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Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31213 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books or films, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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- 12
11. "… Was not Spoken of the Soul"
Friday, May 8 1998
Draco Malfoy woke up at four o'clock in the morning, his head pounding. Just how much fire-whiskey had he drunk last night? An image came back to him with shocking clarity: Theo Nott shrieking in pain, his arm severed off. His wand arm. The arm that he had just used to send a Sectumsempra curse at Draco and Harry.
The memory still terrified him. It had taken him ages, and a Calming Draught, to calm down after Harry had apparated them back to the Manor. Then he had had to face dinner with his parents – his mother looking solicitous, his father looking daggers at him. They had, of course, discussed the events of the day; Draco had explained about the three curses aimed at them, and the Haussmann Shield reappearing. His father's expression darkened even further. Draco had decided not to put up with this any longer.
"Wurzle got your tongue, father?" he asked, forcing a mischievous grin onto his face, "or did you swallow something you didn't like?"
His father had lightened a bit at this. "I had hoped he would have asked about cancelling the debt by now," he'd said. "But apparently he's not quite that Gryffindor."
"I don't think we should rely on stereotypes, father," Draco had replied. "Everything he does lately comes as a surprise."
His father had raised his eyebrows at this, but the conversation had been moved on to safer topics by his mother. It wasn't until somewhat later they had returned to discussing the Debt. Lucius and he were alone in the study, drinking fire-whiskey together. It was a shocking thought that they hadn't been able to do this in peace since before Voldemort had occupied the Manor. His father had been uncharacteristically anxious as he explained what he had learnt about the workings of the Debt. Apparently, there was a small amount of time – not more than a week – after the Debt was incurred during which Harry could waive the debt entirely; that gave them two more days at most, and Draco was quite unsettled to realise that his Father was now despairing that anything would come of it.
After this first period had passed, and the debt could no longer be waived entirely, there were unavoidable consequences that could never be undone. Chief among them, at least as far as Lucius was concerned, was that it would become impossible to harm Harry or lie to him in any way – including by omission: they would be forced by the debt to protect him, and to tell him anything that they were aware of that concerned him. But only if he was there with them; they would not have to seek him out to do it.
Draco could understand why this was such a big deal to his father. Politics was Lucius' very life-blood, and lying, deception and concealment were essential to politics. To be robbed of these weapons, that he had wielded with such skill and ease for so long, would cripple him. But Lucius would have to learn to live with that, if it came to it.
Part of him wondered if he should have the same concern for his own future. But Draco was not his father; he had different worries and concerns to the older Malfoy. Right now, feeling lonely and sleepy in the early hours of the morning of Severus Snapes' funeral, it was time to think about what he wanted; after all, it wasn't just his father's life that could be irrevocably changed by this whole situation. He was sure that Severus, his godfather, would have told him to sort that out: how often over the years had Snape told him to grow up and be his own man?
He thought about the lines he had heard at the service: 'dust thou art, to dust returneth'. Snape had quoted them to him. His Muggle father had been fond of reading poetry, when he wasn't busy getting blind drunk and beating his wife and son up; and that poem had stuck in his godfather's mind. The next line, he recalled, was 'was not spoken of the soul'. What did that mean?
As Draco mulled the words over in his mind they suddenly came together in startling clarity: "Dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul".
So, the verse was telling him that his soul didn't end with death? That it went on? He wasn't sure about this. Could there be an enduring purpose to his life? Such as what though? What purpose could the life of a reviled former Death Eater possibly serve?
And then he remembered those strong arms around him. He remembered how Harry had been almost shaking, and calmed down when they had touched. All at once it struck him that there was something different here. Physical attraction, perhaps; definitely, from Draco's side, he admitted to himself. But there was more to it than that, he was sure. He focussed on that moment between them, trying to remember everything that had happened, everything he had felt. It had felt like Harry really needed to hold Draco. Somehow, that physical contact was needed to bring him back to himself.
Why?
"He needs your comfort", a voice said, inside his head. Comfort? Somehow, he didn't doubt it; but the thought raised as many questions as it answered. He couldn't see how Harry Potter, with his fame, his friends and his fortune could possibly need comforting. How could this be? He asked himself.
All at once he had a vision of an obscenely fat man with little eyes like pigs', and his huge hand striking a tiny boy, who cowered and whimpered and longed for someone, anyone, to come and cuddle him. And he recognized that little boy; there was no mistaking the scar, even then, on the head of the young Harry Potter.
He wondered who the man could be. He had certainly never seen him before. He knew that Harry had been brought up by Muggles; but surely, this man could not have been in charge of the little boy hero? Surely Harry would have been fêted and spoilt, not beaten and left alone.
Two emotions washed over Draco.
One was anger: how could this be? How could anyone dare to strike the Boy-Who-Lived? The force of the emotion shocked him: he knew at once that if he ever met the man, he would not be able to restrain himself from killing him. Anyone who could do that to any small child, never mind to Harry Potter, did not deserve to live.
The other was relief.
Harry had friends and fame and fortune now, but he had never known any of them when growing up. And Draco suspected that no-one else had any idea how much Harry had suffered. If Harry had told anyone else, the Slytherins would have found out, he would have known about it long ago.
He now understood, not completely of course, but it was a beginning; and with that he found a purpose. Harry needed someone to accept him unconditionally, totally, not for what he had done or the riches he possessed, but for himself. Someone to help him heal the wounds of the past.
Draco knew now that that was his purpose. Harry needed him. He didn't know where that fact would take them; but for the first time in a long time, he looked forward to what the day might bring.

