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Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31212 -:- 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
- 12
- 13
- 14
13. Return to Grimmauld Place
Sunday, May 10 1998
Harry was so excited at the thought of seeing Draco again that he apparated to the Manor half an hour early. There was no-one about in Narcissa's study, and he took the chance to have a proper look round. The furnishings were, of course, exquisite; the desk was a beautiful French antique, not that Harry could have placed it, but it was obviously quite special. His eye fell on the chaise-longue under the window and with a gasp he recognised it: it was the one that Draco had transfigured the previous Saturday, just over a week ago, though it felt more like months ago. He hadn't given it another thought since the twins had asked about it on Saturday; he'd have to remember to tell them that he hadn't managed to keep it, now he knew where it was.
He stepped out of the study and learnt for the first time how soundproof the room was. The din was incredible; the normally sedate Manor was in turmoil. There were Aurors and lawyers everywhere, removing boxes of papers and books and artifacts, and all was bustle and noise. It suddenly hit him: the Wizarding trials! These people must be removing evidence for the Wizengamot to examine before the Malfoys were tried. He'd known that this was scheduled to happen after the funerals, but he hadn't realized that there would be so little time between them.
"Draco?" he yelled, wandering the corridors, but there was no response; no-one seemed to take any notice of him, they were all evidently fixated on what they were doing. By the rushing, they needed to be done soon. He decided that the Malfoys couldn't possibly be here, anyway; no-one would dare carry on the way these people were in Lucius Malfoy's house if he was anywhere about.
Amid the din, a familiar voice called his name. He looked round and saw Kingsley striding towards him.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he said, "but the Wizengamot has decided that the Wizarding trials will begin on Tuesday with the Malfoys' trials, and they have been placed in detention at the Ministry until then. I tried to get them to agree to leave the Malfoys under house-arrest at the Manor, but they wouldn't hear of it. I'm sorry, but you won't be able to get in touch before the trial."
Harry had a sickening feeling in his stomach, worse than being hit by a bludger: he wasn't going to see Draco before the trials, and if they went badly, he realized, he may not get to see him afterwards, either. The feeling must have made itself visible on his face, because Kingsley looked very concerned and called over an Auror, Glinda Dalben-Chun, and asked her to escort Harry back to the Burrow. Harry had never seen her before, and he took some small comfort from that; she hadn't been one of those totally useless Aurors who had stood by at the Memorial, he was sure of it. She took him to the closest Floo point, which happened to be the one in Lucius's study. He hadn't been in the room before, so he took a moment to look around. Even with over half its contents removed, it was the most impressive and imposing private room he had ever been in. It helped him begin to understand Lucius Malfoy a little better: to have gone through adult life with this enormous, ornate room as your very own personal study must have had a profound effect on the man.
But the moment was lost as lawyers came in and levitated filing cabinets out even as they stood there, and it went back to just being a room. A room with a Floo point, which Auror Dalben-Chun and he now used.
When they reached the Burrow, Glinda checked with Robin Banks that he would be alright to take over "looking after Mr Potter", which made Harry feel like a delinquent child; and then she returned to the Manor.
Molly Weasley rushed up to Harry, completely ignoring the Auror, and sat him down at once. "Harry, you look awful, dear," she said, in a consoling voice. Not that it helped; people who feel awful don't generally enjoy being told they look it. But Harry accepted the love behind the words; and also the steaming, sweet cup of tea that appeared moments later.
He sat and sighed. He hadn't realised how much he wanted to see Draco, how enticing the vision of a day spent in his company had been, until now that it had been ripped away from him. He stifled his tears.

