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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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26 Return to Trials and Tribulations
Friday, 29 May 1998
Harry woke up slowly. He felt warm and comforted, though his covers seemed to feel different to usual. He opened an eye slowly, and discovered that it was because it wasn't his duvet on top of him. Instead, draped elegantly even in his sleep, was the naked form of Draco Malfoy.
He took the rare opportunity to study Draco's face in repose. It was, he decided after a couple of minutes, perhaps the most beautiful face he had ever seen. All of the anger and hardness that could be there – though less and less – was gone entirely. There was no trace of the 'Malfoy mask', and Draco's sharp features took on an unexpected softness.
But he couldn't stay there. He had a trial to go to; and there were more urgent and personal reasons why he needed to get up. So gingerly he manoevred his lover off him, adjusted the duvet over him and added a charm to keep him warm, and headed for the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, showered and feeling considerably more comfortable, he returned to the bedroom, to find Draco stirring a bit.
"Come back to bed," the blond demanded. "It's cold without you!"
Harry laughed. "I'd love to, really I would, but I have a trial to go to."
This woke Draco up fully, and he looked at him seriously. "Oh, Merlin, I had forgotten that. Do we really have to go?"
"I have to go, but you don't. How about we see if Blaise is at Hogwarts this morning?"
"Yes, that might work," Draco said. He and Blaise had had a very long talk while Harry had been reading in Flitwick's office, and he knew that the Italian now understood how things really lay between them. Blaise had promised to be on his best behaviour with Harry in future (and it was a big step for him, Draco knew, not to say 'Potter' each time; but somehow, the Italian managed it, even though he did tend to stutter over the name); but some more time together without Harry, just to reassure Blaise that Harry wasn't going to monopolise Draco, would be a good thing, Draco decided.
Being now fully awake, Draco got up, showered and dressed. By the time he made it downstairs, Harry had breakfast all ready on the table.
"Where's Kreacher?" Draco asked, surprised to find Harry doing the cooking.
"Oh, Andy called, she was having some trouble with Teddy and your mother had a breakfast engagement and couldn't help. Since I have to go to the trial, I suggested I send Kreacher instead."
"I bet he wasn't happy about that!" the blond replied as he sat down to eat his breakfast.
"You might think so, but he seemed pretty happy once I explained that, as head of the Black family now, I regarded her as part of the family, and Teddy as the heir after me."
"Mm," Draco replied. "Harry, where did you learn to cook like this? It's amazingly good."
Harry blushed at the compliment, and replied, "um, you remember what I said about being forced to cook for the Dursleys?"
Draco's jaw dropped. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, of course, how stupid of me…"
But Harry stopped the apology in its tracks by kissing Draco's lips. "I know you didn't mean it, and I'd rather forget about it myself. I'm so very glad to cook for someone who actually appreciates it."
And, in his turn, Draco blushed.

Blaise confirmed that he was indeed working at Hogwarts all day, and would be delighted to partner Draco in Harry's absence. Draco then looked at Harry, questioningly.
"What is it, Dray?" Harry asked.
"Um, I need your permission to Floo," Draco reminded him.
Oh God, Harry thought. "Draco, I don't want you to feel like that. I'm your lover, not your jailer. How about we agree that you can use the Floo whenever you want to, as long as you are going somewhere absolutely safe, like the Manor or here, or you're with someone we both trust?
Draco was more than happy with such explicit trust being placed in him, and a few minutes later Flooed to Blaise's London pied-a-terre.
"Draco, caro amico!" his friend said, his face lighting up with a huge smile. "So, you really aren't under P- Harry's thumb then?"
This had been one of the major sticking points in their conversation yesterday, so Draco was glad to be able to deal with it first up.
"Obviously not," he replied. "He's told me I can Floo where I want, as long as I'm in company and don't go anywhere silly."
Blaise raised his eyebrow at this, and Draco replied, "What? Very sensible restrictions. He just doesn't want me to find myself in a situation where I get attacked; or where I might have to attack without a witness and then get carted to Azkaban."