It was the second day in a row that Harry Potter woke just after six o'clock. Good thing, too, he thought; Snape's funeral was at eight o'clock. Even in death, it seemed, the old Potions master was determined to be awkward; though the thought amused more than annoyed him.
He had been surprised to learn that no-one else from the Burrow would be attending the funeral. It turned out that Snape had left very detailed instructions: the funeral was to be private; it was not to be held during any official period of mourning (which explained why it came after the Memorial Service); and only a very few invited guests were to attend. Now that he knew Snape had been in love with Lily all his life, Harry was sure that he had been invited as his mother's son; certainly not because of his father!
He thought back to the previous evening. He had trembled with rage after the attack, but Draco was there with him, and obviously needed his support, so Harry pushed his anger down, making Draco's safety his priority for the moment. He was glad for the distraction which gave him something to focus on. He always found it easier to deal with his feelings when he had something to do. He had apparated the trembling blond back to Malfoy Manor straight away, to ensure there was no chance of any further attacks, leaving the Aurors to deal with the situation as best they could. Auror Crockford had returned to the Manor by Floo, with the other Malfoys, soon after, and practically shouted at him that the Malfoys were not allowed to apparate. Narcissa, standing behind him, had mouthed "don't antagonize him", and Harry had decided to accept the hint; he apologized to the Auror, pointing out that it hadn't been Draco's fault. This seemed to mollify him a little, and earned Harry a grateful smile from Narcissa.
Draco had been badly shaken by the curses, and had not stopped hugging Harry for nearly an hour. In the face of this obvious need, Harry found it easy to swallow his anger down even further in favour of taking care of his distressed friend. Eventually, Draco had let them give him a Calming Draught, and Narcissa had taken him up to bed. She had returned to her study a short while later, and she and Harry had discussed the events of the day further.
Harry was fairly shaken himself, but in a different way. Now that he was sure that Draco was safe and well his anger was fighting its way back up, warring with his concern for Draco and the difficulty he had dealing with the idea of compulsion: if the Shield was still there, did that mean that the relationship that was growing between them was a lie?
He tried his best to explain this all to Narcissa; in the end, she had pointed out that they had been obsessed with each other long before the events of the previous Saturday – in Draco's case, even before he first offered to shake Harry's hand – and Harry accepted that perhaps they were merely being pushed along a road they both wanted to take anyway. The idea didn't set his mind completely at rest, but it perhaps eased his concerns somewhat and so when Narcissa invited him to come to the Manor for lunch after Snape's funeral, he was happy to accept. It was strange to think that he wanted to come back to the Manor, the place he had such unhappy memories of, but the truth was he really wanted to talk more with Draco.
He had Flooed back to the Burrow soon afterwards to find everyone waiting for him. And that did mean everyone: George and Neville were there, Fred had brought Angelina, and Ginny was sitting on Robin's lap. He was hugged all round and they all sat together in the Weasley's lounge, the others obviously concerned for him after the events of the afternoon and wanting to hear his take on what had happened.
They were outraged to hear of the attack, and Robin had been scathing of the Aurors who had been there and their lack of action. As it happened, he and Auror Proudfoot had been tasked with keeping the chapel secure, so had been unable to help.
Harry was glad to have Robin's support; it did make it easier to feel justified in his lack of trust in the Aurors when their own colleague agreed with the sentiment. He had then repeated Narcissa's words, and Arthur and Molly had nodded vigorously.
"Follow your heart, Harry love," Molly had said to him. "You have to live without regrets – imagine the pain ten years from now if you didn't try, and wished you had?"
Shit! He thought, suddenly coming back to the present. It was now nearly quarter to seven; he'd sat too long thinking about the night before, he had to get moving. It was a good thing that he had learnt to have lightning-fast showers at Hogwarts, or miss out on breakfast altogether. He had missed enough breakfasts at the Dursleys'.

