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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
- 23
- 24
- 25
24 Returning to Pleasant Company and Painful Subjects
Tuesday, 26 May 1998
Tuesday morning seemed to go by in a flash. By lunchtime, the ground floor renovations at Grimmauld Place were finished entirely, as well as most of the first floor; except that they still had no idea how to remove Mad-Eye's spells or silence Walburga Black's portrait for good. They Flooed to Hogwarts for lunch; all the Gryffindor and Slytherin students sat together, including Dean and Seamus, who were not working in the shop today: the twins had now returned crowned with success from their visit to Ireland, and were busy moving stock around for their new products. Dean told Harry that they had four new lines, but it was all very hush-hush; they wouldn't say anything about them to Dean or Seamus, except that they couldn't wait to show them to Harry. Dean looked miffed at being left out like this, so Harry took care not to smile, though the news did make him feel warm inside.
Lunch had been quite a long meal, and Flitwick didn't seem to make any attempt to hurry them. Pansy and Blaise seemed to be making a genuine attempt to converse with the Gryffindors, and Neville was being open and friendly, discussing where the renovations were up to and what they hoped to achieve today now that they had Dean and Seamus to help. Harry was glad to see everyone trying to get on; Dean and Seamus both managed to be, if not quite friendly, then at least civil, and the conversation continued along happily, pointedly avoiding any discussion of the war, but including Quidditch, the new Ministry, the renovations again, the curriculum for the next year, and – of course - many sly questions about the new eighth year accommodation.
The only concern Harry had was that Millicent seemed to be very quiet. He whispered to Draco about this, but the blond reassured him that she was often quiet. "And she never quite got over not being on Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad," he added. Harry looked concerned; he decided he might have to keep an eye on her.
But by this time they had been out of the conversation themselves, and Pansy decided to press them about the work they were doing. To the other Slytherins' great annoyance, they would not be drawn on any details and managed to avoid the topic; in the end, they had to practically run to get safely inside the new tower without giving away any information.
"Your house-mates are very persistent!" Harry said.
Draco smirked. "And you, my love, managed not to say anything – more like a Slytherin yourself, I thought."
"I nearly was, you know. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."
"Really? And it let you choose Gryffindor instead?" Draco asked in wonder.
"Yeah, well, I kinda wanted to stay with Ron …" Harry replied, the smile sliding off his face at the thought of how awful he had been to Draco at the time.
"And I wanted you to be in Slytherin, and we didn't hit it off because I reminded you of your cousin," Draco replied, understanding immediately why Harry had stopped smiling. "I know. It's OK, Harry. I can't blame you for thinking I was like your spoilt brat of a cousin when I was a spoilt brat myself. And if you had been sorted into Slytherin we probably would have been just housemates, maybe friends, but we almost certainly wouldn't have what we do now, so no regrets, all right?"
Harry looked at him. It hit him afresh that Draco loved him. He had to, to admit to being a spoilt brat. Most of their relationship had been horrible – filled with spite, name-calling, jinxes and hexes. Him cutting Draco open, Draco breaking his nose. But yes, if that was the price for what they had now, it was probably worth it.
"Right," he said, smiling again.
Having started late, they worked past afternoon tea time; by five o'clock, when they were ready to go home, the third of the four Towers was complete.

When they got home, there were two owls waiting for them. One was Pig with a letter for Draco; the other was from the Clerk of the Wizengamot with a letter for Harry.
Draco opened his letter; it was a simple note:
Dear Draco,
Thank you, of course we were delighted to have you to the party and to dinner at any time. I hope you don't mind me calling you 'Draco' but you're Harry's boyfriend lover, which makes you family now; so please don't feel you have to write thanks every time! Your mother and I have discussed matters, and I do hope you and Harry will come to dinner on Saturday evenings in future.
With very best wishes love,
Molly Weasley
He looked up, smiling. Harry looked curious, so Draco said, "it's from Mrs Weasley."
"Molly," Harry reprimanded, mechanically; he was wondering why Molly would write to Draco. Clearly it showed; for Draco went on to explain, "I wrote to Molly yesterday; I wasn't going to let you be polite to my mother and me not to Mrs We—Molly, that wouldn't do! She's confirmed the invitation for Saturdays."
