Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This fic was written for the 2015 hd Family Fest based on a prompt submitted by dragon2stars. Based on the prompt, there is necessarily some heaviness to this fic, but while I did bear in mind the need to deal with the grief both Harry and especially Draco have experienced, I tried to keep the overall theme of the fic one of healing and rebuilding. Draco will talk about the loss of his son, but it is not the dominant thread of the fic.

I would like to thank my awesome betas, eidheann_writes and kohaku_imaki55, for all their help and, as always, also thank you to all the lovely Brits at hp_britglish for helping this American to British her writing up a bit. Thanks also, of course to dragon2stars, I so glad you're happy with how the story came out!

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SEIZING SECOND CHANCES

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This was a bad idea, Draco told himself. This whole thing was a monumentally bad idea. He didn't know why he put himself through this every year. He sighed and took a seat on a vacant bench, tucking a Muggle carrier bag protectively at his side.

In front of him a dozen or more young children played in the sunshine. They were beautiful, happy, healthy children, each and every one of them. They ran; they squealed and laughed and shouted, "Mummy, look at me!" before sliding down a multi-coloured spiral slide that made their hair stand up with static. They climbed up a pretend rock wall with bright emerald green hand and footholds. They swung by their arms across a climbing frame.

Draco watched them with a heavy heart and a burning sensation behind his eyes. He rested a hand low on his abdomen, still able to feel the slight swell, the fluttering movement of a tiny body.

Scorpius. . . .

He sniffled and cleared his throat. Dammit, he'd known coming here was a bad idea. But still he came, just like he came every year on this date. He should have listened to his mother. No more, he resolved. No more. Next year, he would not come.

Even as he promised himself, he knew that next year he would break that promise.

A breeze kicked up, not too strong, but enough that the plastic carrier bag next to him made a soft crinkling sound.

As he sat, Draco's eyes picked out one particular child—a small boy of about four or five. The child had a thick head of untidy dark hair and swung contentedly on the swings, kicking his legs up in front of him as he swung forward and curling them under when he swung back. Draco watched him for several seconds before blinking rapidly and looking away.

What was he doing here watching unknown children play, he asked himself? He exhaled and picked up his carrier bag, ready to leave. He'd tortured himself long enough.

"Malfoy?"

Draco pressed his lips together. He should have chosen a different park. This one was far too close to the Apparition point. Even in a Muggle neighbourhood, he should have realised the likelihood of encountering a Wizarding family. And it would be him, of course. It had to be. Swallowing hard and tightening his fingers around the bag, he closed his eyes and wished the voice away.

"Draco?"

No such luck. But when had Draco ever had any luck where the owner of that voice was concerned? Resigned, he turned toward the man he saw approaching from the corner of his eye.

"Potter."

Harry Potter approached him with a wide grin across his face, and with a jolt as sharp as a knife, Draco recognised the unruly jet black hair of the little boy on the swing. He'd known Potter had children, of course. He'd even known that one of them was about the same age as—

"I thought it was you," Potter said in surprise. He sat down next to him as if they were old friends eager to catch up with one another. "Fancy running into you at a Muggle play park."

Every muscle in Draco's body tensed. He inched away from the other man, the plastic bag held close to him like a shield.

The former Auror clearly hadn't lost any of his observational skills since he'd left field work for a desk job following the death of his wife over a year ago. When he next spoke a moment later, there was a guarded tone to his voice that had been absent previously. "I didn't even know you had children. Which one's yours?"

"None of them are mine." Draco stood quickly. "If you'll excuse me." Not waiting for a response, he rushed off.

He didn't look behind him, but he could still hear the children laughing.

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.oOo.

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"Was that really Malfoy?"

Hermione's question was incredulous as she sat down in the seat the blond had just vacated. They'd all known the other wizard had returned from Canada five years ago when his father's health had begun to deteriorate, but in all that time, they'd barely caught a glimpse of him. To run into him now in a Muggle play park?

"What was he doing here?" she asked.