When Harry got to the chapel, with twelve minutes to spare, he found out just how 'private' Snape had meant. The only people there, apart from the inevitable Ministry officials and Aurors, were Kingsley Shacklebolt, representing the Order of the Phoenix; the Malfoys; and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, representing Hogwarts. Harry went and sat next to Draco, who immediately grabbed his hand.
Harry looked at him quizzically. "We don't have to hold hands," he said.
"No," Draco agreed, "but I want to."
Harry stared at him for a moment, and then he remembered saying the same thing the previous day. A broad grin came across his face as he happily gripped the blond's hand firmly.

The service was very short; there was no Ministry speech, Severus had specifically forbidden it, to Harry's private delight. In its place, unusually, was the reading of Snape's Will. This turned out to be extremely simple: apart from a few bequests to individuals, Snape had left his entire stock of potions and equipment to "perhaps my most promising student in recent times, Mr. Draco Malfoy"; and the bulk of his estate to "surely my least promising student in recent times, Mr. Harry Potter". The gift, though not the description, came as a shock to Harry; but Narcissa assured him that it was the measure of how much Severus Snape had truly loved Lily Potter. Given this, Harry felt he could not refuse.
There was just one item that was left to Harry individually: a book wrapped in black cloth. When he opened the cloth, he found his old Potions textbook from Sixth Year, the one that had belonged to the Half-Blood Prince (who had turned out to be Severus himself) and which he had believed had been lost in the Room of Requirement when the Fiendfyre swept through. There was a note on the book, in Snape's spiky handwriting: To Mr. Potter, to remind him that he is not as good at hiding things as he thinks he is; in the hope that he will learn from it and prove unworthy of my low opinion of his skills in my subjects. Harry didn't miss the sly reference to his lack of Occlumency, as well as Potions, skill; but he took the whole, coming from Snape, as a huge compliment. It was, after all, an encouragement to him to continue his studies and a suggestion that Snape thought him capable of better things. The man had never even hinted at such a thing while Harry had been at Hogwarts.
At that moment Harry made some momentous decisions. If Snape held out hope for him, he would accept McGonagall's offer, he would go back and finish his studies. But it would not only be because he owed it to Snape. Running away into the Auror programme, he realized, was a safe option. Not an easy option, to be sure; but he would always feel that he had been accepted because of his fame, rather than his ability. He would be living the life of the Famous Harry Potter. But that wasn't him. He had always known he didn't really want that. No, he wanted to be Just Harry. He wanted to earn his place, if that was his fate, fair and square. But above all, he wanted to live his own life, not one chosen by someone else.
And a big part of that life at the moment was the burgeoning desire in his heart to see justice done, instead of revenge. There was too much ill-feeling about Death Eaters, he thought, harking back to the activities of the previous day with a shiver. No, that was prejudice, and just as bad as the old prejudices about blood. He could not get the image of Albus Dumbledore believing that everyone deserved a second chance out of his mind.
To begin with, he decided, something needed to be done about the situation at the Manor: he simply did not trust Auror Crockford. And Kingsley being here gave him the perfect opportunity to get things sorted out. So after the interment, as everyone was milling about, having cups of tea and making small talk, having checked that Crockford was not in earshot, he went up to his friend, the Minister.
"Ah, Harry," said Kingsley. "I hear from Aurors Proudfoot and Banks that all is going well at the Burrow?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and was cut off instantly: "None of that 'sir' stuff!" Kingsley reminded him.
"Sorry, Kingsley," he continued. "In fact, Auror Banks is becoming like one of the family."
Kingsley gave him a sly look. "Ginny?" he asked.
Harry was a bit miffed that he'd worked it out so fast, given that Harry had missed it for a day or more. "Yes si- Kingsley," he said. "But I don't think all is quite so well at Malfoy Manor."
"Really?" said Kingsley, "I did hear that there was an issue with apparition yesterday."
Right, Harry thought. He had been told about the apparition, but obviously not about the cursing. He decided to take the Minotaur by the horns, and gave Kingsley a very full account of events of the previous day, including the curses and Shield, and the fact that none of the Aurors appeared to have done anything to prevent the attack or assist them during it. And he repeated what Crockford had said to him afterwards about apparition. He was very careful to avoid blowing up with the anger that was once again running white-hot within him as he replayed it all in his mind; while he didn't actually complain about Crockford, he knew if he stuck to the facts that Kingsley would draw his own conclusions.
