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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
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25 Returning to Their Senses
Wednesday, 27 May 1998
His head hurt! He groaned and moaned; what had he been drinking last night?
Then, slowly, it came back to him. Champagne, and elfwine, and firewhiskey. He should have known it was a mistake. “Never mix the grape and the grain,” his grandfather had insisted, and certainly for him, it always spelt disaster. He wondered who he’d punched this time. It usually came down to punching, somehow.
But it hurt too much to think about it, so he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. If only the pounding would stop. And the yelling.
Oh. Someone was there. “Whatsermatrbrdr,” he mumbled.
“BLAISE!” the voice yelled. Damn, they know who I am, he thought. And then, as lucidity broke through, it’s Pansy. He groaned again, and got up. It was no good trying to stay in bed; she’d only burst in and turf him out.
“Coming!” he yelled, wrapping a dressing-gown around him and stumbling for the door, wondering why she was there; no-one used his door, not when the Floo was available. Or she could apparate in. As he opened the door, she charged in like the Hogwarts Express pushing him back with the force of her entry.
“What do you mean by it, wards up, Floo closed, it’s like you didn’t want to see me!” she all but yelled. Oh. That’s why she didn’t Floo then. He held his hands up in the international gesture of surrender.
“I’m sorry, Pans! I open the Floo now, OK?” He did so; but of course it didn’t do him any good.
“You’ve got a lot more apologising to do, mister, after last night!” she admonished him.
He looked at her blankly. “Last night? What … what happened last night?”
She looked at him searchingly, and decided he probably didn’t remember. Which only made things harder, really. She’d have to go for shock treatment, she decided, and ticked off the points on her fingers.
“What happened? You came to dinner at Potter’s house, invited by Draco; it was a very pleasant evening, right up to when Potter went to bed, and you called him a cheap drunk cry-baby milksop, said Draco needed Weasel protection, and put your fists up to Draco, three Weasleys and Banks. And I’m not sure what Longbottom thought, but I bet he’d have taken you on too if it had come to that.”
Blaise sat on his sofa, his head in his hands. It was all coming back now. He so wished it would all go away again.
“Oh, God,” he said softly.
‘Yep,” said Pansy, going into his kitchen to make him some strong black coffee. Well, someone had to make him see sense, and by the looks of him she could tell perfectly well he wasn’t going to without at least a pint of espresso inside him.

Draco woke up with the sun in his eyes. He looked over at his lover, and watched as the light played over his face. He was glad that Harry had taken Dreamless Sleep potion; his raven-haired lover was still fast asleep, a beatific smile on his face, and the scene took Draco’s breath away.
This beautiful man loved him. He still found it hard to believe. He gently smoothed Harry’s hair and, still asleep, Harry arched up into the touch and gave a low moan of pleasure. It went straight to Draco’s groin. But he didn’t want to wake him, so carefully removed his hand and slid slowly out of bed. It was an agonising choice; his body screamed to wake his lover up and make love to him, but he knew Harry needed sleep, and he didn’t want to go any further in their relationship until the issues with the Debt were fully resolved.
And so eight o’clock found him sitting in the drawing room, having showered, dressed and breakfasted. He decided now wasn’t too early to make the call he wanted, so threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and stated the destination he was calling, as well as he could, not knowing the exact Floo address.
“Headmistress McGonagall’s office, Hogwarts.”
Luck was with him; the Headmistress was in her office, having a small conference with Professor Flitwick about the plan for the day, and she answered straight away, “who is it?”
“Headmistress, it’s Draco Malfoy; please forgive me calling so early.”
“Mr Malfoy. Nonsense, it’s hardly early, and I’m sure you have a good reason for calling. How can I help you?”
“It’s about Harry. Um, I guess you know about the Debt of Magical Emancipation I owe him?”
“Ooh! Ooh!” he heard in the background. It was Professor Flitwick “Forgive me eavesdropping, but really? I haven’t heard of one of those recorded in the last two hundred years!”