He had not seen Draco. He wasn't going to any time soon. It hurt more than anything. He kept it inside for the rest of the day. That was what he did now, push his feelings down. Part of him didn't want to; wanted to yell or cry or have hysterics or stamp his feet in rage or anything…. But he couldn't.
By the middle of the afternoon, he felt he had to do something. He was standing in the front room all by himself. He could hear Hermione and Molly chatting in the kitchen; the others must be outside. He suddenly, guiltily, remembered someone whom he had completely forgotten about since the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Kreacher!" he called softly. He didn't want Hermione to hear, he didn't need another rant about the Evils of House-Elf Slavery from the founder of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Kreacher, he knew, was perfectly happy in the Black house at Grimmauld Place; but Hermione wasn't entirely convinced and Harry didn't have the patience to try to explain again right now.
There was a pop, and the elderly house-elf apparated in front of him. "Master Harry be wanting Kreacher? Kreacher is being very happy to serve Master Harry!"
"How is Grimmauld Place since the War, Kreacher? Could I stay there now?"
"Oh, yes, Master Harry!" Kreacher beamed. "Kreacher is being cleaning all over ready for the Master!"
Harry smiled. How could anyone (by which he meant Hermione) say that house-elves were slaves when they were so grateful to be asked to serve? But then Kreacher looked at his feet and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.
"Kreacher, what's wrong?"
"Kreacher is very sorry, Master Harry, but Kreacher cannot remove the spells of the Mad-Eye. And heavy repair spells are being beyond him." Then he brightened again. "But the house is being sparkling clean!"
Harry grinned. "I'm sure it is, Kreacher. If I come and stay tonight, do you think you could cook me some supper?"
Kreacher's eyes grew so round with delight that Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh yes, Master Harry! Kreacher is knowing the very thing!"
And with that the elf vanished in a pop.
Hermione came into the room, followed by Molly. "Harry, was that Kreacher I just heard?"
"Yes. I'm going to spend the night at Grimmauld Place."
They both eyed him critically, but said nothing. It was awkward, so rather than endure the silence he continued, "Molly, I'm sorry, I love being here but I just need a bit of space, all right?"
Molly looked at him severely. "All right, Harry," she said eventually. "But don't you go hiding away in that draughty place, all by yourself, for weeks on end, do you hear? I want you here every night but I can tell that won't happen. So I expect to see you here at least once a week for dinner, every week, do you hear? I make a point of having all my children here as often as possible. I hope I don't need to tell you again that that includes both of you," she said, gesturing to Hermione and him. Then she shook her head. "I really don't like to think of you rattling around in that cold, old place all alone."
"Thanks, Molly," he replied, "I won't be alone, I'll have Kreacher."
"You won't be alone because Ron and I will be there with you," Hermione responded, in a voice that made it clear that there was no room for argument.

Kreacher was absolutely delighted to have people to serve and cook for. Before dinner, there was a huge flurry of activity in one of the second-floor bedrooms, and Hermione gaped in amazement at the four-poster bed with beautiful white linen sheets and gold covers.
"Mister Weasley and Miss Granger be being very comfortable!" he chuckled. Hermione couldn't decide if he was having a sly dig at their unmarried status or not, but then remembered her own mantra: "Kindness and Understanding", so elected to give him the benefit of the doubt and simply thanked him. He seemed very pleased at this.
Harry was surprised when Hermione came up to him after this and proposed a truce. "I still don't like house-elves," she said, "but I can see that he's very happy here, and you're treating him with kindness, so we'll just leave it at that, all right?"
Harry beamed. "Agreed," he replied. And that was that.
The Ministry had insisted that a pair of Aurors go with them to stand on duty, even though Grimmauld Place was unplottable. After all, Yaxley had been there; who knew if he might be able to divulge the location, now that Dumbledore was dead and the Fidelius Charm probably unreliable? Or he might escape and threaten Harry himself.
Harry insisted that they weren't going to sit down and eat with two hungry men standing outside in the chilly night air. So in the end, five people sat down to supper. Kreacher produced a magnificent, and enormous, shepherd's pie; the five of them, even with Ron's huge appetite, couldn't manage to get outside more than half of it. And this was followed by a spotted dick smothered in custard, which made Ron's eyes go so round and huge that it reminded Harry of Kreacher's response when he had asked him to cook earlier that afternoon.
"Ron, your face –" he said, but it was all he could get out before collapsing into laughter. The thought that Ron and Kreacher had used the same expression was so unlikely and comic. The others were so mellowed by good food that they joined in, and the mood lightened perceptibly.

