Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
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2. Returning to the Bosom of the Family
Lucius Malfoy was staring at his fingernails with a slightly bored expression on his face, seemingly indifferent to the chaos around him and looking every inch the calm, elegant patriarch. But the look was pure deception. Lucius was a past master at masking his feelings, and observing everything going on around him without seeming to. The icy exterior he presented hid a seething war inside: inside, his intellect was fighting with a mass of emotions: predominantly anger and hatred.
He was angry with Potter for defeating the Dark Lord, his Lord. He hated it that a seventeen year old boy – though Potter was legally an adult in the wizarding world, he was still a boy to Lucius – had managed to defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of the age with little more than a charm every wizard knew from nursery days. His rational mind knew that the anger and hatred were stupid: in the end, Voldemort had proved to be a disaster, and his defeat was the only way out for any of them. He was showing advanced signs of insanity and had he won life would have rapidly become impossible for everyone. Lucius could see that. He also knew that it had taken more than a spell: Potter had the guts to stand up to Voldemort, something Lucius never managed to do. But the logic, though inescapable, could not touch his anger at all. His mind applauded Potter’s bravery at the same time as it inflamed his anger.
And then of course he was angry with the Dark Lord. And he hated him too. This anger and hatred were perhaps more logical: the Dark Lord had failed, and that failure was going to affect the Malfoy name. Failure was simply unacceptable, and disgrace unthinkable, but he was facing both of them. On the other hand, the man was dead, there was nothing that could be done about it, so holding on to the rage was futile. Not that that helped at all.
And that in turn led naturally to his anger with himself. This was the most logical of all. How could he have been so blind, so arrogant as not to see that they would end up in this state? Where this, the least evil outcome of all, involved shame and failure? Not just for the pure-blood cause, but for the Malfoys as a family?
And it wasn't just prestige that they had lost. He had been using his spare wand until the battle, but it was next to useless; wandless magic had been easier and more effective. But now his magic was locked away. He was a wizard without magic, no better than a squib. He'd rather be dead. He hated Voldemort for that. He hated himself for not stopping it from happening. He should have stood up to the Dark Lord. He should have demanded his trust. But he didn’t and so now he couldn’t even use a simple expelliarmus. The irony of the thought did not escape him: the simple charm the schoolboy Potter killed the greatest dark wizard ever with was beyond him, a mature and seasoned wizard.
He had to find some way to fix this. He had to get his emotions under control, and working in harness with his mind. He had to return to the equilibrium that had sustained him so well before in life, for the sake of the family name. For Narcissa. Above all, for the future: for Draco.
Thinking of his son naturally made him turn round to look at him. Which is how he came to be looking straight at the pillar as it disintegrated to dust, and the bright white light hit him full on and slammed him into the table.
THE PAIN! Oh the pain! He didn’t think he would survive it. It coursed through him, like a million needles attacking his whole body all at once, as though some malicious angel had decided to use him as a pincushion. It seemed to last forever, but it couldn’t actually have been even a minute before it started to pass away. Except for his arm, where it became hot … so hot … burning … agonizing ... Only his iron self-control stopped him from screaming out as it felt like his skin was being ripped off. And then there was nothing … and then all of his nerves started to tingle. It was wonderfully refreshing, and he felt alive again, for the first time since his wand had been destroyed.
He was buoyed by a sudden hope. Could it be? He pulled out the previously useless wand and cast a Levitatum spell on the table he had been leaning against. It rose six inches in the air, remaining there steadily until he lowered his wand and it settled back smoothly to the ground.
It was! His magic was back.
Next to him, he heard Narcissa gasp, and turned to see what the matter was. He was greeted with a truly bizarre sight. In this castle filled with rubble, with gaping holes in the walls, making it look exactly like it was: a war-zone, there in front of him was a chaise longue that would not be out of place in the most elegant salon in Paris. On it, lounging as though he had not a care in the world, was his son. And in his arms, head resting on his shoulder, was Harry Potter.