"Oh, good," Harry said, sounding a bit distracted. He still hadn't opened his letter; he looked unhappy, and Draco's face dropped.
"This will be about Umbridge's trial," Harry said, sadly. Somehow he'd managed to keep it out of his mind for the whole day, but now here it was, demanding his attention.
"Open it quickly, Harry, we need to know what you have to do," Draco said, walking over and wrapping his arms round Harry in a gesture of support.
Harry ripped the envelope open. The letter inside informed him that, owing to late running of other business, the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge had been postponed and would now begin at nine o'clock on the morning of Friday the twenty-ninth of May in Courtroom Ten. He was requested to attend with a view to assisting the Wizengamot in its consideration and elaboration of the Potter Code. As a consequence of the trial being moved, the interview with Rita Skeeter was now scheduled for Saturday 30 May at two o'clock in the afternoon. Pencilled under this was a note from Arthur, suggesting that they come to the Burrow at eleven o'clock on Saturday to discuss the interview in depth; and stay for lunch.
The very stuffiness of the letter was enough to depress Harry. Without a word, he handed it to Draco, who glanced at it and put it aside, having read most of it over Harry's shoulder.
"This is good, right?" Draco said. "You don't have to go until Friday."
"Yeah, but that only means I'll keep thinking about it until then," Harry replied, despondently.
"How about we do something to take your mind off it?" Draco asked, then, seeing the look in Harry's eyes, continued hurriedly, "maybe get some friends round, play cards, something like that?" It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his time alone with Harry in bed; but the raven-haired boy needed company now; Draco could tell that just the two of them together was not enough to stop the depression from settling straight back on him.
"I'd like that," Harry agreed. "Who did you have in mind?"
Draco smiled. "You go and tell Kreacher we'll need food, I'll see who I can rouse, alright?"
And Harry happily padded down to the kitchen to discuss matters with Kreacher.

The party, for that is what it became, did not break up till well after midnight.
Ginny and Robin came from the Burrow; Harry was rendered speechless when Robin came straight out of the Floo and clasped Draco in a huge hug. He wondered how the blond would react; but there was something about the Auror that made everyone warm to him, and even his lover, who was cagy about public shows of affection, simply smiled when Robin released him, and said, rather shyly, "thanks".
"What shall we do with this?" he asked, producing an enormous bottle of champagne. Kreacher was called, and in a very few minutes everyone had a glass of champagne and the bottle was cooling in an ice bucket charmed to stay cold all night, if by some incredible chance the champagne managed to last that long.
"I was very sorry not to see you at the engagement party," Robin said to them both, "I couldn't make because I was on duty. I heard all about the gifts you gave; brilliant choices, Draco. I'm glad to know there's a heart in there somewhere after all…" This last comment was made with such a big grin that it was impossible, even for Draco, to be offended; the blond contented himself with slapping Robin lightly on the cheek with the backs of his fingers, and then grinning in turn.
Next to arrive were Blaise and Pansy; Harry made a point of welcoming them into his house. Blaise accepted the cordial hospitality with the easy grace of a noble-born Italian; but Pansy looked a little uncertain.
"What's the problem, Pans?" Draco asked her.
"I … I guess it's one thing to be friendly to Potter at Hogwarts, but being in his house …"
"Pans, he's called 'Harry', all right? And this is my home too, isn't it, Harry?"
"Absolutely," said Harry, trying but failing to hide the smile of pure delight that Draco thought so, and was prepared to say so so openly. "So, welcome to Draco's house, Pansy!"
The Slytherin looked at him. "Draco's house?" she said, and they could practically see the cogs turning in her mind. "Hang on, are you two …"
"Yes," said Draco. And if his voice trembled just a little, who could blame him? He knew Pansy was more than half in love with him, though he had never encouraged it. How would she react to this?
"It's that Debt thing, right?" she asked.
"No," Draco replied. "It's that we love one another."
She looked at him very carefully. Draco's face showed her two things: he was worried about how she would react, she could see that, but also something she hadn't seen enough of – he was happy. Really, truly happy. Had Potter done this?
She turned to Harry. His face was so open, so honest, so welcoming, that she smiled in spite of herself, and some of the reserve inside her thawed to this man she had spoken against during the War, and who had somehow managed to put that fact aside. She wanted to be jealous; but she couldn't, not in the face of such obvious love. Well, if he can make Draco this happy, he deserves him. And if he can put the past behind him, so can I, she decided.