“Perhaps you should come through, Mr Malfoy,” said the headmistress crisply, “and we can discuss this more comfortably.”
Draco considered this. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without Harry’s permission; but he was sure that this would be alright. He wrote ‘At Hogwarts’ on a slip of parchment, left it on the desk, and Flooed through to join the two teachers.
McGonagall steered them over to the lounge chairs she and Harry had sat in. She asked a house-elf for tea, and levitated over her tin of biscuits, offering Draco one. He remembered with a small smile that this was a sign of approval, so took one, even though he wasn’t actually hungry.
“Now, you mentioned a Debt?” she started.
“Yes, and I was hoping that Hogwarts might have some information. Harry is worried that our, um, feelings for each other, is only because of the Debt …”
“But that’s silly!” Flitwick responded. “Magical Debts may have a short-term, immediate effect on your affections; but they can’t change how you feel permanently!”
"Really?” Draco asked, a new hope kindling in his heart. “Are you certain?"
“Oh yes,” Flitwick answered, and Draco had trouble not grinning madly. “None of that old magic was ever really concerned with feelings, it was about making people do what was required regardless of how you felt. They might help you along at the beginning, but then it’s force. That lack of concern for the participants is one reason why all that magic was banned.”
Draco thought back to that day at Hogwarts, remembering the feelings he had had for Harry; yes, he had acted a bit strange, he realised; what Flitwick said definitely resonated with him. But if he was right, his feelings for Harry, Harry’s feelings for him … oh Merlin!
“Do you have any documentation for this?” McGonagall asked.
“I’m sure I could find some! Hmmm.. “ after a second or two of humming, clearly running through his books in his mind, he continued, “Yes! I have just the thing! Mr Malfoy, would you like me to have a word with Mr Potter?”
“Please, Professor.”
“Very good. It can’t be today, of course, there’s so much to do and I’ll need a little time to locate the book. I’ll talk to him tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“Was there anything else, Mr Malfoy?” McGonagall asked.
“No, thank you, and I’m sorry to disturb you. Thank you very much for asking me through, and for your help.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Mr Malfoy; you are still my student, and I would do anything in my power to help my students. As would Professor Flitwick. And it seems that I was unable to help anyway, but I’m sure Filius will do an excellent job. Incidentally, where is Mr Potter?”
“He’s still asleep,” Draco confessed. “He, ah, was rather agitated last night so I gave him a Dreamless Sleep potion. He probably won’t wake up for another hour.”
McGonagall looked at him sternly. “I hope you don’t make a habit of dishing out Dreamless Sleep, Mr Malfoy. It can be habit-forming, you know.”
“Of course he knows,” a familiar voice insisted, as Snape appeared in his portrait. “I’m sure he took all the proper precautions. He did learn from me, after all. But, Draco, why exactly was Mr Potter so agitated?”
“We, ah, all had more to drink than might be wise,” Draco confessed – he had never been able to keep anything from his godfather, and it seemed that this was still the case even though the man was in fact only a painting – “and he told me rather a lot about his childhood.”
“Ah.” Snape said. “Do look after him, won’t you?”
Draco was taken aback; not so much at the words as at the tone. It rated as the first time he’d ever heard Snape have a kind word for Harry.
“Yes, do,” McGonagall said, looking at him rather shrewdly. “I can’t think of anyone he’s actually discussed his past with before, Mr Malfoy.”
“Um, well, he was under the weather a bit, so perhaps I shouldn’t say anything then …”
“No, of course you shouldn’t, until Mr Potter is ready,” the headmistress agreed. “But we will help you any way we can. And if you do need to discuss anything, my door is always open for any of my students, past and present, Mr Malfoy. But right now, perhaps you should get back in case Mr Potter wakes and misses you.”
“Yes. Right,” Draco said, grateful for the clear dismissal, and he Flooed back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry was still asleep, so Draco stripped off to his boxers and lay next to him.
“Mmmmm…” Harry said, waking as Draco spooned against him. “What time is it?”
