.”

“Harry, that’s incredibly dangerous! If they’re still Death Eaters, you’re their prime target! You shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near them!”

“Sirius, for one thing, they don’t even have their wands. I snapped most of those myself, and I kept the pieces. And the ones I didn’t snap, I was given the pieces to. It’s not like any of them can perform wandless magic. There are a million spells we can put on the guest room and the flat itself to make this doable. Sirius, they’re my age. You know what Azkaban’s like. Do they deserve that? Sleep on it, and tell me in the morning.” Irritated, Harry walked into his bedroom and shut the door, getting started on his summer assignments. He hadn’t been exaggerating the amount of work he had to do.

Just before he went to sleep, there was a brief tapping on his door. “Harry?”

“Yes, Sirius?” Harry asked tiredly.

“I just wanted to tell you, I’ll support you in whatever you tell the Council. Even if it means having a Death Eater in my house. All right?”

The younger Gryffindor smiled in relief. “Thanks, Sirius. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well.”

In the Council meeting the next morning, Sirius kept watching Harry, expecting him to bring his idea up. Instead, the boy was content to wait, pointing out flaws in the other suggestions. Finally, nearing lunchtime, he announced, “Well, we’re never going to get anywhere like this. Would anyone like to hear my suggestion?”

Silence fell, and he took that as his cue to continue. “There aren’t that many who are underage and still attending Hogwarts. Perhaps thirty. This is the group that I am particularly interested in. It is my thoughts that some of the more powerful, Light wizarding families might take in one of the children. These families would preferably be
with someone young who is willing to devote a great deal of time to the person they are taking in, become a companion to their charge. Although I suppose the age of the companion really doesn’t matter.”

The protests were nearly identical to Sirius’, coming from everyone except Harry, Dumbledore, Sirius, and surprisingly Snape.

“But these are Death Eaters!”

“We can’t ask good families to extend their homes to the enemy!”

“There’s so much risk to the host families involved!”

The meeting devolved from there for a time. Finally, Snape raised a hand. “Let the boy finish. I’m sure he’s thought of these already.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Professor.” He repeated the gist of the arguments he had given his godfather, then added, “The families can be compensated, and I’m sure there are several who would like to see these young people given the chance to reform.

“But I can see your points, too. To eliminate the dissent, I would be willing to put this method to the test, a trial run you might say. I will choose one of the youngest Death Eaters currently in Azkaban, take that person into my home, and see what I can do with him or her. It’s a long process, but my progress can be evaluated when it is time to return to Hogwarts. I will be companion to the person I take in. He or she will spend as long as it takes in my company to see if he or she can be shown our side of things. That includes going to Hogwarts with me. I’m sure the Headmaster can set up accommodations that are suitable.” He sat back to enjoy the chaos that erupted in the room as the other members of the Council debated, argued, protested, pleaded, and finally agreed.

“Very well, Mr. Potter. You shall go to Azkaban tomorrow and choose which one you will take in,” the Minister said grumpily. “If at the end of the summer, it is deemed that progress has been made, your method will be implemented. If not, you may, if you so wish, continue your efforts with the person you have chosen, but the others will be given the Dementor’s Kiss. Council dismissed.”

Harry went home that day in reasonably high spirits. They had listened to him. He knew that getting the Council to agree was the easy part, but it was still a victory. He prepared the guest room as best he could without knowing who was coming, setting up wards that could be personalized when he did. The guest room had its own bathroom, and so if food was provided, someone could live there quite comfortably for some time. The wards Harry was putting up would confine the inhabitant to the room unless granted permission to leave it. They also prevented anyone but Harry from spell casting within their boundaries. He ensured that nothing in the rooms could be used as a weapon, and when he was satisfied, he headed off to bed himself.

The next morning, he was ferried onto Azkaban Island. He was escorted by Sirius, Arthur Weasley, and one of the Ministry people to authorize the release.

The underage Death Eaters were kept in a separate ward, less frequented by the dementors. It was thought to be a kindness. At the entrance to that hall, Harry waved his companions to stay back. He had to do this on his own.

He passed the cells one by one, recognizing their occupants. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Ernie MacMillan, to name only a few. Others were dead, like Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Morag MacDougal. Finally, he reached the last cell. Looking into the eyes of the occupant sent him straight back to the last few moments of the final battle.

Harry had just killed Voldemort with Godric Gryffindor’s sword. Two of his followers continued to stand, while most began to flee. The taller of the two stepped forward to engage his master’s killer, while the smaller stood back. Even with their hoods up, Harry recognized them. Draco and Lucius Malfoy, the father a member of Voldemort’s inner circle, the son destined to be a Death Eater from the moment he was conceived.

Harry dueled with Lucius and won, the older man collapsing unconscious, unlikely to wake from the wounds inflicted on him. Draco looked at his father, and threw back his hood to study Harry in turn. There was a long, tense moment, but in the end, the pale boy tossed his wand to his rival’s feet.