Ron and Hermione stopped him on the second-floor landing just before he went up to his bedroom.
"You all right mate?" Ron asked.
He'd known this was coming, but he still wasn't ready to talk yet. The thought that the next time he saw Draco he would be in the dock, and that it could be the last time, still weighed heavily upon him.
"Yeah," he said, as crap as ever at telling anyone, even his best friends, about his feelings.
"Liar!" Ron said, but with great affection.
And then Harry found himself surrounded by strong arms again. They weren't the ones he really needed; but the hugs of his friends, the feeling of being surrounded by two people who cared about him, was comforting, and he broke down, just a little. It wasn't yelling or crying or being hysterical, it was a sniffle and a muttered, "sorry", but it helped.
"You know you can talk to us about anything, right? We're here for you, OK?" Ron continued.
"Yeah. Sorry, but right now, I just can't."
"OK. But don't keep it in too long, OK? Or I'll get Hermione onto you." Ron threatened; but he rather blunted the threat with a chuckle.
This made Harry laugh, especially as she was standing right next to him. "Thanks, mate. Thanks, Hermione. Goodnight."
Harry didn't dream that night; but still wasn't properly rested when he woke up the next morning.

In the Ministry holding cells, Draco Malfoy wasn't getting a lot of sleep.
He was sharing a cell with his parents; he wasn't sure whether to think this was better than being with strangers, or mortifying to be confined so close to them. He'd spent the whole day being strong; Lucius had explained that with him being away from Harry, the bond should weaken, so he should be able to get free of it. They had both clearly assumed that this was the best thing, so he had fallen in with the idea.
But Narcissa and Lucius were now sleeping, and he had the chance to think about what he wanted. And that, he decided, was actually very simple. The bond be damned. He wanted Harry. He'd always wanted Harry. To be his friend, his lover, his …; he didn't know a word for what they were now, he just knew he wanted it back. Hades, he'd take whatever he could get!
He remembered the feeling as their home had been invaded by Aurors at nine o'clock that morning. He'd been up early, ready for Harry's visit; and then the whole thing had been blown to Hell and they'd been carted off without even the chance to get a note to Harry to tell him what was going on. The bastards wouldn't even let him leave a note with them. He'd had to be strong and calm all day; he wasn't going to give the Aurors at the Ministry the satisfaction of knowing they had made him angry. But now he was by himself, he could be himself, he could let his true feelings out.
Two large tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the pillow.

Draco wasn't the only prisoner not getting much sleep.
She's here, he thought. She's so close; but they've put that fool Proudfoot over her, I can't get to him. If it was Crockford … But it wasn't; no sense wasting time on maybes. He was annoyed that having the Malfoys so close physically did not make it easier to get to them; the irony that it was actually much harder did not escape him.
Escape. Yes, that was a good word. He could see that the Ministry had no stomach for this job; they would probably let them off with a caution, or perhaps five years in Azkaban. Less than they deserved; they all deserved to be Kissed, he thought, and that treacherous Narcissa, who had lied to his Lord, telling him that the brat Potter was dead when he was only foxing. The brat, he reminded himself, who had got them away from Crockford
He had lost everything; they would get off lightly. Well, let them. He would be waiting. He had his spies, his helpers, and here was Crockford and the other, Barnes, they would spring him now, he'd make them, and then let's see how the precious Malfoys like that!
Treacherous scum! He spat into the straw at his feet as the door was unlocked. Not long now, and he would have to find alternative lodgings. The thought brought a hideous grin to his face.

Monday, May 11 1998
Like so many things in Grimmauld Place, the bedroom curtains needed replacing, but they still kept the light out well enough that no-one woke before ten o'clock. Ron got up first, largely because Pigwidgeon the owl was knocking on his window. Hermione had heard the knock, Ron was sure, but rolled over and completely ignored it.
Ron left his bed, with more grumble than grace, and took the letter and copy of the Daily Prophet that the owl had brought.
The letter was from Molly, warning them that Harry would be very upset by the article in the Prophet, suggesting that they should show it to him before anyone else could so that they could be there for him, and asking them to take good care of him when they did.
With fear and trepidation, Hermione opened the paper. Half the front page was taken up with a photograph of the three Malfoys, Lucius scowling, Draco looking shifty and Narcissa looking very uncomfortable in their presence. They were being led away by two Aurors. Hermione recognised Crockford, having had the displeasure of meeting him when she and Ron had visited the Manor the previous Wednesday; the other, the caption stated, was Auror Tombinias Barnes. In huge letters above the photograph ran the headline:

DEATH EATER TRIALS!
The Prophet can exclusively reveal that Malfoy Manor was visited yesterday by the crack Wizengamot Forensics team, accompanied by a number of Aurors. We have been told that a vast amount of incriminating evidence was removed from the Manor and is now safely under spell, lock and key in the Ministry. The Malfoys will be facing trial this week, and surely our readers can be in no doubt of the fate awaiting Lucius Malfoy, the Doyen of Death Eaters, and his son and heir, Draco Malfoy. Surely the only questions we need ask are,
'How long will they spend in Azkaban?'
and,
'Will they be Kissed by a Dementor?'

Hermione cast Revelio on the photograph. "As I suspected," she said, "this photograph has been touched up."
Ron looked closer and he could see that it was a very clever job – the original expressions on the Malfoys' faces had been altered only very slightly, but they looked quite different. Whoever had done this was an expert in deception.
"The bastards!" he yelled.
"Who are bastards?" said Harry, knocking on the door and entering as Hermione told him to come in.
"Harry," Hermione said, concern etched on her face, "you need to sit down for this. Let's go to the kitchen and get a cup of tea."

Kreacher had not allowed them to get away with just a cup of tea: the three of them had feasted on bacon, sausages and eggs, and Harry was finishing off some toast and marmalade when Ron brought out the morning's Prophet.
"I'm sorry, mate," he said, handing the paper to Harry, "it isn't pretty."
Harry took one look at the photograph and his face went black. His hands trembled with rage, and Hermione raced behind him to hold him, to somehow let him know that they were there, they loved him, they understood what it did to him that the Daily Prophet could casually condemn these two people he had given back magic to.
"Remember, Harry, we're here for you," she said. "We understand how hurtful it is that these horrible reporters can be so callous about someone who means so much to you."
Harry stood up and turned to look at her with worried eyes, and she knew his thought even before he said it: "what if Draco gets kissed?"
As he said it, as the thought took hold, the thing he had been holding off for twenty-four hours finally happened. The brave Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Destroyer of Voldemort, dissolved into tears.