“Sh, Harry, it’s twenty to nine, but you need your sleep. Is your head OK?”
“Mmmmm… Why wouldn’t it be?” Harry said, and then he remembered how he’d felt when he went to bed. “Oh. Ooh.. Yeah, so much better, thank you.” As he said this, Harry turned over and captured the blond’s lips in a good-morning kiss. “Thank you so much.”
They lay together quietly for a little while, and then all of a sudden Harry sat bolt upright.
“SHIT!” he said, turned bright red, and ran out of the room.
“What the …?” Draco asked, springing up himself. He heard Harry throwing up in the bathroom, and then the sound of the shower running. He wondered if Harry would mind company; but he discovered that the bathroom door was locked. Of course, Alohomora would take care of that; but if Harry had locked the door, he must want privacy, so Draco went back to the bedroom, dressed again, and went back to the drawing room to wait for him.
Half an hour later, a rather ashen-faced Harry sidled into the drawing room, to find Draco sitting reading one of the many books on old spells he had brought from the Manor.
“Good morning,” Draco said. “I was looking to see if I could find some way to deal with Aunt Burga’s portrait.”
“Oh,” said Harry, looking decidedly shaky, and sitting down on the nearest sofa rather quickly.
Draco looked at him quizzically. “Are you all right?” he asked, softly.
“Um… no,” Harry decided. “No, um, I, ah, remembered what I said last night. I’m a terrible lover, burdening you with all that …”
Draco carefully put his book down after marking his place; even in times of high emotion, there were some things you had to do. He then quickly scooted over and sat next to Harry.
“Harry James Potter,” he drawled, “you may be a terrible lover. I wouldn’t know; you’re the first real lover I’ve had. But you’re my lover, and I want to know all about your past. Those people were horrible to you, I get that; you hate talking about it, I get that too. But please, please, tell me? I want to know how they hurt you, so I don’t do it too. I want to help you heal, you can’t do that if you cover it up. Will you let me? Please?”
Harry looked at the blond, tears in his eyes, and then grabbed him in a hug. They stayed in a strangely comfortable silence for half a minute or so, and then Harry let go and leant back on the sofa.
“How about I have breakfast,” he asked quietly, “and then yes, I guess you’re right, I need to tell someone, and there’s no-one I’d rather tell than you.”

It took the rest of the morning. Harry did tell Draco everything. All about growing up, being forced to work, being starved and beaten and shut away, in the cupboard before Hogwarts and then in Dudley’s second bedroom during the holidays.
He explained about the blood protection meaning that he had to stay with the Dursleys for his own safety, even though they never cared for him. That calling him ‘freak’ became almost a term of endearment, certainly the closest they ever got. He told him about Dudley’s parties and how he had never had one until Hagrid brought him a cake on his eleventh birthday. He told him about the visit to the zoo, and Draco’s eyes twinkled at the thought of the snake scaring Dudley.
He told about blowing up Aunt Marge. He explained about the Triwizard Tournament, that it really was Barty Crouch Junior who had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. About the Dementors, and the Ministry revealing he wasn’t allowed to do magic, and the trial. About how the Ministry had moved it, and how Umbridge and Fudge had been so against him. He told about how Vernon, no longer fearing his magic, locking him away all day. About the cat-flap being for food. About being let out once a day for the toilet – when they remembered; Draco didn’t want to think about if they didn’t.
He told Draco all the things he already knew from the Weasleys: the bars on his window; the rescue with the flying car; the disastrous attempt to connect the fireplace to the Floo network. He told him about how relieved he was when finally he could leave the place. He told about the Dursleys packing up and driving away, with only Dudley acknowledging him.
And the whole time he spoke in a soft voice, forcing away the tears. When he was finished, Draco, in tears himself at the horrors that had been recounted, asked him how Harry could sit there, so stony-faced.
“I’ve shed enough tears over the Dursleys, Dray. I want it to be over. I don’t want revenge on them; I just want them out of my life. Well, Vernon, anyway. And maybe Petunia. Perhaps, in time, Dudley and I can reconnect and have awkward family gatherings together.”