"I see that," she said, a sly smile breaking out on her face. "Thanks, Harry," she continued, accepting the glass of champagne that he handed to her.
"Hello Harry," said a familiar voice. Harry hadn't paid attention to the Floo roaring while he was talking to Pansy, so her arrival had taken him by surprise; not the first time this particular guest had done that, he thought.
"Hello, Luna," he said, "it's good to see you." And he meant it; he was delighted that Draco had thought to ask her.
"You look very happy, Harry," she said, in her dreamy way. "You and Draco are good for each other. I'm so pleased."
With which, having rendered Harry speechless for the minute, she took a glass of champagne from him and began an earnest conversation with Blaise and Pansy. Harry listened in for a moment; he was almost disappointed that it appeared to be a perfectly sensible discussion about the curriculum for next year; there appeared to be no mention of wrackspurts or crumple-horned snorkacks at all.

As they had needed to close up the shop, the twins didn't arrive until six; Neville came with them, but Dean and Seamus were busy, as it happened, and sent their apologies. The twins had also brought two of their new lines. The trick four-leaf clovers were kind of cute, but everyone agreed it was the skittles that were the best fun: the five pins stood in the traditional circle, one in the middle, each one painted with a silly face; but when the batons were thrown at them, the pins would react, each spelled with its own individual response. One of the pins would jump up, threateningly, and had to be hit with another baton to 'encourage' it to be quiet again. One, when hit, would run away into a corner sobbing. One would stick out its tongue at you. One would burst into laughter. And what made the game practically impossible to play is that the pins would insist on ganging up on the batons, racing around the circle to cut them off.
But none of them could get the pin in the middle to do anything at all, until George showed them the secret: by lobbing a baton to hit it on the exact top, it exploded into fireworks that spelt "WINNER!" in six-inch high emerald green letters, to rapturous applause.
Kreacher chose this happy moment to announce that dinner was ready.

They sat around the table long after everyone had finished eating, the twins and Pansy telling jokes that weren't really funny but got a huge laugh anyway, while Harry sat drinking elf-wine now that the champagne was all gone. He was glad that people didn't seem to be taking particular notice of him; he so hated to be the centre of attention, and tonight he was quite content to sit and watch, enjoying being amongst people who, against the odds, were managing to feel at ease together. What he didn't know was that a large part of that ease was caused by the fact that he and Draco were so obviously at home in one another's company that Gryffindor and Slytherin alike felt drawn to them both.
Harry realised the well-spring of the feeling: relief. Here they were, sitting together, sworn enemies before the War, and they had managed to have a meal together in peace and find that they could actually enjoy one another's company. He smiled at his lover and suddenly remembered the night, just over two weeks ago, when he had simultaneously feared the outcome of Draco's trial and hoped to have him at the table, laughing and joking; and now here they were, the trial over, and Draco sitting just has he had imagined. True, he had thought that Ron and Hermione would be here; but that would happen later, and somehow having Blaise and Pansy instead made the moment just as special: they really were mending some of the breaches that Voldemort had made in Wizarding society.
These thoughts brought tears to his eyes, and they didn't go unnoticed. Draco leant over and, somehow contriving to be unobtrusive and also practically sit in Harry's lap, whispered, "are you all right?" to him. And the simple question, asked with so much love and concern, made Harry practically lose it, as he grabbed his lover and kissed him, tears of joy now falling down his face.
"Who's for more skittles?" George asked, a suggestion that was received with enthusiasm, and the rest of them went back up into the hall for another game. As she walked past, Luna turned to Draco. "You two should stay here for a moment," she said, enigmatically. "You need to come back into balance."
Draco had no idea what she meant, but he agreed that they needed to stay when Harry nuzzled into his shoulder, then his head flopped and he muttered something rather incoherent.
"Are you all right?" Draco asked, before the simple and rather obvious explanation occurred to him: they had consumed a lot of champagne and elf-wine, and Fred had been filling Harry's glass quite often … the poor boy was drunk. And drunk with a vengeance: he looked awful.