Blaise could see the sense in this. "I guess you were right; my judgement was too hasty," he said, passing Draco a mug of coffee.
"Eurgh! How can you drink this stuff! It's so bitter!" Draco said, making a face.
"Oh, sorry, I forgot you have to have sugar," Blaise replied, swishing his wand to summon the sugar bowl to them. Draco dumped three teaspoons of sugar in, and pronounce the result "bearable".
Blaise held his tongue. He viewed sugar in coffee as sacrilege, but he valued his friendship with Draco too much to say anything; they had been frineds for fifteen years, after all, and he was going back to Hogwarts too. The Slytherins needed to stick together.

Harry Flooed over to the Ministry, as Arthur had arranged by owl the previous evening. As he came out of the Floo, it occurred to him that this was the first time in over a week that he had done anything without Draco, and he felt an acute pang of loss. It must have shown on his face, because Arthur asked him if he was all right.
"Fine thanks," Harry said. Which is, perhaps, the greatest lie of all time; and certainly Arthur didn't believe him, that was obvious, as he looked him up and down.
"Missing Draco?" he asked.
Harry was stunned. "Got it in one," he agreed.
Arthur smiled. "I felt the same way about leaving Molly when we were courting," he said. "Anyway, to business. It's going to be a bit of an ordeal today, I'm afraid; Umbridge has two lawyers and we suspect that they've cooked up something to try to use the Potter Code to their advantage, so we'll all have to be on our toes. The Minister won't be there; we feel it's good to show the Wizarding world in general that we have every confidence in the Wizengamot, and Doge, without needing Kingsley there all the time. But I think I will attend, mostly to take care of you."
"Thank you, Arthur," Harry said, and meant it.
At this point, there came a knock on the door. Arthur, surprised, said "come in!" and the door opened to admit Libatius Borage.
"Ah! Deputy Minister, Mr Potter, I'm glad to have caught you both. We have had a small incident with the Expositor Falsitas potion."
"You haven't run out?" Arthur asked anxiously.
"Oh no," Borage replied, with a sly smile, "no, we suspect that the defendant has tried to subvert it."
"I didn't think that was possible?" Harry asked.
"It isn't, as far as I know," Borage answered. "But that isn't going to stop people trying. Some work has been paid for by the people claiming to represent Umbridge, and they seem to have decided that Expositor Falsitas and Veritaserum might cancel each other out. So I suspect that the defendant has taken a modified form of Veritaserum – one which will allow her to keep silent, but which she expects will stop Expositor Falsitas from working."
"Do you think this idea will work?" Arthur asked.
"I know it won't," Borage answered. "You know that we pretty much force people to drink a cup of tea before they take Expositor Falsitas?" Borage asked. The other two remembered this, and nodded. "The tea contains a completely harmless potion that reacts with anything that will hinder Expositor Falsitas," Borage continued, "and, by the way, tastes awful if you have taken such an antidote. The defendant complained that her tea tasted awful this morning, so I have given her the potion, and now made sure she doesn't take anything else."
"That's very clever," Harry said, delighted to have outfoxed Umbridge before the trial had even started. "Do you think she'll think she's protected from Expositor Falsitas?"
The smirk on Borage's face showed that Harry's point had indeed occurred to him. "Yes," he replied. "We should see some fun this morning."

The clerk of summons read out the charges: "It pleases the Wizengamot to call to trial Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, former Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, former Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, for crimes conducted during the tenure of these various offices, including: sending Dementors to attack Mr Harry James Potter; attempting to subvert the subsequent trial of the said Mr Harry James Potter for the use of underage magic by assisting the then Minister to move the time and location of the trial; failing in her duty as a teacher to provide an adequate foundation for her teaching and subject, contrary to the stated requirements of Professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; use of outlawed and questionable methods of punishment, to wit, using a blood quill; –" for the first time in the recitation of charges, the assembly made a noise: a general shocked intake of breath, which the clerk seemed to ignore – "requiring students to take Veritaserum; threatening students with corporal punishment, contrary to the Code of Conduct for Professors at European Magical Schools; subjecting known witches and wizards to arrest and trial using methods of torture including dementors, outlawed since the forty-fourth convention of the Wizarding Assembly of twelve hundred and forty-five; decrying muggle-born magicals and referring to them as 'mudbloods' in official Ministry pamphlets; denying Ministry staff their deserved and accrued leave; failing to treat Ministry staff with respect at all times."