And Draco laughed at this, full of love and admiration for the incredible resiliance of this incredible man, who even now was trying to make light of the story. He knew that Harry’s last words had been said for Draco’s sake, and he loved him for it. He didn’t even pull Harry up on the cutsie nickname. If Harry wanted to call him ‘Dray’, why the hell not? Harry had earned the right to call him anything he wanted, Draco decided.
Again they sat cuddling in silence. This time it was Draco who spoke.
“Harry, thank you so much for sharing that. You’re not a terrible lover, you know; you’ve shared your pain with me, and I feel honoured that you have, not burdened. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” Harry echoed. Having Draco there, telling him, suddenly made it possible for Harry to imagine the thing he longed for. That he could move on. That it could be over.
“I don’t think we’re going to get any repairs done here today,” he said, still trying to lighten the mood.
Draco smiled, and asked, “Shall we go to Hogwarts for lunch?”
They did.

Blaise was notable by his absence, which surprised Harry; he’d got the impression that the dark-skinned Italian wanted to help as much as he could. Draco didn’t explain, contenting himself with pointing out that “no-one has to come every day, Harry. Helping here is entirely voluntary, after all. Millicent isn’t here either, she’s visiting family.”
Pansy managed to draw Draco aside and tell him that she’d visited Blaise, who had gone into his usual blue funk about what an ass he’d been. Draco thanked her for looking after him; he knew Blaise would come to his senses and apologise soon enough, he just hoped it was before word got back to Harry about what he’d said. He wanted Harry to hear the whole story all at once from Blaise, rather than in bits and pieces from other people. If Blaise told him, Harry would know his contrition was genuine and not just sorrow at getting caught.
The rest of the afternoon passed happily enough. Draco had wondered if Harry would become distant, maybe feel remorse at having shared so much so deeply; but the opposite was true. He seemed to want Draco closer than ever, seeking him out as they worked, holding his hand, hardly letting him out of his sight. Even so, they managed to finish the fourth tower by afternoon tea time; Draco found that the closeness made their magic stronger somehow, all the spellwork seemed effortless, and the walls went up faster than any of the other towers had.
Winky brought them tea and fruit scones, and her eyes went wide when she saw that the building work was now complete. She vanished with the inevitable pop, and she and Flitwick reappeared a few moments later.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” the professor chirped happily after he had inspected the third and fourth towers. “Your spellwork is impeccable! Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, you have my deepest thanks. You have made a dream I have had for years finally come true!”
“Thank you Professor,” Draco said, speaking for both of them. He could see that the emotion of the day was making it hard for Harry to speak at all, so he continued, “but of course the towers still need to be furnished and decorated.”
“Of course, of course,” Flitwick answered, “but there’s plenty of time for that. There’s plenty of repair work needed elsewhere; the Astronomy Tower still needs quite a bit of work to be safe to use. The eighth-year rooms can now wait until later. In fact, we might leave the decorating to the students themselves when they arrive in July, don’t you think?”
And with that, the professor looked round again, sighed, “wonderful!” and, to their great surprise, grasped first Harry and then Draco in a hug. As he let go of Draco, he spoke to him softly.
“Thank you for looking after him. I think you have made more progress about the past, yes?”
Draco stared at the professor in wonder. How shrewd the man was! In reply, he only nodded, not quite trusting his voice, nor wanting to alert Harry. It was up to his lover, after all, to speak first.
“Good,” Flitwick said, “very good,” looking at them both and smiling. Of course, Harry assumes he’s still talking about the building, Draco realised. Flitwick was a lot smarter and sneakier than a Ravenclaw ought to be!
Draco shook his head. He had to get rid of this ‘Ravenclaw ought to be’, ‘like a Hufflepuff’ thinking. It was exactly the same as the ‘pureblood / mudblood’ rubbish. Flitwick was Flitwick. And as a person, he was pretty darn amazing; and having him so obviously on their side made Draco feel a lot happier for the coming school year.