“There’s no point in fighting and dying,” he drawled quietly. “For what it’s worth, you have my surrender. I suppose you’ll kill me now.” He watched with seeming impassivity as Harry lifted the wand, ebony, 13 inches, dragon heart-strings, and snapped it, pocketing the pieces.

“Hands in front of you,” Harry had demanded, and he had been surprised to be met with obedience. Still, hiding his shock, he waved his own wand and bound Draco before escorting him personally to the Aurors. “He surrendered,” the green-eyed boy said coolly to the person taking charge of his rival. “Mitigated sentence.”

“He’s a Malfoy. I doubt he’ll get one,” was the tired reply.

Harry had watched as the Slytherin was led away, something hurting in his heart. There had been something in those grey eyes that touched him, spoke of remorse deeply buried in the icy soul. Malfoy was someone he had been accustomed to seeing frequently at school, arguing with, insulting, but not meeting at wand point, their intents to kill. And to see the arrogant boy following an Auror, shoulders slumped, already knowing his fate, hurt worse than he could have imagined.

Draco looked very different now, dressed in a prison smock, thin and dirty. His long, pale-blonde hair was lank and clung to his forehead, but the grey eyes still held a spark, and something Harry couldn’t define.

“Well, Potter?” Malfoy snapped, drawing his visitor out of the memories. “Come to gloat? You won. I thought you were a better person than to rub it in.”

Harry jumped. The accustomed malice filled the drawl, but beneath it there was something else. After a moment, he identified it. Despair, desperation that his rival would not see him broken, and resignation. “Hello, Malfoy.” His eyes continued to take in his rival. The other boy was seated on a cot, the only piece of furniture in the tiny cell. He leaned back against the cold, wet stone of the wall as though his natural grace and sense of balance had been destroyed by exposure to the dementors. Still, he was sane. “No, I haven’t come to gloat. Only to talk to you.”


“I’d say come in, but I don’t think you’d want to. Besides, I can hardly hold the door open for you. What do you want?”

Harry looked around awkwardly before spotting a chair. He brought it to the bars that separated the hall from the cell and sat down. “I’m sure you know what your sentence was supposed to be,” he started.

“The Dementor’s Kiss, yes, thank you for the absolutely unwanted reminder.”

“Malfoy, shut it. I don’t have to be here.”

“So why are you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, but you keep interrupting. It’d be in your best interest to listen to me. I’m offering you another choice.”

“Well? Tell me. The Kiss is hardly appealing.”

“No more interruptions, then. Most of the Council was all set to give the lot of you the Kiss. You’re Death Eaters, it’s obvious to everyone. It happens I don’t agree with them, and for some reason everyone’s recently decided to listen to me. I believe that a lot of what you believe in is based in how you were raised. Therefore, I’m offering you a second chance. There are, of course, conditions.” He paused for a moment, studying the grey eyes, then continued. “I volunteered to take you in. You would live in my home and obey the rules there. You would be my companion, and go with me most places. When I go back to Hogwarts, you’d come with me. We’ll see if I can’t convince you that you were on the wrong side.”

“I know I was on the wrong side; we lost,” but it was very quiet, and easily ignored. “Will I get my wand back?”

“Malfoy, you watched me break it.”

“There are ways to fix that. Besides, I was referring to the pieces. Well, Potter? Had you thought of that? Or were you so thick it didn’t occur to you that I’d want it?”

“Not right away, no, Malfoy,” Harry replied, ignoring the jibe. “No one trusts you that much yet. Later, no one can say. If you earn it, and earn our trust, maybe you will get it back.”

“And all I have to do is live with my arch-rival while he tries to convince me that everything I was raised to believe is bull. Just lovely.” He lay back on the cot, closing his eyes for a moment. Harry watched him with a surprising amount of sympathy.

While Malfoy considered, his rival studied him, as the green-eyed boy had been doing when first reaching the cell. It had clearly been several months since the Slytherin had been outside; his already pale skin had gone pasty white. There were lines on his face from the dementors’ enforced misery, and he couldn’t have been eating well. The prison smock hung off of his gaunt frame disturbingly. It was tied around his waist with a cord, keeping it from falling off, but it was short enough that it rode up the pale legs in Draco’s current position.

Harry blushed when he realized that his rival had nothing else on. Unfortunately, the other boy re-opened his eyes at just the wrong moment, and caught the blush. He followed where the green eyes were focused, and stood abruptly, a hand against the wall for balance, hauling down his smock with a sneer. “Sure you don’t have any ulterior motives for this, Potter?” But there was a hint of pink in his white cheeks, and his voice quivered slightly. Beneath the arrogance, it was clear he was humiliated by the awkwardness of his situation.

“Positive, Malfoy. Have you decided?”

“Well, I had, before I caught you ogling me.”

“Malfoy!” Harry warned.

“Yes, I’ve decided, you fool. I’m a Slytherin; we prefer survival.”

Harry offered his hand, close enough to the bars that if Malfoy chose to take it, he could.

Draco threaded his own arm through the bars and grasped the offered hand firmly. “I’m sure there are conditions you have neglected to tell me, but yes, I’ll take your offered second chance.”