Draco pushed back in his chair and pulled Harry across his body so he was lying with his shoulders on Draco's chest, his head cradled on Draco's shoulder, with Draco's right arm lying across his body. Finding this rather uncomfortable, and suddenly remembering he was a wizard, he transfigured the chair into a sofa complete with cushions, which he used to help prop Harry up.
"What are we going to do with you, my poor drunk Gryffindor?" he asked, teasingly.
"'M shorry, Dray," Harry mumbled.
Draco just smiled, and reached his head down so his lips could meet Harry's in a swift, tender kiss. "Don't be," he said. "We'll just have to make sure there's a headache potion handy in the morning."
"No, 'm shorry," Harry insisted. "Don't wan force you to be with me. Mushtn't make you love me."
Draco's breath caught. What? he thought. "You don't have to, Harry, I already do."
"No, ish the debt …"
Oh. Is that what's worrying him? Still? "No, Harry, it really isn't the Debt. The Debt can make me protect you but it can't make me love you. That's all me."
"No, ish debt …" Harry re-iterated, becoming more agitated. "Musht be … freak!"
"Freak?" Draco asked, puzzled. Did Harry think there was something freakish about the debt? Actually, there was, if you thought about it; the way it worked was unlike most other magic. But he'd just got used to it, never noticed it much now; he loved Harry, hurting him or lying to him was impossible because of that, the Debt just added to it really.
"No," Harry answered, bringing Draco back from his thoughts, "me, I'm … freak"
Draco said it out loud this time: "What?"
"'M a freak," Harry repeated, insistently.
"Who says so?" Draco demanded.
"Dursleys say sho. Freak. Weirdo. Evil boy!" And with this, Harry put his hands up, as though to ward off someone physically attacking him.
Draco felt sick to the pit of his stomach. He remembered the dream he'd had about the pig-eyed man, whom he now knew to be Vernon Dursley, and it all clicked into place. In any wizarding family, Harry would have been spoilt. But not by the Dursleys; they had branded him as a misfit, called him a freak, even made him live in a cupboard, he remembered Harry telling him that first morning at Grimmauld Place.
Merlin! What hadn't they done?
He wrapped his arms tightly round the raven-haired boy, letting the cushions fall to the floor. Harry cowered and whimpered at the touch, then turned his head into Draco's chest and let himself be held in the blond's strong arms.
"You're not a freak, Harry," he said, soothingly.
"Am," Harry insisted. "Hair always grew back. Aunt 'Tunia cut it all off. Grew back. Dudley kicked me. Healed by morning. Set shnake free." Here Harry smiled as the memory must have played itself out in his mind. "It shcared him. Made him run. Got beaten though. No supper. Made Aunt Marge blow up like balloon. Sho many freaky thingsh …"
Draco's heart was breaking. They'd put him under so much stress, of course his magic reacted. That made him a wizard, not a freak. Though he suspected these people definitely saw wizards as freaks.
"You're not a freak, Harry," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of the sorrow he felt for what that poor abused, neglected child had gone through, and the incredible admiration he had for the man he had become despite it all. "You're the kindest, most loving, most forgiving person I know. You gave your life up, letting the Dark Lord kill you for us all. You gave me my wand back. You gave me my magic back. Hell, Harry, you gave me my life back. I love you, Harry Potter, I want you in my life forever …"
By this time, words failed him; they were both crying, and Draco massaged Harry's back in large slow circles as they sobbed together. Harry quieted, relaxed, and snuggled into Draco's embrace; it wasn't long before his breathing became deep and even, and Draco realised he was asleep.
How long they sat there he didn't know; but eventually Luna came down to see how they were doing. "Oh good!" she said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, "he's always needed to fall asleep in someone's arms. Let's get him to bed."
Draco had never had much time for Luna; 'Loony Luna' had summed her up for him. So he was amazed to find a grudging respect for her welling up. She obviously had hidden depths; and she cared for Harry, which touched Draco enormously.
"Good idea," he agreed, levitating Harry as he stood up, so that he was light enough for Draco to carry in his arms without risking falling over. He was a little embarrassed to take Harry away from his own party; but as they got to the hall, Luna simply announced loudly over the gale of laughter going on that "Harry's going to bed now" in such a matter-of-fact voice that he had no problem adding, "I'll be back down soon."
"Don't hurry!" Fred replied. "We're having a wonderful time."
Draco looked round, particularly at Blaise and Pansy, wondering if this could be true; but it was clear they really were enjoying themselves.