At this point he realised that Harry was speaking to him, and he hadn’t heard a word.
“Pardon?”
“I said, shall we go and see if anybody’s up for playing games?” Harry repeated.
Draco grinned. “Let’s.”

After playing Shuntbumps, and a couple of Seeker against Seeker snitch chases, they decided to dine at Hogwarts. Pansy Parkinson asked if she could sit with them; and Angelina Johnson, who had been working with Pansy in Millicent’s absence, came and sat with them too.
“Fred tells me you had a bit of a night last night,” Angelina remarked.
Draco looked daggers at her, but Harry was oblivious, saying, “yeah, well those two brought the most amazing game …” The conversation happily went on to the skittles game and other pranks the twins had invented. Whether Angelina had got the hint or not, she didn’t seem to want to draw the discussion back into dangerous territory, and Draco was glad.
As they left, he thanked Angelina for her company. She looked at him strangely for a minute, then seemed to make a decision. “I’m not sure I should trust you,” she said, bluntly, “but Fred does, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, OK?”
Draco nodded. He wasn’t surprised, really; he wasn’t sure he would trust himself either if their positions were reversed. The threat was obvious: make sure you deserve my trust, or else. He was determined not to find out what ‘or else’ entailed.
Harry, who had been asking Pansy about Blaise (and not getting anywhere), turned to them. “What are you and Fred doing?” he asked. “Would you like to come round for a nightcap?”
Angelina looked from him to Draco, wondering how the blond felt about an invasion of Gryffindors; but Draco’s face was inviting, holding no hint of scorn, so she said she’d ask Fred.

An hour later the four of them were sitting drinking brandy. Fred congratulated Draco on his skill at Black Lady, but Draco insisted it was just luck, and went on to talk about the skittles. Again. He thought. Harry will smell a rat sooner or later.
But happily, it seemed it was going to be later. They discussed Grimmauld Place; Angelina, who had only been there once while it was the Order headquarters, was very impressed with the work they had done.
“Thanks,” Harry said. “It’s been great having Draco here, he’s taught me a lot about repair work. But we don’t know what to do about Walberga Black’s portrait or the traps Mad-Eye set up for Snape. Which is a bit of a nuisance really as basically we don’t use the front door and have to be quiet in the hall in case she wakes up and yells at us.”
Fred looked puzzled. “But we weren’t quiet last night,” he pointed out, “especially when George finished that first game, we all laughed and cheered. So how come she didn’t wake up?”
Draco had a sly smile on her face. “I might have accidentally put a sleeping charm on her,” he confessed.
Fred’s eyes lit up. “You sneaky devil!” he said. And then, a thought struck him. “That’s it!” he all but shouted, “you could use the Ætérnam Sopor potion!”
“Everlasting sleep?” Draco asked. “OK, so she’d then be asleep permanently, I can see that helping, but how? I mean, I know that charms work, but I’ve never heard of anyone applying a potion to a painting.”
“You need a wash,” Fred said, warming to his theme. “Like we used for the Ugly Mirror prank. You put the potion into a special mix that George developed that binds it to the surface.”
Draco looked worried. “Does that mean the picture is permanently damaged?”
“No,” Fred reassured him, “we also developed a special solution you can use to get it off. George insisted that we be able to; we’ve always tried to make our products safe to use, and the effects reversible. Good thing too; I reckon Hermione would have gone totally mental if we hadn’t had an antidote. As it was she made us use that on her handmirror straight after the party. Wouldn’t let us go back to the shop except to fetch it.”
“Have you tried it on a painting?” Angelina asked.
“Not yet,” Fred confessed, “but it can’t be that much different. Look, I’ll talk the idea over with George if you like.”
“Please.” Harry agreed.
“I’d like to be part of that operation too,” Draco admitted; potions being very much his thing.