"A very impressive list," Elphias Doge, sitting in his customary seat overseeing the whole proceedings, opined.
"A tarradiddle of lies and imaginings," said a very portly wizard dressed in an astonishing set of red and mauve robes, that no doubt he thought imposing but which Harry thought made him look like a court jester.
"Ah," said Doge, not looking particularly pleased. "And you would be …"
"Prometheus Parturvithic, at your service, sir," replied the other wizard, with a little bow that looked more ironic than respectful to Harry. "Wizard in charge of the defense."
The look on Doge's face suggested that he wasn't impressed by the man's demeanour either. "I see," he said mildly; though Harry could see menace in his eyes. "A most unusual circumstance."
"Yes, sir," Prometheus replied. "And one which I hope we will convince the Wizengamot that it should become normal practice. I'm sure that Mr Potter would agree that we need to revise our court system, in light of his own experiences of it?"
"Mr Potter?" Doge asked, inviting Harry to speak.
Harry rose, his cheeks reddening at the thought of addressing the gathering so early in the trial. He had hoped to avoid speaking altogether, and now he was being drawn on what he suspected the man wanted to make the central issue: whether the Wizengamot was in fact competent to judge the woman who had been one of their own. "While I agree that my own experience does not inspire confidence, I believe that is down to a rather weak Minister who had taken over the Wizengamot. As that is no longer the case, I think we can have confidence in the present system, especially as there is a willingness to adapt to meet the needs of justice, is there not, sir?"
Clever, Harry, Arthur thought, as Doge and several other members nodded their heads in enthusiastic endorsement. By asking the question, he was definitely getting the Wizengamot on his side. We might need that, he thought. Umbridge was a tough opponent.
"Quite so," Doge replied, a summary that quietened everyone down. 'Now, Madam Umbridge, I must ask you to plead to the charges, and we shall of course take them in turn. We begin then with the matters relating to the trial of Mr Potter, and your alleged actions before that trial. In regard to sending Dementors to attack Mr Harry James Potter, how do you plead?"
Umbridge stood up. Harry noticed, sickeningly, that she had obviously been afforded courtesies denied to the Malfoys: she was not bound to the chair, and she was made up and wearing her own clothes. As always, her ensemble was in pink, with a large black velvet bow on top. Privately Harry thought she would actually have looked better in prison garb; she still managed to look like a toad with a fly perched on its head, just as she had done all those years ago when she started to teach Defense. If indeed you could call what she did teaching.
There was a simpering smirk on her face as she opened her mouth, But it was immediately clear that there was some sort of problem. Umbridge began to speak, saying, "I plead no—ah, that is, I would enter a plea of no—"
"Is there some sort of problem, Madam?" Doge asked. His voice was placid, but there was fire in his eyes.
Parturvithic leapt to his feet. "I think it is obvious that my client wishes to plead 'Not Guilty', sir."
"Do you," Doge asked, and the menace in his voice was palpable. "I don't agree. Madam, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?"
"I plead – I – I –" Umbridge spluttered, obviously fighting the anti-lying potion and just as obviously failing. After ten seconds or so of this, she eventually gave up, and said, very quietly, "guilty", as she sat down.
"I see," said Doge. "So, you accept that you sent Dementors to attack a fourteen year old boy, is that right?"
Umbridge glared at him, but his face was stony, and it was not long before her gaze failed and she looked down. "Yes," she said, quietly. Then she turned to her counsel, seeming to come to life. "Why isn't it working?" she demanded.