Somehow Draco got Harry all the way upstairs and undressed bed without waking him. But the moment he put him on the bed and let go to leave the room, the Gryffindor started to stir.
"Wass … hmmm… Draco?" he murmured incoherently.
"I'm here, Harry," Draco said.
"Head … hurts …"
Draco chuckled. "I'm not surprised. I'll get a headache potion." With that, he went back into his former room. Even as he did so, a whole load of feelings rose up. At the Manor, he had a whole suite, which he rattled around in and occasionally complained was too small; here at Grimmauld Place he had a single room he could call his own space, and since that first night he had not used it. His clothes were now in a wardrobe in Harry's room; the books and papers he had brought from the Manor were in the library downstairs; the only thing to come in here for was his potions kit, unused. Which meant that he had not brewed anything for a whole week. He would have to remedy that, soon. But first things first; he opened his supplies and found he had a good supply of headache potion, and yes, the other potion he wanted was there too.
He took two phials of headache potion – after all, Harry wasn't the only one who had been drinking – and one of the other, and went back to their bedroom.
Ourbedroom. It was a nice thought, he decided, as he put one phial of headache potion on his bedside table, the walked around the bed to sit next to his lover.
"Here you are, Harry, drink this," he said, helping the raven-haired man up and giving him the headache potion.
"Ah, oh, better," Harry said in a relieved voice; the thousand hammers had stopped beating in his head now, and coherent speech was a possibility again. "Stay with me?"
Draco was torn. He desperately wanted to stay and comfort his lover; but Harry was drunk, and who knew what would happen? Draco would love to go further in their relationship; but what if Harry woke up remorseful, still thinking that he had forced Draco?
They really had to get past this, and soon. For the moment, he said, soothingly, "you need to sleep now."
"I'm sor-(hic)-ry Draco…"
The blond looked at him, cross. Would the man never stop apologising?
"What for? Being drunk? That's perfectly natural. Getting drunk? We all drank together, it happens, don't stress."
"No, for … for …" Harry began to cry.
"Hush, Harry," Draco said soothingly, annoyed with himself that he had let his irritation get across. "Here, I want you to drink this as well," he said, placing one arm around him and raising the second phial to his lips.
"Wass in it?" Harry asked.
"Dreamless Sleep potion," Draco answered as he tipped the potion up, then put the empty phial safely on the bedside cabinet. Harry settled down and Draco leant over him and kissed him.
"Goodnight, Harry, we'll talk in the morning. I love you."
With that, he left the room.

The others were now in the drawing room drinking firewhiskey when Draco came in, apologising that Harry was 'indisposed'.
Blaise handed Fred a galleon, asking, "how did you know?"
"Poncy pure-blood," Fred answered, with a grin.
"What's that about?" Draco asked.
"I bet Blaise you would say exactly that when you came back," Fred answered, smirking.
"It seems 'e knows you very well, Draco, And Mr Potter, 'e cannot take 'is drink, no?"
"Blaise!" Draco practically growled.
"What?" Blaise snarled back, and Draco realised all at once that Blaise had had too much to drink, too; but he was being an aggressive drunk, not a maudlin and sleepy one, as the Italian put his fists up, evidently spoiling for a fight. "So Potter is a milksop who cries and falls asleep from too much wine! You want to make something of it?"
George turned to him, and spoke in a quiet, stern voice, "Mr Zabini, Harry is our baby brother; and Draco is his lover. That makes him family. You take him on, you take us on. You against Malfoy, two Weasleys–"
"- three Weasleys," Ginny corrected.
"—and one Banks," Robin interjected.
"- does that sound like a fight you want a piece of?" Fred finished up.
Blaise looked at Pansy. "What about you?" he asked.
"You got yourself in this mess, you get yourself out," she replied. "Harry is our host, you have better manners than to insult him so."
At this, the dark-skinned Italian shook his head and looked at the menacing forms of the twins. "Pah! So, you need to be protected by Weasels now, Draco?"
"Blaise," said Draco, the tone ice-cold, the warning unmistakable, "you are one of my oldest and best friends, and that's why I'm not going to hex you to hell and back, even though you deserve it. Aren't you listening? Harry is my lover, these people are my family. It's time to stop calling other people names. It's time to grow out of all that childish division we grew up with."