“I’m sure that will be fine,” Fred said with a grin. Neville had told them about Operation Delighted Draco, and here was a chance to put it into practice. “As to the traps, what about Bill? After all, he works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. I know it’s Mad-Eye’s work, so it will be brilliant, but if anyone can do it, I reckon Bill could. Do you want me to ask him?”
They agreed happily. A little while later, Harry, exhausted by the emotion of the day, started yawning, and their guests promptly excused themselves, pleading a busy day on the morrow; and so they were all in bed by ten o’clock. And when thoughts of the morning’s conversation came into Harry’s head, Draco stroked his back and reminded him they were together, they’d work through it together, and Harry was the best boyfriend in the world. He couldn’t quite come at ‘best lover’ yet; that would have to wait until they were over the problems of the Debt.
Harry managed a night’s sleep without nightmares.

Thursday, 28 May 1998
“One – two – three – wake up sleepyheads!”
Harry and Draco were up in an instant. Harry cast a Tempus, and, having recognised the voices coming from the drawing room, yelled back, “Oi! Eight o’clock in the morning is a bit early for a social call, isn’t it?”
“Not from family,” was Fred’s cheeky reply.
“The day’s half over!” George insisted. “And I’ve worked out your potion for you.”
That got Draco moving. He was dressed faster than Harry would have thought possible, and raced down to discuss matters with George. Harry followed, at a rather more leisurely pace, and found George and Draco deep in discussion, bent over a cauldron they had already set up in the library, while Fred looked on, amused.
“Breakfast?” he suggested.
“Please!” Fred agreed. “We’d better give them some, too, I suppose; I’m sure they’re too excited to think about such things.”
Kreacher was happy to provide breakfast for the four of them; as Fred had hinted, it took a few minutes to get the attention of the potioneers, but when they finally got them away from the cauldron and into the kitchen, Draco’s eyes lit up at the plates piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato and toast, and the four of them tucked in with an appetite.
After breakfast, George and Draco spent a happy couple of hours on the potion, while Fred and Harry Floo-called Bill, who agreed to come and look on Saturday morning, and then played Wizard chess together. As they played, Harry confessed to Fred that he had told Draco all about his childhood the previous day. He wasn’t sure how Fred would take it; he couldn’t have been more pleased with the response though.
“Good,” Fred said, “I’m glad you’ve told someone. And I think Draco needs to know, he’s really important to you, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Harry agreed.
“So are you two, um, …” he said, making a gesture.
Harry went bright pink. “No!”
“Why not?” Fred asked, without a hint of judgement in his voice, just sounding like a friend who wanted to know.
“It’s the Debt,” Harry explained. “I don’t want to force Draco into anything, and I feel like that’s what I’m doing.”
“You’re mental,” Fred said, “you’ve got this gorgeous bloke who loves you, and you love him too, we can all see that, and you don’t want to do anything about it because he might be under some enchantment?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“And is this enchantment ever going to go away? Because if it isn’t, surely you both just have to live with it?”
“I get that,” Harry said, “but what if it does go away?”
And Fred did not have an answer for the hurt in Harry’s eyes.

The potion worked perfectly; Aunt Walberga was now fast asleep in her picture frame, and going to stay that way indefinitely. They whooped and jumped in the hall corridor, but nothing would wake her.
“Brilliant!” the twins laughed. They had been shouted at rather a lot, and being called ‘blood-traitors’ every time they visited the Order had grown a bit tiresome.
“But, Harry, you look upset? What’s up, little brother?” George asked.
“I just wish Sirius was here see this,” the raven-haired boy admitted, and the twins understood at once: Sirius would so have loved to have put one over his mother like that. They grabbed Harry in a four-way hug that was more like a scrum; and Harry was amazed at how comfortable they were all becoming with one another. Draco, especially, seemed to be fitting in as part of the family, and it brought a lump to his throat all over again.
The twins stayed for lunch, then went back to the shop; Neville had been minding it, and George had promised to spend the afternoon visiting his grandmother with him, so Harry and Draco Flooed to Hogwarts and gave his apologies to Flitwick.