The Wizengamot erupted at this unexpected outburst. "SILENCE!" Doge demanded. He turned to Umbridge, and there was no mistaking the anger in his face this time. "Why isn't what working?" he demanded.
Umbridge's face had gone ashen, and the simpering, almost cocky air from before had entirely disappeared. "We thought – I was told –"
"You were told," intejected Borage, "that taking a Veritaserum derivative would block the action of the Expositor Falsitas potion and allow you to lie to the Wizengamot. You were told that this was your best chance, to actually lie to us, presenting a poor, pretty, put-upon little lady who always did what the Minister wanted and never thought for herself?"
"I DID always act for the Ministry," Umbridge insisted, but then found she couldn't stop herself adding "as long as its interests were the same as mine…"
"It seems, Madam Umbridge," said Doge, his quiet but venomous voice breaking in, "that we cannot really trust your testimony. Accordingly, we shall follow a precedent set eighty years ago for people who refuse to take Veritaserum: your testimony will be taken as usual, but will not by itself be sufficient to acquit you; though it may well show your guilt. Thus, we see you did set the Dementors on Mr Potter; and did you also attempt to subvert his trial by moving the time and location of the trial?"
"That was Fudge's idea!" Umbridge shrieked. "I only did what he said!"
"There are plenty of Death Eaters who have appeared before us in the last weeks who only did what Voldemort said," one of the elder members of the Wizengamot broke in, "and are now in Azkaban for doing so. Merely following orders is no excuse if those orders are unconscionable!"
Parturvithic snarled at the man. "I thought you had resigned, Ogden?" he demanded angrily.
"Tiberius Ogden is a valued member of the Wizengamot," Dalmatea Merrythought replied for Doge. "He did resign, in protest at the defendant's actions; but he has been reinstated in full. Perhaps you think he should recuse himself, given his past resignation?"
"Yes, I do," Parturvithic replied.
"Tough," said Doge. "If everyone who disliked the defendant recused themselves, we would not have a representative body to cast judgement. And it seems rather irrelevant given that we have two guilty pleas before us already."
"My client has entered no plea to the second charge!" Parturvithic said belligerently.
Doge looked at him as though he were insane. "She has told us that it was Fudge's idea, that she executed. Is that not correct? Madam Umbridge?"
"Yes," she replied sullenly.
"So, then, guilty. Now, we turn to your actions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The charge of using a blood quill happily involves someone in front of us. Mr Potter, would you care to elaborate?"
Harry would much rather not have done so, but this wasn't exactly an invitation he could refuse.
"Profess—Madam Umbridge did not accept that Voldemort had returned, and called me a liar for saying so. Her punishment was to make me use a blood quill to write the lines 'I must not tell lies' until the words were permanently marked on my skin. Like this," he said, pulling up his sleeve and displaying the words still visible there.
Doge turned to Umbridge. "Do you deny this?"
"It would be foolish to!" she replied. "At the time, I truly believed that Mr Potter was a liar; though subsequent events showed that was not the case. So I merely did what I thought was the best thing to teach Mr Potter an important lesson about accepting the wisdom of his elders and betters."
Harry clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't going to rise to the bait. And happily, Doge simply fixed his eyes on her and said softly, "his elders, yes." The lack of the next words was telling.
The trial continued on through the rest of the sorry history of Dolores Umbridge's time at Hogwarts, and then the discussion went on to the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, which Dolores had been the first and only head of. There was a general outcry as the actions of the Commission, which had not been common knowledge, were exposed for the Wizengamot's attention.
By eleven o'clock the proceedings were winding down, and it was clear that the Wizengamot had not a shred of sympathy for Dolores Jane Umbridge. There didn't seem to be anything left to discuss as Parturvithic rose to his feet, and Harry wondered what he was going to try now.
"My dear witches and wizards, ladies and gentlemen all," he began, and the unctuous oiliness of his tone made Harry want to vomit. "My client has, as you see, pleaded guilty to your charges. But surely we must now consider the Potter Code. My client's actions, as have been established, were due to instructions given to her by others, or motivated by her desire to act in the best interests of and for the name of the Ministry. Surely, if you can give two known Death-Eaters probationary sentences, you can find it in your hearts to accept that my client deserves a second chance? Or does the Potter Code provide one rule for Mr Potter's friends and another for those he dislikes?"