"Hmm," the Minister said at last. "I see what you mean. I think we need to do something about this." He looked around the room, spying the Auror who had taken Narcissa and Draco back to the Manor on Saturday afternoon. "Auror Godwin, would you come here, please?" Then he turned to Harry and said, "Go and keep an eye on the Malfoys please, Harry; I don't think either of us trusts Crockford with their safety and I'm sure Draco would like a word with you." Harry happily went over to him, trusting Kingsley to come up with a plan with Auror Godwin.
Draco was standing at the other end of the room with his parents, under the watchful eye of Auror Crockford, who was scowling as though he had just eaten a green-persimmon-flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean. Narcissa offered Harry a cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. Lucius smiled at him; not the warm, welcoming smile the Weasleys would have given him, but encouraging none the less. Harry smiled back, remembering a time when they would have been more likely to hex each other.
He turned to the youngest of the Malfoys. "Draco, I wanted to see how you were after last night," he said. It was a lame opening, he knew, but it was about all he could think of. But Draco didn't tease him about it; he simply led them to a couple of seats nearby. They sat down and Harry cast a Muffliato for privacy.
"Thank you for yesterday," he said. As soon as the spell was cast. "I apologize for my unusual behaviour, but I couldn't get over the fact that Theo cast that curse. His family is friends with mine, he's been my friend for ten years, and now it comes to this!"
Harry sighed. He could see Draco was only just holding tears at bay. Despite the changes he had seen in the other boy recently, it was still disconcerting to see such emotion displayed so openly. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he said, his voice so soft and gentle that Draco looked at him with wonder-filled eyes. He continued, remembering the time during the Horcrux hunt when he thought they'd lost Ron's friendship, "I can understand how losing a friend would make you feel," his tone making it clear that Draco didn't need to discuss it further if he didn't want to.
Which Draco didn't, so continued with, "and thank you for apologizing to that bastard Crockford; he didn't deserve it, but it made our lives a lot more bearable yesterday."
Harry was shocked by this; but of course the Malfoys were entirely dependent on the good graces of their guards for the time being; and from what he'd seen so far, Crockford's mercy and protection were about what you'd expect from a hungry Hungarian Horntail Dragon, not a Ministry-certified Auror. He was very glad he had had his little chat with Kingsley. He looked over at the Minister, who seemed to be finishing up with Auror Godwin.
Harry cast a Finite to end his Muffliato as Kingsley came over to talk to Crockford. "Dandelus," he began, and Harry held back a snigger – the name was so close to 'dandelion', which was so inappropriate that it tickled his funny bone – "there have been some reports of possible Death Eater activity in Salford – I think that was your old patch, wasn't it?"
Crockford nodded. He looked vaguely hopeful; maybe I'll get taken off scum-minding duty, he wondered to himself.
"I'd like you to look into it if you would. Auror Barnes is available to partner to you, go back to the Ministry and tell him I want you both on the case straight after you have filed a full report on the activities at the Memorial yesterday." Kingsley stressed the 'full', leaving it in no doubt that he was not satisfied with the report so far. To forestall any comment, he continued straight on, "Tom Godwin will take over for you at the Manor."
Auror Crockford brightened considerably at the prospect of getting away from the Malfoys, even if writing a fuller report would be a chore. "Very well, sir," he said, in an official if-I-must voice that didn't fool anyone, and hurried off to Floo to the ministry immediately.
"Thank you," Harry said to Kingsley, very quietly. But not quietly enough, it seemed; Lucius came up to him and said, just as quietly, "Godwin is a much more tolerable man to deal with than Crockford; do I gather we have you to thank for this agreeable turn of events?"
Harry smiled, deprecatingly, and said, "really, you have to thank Dandelus himself," stressing the name and not missing the sly smile that came to the corners of the older man's lips, "if he had been any use at all yesterday I think you'd still have the, um, pleasure of his company."
"Well, that makes the first thing he's done yet that I could thank him for," Lucius replied.