They arrived as most people were finishing lunch; and there were Blaise, Millicent and Pansy sitting together, Blaise looking very apprehensive. Draco sauntered over and sat opposite him, and Harry sat next to the blond, a rather puzzled expression on his face.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
In silent answer, Blaise conjured plants in front of them. Draco understood at once: purple hyacinth, meaning “forgive me”.
“What do you think, Harry?” he asked.
“I honestly have no idea,” the raven-head replied.
“Blaise said some things about you and Draco the other night,” Pansy started, but Blaise put his hand on her arm.
“Please,” he said, “this is for me to say. I called you names, Mr Potter; a milksop and a cry-baby I think, and I called Draco a coward. I’m sorry. It was drink talking. Pansy has scolded me, and you can scold me too if you want. I deserve it.”
Harry looked at him sternly. “Blaise, there’s only one name I want you to call me: Harry. Got that?”
“Yes … Harry,” the Italian replied.
“Good. Then I forgive you.”
Draco smiled, and swished his wand lazily, producing a bunch of daffodils in front of Blaise.
“Really?” he said, hopefully.
“Really,” Draco replied. “As Pansy said, we need all the friends we can get.”
“Thank you caro amico,” Blaise replied happily. He spotted the still-puzzled look on Harry’s face, and explained, “Draco and I, we know the language of flowers. Purple hyacinth, that means, ‘I stuffed up, forgive me’. Daffodils, they mean ‘’I forgive you, I am still your friend’.”
Harry whispered something in Draco’s ear, and the blond whispered back; then Harry made a small gesture, and a vine of ivy wrapped itself around the daffodils.
“Really?” Blaise asked.
“Yes, Blaise, I want to be your friend,” Harry replied.
For the first time since they sat down, Blaise smiled. It was a lovely sight, Harry thought.

Flitwick cleared his throat. “I would like a word with you, Mr Potter; perhaps, as Mr Longbottom isn’t here, Mr Malfoy and Mr Zabini might work together while we talk?”
This was agreed, and Blaise and Draco went back to continue work on the Astronomy Tower while Professor Flitwick took Harry to his office.
The first thing that struck Harry about Flitwick’s office was that it was full of books. There was practically no empty wall space; it was all bookshelves. The desk, in the exact centre of the room, was covered with papers and books, but anyone could see that, while it looked a little untidy at first glance, in fact everything was arranged in piles; Harry was sure that Flitwick knew where everything on his desk was and could lay his hand on any desired piece of parchment in seconds.
The room was not particularly bright; but it certainly wasn’t gloomy. In fact, the word that best described it was cosy. This was the room of a man you could always go to for help, Harry decided.
Flitwick waved him into an armchair in a corner, and sat in its pair opposite him.
“Now, Mr Potter,” he squeaked.
“Please, call me Harry,” the raven-haired boy said.
“Of course, Harry. Yes. Now, it’s obvious that you and Mr Malfoy - shall I call him Draco?” Harry nodded. “Good. It’s obvious that you and Draco are together, and I understand there was some business with a Debt; but I don’t quite know what, and I think there’s something making you unhappy about it.”
Harry steepled his fingers. Flitwick had hit a nerve; and Harry decided that he needed someone to trust, and the Charms Professor had always been friendly. So, hesitantly, he began to tell the small man about the events after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Shield, the Debt, and how he and Draco were now lovers. The Professor smiled and nodded and made encouraging noises, and Harry found it surprisingly easy to open up to him. And finally he got round to the problem.
“So, we’re lovers; but all the time I worry that I’m forcing Draco into something. What if he only loves me because the Debt makes him do so?”
Flitwick stared at him appraisingly; it was not unkind, and Harry had a strange feeling that the man was simply trying to work out the best way to help. In fact, he was musing on how easy it had been to play dumb to Harry, but he wasn’t about to let the Gryffindor know that. Instead, he allowed enough time for it to look like he wasn’t completely prepared, then suddenly swished his wand, and an old, blue book came out of a bookshelf on the other side of the room.