So, thought Harry. This was it. An appeal to the Potter Code, and the implicit statement that to free Draco and Lucius but not Umbridge would be unjust.
"Mr Potter, is there anything you would like to say in response to this plea?" Doge asked him mildly.
Harry rose to his feet. What could he say? It was true that he couldn't countenance sending the Malfoys to Azkaban; the Debt bound him to them in subtle ways as well as them to him; and it was also true that Dolores Umbridge was one of the few people he had ever met who he would cheerfully have sent off to that hell-hole, and wanted to apologise to the Dementors for sending her there. How could he make it clear that there was a real, objective difference between the cases?
And then he saw it.
"My dear witches and wizards, ladies and gentlemen all," he began, in conscious imitation of Parturvithic, and then stopped. "It's pretty stupid, isn't it. It's pompous words to stroke the ego. But we didn't get that from the Malfoys. The core of their argument was simple: their family was threatened. They did what they had to do, but they acknowledged that they did wrong. You gave them second chances, begrudgingly in Lucius's case, after that acknowledgement. And because they wanted to help rebuild our society."
"They didn't try to argue that wrong was right. They didn't say, as Umbridge had, that they were following orders. They received the second chance only once they had agreed that they needed it. That it was for this body to decide to punish them or not, as it saw fit. And that if they were freed, they would take up responsible roles in our society. Have we seen this from Madam Umbridge?" Harry spat the name out. "No, we have not. She has fenced, and prevaricated. She has tried to avoid the anti-lying potion. She has tried to excuse her actions. The Malfoys did none of this. The Potter Code isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card;" and even though the Wizengamot had no idea of such Muggle games as Monopoly, Harry could feel them with him and knew that the idea was understood even if they didn't get the reference, "to get a second chance, you have to accept you totally stuffed up the first one. That you don't deserve it. And that you're going to do something with it that isn't just about you, but about helping everyone. Is that so for Madam Umbridge?"
Leaving the Wizengamot with this question, Harry sat down. "Well done," Arthur whispered, and Harry looked around at the assembly. Everyone who caught his eye gave him some little sign of encouragement – a little smile, or a tiny 'thumbs-up' gesture; Borage even gave him an odd sort of salute.
"Well, thank you, Mr Potter," Doge said. "Now, I think, would be an appropriate time for us to ask the non-members to withdraw while we consider the testimony given today."
With that, Harry and Arthur were escorted back into the adjacent room and given tea and biscuits, while Umbridge and the team she had hired were taken back to the holding cells. Harry idly wondered if they would get tea and biscuits, before deciding that he didn't really care.
They were called back in just after half-past twelve.
"We have reached a verdict," Doge intoned. "The guilt of Madam Umbridge is clear, and the severity of her actions, particularly as regards muggle-borns and the Dementor attack ordered on Mr Potter, warrants her imprisonment in Azkaban for the rest of her life. As for a second chance under the Potter Code, our answer to Mr Potter's question is a resounding no. There is not the faintest suggestion of remorse in anything we have heard today. Nor any suggestion that Madam Umbridge might help our society in any way. On the contrary, we are unanimously convinced that she is a danger to wizarding society and has no desire to serve in it. Accordingly, the sentence stands: life imprisonment. Take the prisoner away."
"NO!" Umbridge yelled, staring at the two Aurors who had moved forward to take her away. "You PROMISED me you'd get me off!"
Something in Harry started. He recognised the Aurors: Crockford and Barnes. It figured. A thought hit him like a Hippogriff at full speed: how had she got the potion? He stood up.
"Yes, Mr Potter?" Doge asked, polite as ever.
"How did she get the potion? The one that she tried to avoid the Expositor Falsitas with? It must have been delivered by an Auror, no-one else could have got close enough …"
"What exactly are you implying, Potter?" Crockford snarled at him.