Blaise paused. He had heard that tone before, but never thought to be on the receiving end. It was truly frightening. "I think, maybe, I go home now," he said, softly.
"I think that would be wise. Do you want a hangover potion?"
Blaise sighed heavily, and seemed to pull himself together. "No. Thank you for the offer, but I think it's best if I just go now. Good-night." And without saying another word to them, he entered the Floo and was gone.
The silence was deafening.
Fred looked around at everyone. "Now, let's play Black Lady. Who's in?"
They all were. It was just what they needed, and they spent an hour on the game. Draco wasn't familiar with it, so they explained that it was a game involving rounds called 'tricks', where the object is to avoid winning points, particularly by not winning the Queen of Spades, who was worth thirteen points, in a trick; but in the Wizarding version it is much harder to avoid taking the Queen, as the court cards will go visiting one another, and you'd play, say, the Queen of Diamonds only to find the Queen of Spades in the frame as well when you gathered the trick up.
After half an hour, Draco decided there was no way to play for a win, so he gave up doing so and decided just to play to have fun. An hour later, when all the firewhiskey was gone, Draco realised, rather to his surprise, that he had enjoyed the game very much. At this point, Luna, Pansy and Neville bade everyone farewell, and Flooed to their respective homes, or, in Neville's case, the shop.
"He's still staying there?" Draco asked, somewhat bemused that Neville didn't have a home of his own.
"Oh yes," George replied with a wink, "it's there or his grandmother's. Must be a hard choice; if he's with her, she bosses him round, and if he's at the shop, he has to share his room with me."
Draco understood. Hard choice my foot! Rather than think about just what might happen in George's room, he asked the four remaining guests if they would like to stay; they accepted the offer happily.
"Kreacher!" Draco called.
The house-elf appeared, rather bleary-eyed, and Draco gathered with a start that he must have gone to bed.
"Sorry," he said, then realised he was apologising to a house-elf without needing to (which is to say, without Granger, scrub that, Hermione, being present); he contented himself by asking, "are the rooms available as before?"
Kreacher swore under his breath, something about blood-traitors in his mistress's house, which Draco only half-heard. But he wasn't going to let it pass, and put on his most haughty Malfoy manner.
"Kreacher! You know Harry wouldn't put up with that, and neither will I! These people are our guests, kindly provide accommodation for them suitable for guests of a Black house. And then you may retire." The elf was looking mutinous and Draco knew what was coming: a house-elf who wanted to be disobedient would foul up deliberately and then punish himself. To forestall this, he added a rider: "And you may not punish yourself, is that clear?"
Kreacher grumbled about "overbearing jumped-up sons of …" He didn't complete the sentence as Draco was glaring at him. "Yes, yes, Master Draco," he continued, "nice Master Draco," and vanished with a pop. A minute later he was back; "rooms are being ready just as before, Kreacher has being airing them nicely."
"Thank you, Kreacher," Draco said, knowing that Harry would not be happy if he didn't show - what was Gra- Hermione's phrase? - 'kindness and understanding', that was it. Well, he could do that. "You may go back to bed. Apologies for disturbing you."
Kreacher hmmed and grumped, but seemed to go off happily enough. At which point, Ginny and Robin went upstairs to bed. Draco went up with them just to check that everything was in order; when he saw the queensize bed, he just smiled.
"You won't tell mum, will you?" Ginny asked, worried.
"Not a word," Draco replied. She was his guest, after all; it simply wasn't done to tell tales. "Do you have everything you need?"
Robin checked the bedside cabinet. "Yes," he grinned. "Good night."

Draco went back to the drawing room, pouring himself and the twins glasses of brandy. He wanted to talk to them; but how to begin? Harry had told him so much, but there was still more he needed to know, he was sure of it. He had some thinking to do. Principally about exactly what was going to happen to the Dursleys when he caught up with them.
"I''m glad you two are here," he said, deciding that openness and honesty were the only way to go. "Harry has told me a great deal of his past, and he opened up a lot tonight."
Both twins leaned towards him, excitement in their faces. "That's great! / He really needs to open up to someone. / We're so glad he's got you!"