They were still standing at the kitchen table in their pyjamas half an hour later when Kingsley Shacklebolt came in.
"I'm sorry to intrude," he began; then took in the scene.
Harry was still sobbing, quietly now, on Hermione's shoulder as she stroked his hair. Ron had stood up, too, and clasped the two of them in a huge hug, nuzzling Harry's head with his own. At the sound of Kingsley's voice, Harry looked up.
"I'm sorry Minister – Kingsley," he amended, as Kingsley waved at him deprecatingly.
"You have no reason to be sorry, Harry," he said, with a sad smile. "I'm sorry that the Prophet ran the story like that; if it's any comfort I can tell you that they made up the 'vast amount of incriminating evidence'; the lawyers do have a lot of material, more than they can handle properly, but I'm told that preliminary investigation has shown almost all of it to be irrelevant."
"Thank you," said Harry; "but it isn't much comfort."
"That's all right, Harry," said the Minister, looking at him kindly. "How about we move to the sitting room and discuss this further. Are you up for that?"
Harry was. He'd finished crying for the moment, he decided; now he had to be strong. The four of them walked to the sitting room together, and Harry sat between his earliest friends. Kingsley's tone had been friendly and kind; perhaps he had come to give them hope?
Whatever happened, Harry wasn't going to give up on his friend. My almost-lover, he decided. That's what they were. More than friends; less than lovers, but nearly there. If we ever get the chance, he thought, which very nearly set him off again.
Kingsley, seated opposite in the leather armchair that Sirius had always used – No! Harry told himself, I will not let that affect me now! – leaned over with a kind light in his eyes.
"I can't promise anything, Harry, but the Wizengamot is aware of everything that happened during the funerals, and they are taking what you said about a second chance for Draco Malfoy very seriously."
"Will I be able to speak for them?" Harry asked, tentatively.
Kingsley frowned a little. "For Draco and Narcissa, of course. Do you really want to speak for Lucius? Does he really deserve that?"
"Oh yes!" Harry said, all tentativeness gone, replaced by a fervent passion that made his eyes burn as green as the Avada Kedavra curse. "He may have been a bastard before, and made our lives Hell; but we don't get to choose who lives, Kingsley. Lucius has been spared, and maybe there are people we would prefer here instead, but we don't get that choice. We have to work with what we have. We need him, Kingsley. We need him to bring the pure-bloods to the table. He can influence them like no-one else, get them to see that the only way forward, the only future for all of us is to work together. Otherwise, how long will it be before another Tom Riddle turns up and exploits the divisions between us? Only things would be even worse because we would trust one another even less than we do now, and we would end up wishing for the days of Lord Voldemort rather than what we have then?"
Kingsley was very impressed. The future that Harry had outlined at the Lupins' funeral, one where Teddy could 'live a happier life', was what he had been arguing for all week. He had been quietly sounding people out, putting a word here and a nudge there, and felt he might just be making some headway. But his politicking needed a focus. Harry was no politician, that was obvious; he would never survive the machinations of diplomacy; but his straight-forward honesty might just be the weapon they needed to sway the Wizengamot.
"All right," he said, smiling. "I'll make sure that you get the chance. You're a very persuasive orator, Harry; I don't think anyone else could, or would, speak up for Lucius Malfoy, but you might just get him off being Kissed."
Harry smiled in reply, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What hope for Draco?"
"I'm sure he won't be Kissed, Harry, if that's your concern."
Harry relaxed visibly. "And Azkaban?"
"Not so certain, but I think we'll keep him out. Like I said, your words are being taken seriously. That's why I think, if you can be as passionate as you just were, at the trials, they will listen to you."
There was a knock at the window, and a Ministry owl came in as Harry opened it. Kingsley removed a letter from it, deftly avoiding the owl's attempt to bite him.
"Ah! A minister's work is never done, I'm afraid," he said, as he read it. "This is from Arthur; I do need to deal with something before the trial. Keep your pecker up, Harry. The Wizengamot will start deliberations at nine o'clock; they will probaby want to interview you at length before the trials actually begin. Come to the ministry at eight thirty and we'll make sure it's all arranged."
Harry flinched a little. He remembered the last trial he'd been involved in scheduled for nine a.m. – his own disciplinary hearing, which had been secretly moved to eight a.m. and the courtroom changed at the last minute by then-minister Cornelius Fudge to try to get him to miss it altogether.
Kingsley noticed the reaction, and laughed. "No, Harry, you have my personal promise that the trials themselves will begin in Courtroom Ten at nine a.m. at the very earliest."
Harry stood up. "Thank you, Minister," he said, with a very formal bow. Kingsley grinned, and held out his hand, which Harry took in a firm shake.
"May I use your Floo?" he asked the younger wizard.
"Please, be my guest," Harry replied, with a twinkle in his eye – after all, Kingsley had arrived unannounced and uninvited, so technically he had been trespassing the whole time. The strange thought that he was asking permission to leave, not be there, tickled Harry's sense of humour.
Kingsley was very glad to see it – the old Harry Potter was still there, underneath this sorrowful, serious boy. All they had to do now was get Draco free and he should be well on the way to recovery. All they had to do, he thought to himself. As though it were a little thing …