Draco wondered what all the noise was about, but he didn’t look up yet. No, he still had Harry’s head in his lap – he batted away the thought that he should call him Potter, not when you’re cuddling him and, frankly, scarily, enjoying it – and it was getting a bit uncomfortable. He wasn’t embarrassed about the physical touch, which would have shocked him at any other time; in fact, he decided, he was going to hold on to Harry as long as he could. Probably due to that feeling he didn’t understand, which had been increased a hundredfold by the bright light (which he didn’t understand either; one problem at a time, though). But there was a tightness in his trousers that he didn’t want to think about and certainly didn’t want Harry to find out about. Yet.
So he carefully manoeuvered the raven-haired boy until he was holding him in his arms, away from the … swelling. Potter awake, he mused, was basically an obnoxious git, but Potter asleep was simply adorable, and he reached out to stroke the dark hair that stuck out like it always did. Potter’s hair always looked like he’d just got out of bed and Draco secretly had always wanted to tame it, to make it behave. He’d always wondered what it felt like, and now that he had the opportunity to find out, he couldn’t believe how smooth it was under his fingers.
His attention was caught by a not particularly discreet cough, and he looked up to see both of his parents looking at him. He smiled, and conjured two leather armchairs for them. And, as an afterthought, some silk screens behind them, to give a little privacy. Lucius raised his eyebrow; even he couldn’t quite have explained quite why: whether because the two boys were together, or the fact that Draco had his magic back and was already accustomed to it, or the lazy precision of Draco’s conjuring that had, without obvious effort, created the chairs to tone perfectly with the chaise-longue. If his son kept that up, they’d have a whole new matching set of furniture for the Paris apartment. Actually, it was a whole set of shocking thoughts and he’d rather not have any of them.
Lucius and Narcissa sat down; Lucius was secretly proud of the incredible poise that Narcissa showed as she did so, as if this really were a salon and not a battlefield that they were sitting in, and she were the chatelaine rather than an uninvited guest. But he couldn’t let that pride affect him now. He had a situation to deal with. He laced his fingers together in front of him and turned to his son.
His son who, he realized with yet another slight shock, seemed to have grown up a lot in the last few hours. Draco was holding Potter, yes; it was disturbing, yes; but the look in Draco’s eyes said that he knew quite well he would be disapproved of, and he didn’t care. Interesting. This wasn’t the same boy who had refused to look him in the eye when they’d found him that morning. Something had changed.
“So, Draco,” Lucius said, deciding on the direct approach, “why exactly are you hugging Mr. Potter?”
Draco looked at him. If looks could maim, this one would be as bad as the Crucio curse. Lucius glowered back, but inside he was gleeful. At last, my little boy is growing up! Shame it took Potter for him to do it.
“Because he fell on me, father.” Draco answered, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “He was absolutely exhausted, and even so he still wanted to give me my wand back, and then when he learnt our magic didn’t work, he went mental and fixed that too. He may have a hero complex a mile high, but I think he deserves some rest, and at the moment he seems comfortable here, so we’re staying here till he wakes up.”
Narcissa looked from one of her men to the other with concern in her eyes. Draco had never so openly challenged his father’s authority. Not that it would have sounded like a challenge to someone outside the family, but they all knew how things worked between them, and that this answer was insolent to the point of open rebellion. This, coming on top of Voldemort, could split the family irrevocably. Surely Lucius could not stand for this sort of attitude? Narcissa trembled inwardly waiting for his response.
And then it came.
Lucius inclined his head. Just a tiny movement. No words, no change of expression; anyone else might have missed it completely. But they knew what it meant. Lucius had accepted his son’s right to decide what to do for himself. He was giving Draco his blessing. In any other family, there might have been hugs and kisses and back-slapping. But for the Malfoys, that slight nod was enough. Their family was knit together again, tighter than ever it had been since Voldemort had come into their lives.
Narcissa let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Draco’s expression changed radically – he smiled, and it was the beautiful, simple, innocent, happy smile of a child who has been praised by his father. Narcissa wondered idly how he would react if Lucius ever did praise him.