Draco blushed. How had he ever despised the twins or thought they were no-hopers? But, truth to tell, he knew the answer to that: he had always seen them from the dark and dismal Malfoy point of view. His world had taken on a whole new range of colour since he had fallen in love with Harry. He had definitely taken on some of Harry's thinking; he could now see people as valuable for themselves, not just for what they could do for him.
He told them about over all the things that Harry had said: being called a freak; being kept in a cupboard until he went to Hogwarts; never being cuddled by a loving hand. He found himself opening up to these men like he never had to anyone before; he told them about that voice telling him Harry needed his comfort; he could certainly see the truth of that now. He told them about the vision of the obscenely fat man, whom he now knew to be Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, and his huge hand striking the tiny Harry, just a small boy longing for someone, anyone, to come and cuddle him. No wonder Harry had raised his hands in the kitchen just now, if that was what he was used to!
And the twins didn't mock him, or belittle him; he could feel a warmth from them, coming from a shared love for Harry. A love, he knew, that was no threat to his relationship with Harry; he had seen that so clearly at the party. It meant that he could talk freely to the Weasleys about everything to do with Harry, and he was finding that freedom truly liberating.
And so he came to what for him was the worst thing of all.
"They called him 'evil'," he said, gazing into his brandy balloon. "Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy-who-lived-twice, the Destroyer of Voldemort; they called him evil. Harry Potter, the kindest, most caring, most important person in my world, the person who gave himself to destroy the most evil monster of their time; evil?"
"And then your father told him they've convinced the Muggles that he's a dangerous criminal. Harry! A dangerous criminal! And they've moved back to their home, where Harry grew up, and taken out some Muggle thing called an "injuncture" or something like that that means Harry can't go near it. He grew up there, and his own family won't let him come and visit!"
Draco hadn't realised he was crying until he felt the arms around him as the twins now knelt, one on each side of him, holding him, not saying anything, just letting him sort himself out. It brought a lump to his throat, and for a minute he could not speak.
"Thanks," he whispered, once he got his voice back.
The twins sat down again.
"We can tell you a bit more," they said. "We went to the house three times. The first time was when he was in second year; he wasn't in the cupboard then, he was in a bedroom upstairs. / The smallest bedroom. / Hideous, nothing of any value in it. / With bars on the windows."
"Bars on the windows?" Draco mouthed. Why?
"Yeah, to keep him from getting out. / We ripped them off. But there were locks on the door. And it had a cat-flap."
"But – Harry can't have had a cat, he had that owl?"
"We think it was for food, Draco. We think they kept him in that room as a prisoner." George said, his face a mask of pure anger.
Fred continued, "the second time we went, Dad used the Floo network – temporarily connected; but their fireplace was boarded up, we had to destroy it to get out. / We saw his cousin then. Frightful piece of work. / More like a small whale than a boy. We 'accidentally' dropped one of our ton-tongue toffees and he ate it."
"What happened?" Draco asked, delighted that these two had played a prank on this horrible boy.
"His tongue swelled up. / Dad said it got to four feet long before they would let him shrink it. / But we think he was exaggerating. / We never saw anything get longer than three feet with that particular spell. Anyway, the last time we went to Privet Drive was when Harry finally left, and we all got attacked by Death Eaters."
"Privet Drive?" Draco asked.
"Yeah, 4 Privet Drive, it's their address. In a Muggle village called 'Little Whinging'."
Draco filed the address away in his mind. It might come in very useful. "Oh, I see," he said, covering up his curiousity and his joy at now knowing where they lived. "So, what happened?"
They told him all about the flight from Privet Drive, and how Mad-Eye had died, and George's ear had got cut off. He had heard bits and pieces of the story before, but now here it was, laid out in full. He now understood so much more of his own history, particularly the part his aunt had played and how his father had lost his wand.
And now, he felt, he understood enough of Harry's past to help him deal with it. There was still the matter of Harry's feelings about the Debt; but while they had been talking about the Dursleys, a plan had been formulating in the back of his mind. A plan he could put into place tomorrow.
All in all, it was a good night's work, he decided, as he suggested they all go to bed.
He snuggled up next to Harry, putting his arm over the sleeping boy. The raven-head was dead to the world; but he still stirred a little, and his hand moved to grasp Draco's.
"Oh Harry," he whispered, though he knew his words wouldn't be heard. "You are so amazing. We're going to help you sort it all out, I promise."

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