"Harry, I read in the Daily Prophet that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes is having a re-opening tomorrow. Will you be attending?" Narcissa asked him, as they sat at the lunch table. "More carrots?"
"Thank you," said Harry to the second question, accepting the plate that was passed to him. "Um, I haven't seen the Prophet today – I was a bit rushed this morning – " (Draco passed his napkin over his mouth at this point, ostensibly to wipe it, but in fact to hide the smirk that came involuntarily) " – but yes, I'm certainly planning on being there."
Lunch was quite a strained affair. Harry found out what Draco had meant about his father – the older Malfoy wasn't by any means rude, but it was as if he was barely there – clearly lost in his own thoughts. But this was Harry's first chance to follow up his conversation with Ron and Hermione on Wednesday, so he decided to jump in feet first, in true Harry Potter style.
"Lucius," he began, startling the Malfoy patriarch with this easy use of his first name, "Ron and Hermione mentioned you'd discovered something about a debt that happens when you free someone's magic. Could you tell me what you know?"
Lucius looked at him with concern in his eyes, careful not to actually stare. DAMN! He thought. He had been hoping that Granger and Weasley would have discussed this with Harry; he now had less than a day to avoid the consequences.
There was nothing for it but frankness, he decided. If he told all, or nearly all, perhaps Harry would yet cancel the debt before its true power took hold. Although he knew perfectly well that this was making a virtue of necessity; the debt was already making it all but impossible for him to lie to Harry.
"You know about a Life Debt?" he asked. Harry nodded.
"A Debt of Magical Emancipation is like a Life Debt, only even stronger."
Harry looked puzzled. "How can anything be stronger than a Life Debt?" he asked.
"Because of honour. You can die with honour; but you can't live without magic with honour," Draco chimed in.
"So … this debt you owe me means you owe your honour to me?"
"Yes, and our sanity, and our lives," Lucius continued. "Every wizard on record who has lost his magic has lost his mind soon afterwards, and killed himself. The longest I ever read of anyone living was Cedric the Unfortunate, who had a Reaping Curse cast on him in 945. He lived for a mere three weeks after that. But it was, and still is, to my knowledge, the record."
"Oh," said Harry, somewhat shocked. He may not have particularly liked Lucius; but he was rather appalled at the thought that Voldemort's curse could have been, quite literally, the death of him; and Draco as well. "And that won't happen to you two?"
"No, you have saved us from that fate," Lucius admitted. "However, if the Debt is not cancelled soon, there are different consequences …" He could feel a pressure to elaborate, but he resisted. Just. Harry had to be coaxed in.
"Then what do I have to do to avoid them?" Harry responded, in wide-eyed innocence.
This is almost too easy, Lucius thought to himself. "There is a form of words that is required; I could dig it out if you're interested …"
At Harry's nod, he excused himself from the table and fetched an old blue-bound book from his study. He opened it and passed it over to Harry; there in the middle of the page was written:

A Pronouncement – to cancel annul and terminate a

Dette of Magickal Emanschipation

And to manumitte those enslaved thereby
Being a Wizard in full Knowledge and Understanding of the Nature of the Dette I hold,

And seeking to release my Dettors therefrom,

Do I this Day foreswear and adjure from maintaining such Dette

Calling it cancelled and finished with,

And I freely bind Myself to this Pronouncement and all its Consequences.

Lucius schooled his face to be impassive – easy after so many years of practice – but his heart was racing within him. So close … One might have forgiven Lucius for thinking that it was all over – here were the words, as far as he knew, Harry had but to speak them, not even mean them, and they were free. But he had forgotten the fierce spirit of the man in front of him. He still, in the back of his mind, thought of him as a boy to be manipulated and bullied, not a man to be reasoned with. That was about to change, radically.
"Bind myself?" Harry asked. "Consequences? What does that mean?"
It took all Lucius's self-control not to answer, with the debt pressing him to do so. He hesitated a fatal fraction of time too long.
"I can't do it, then, if you won't tell me," Harry continued, certain now that they were hiding something from him.
"There is something of a time limit here," Lucius began, but Harry cut him off.
"Then you need to explain quickly."
Lucius was trapped. To tell all would, he was sure, doom them; there was no way Potter would give up the chance of knowing he had their protection and truthfulness for life. To say nothing was equal doom: clearly, he was not about to say the words without more information. He did the only thing he could think of that might, just might, work.
"Draco?" he asked, turning to his son, his eyes pleading for help.
'Harry," Draco said, understanding what was needed, "let's go and talk about this in my suite."
Suite? Harry thought. Git. I don't even have a room, I'm sharing with Ron. But then it occurred to him that he owned an entire house; and he should probably visit it soon. Brushing the thought aside, he followed Draco as they went to his suite. It turned out that it did deserve the name: Draco had his own bedroom, bathroom, study, library and sitting room. He took Harry into his bedroom, obviously the most private place, and sat him on the bed.
"I wanted to bring you in here because this room has the most powerful privacy wards of the whole Manor," he explained.
Harry gave a shy smile. He hadn't assumed that there was any other reason. Oh no. And his trousers didn't feel at all tight. Nor did his chest. Not at all.
Draco had noticed the tightness of trousers and chest, and gave an enticing smile of his own. Clearly we are thinking along the same lines… he thought, which heartened him immensely.
"Harry, my father is worried because if the Debt becomes established, there are certain behaviours we will never be free from. He doesn't want to tell you because he thinks that if you know what they are, you won't cancel the debt, and he's afraid of being in your power."
"And what do you think?" Harry asked.
"Oh he's right about the debt, I'm sure of it. But not the rest. I'm not afraid of being in your power. Harry, the only happy moments I've known over the last week have all been with you. My father is too preoccupied with the trial we know is coming and this stuff about the Debt to give me any attention; my mother simply doesn't know how to help; my friends – what friends? Theo tried to cut me in half, and you too if he'd succeeded; the Aurors? Crockford hates me; I doubt the rest feel much different. No, the only future happiness for me is with you. I don't care where that takes us – friends, lovers, husband and husband; but I've decided that it's what I want."