The two Aurors had turned and were facing him now, and in answer, Harry hardly even had to cast a spell: the words 'Signum Revelare' seemed to flow out of him, red light floating over to the Auror on the left's sleeve, and suddenly it burst into flame. A mark appeared on the skin underneath.
"Damn you all!" the Auror shouted, his wand suddenly out, and he would probably have caused a lot of harm if Harry's instinctive 'Expelliarmus!' had not disarmed him before he could fire off a single hex.
There was instant tumult and shouting, and Arthur paled at the significance of a previously unknown Death Eater inside the Aurors, as Tombinias Barnes screamed in agony, his arm on fire, his cover now completely blown.

It took until half-past one for everything to get sorted out. Barnes survived the flames, and being caught, quite literally, red-handed, the Wizengamot had had no hesitation in sending him to Azkaban as well, after snapping both his wand and Umbridge's in front of them. Crockford was wandering around like a dazed man; he was sent to St Mungo's for full investigation.
Lunch was very late; but, to thank Harry for his help, Doge, the Minister and his deputy offered to take him to the most expensive restaurant in Diagon Alley. Harry apologised that fancy restaurants weren't really his thing, and Kingsley chuckled. "Don't worry, Harry, you'll be fine."
And so two o'clock found them sitting in 'Le Jardin Magique', the exclusive estaminet known to very few, drinking elf-wine and eating some of the nicest food Harry had ever tasted. He was relieved to find that, despite having a French name, the place was not at all pretentious; each table was set in its own room, and diners were able to choose their own garden for the duration of the meal, whatever flowers and greenery they wished being magically created. Harry had asked for the simple English cottage garden he'd longed to have while growing up, and he found sitting in it so absorbing and peaceful that his companions had to remind him to eat.
During the meal they discussed the interview with Rita Skeeter that he was going to do the following day, and how the events of Umbridge's trial worked in. After a little thought, Harry decided that in fact the Wizengamot's decision could be explained quite well from the statements of the Potter Code that they had given him earlier, and he found that the fact that he could answer all their questions made him feel hopeful that he wouldn't make a complete arse of himself the following day.
Turning from the subject of the interview, Kingsley asked what plans Harry had for the following morning, and Harry answered that he was going to meet Arthur at eleven o'clock to consider the interview in depth, but otherwise had no plans.
"Excellent," Kingsley said. "There is something else I think you should do – we will make an appointment for you, if that's all right."
Harry was rather surprised, but nodded, realising he'd rather dropped himself in for it. Now the Minister knew he had nothing else on, he could hardly refuse.
As they were eating, the maitre d'hotel came over to the table.
"I trust everything was to your satisfaction?"
Harry thought for a second. There was, he realised, just one thing about the meal he would change.
"I wonder," he asked, and explained what he would like; would it be possible? The maitre d'hotel was delighted; of course, for Mr Potter, there would be no problem. He happily supplied Harry with the parchment and quill he needed.
All of which explains why it was after quarter to five when Harry, making a short stop at a little shop in Diagon Alley, Flooed to the Great Hall at Hogwarts, wondering what sort of day Draco had had.

Draco and Blaise worked hard on the Astronomy Tower all morning, together with Neville and Seamus, strengthening the stairs that the Death Eaters had all but destroyed as they fled after Dumbledore's death, and which had never properly been repaired; Millicent and Pansy teamed up with Cho Chang and Angelina Johnson, performing renovation spells on the exterior of the Tower.
At lunchtime Flitwick made an announcement.
"We are making fantastic progress!" he said in his high, chirpy voice. "I am delighted to announce that the main repair work to the Astronomy Tower is now finished, and the Eighth Year Tower has been built; there are still some repairs to the Gryffindor Tower needed, and some of the quoins and walls around the castle, but other than that, the main restoration work of the external structure is complete. By the end of next week, we should be moving on to the many minor repairs inside the castle. So, given such wonderful progress, and as it is a beautiful afternoon, I suggest we stop work and have an impromptu Quidditch match!"