“That was very good of him, and I agree that he looks comfortable. And I must congratulate you on your excellent taste in furnishings.”
Narcissa had her answer: her son’s face lit up, almost as if that bright light had come back. She thought it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

The Malfoys would have liked that moment to last forever, but of course that was never going to happen. The noise behind them, which they had ignored till now, dropped a little. And then it happened.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HARRY, FERRET?”
With these words, Ron Weasley ran towards them, with wand outstretched and Hermione Granger rushing behind him.
Draco looked at him with his haughtiest Malfoy expression.
“I’m holding him, Weasley,” he drawled, and then continued in his most arrogant tones, “I should have thought that was obvious, even to you. He’s exhausted, he fell asleep on me, and I’m holding him till he wakes up. I’m sure you wouldn’t want him to fall on the floor and hurt himself?”
In hindsight, that might not have been the wisest thing to say to Ron. He wasn’t that good at controlling his temper, he was more the “curse first and ask questions later” type, and Malfoy’s tone made him see red.
“STUPEFY!” He yelled, pointing straight at the astonished Draco Malfoy.
But the spell never reached him. About a foot from its target, it hit a wall of glowing colours swirled together. There was emerald green, and silver, and red. As they glowed, the orange Stupefy spell was absorbed into them, and then the colours disappeared as though they had never been.
Everyone stood silent, transfixed by this beauty. Everyone was still. Except one: Harry Potter began to stir.

Harry shifted back into consciousness. He was still dog-tired, but something was vibrating against his magic, and his sense of self-preservation woke him. The first thing he was aware of was that he was being held in someone’s arms. And it was warm, and comfortable. He felt like whoever held him actually wanted him to be there. More, that he fitted there. That he belonged.
He wondered how he got there, and went back over the events in his mind. There had been the chat with Malfoy, handing back the wand, and learning about Voldemort’s curse. He’d thought about all the destruction that the war had caused – all those wizards who had lost their lives, leaving behind broken connections, people who weren’t finished with them yet. He’d remembered Snape, who was still needed by the school and was never going to be honoured properly for his actions in the war. He’d remembered Fred, whose death was going to be a body-blow to George; he’d remembered Tonk and Remus, and how their death meant that Teddy would grow up without his parents, just like Harry had.
And something in him had snapped. He couldn’t accept this. He hadn’t gone through death just to leave people in suffering So he’d used the Elder wand. Then what? Ah, yes, something had materialised in his other hand. What was it, he wondered, and ran his fingers over it. A stone. A rather familiar stone.
The stone that he had dropped in the forest just before Voldemort had cast Avada Kedavra on him.
For some reason, the Elder wand had called the Resurrection Stone to him. And then there had been that bright light, and he’d fallen towards the person he was chatting to.
Which must mean that the person holding him now, the person he felt wanted by and a sense of belonging with, was Draco Malfoy. And that was nearly the strangest thing of the day. But only nearly; because the strangest thing had to be that he didn’t feel that he minded one bit.
Having sorted what had happened before out in his mind, he felt ready to find out what was going on now. He opened his eyes, and looked up into grey eyes looking down at him with concern. Concern that was echoed in the boy’s words to him, spoken very quietly so only he would hear:
“You need some more sleep, Harry.”
Harry gave him a small smile. Draco was right, and they both knew it, but there wasn’t time.
“And hello to you, too.” he said, as he straightened up and sat next to him, looking around at the Malfoys and Weasleys ranged in a semicircle in front of him. Something was missing. Where was the column they’d hid behind? Come to think of it, what was the column doing there in the first place? It must have supported something, but he didn’t remember any sort of structure above the Great Hall. Well, a worry for later, perhaps.
“What’s been going on while I had my little nap?”
Ron’s face was as red as a beetroot, and he exploded into words.
“What’s going on? WHAT’S GOING ON? We’re wondering the same thing, Harry! Why are you here with the ferret? Why didn’t you come over to us? Have they hurt you?” He turned to the Malfoys; “if you’ve harmed one hair on his head –“
“Yes thank you, Ronald, we get the idea,” said Draco, stressing Ron’s first name like you would to an unruly child. “How about we all take a seat and discuss this like civilized people?”