Draco was aware of a delicious feeling creeping over him as he spoke. He knew it was the Debt; he was being brutally honest, at a depth he'd never revealed to anyone else before; and that was clearly the right thing to do. It made his heart sing.
All at once he knew the debt was established: he could never lie to this man, nor harm him. Why would he even want to? If he could, if this morning's voice told the truth, he wanted more than anything to comfort Harry, to take away the memories of the hurt dealt to him by the man with tiny piggy eyes. To hold him, caress him, to let him know how special he was, how safe he made Draco feel, how wonderful it was to be with him.
The emotion he felt spread itself across his face. Normally calm and reserved, closed off, it was open and honest and earnest. Draco's words and the look on his face put a smile on Harry Potter's face, a smile Draco would have given anything to keep there forever; to know that he was the one who had made Harry that happy turned his heart over, and he could no longer speak.
But words were now superfluous; Harry leant over to him, his lips ghosting on Draco's. They were so soft, so sensual, so deliciously warm, and without even thinking about it, Draco had lifted his hand and stretched out, holding the nape of Harry's neck, and stroking that hair. He'd always assumed that it would be rough and unpleasant; but it was fine and smooth and all of a sudden he couldn't get enough of it and both of his hands were combing through Harry's hair as their lips came together firmly and he inhaled the other man's scent.
It was a glorious feeling, and all of Draco's senses seemed to become incredibly acute. He was so completely aware of the look of those beautiful green eyes, the lust he saw there mirroring the lust he felt; the touch of those gorgeous, full lips on his; the smell that seemed to surround Harry that he couldn't describe, but was better than every smell he loved all run together; the taste of his mouth as they opened to each other and tongues slid together; and the amazing groans of lust and longing that Harry was making – and so was he, he discovered to his amazement.
It was pure bliss. For one all-too-brief moment, Draco Malfoy knew what it was to be simply and completely happy.
Then Harry pulled away. "I don't know!" he said, in a voice of terrible sadness. "Is this the debt? The bond? Am I pushing you? Are we being forced into this?"
"It doesn't matter, Harry," Draco said, looking at him, keeping his expression as earnest and open as he knew how. "This is us. This is how we are now. We have to live with it. Asking if we're being forced doesn't matter, surely; it's like asking if our hormones are forcing us. Even if they are, isn't that simply an unavoidable part of being together? A real part?"
Harry nodded at this, but didn't seem quite convinced.
"Look, we'll work it out together, OK?" he said. "But for now, I guess I should get back; I was only coming for lunch, the Weasleys will be wondering what happened to me."
"You will come back? Soon?" Draco asked, with an expression like an abandoned puppy in a dog's home: a look that said 'How could you leave me?' It melted Harry's heart.
"Of course," he said, giving Draco a soppy grin and gripping his hand for just a moment before apparating back to the Burrow.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have set up a thread for replies at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/56042-review-replies-for-returning-to-sanity/ . I will generally try to reply to posts before posting a new chapter.
Draco quotes the second verse of Longfellow's A Psalm of Life:

Life is real! Life is earnest!

... And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

... Was not spoken of the soul.

As you can see, the title of this chapter and the previous one come from here, so that the 'return' for this chapter is the return of the poem …
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Returning to Sanity