They'd all hoped this was coming, but were delighted when it actually happened. There were to be two teams, of course; Flitwick produced purple Quidditch robes for one team and orange for the other, explaining that these colours were not house colours so no-one would feel slighted. To his delight, Draco was chosen as Seeker for the Purple team; and Cho Chang was equally delighted when shewas chosen as Seeker for Orange.
The game started at two o'clock; by half-past four, Cho and Draco had seen the snitch twice each, and Draco had nearly been hit by bludgers four times to Cho's five. Draco pulled up next to Cho, looking around; it suddenly occurred to him that they were very exposed out there. Cho could see worry in his face, but did not understand the problem.
"What's up, Malfoy? Scared Orange will pound Purple into the ground?"
"No, actually, worried that I can't quite afford to trust everyone."
Cho understood immediately. "I'm sure – yes, look, there's Flitwick and McGonagall and Slughorn keeping a very close eye on everything. You'll be fine, Malfoy. Just relax while I whip your arse!"
Draco grinned. "You wish," he said, zooming off to continue seeking the snitch.
Ten minutes later, he was rewarded with another glimpse of the small golden winged ball. And this time he was determined not to let it get away. He chased after it, diving down, levelling out until finally, with Cho suddenly hot on his heels he reached out, fingers grasping, extending … and then in a final adrenalin-filled rush, he caught it!
And then the world went black.

Harry came out of the Floo into an empty Great Hall. At first he was surprised that there was no-one about; but then he realised, of course, they would be busy repairing around the castle, there was no reason for anyone to be here particularly. Then he heard it – an unmistakable noise of general alarm. He raced to the front doors, and the noise became appreciably louder as he went through them. It was coming from … the Quidditch pitch?
Merlin! Draco! he thought, remembering that Flitwick had promised Quidditch today if all was up-to-date. And a Quidditch pitch was a dangerous place, even if you weren't a former Death Eater with other Death Eaters out for your blood. He raced to the pitch, his magic swirling around him, becoming almost tangible. As he entered the pitch, a chaotic scene greeted him. On one side, he could see two teams in Quidditch gear, one orange, one purple; in front of them, on the ground, was a stretcher, on which he could see the supine body of Draco Malfoy. In front of him was ranged an odd assortment of wizards and witches all with wands drawn – he could make out McGonagall, Flitwick, and Zabini nearest to him. Facing them were about half-a-dozen figures, all in dark robes and hoods. Between the two camps was a pair of shields, red and blue, obviously one raised by each side, and Harry could see that the blue one nearest his friends was wavering.
It took him only a very few seconds to take all of this in before he unleashed his own magic. A Protego Maxima! aimed at the shield in front of his friends visibly strengthened it; before, it had been buckling at the top, but now stood straight up; and the colour changed as his own, green, magic merged with the blue to create a cyan-coloured wall of magic.
At the same time, he fired off an expelliarmus, which passed through the red shield, tearing it to shreds, and hit the opposing force. Immediately their wands flew out of their hands towards Harry; with his Seeker reflexes, he had no trouble gathering them in as he simultaneously fired off StupefyandIncarcerous charms at the enemy.
Within thirty seconds the fight was over; but Harry had no interest in anything but the form lying on the stretcher. He raced to Draco's side and grabbed his hand.
"Hello, Harry," the blond said, weakly. "Never a dull moment, it seems." Then, obviously exhausted by even this much effort, Draco lay back on the stretcher. Harry placed his hand on Draco's heart; it was beating strongly. Madam Pomfrey, who had been hot on his heels, having heard the commotion more or less at the same time that he had arrived, leant over and performed diagnostic spells on the lad.
"Is he all right?" Harry asked anxiously.
"He'll be fine," she pronounced. "He was Stunned, but nothing more."
"That will be because Zabini had the good sense to cast a shield over him immediately," McGonagall added.
Harry stood up and looked Blaise in the eye. "Thank you," he said fervently, with a sarcastic glint in his eye as he continued, "if the thanks of a milksop are of any value to you."