Harry cocked his head to the side as he watched the other man hurry down the street towards the nearby Apparition point.

"I've no idea."

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.oOo.

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"Draco?" his mother asked, easing his door open and leaning in.

Without looking up, Draco responded, "Come in, Mother."

He'd Apparated directly back to the manor after leaving the play park and had gone straight to his private apartment without informing his mother he'd returned. Mother and son had always had a close relationship, but in the years since Draco had come back to England, the dynamic had shifted to one of more equal footing than that of a parent and child. Draco had returned to his ancestral home after the loss of his son in time to witness his father's rapid decline. Less than four months after laying his son to rest in the Malfoy family tomb, they'd lost his father as well.

Draco's private apartment was made up of four rooms: his bedroom, dressing room, a sitting room, and his office. He was in his sitting room at that moment, sitting at one end of a long brown leather sofa in front of an empty hearth. His feet were flat on the ground as he leaned forward, his elbow on his knees. In his hands he held a soft, light-weight baby blanket in pale blue. Five years ago, he'd intended to bring his son home from hospital wrapped in that blanket, but he'd never got the chance.

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.oOo.

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Late the next morning, Draco stood in the manor's conservatory. The weather couldn't be more different than it had been the day before. Yesterday, the sun had shone brightly on the children as they played. Today, the sky was as grey as a pewter cauldron, and heavy sheets of rain pounded the room's glass walls and ceiling. He looked out across the manor's vast grounds. How many times had he imagined his little boy playing on those lawns?

Dropping his eyes, Draco recalled watching Potter's son on the swings the day before. His Scorpius would have been the same age as Potter's son. They'd have gone to Hogwarts together. Played Quidditch against each other. Or maybe they'd have been in the same house; they might've played on the same team. The ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of Draco's mouth. Wouldn't Potter have loved that?

Draco returned his gaze to the grounds and breathed deeply. Scorpius' birthday was always the worst day of a terrible week.

After a period of time, his mother joined him. She linked her arm with his and rested a hand on his forearm, and together they stood in companionable silence, watching the rain.

"Biddy told me I'd find you here," Narcissa eventually said. "I wanted to remind you of your luncheon appointment with Petherbridge."

Draco appreciated that she didn't offer to owl to postpone the meetings.

A wizard of almost forty, Percival Petherbridge was the head of Petherbridge Potions, the newest potions brewing firm in Britain. He was also a distant Malfoy cousin through his maternal line. Draco was in no shortage of distant cousins; it was ones who were willing to acknowledge the connection who were exceedingly rare.

Petherbridge Potions was a small company with only a handful of employees. Draco was not one of those employees. He had no interest in brewing existing potions to be sold to the masses, and even after the reparations they'd had to pay after the war, he wasn't in such financial need that doing so was necessary. What he was in need of was a sense of purpose, to know that in some way, he mattered, he made a difference for the better after all the harm done during the war. His interest lay in private, independent research: the improvement of existing formulas, or better yet, the development of new potions. With the combination of his own talent for the subject and several of Severus Snape's notebooks, he'd had considerable success at the former. It was the later that continued to elude him.

"I think after my meeting I had best stop by the Ministry," he commented.

Surprised, his mother asked, "Whatever for?"

The days of the Malfoy family's political power were long gone, and Draco had not set foot in the Ministry of Magic once since his return from Canada.

"I ran into Potter at the play park yesterday."

The news shocked his mother, Draco knew, but she hid it well.

"What of it? Are you not allowed to come and go as you please?"

He sighed. "A single man without a child hanging around a children's play park. It raises eyebrows, surely you must see that. Best assure our hero I am not up to some nefarious scheme."

"But, what will you tell him?"

Draco shrugged in an attempt to appear casual while inside he was shaking.

"The truth. I will tell him the truth."

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.oOo.

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There you have the first chapter! I know it's very short, but the others are all longer. This fic is finished and will updated every few days. It's five chapters and about 28,000 words long. Drop me a review and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!