That evening, Ginny and the twins came over, with Neville and Robin in tow. They all hugged Harry very tightly, and told him again that the whole family was there for him.
"Mum's really worried about you, Harry," Ginny told him. "She thought you'd probably want to go and pull the reporter's head off their body or something after that horrid article this morning."
Harry chuckled. It did help to have these lovely people come to comfort him, even if he couldn't have the person he really wanted. "A thought like that had crossed my mind," he admitted, "and I got a bit teary this morning; but you can tell Molly I'm OK now, just can't wait for tomorrow to be over." He pointed to Ron and Hermione as he continued, "these two have been wonderful, and Kingsley came by to reassure me that not everyone is spiteful and hateful."
Ginny's eyes went wide. She still wasn't used to the fact that Harry called the Minister of Magic "Kingsley" instead of "sir"; the thought that someone so important had come by to reassure Harry just reminded her again of how important he really was to the wizarding world. It was such an amazing thought that this lovely, sweet, shy seventeen-year-old man who she had grown up with, who had been like an annoying big brother, then a heavenly boyfriend, and now a really close friend and brother, was also the wizard who had destroyed the Dark Lord who had terrorized them for all of her life. Terrorized her, particularly, in the Chamber of Secrets where his diary Horcrux had tried to kill her. And would have succeeded but for the wonderful man in front of her.
She cuddled him tightly, and began to cry.
"Hush, Gin, what's wrong?" he asked, so soft and loving it broke her heart even more.
"Oh Harry," she replied, "you are just the most wonderful, amazing man, I can't bear it that these people are so stupid and hurt you so much."
Harry had a moment of panic – she didn't know about the Dursleys, surely? But then, realising that she was talking about the reporters, he relaxed.
"'S OK, Gin, the Prophet has printed so much shit about me over the years, I can hardly complain when they publish shit about Draco, can I?"
"That's the spirit, little brother!" the twins said, coming around the two of them in a four-person hug which broke up almost immediately – Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air, howling with laughter under the onslaught of both Fred and George tickling him mercilessly.
"That's more like it, don't you think, Fred?" said one twin.
"Exactly so, George," the other replied.
"STOP IT!" Harry yelled, nearly breathless. "And don't think I don't know what you're playing at, using the wrong names like that!" Harry was pretty sure that the twins only ever called each other by name to use the wrong one and confuse people, like they were doing now. He never had any trouble telling them apart now he was used to them.
"All right, Harry," they said, pulling him into a hug with their arms over his shoulders, one of them on each side. "We came home to tell you all about our record sales last night / and mum wouldn't tell us where you were! And then of course we were at the shop today / without you, worse luck / and we had to PINCH and PINCH and PINCH her to tell us where you were!"
Harry giggled as the twins suited action to words, each PINCH being taken out on him. They were careful not to hurt him, it was all play and it was doing a wonderful job of cheering him up. In the back of his mind, he knew perfectly well that that was what they were up to, but he pushed the thought away. He could get depressed again tomorrow, but not now. Not with the twins around; they just wouldn't let him get away with it, he was sure.
"Liars!" Ginny laughed. "She practically pushed the pair of you into the Floo to come and see him the second you got home!"
At this point, with a pop, Kreacher apparated into the room to announce that dinner was ready. Once again Harry insisted on feeding the Aurors, and Kreacher was so delighted to be serving ten people tonight that his voice became a high-pitched squeak of joy, which made Hermione laugh and clap for joy herself and soon they were all laughing and heading for the dining room.

Dinner was a very happy affair indeed. By mutual, unspoken consent, discussion of the trials and the Prophet article was off limits; but Fred and George regaled them with stories from the shop for the last two days – one lady had been foolish enough to try to steal from them, and found out the hard way about the jinxes that the two had set up to stop this. George assured them that the Beefy Bouncy Beating Batons didn't really hurt that much, though Fred seemed to think she'd remember them every time she sat down for a week.
The twins had stolen (their word was "liberated" but Harry suspected that they said this more for the Aurors) a bottle of elf-wine from their father, and Harry discovered he really liked it. He found that strange: he didn't like wine or fire-whiskey much, having not grown up drinking alcohol (or much else, other than water, as often as not from the garden hose, for that matter). The twins assured him that it was because elf-wine didn't work the same way as normal alcohol, and was much better for cheering you up.
Whether this was true or not, Harry did find the evening very heartening. He was seated between the twins, and Fred took care to keep him in the conversation the whole time, even when George was chatting with Neville on his left. Robin, on Neville's other side, also kept the banter going, and Harry was delighted to see how easily he and Neville fitted in with the family. Perhaps it was the wine, or the twins' presence, or the banter, but somehow Harry's mood had changed so much that instead of feeling down at missing Draco, he was feeling hope that soon he too would be sitting at a meal just like this, laughing and joking as well.

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.
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Returning to Sanity