Blaise snorted and his face went red. It was strange to see on the swarthy Italian. "Harry, I am so ashamed that you remember that! We had been fighting those bastards for ten minutes when you arrived, and we were losing; you took care of them in ten seconds. I'll never call you a milksop again! I have never seen such power!"
Harry smiled at him, and extended his hand. If Blaise was surprised to find a piece of parchment inside it as he shook it, he didn't show it.
"Is Draco all right?" a voice asked anxiously behind him.
Harry turned, to find Millicent and Pansy standing, still with wands drawn, looking at Draco with concern. It warmed his heart, and looked at the group of people who had been holding the line. There were the three Slytherins, the two teachers, Neville, Dean and Seamus. Who would have guessed it – Gryffindors and Slytherins united! he thought, as the two teachers met four rather breathless Aurors who had suddenly appeared, apologising for taking time to get there. Harry decided that they must have been informed only after he had arrived; he needed to check this out though. If there was any residual ill-feeling in the Aurors about the Malfoys, it had to be rooted out. Especially after this afternoon's events with Barnes and Crockford.
"Harry?" Draco's voice broke into his thoughts. Blaise had helped him to his feet, and he stood rather unsteadily. Harry reached over to him and held him close, finding the blond was shivering. Why he wondered? Fear? Or something else?
Draco moved out of the embrace, and Harry looked at his face. No, not fear.
Rage.
"Where are they?" Draco asked, his voice soft, too soft, bringing to mind the soft hiss of a snake coiled to strike.
Harry walked with him over to where the attackers were now standing, one Auror standing between each pair, holding them none-too-softly.
Draco cast some sort of revealing spell, and the six hoods went down to make plain who the attackers were. Harry was sick to his stomach to discover that three of them he recognised from his school-days; one of them, wearing a gold necklace and clearly the ringleader, spat at Draco.
"Damn you, you pathetic excuse for a Slytherin!" he shrieked. It was the former Slytherin Chaser, Marcus Flint.
Draco went up to them and placed his wand at Marcus's throat. The Aurors visibly tensed, poised waiting for something to happen; but to Harry's surprise, did not attack, obviously prepared to hear Draco out.
"You know that, even in friendly games, Quidditch is so dangerous that hexing me during one gives me the right to kill you, don't you?" the blond said in that frighteningly quiet voice.
"You can't prove it was me who did it," Flint said, darkly.
"I don't have to, do I? Hmm? You're the ringleader of this gang, you get to take the punishment or the praise, it's the Death Eater way, isn't it, Marcus?" Draco said, almost spitting the words out in his fury.
Marcus looked at the ground, then snapped back up to Draco. "Yes," he hissed. "Get it over with, then."
"No," said Draco. "Killing you would give your actions some honour. Attacking a wizard flying on a broom, without a wand, has no honour at all; I'm not giving you any." He turned to the Auror holding Flint. "Take them away, please."
"With pleasure," the Auror replied, and roughly jerked his two charges away. The other two Aurors holding prisoners did likewise, and they made their way out of the Quidditch pitch.
The remaining Auror apologised to the Headmistress for the failure of wards, and to Draco for not stopping the attack.
"I must take some of the blame," Flitwick added. "Flint wrote asking if he could help, I said of course, and gave him the Floo address for the Great Hall, and allowed him through. I'm sure he then let the others in."
Draco's heart almost stopped at this; it was so like how he had let the Death Eaters in himself during his sixth year. Harry must have realised this too; for the raven-head wrapped his arms around him, saying "not your fault this time, Dray."
Draco stood tall. "I can't complain that you're so willing to extend friendship and forgiveness, Professor," he said to Flitwick. "I am, after all, a beneficiary of it myself …"
The tiny man looked at him, and his eyes twinkled as he thanked Draco.
At this point, the shock rather caught up with the blond, and he could hardly stand any more. He turned to burrow his head in Harry's chest.
"Take me home," he asked.

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