With that, Draco conjured some more seats: stools and benches for his peers, and a lovely chintz two-seater settee for Arthur and Molly Weasley. Lucius repressed a smirk, but looked at his son admiringly, impressed with the composure he’d shown in defusing Ron Weasley’s baiting, and the creative choices and fine control shown in the seating.
Molly took up the conversation immediately, obviously not impressed by Ron’s outburst and anxious to stop a repeat. “Ronald Weasley, you will apologize to Draco Malfoy for trying to hex him.”
“Sorry, Malfoy,” Ron mumbled, not particularly convincingly.
“Apology accepted,” said Draco, in a firm, friendly voice, much to everyone’s surprise.
Molly continued, “But Ron is right, Harry, we were concerned that you didn’t come over to us.”
“I’m sorry, Molly, but I thought you guys needed some space of your own, I didn’t want to impose …”
The words were scarcely out of Harry’s mouth before Molly was out of the chair, moving with that bustling energy her children knew so well, wrapping Harry in a huge hug.
“Harry Potter, you know I think of you as one of my sons. You could never be an imposition! Of course we wanted you there, to be part of us, to hug you like this.” Harry started murmuring about not being necessary, and Molly cut him off straight away with, “of course you needed it. Look at you now, having been supported by Draco Malfoy. And thank you for that, too, Draco.”
“That’s my pleasure, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco replied, in a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth tone of voice. In truth, he was touched. He couldn’t remember a Weasley talking to him with such obvious appreciation before.
Arthur, sensing that things were getting a bit awkward, piped up.
“Well that’s all good, but we still need to know what happened, Harry. Just what was that bright light all about? And when Ron tried to hex Draco” – here Arthur looked daggers at his youngest son – “ there was some sort of barrier, with strange colours.”
Harry explained about Draco’s hawthorn wand and how the Elder wand brought its power back. He was careful not to mention the curse, because he thought that was for the Malfoys to mention if they wanted to; and he didn’t mention the Resurrection Stone either, and even managed to put it into his pocket without anyone seeing. At least, he thought no-one saw.
Arthur quizzed him about the exact spell he’d used to make the wand work again; he explained that there hadn’t really been a spell, just the words that were going through his head. He was a little surprised that Arthur then insisted on knowing exactly what the words were; what was so important, he wondered?
The colours he couldn’t explain at all.
“I have a theory,” said Lucius. “I think this may be the phenomenon called a Haussmann shield.”
Arthur gave a sharp breath out. “Really? But that requires –-“
“—further investigation,” said Lucius, cutting him off swiftly and efficiently. “I think there may be some reference works in the Manor that will shed some light.”
“Yes, well, if you would look into that, that would be fine,” said Arthur, taking the hint to shut up about it for now.
“It would be my pleasure. And I would be delighted if perhaps Miss Granger would assist me?”
There was a sharp intake of breath. The Weasleys couldn’t believe Lucius would suggest Hermione go back to the manor after what happened last time; Hermione couldn’t believe she was being invited into the famous Malfoy library, which she’d longed to visit since Draco had bragged about it in first year.
“Yes, well, perhaps we could discuss that later,” said Mrs Weasley, brightly defusing the issue. She turned her gaze back on her adopted son. “Well, Harry, I hope we’ve convinced you that you belong in our family and you’re always welcome around us?”
All the Weasleys smiled brilliantly at Harry at this point, and he found himself full of a happy feeling of being accepted by them. He looked at each of them in turn. When he saw George, he had a bit of a shock.
“George, your ear is healed!” he exclaimed.
“That’s not the half of it,” said a familiar voice from behind the screen, and another Weasley son appeared.
Harry did a double-take. Hang on, no, it couldn’t be … It was! … And then he realized this must be what all the noise was about and why they were so interested in the bright light and his words, as his face threatened to split in half with the force of the grin on it.

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