“I really don’t think you should let that worry you, my boy,” he said. “Here, this is about the only book I have with any detail on Debts of Magical Emancipation; it’s not a particularly common subject. But I think you’ll find it useful. Please, sit here and read it; I must go and supervise the works, but I shall be sure to look in on you in a little while.”
And with that, he left Harry alone to read the book. A little while later, a house-elf appeared with a pitcher of pumpkin juice and a tray of scones, with Flitwick’s apologies for not having offered them before. Harry smiled at this thoughtfulness and asked the elf to convey his grateful thanks.

“How are you getting on?” Flitwick asked.
Harry was startled. “Oh, hello Professor. Very well thank you. And thank you for the juice and scones, that was very kind.”
Flitwick waved the compliment away. “Of course. Now, tell me what you have learnt.”
“Well, the book you have given me is very interesting. It contains actual accounts from people involved in Debts of Magical Emancipation. And the thing that keeps coming up is how the Debt can force behaviour, but not feelings.”
Flitwick beamed at him. “And what does that mean for you?”
Harry smiled, suddenly getting the point. “It means that Draco might protect me, and be honest with me, because he has to; but he doesn’t have to love me; that’s all him. And I love him, and that’s all me.”
“Exactly. I think you should talk to him about that, don’t you?”
Harry grinned. “Yes, Professor, I think I just might.”

They got into bed that night before Harry had managed to work out what to say. He lay there next to the blond, thoughts churning through his head. What exactly did you say? It was Draco who was good with words, not him.
Fuck it, he thought. I don’t need words.
He slipped off his boxers, and reached over and squeezed his lover’s cock as he rolled him onto his back. Draco kicked his boxers off, looked at him, and smiled. Harry reached in to kiss those beautiful, so kissable lips, their cocks meeting and a very enjoyable sensation beginning; but then he broke away, and kissed Draco’s chin, his neck and started to kiss all the way down the body he loved so much.
He could feel his lover growing tense, obviously wondering what was going on. He’d couldn’t believe he’d never done this before; it just felt so good. He sucked at each nipple, Draco giving little moans of pleasure that were music to his ears; and then he kept kissing down, all the way down the Sectumsempra scar, finally reaching his destination.
Draco’s cock was standing to attention, ready for him. Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry licked it, nuzzling the head.
“’’S good?” he asked, anxiously, having only instinct to guide him.
"Fuck, Harry! Oh fuck, yes!" Draco almost shouted as Harry wrapped his tongue around the tip. Confidence growing, Harry took Draco into his mouth. He had no clue what he was doing; this was – literally – virgin territory for him. But following his instincts, he wrapped his fingers around the base of Draco’s shaft, moving and Draco immediately started babbling.
“Oh – Harry – so good – ohh – ohh, yess, keep it up, ohhh…”
Encouraged, Harry stroked Draco’s balls and moved his mouth up and down, stroking the cock with his tongue. Draco moaned and gasped; a tiny portion of Harry’s brain was amazed that he had managed to reduce Draco to incoherence. The rest of his brain was busy with enjoying the sounds his lover was making, and the feel of the hot member in his mouth; and, to his surprise, his own erection, strong and hard, was making itself felt. To begin with, he fumbled a bit, sucking erratically, but eventually he found his rhythm, and the sounds Draco was making were pure music to his ears, growing in a crescendo of pleasure.
Then “Harry… close… oh" Draco whimpered, and Harry braced himself, increasing the pressure as Draco came with a shout into his mouth. He swallowed and licked. Draco’s cum was salty and bitter, and dribbled out of his mouth. But the whole experience was incredibly erotic; and suddenly he was coming himself, his body shuddering in pleasure.
“Oh … Draco … love you so much …” he said.
I guess he’s got over the problem about the Debt, then, Draco thought. But he didn’t say anything – he didn’t even try, he probably still wasn’t capable of coherent speech. Harry whispered a cleaning spell and they collapsed, sated, into each other’s arms, falling naked into a deep, deep, dreamless sleep.

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