Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31212 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books or films, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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30 Returning to Type
Monday, 1 June 1998
Harry came awake slowly. He lay in bed with his eyes closed. There was definitely something different. Something about the room. The light playing over his closed eyelids was wrong, somehow. And the smell wasn't the same. There was still the intoxicating, marvelous smell that belonged to Draco, to be sure; but it wasn't quite how he remembered it. Stronger, somehow.
He opened his eyes to survey an unfamiliar ceiling; and it all came back to him. Of course, they had spent the night at the Manor; and, for the first time ever, he had slept in Draco's bed.
"Morning, sleepy-head," a voice drawled next to him, and Harry turned and gazed into the beautiful silver eyes of his lover. "I'm guessing, from the lack of nightmares," Draco continued, "that you slept well last night?"
"Yes, thank you," Harry agreed, his eyes twinkling. He had very much enjoyed their – ah – activities after bedtime; Draco had insisted on christening his bed as it was the first time they had slept in it together. Harry hoped that the silencing charms were up to the noise they had made as they had used their hands to bring each other to orgasm.
But now it was a new day. And, he remembered, today was the day that Skeeter's article about them would be published.
"I suppose," he said, "we'd better face the music."
Draco looked puzzled. "Muggle saying," Harry explained. "Meaning we have to go and take what's coming to us. Today, through Rita's article."
The blond's look of incomprehension was replaced by one of calm resignation, mixed with a small amount of fear: the witch had never posted nasty things about him, Harry remembered. Well, they just had to face it and see how bad it was. It should, of course, be exactly what they had agreed on; but somehow he didn't trust Skeeter that much.

THE BOY WHO LOVED!
By Rita Skeeter

He skimmed through the article. It was nauseating, just like the picture of the two of them emblazoned on the front page. By the time he had finished reading, he had nearly lost his breakfast. Twice.
Yaxley despised this new 'let's all love everyone' philosophy they called the Potter Code. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than idealistic twaddle. The collective brains of the Wizarding world seemed to have turned into mush; they had all become a mob of sycophants, desperate to fawn all over Harry Sodding Potter, the Boy Who Could Do No Wrong.
But did he have a real plan? Something that would last? No. Wizarding society had to be built on a solid, firm foundation; that was obvious. And whatever they said, it was the Pure-bloods who understood how things really worked. This rallying-cry of "all together", this idea that blood status did not matter, was palpable nonsense. It was self-evident that the Mudbloods had no clue; how could they possibly know about being wizards, when everything they learnt in childhood was irreparably tainted with Muggleness? They had no history to guide them, no idea what it really was to be a wizard. Yaxley convinced himself that he did not actually despise them; they just needed a firm hand, careful guidance. They needed to be taught properly. Carefully. Kindly. But the idea that they might have something to add, some wisdom to impart, that was beyond stupidity.
And that idea came from the witches and wizards he did despise: the half-bloods, who mixed pure heritage with unspeakable Muggle ideas to produce abominations like the Potter Code. And the thrice-cursed blood-traitors, who had no excuse, they should have known better, but sided with the Muggle influence. He was sure it was this latter group who were promulgating this new heresy that the Dark Lord himself was half-blood. The lie had been given by Potter; but Yaxley was sure it originated from the hated Muggle-loving Albus Dumbledore.
No, the Wizarding world needed to be based on the tried and true Wizarding ways, and that meant pure-blood ways. Voldemort had had the right idea: pure-bloods were the natural leaders of their world. They knew how to lead. To give proper direction, not this endless popularity contest that they seemed to be stuck in right now.
It was time to wake them up. Time to show them what real leadership was like. What a proper leader with a firm hand was like, not that vacillating fool Shacklebolt. To begin with, he would show them what should be done with traitors. As always when he thought of the revenge he had planned, a hideous grin spread over his face. He scanned the article again to see if it gave him any hope. Hmm.. What was this? A paragraph in the middle caught his attention:

Your reporter, knowing how eager you all are for news of our hero, has been interviewing
friends of Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy to gain some insights into the lives of our favourite couple.
I was privileged to chat with the elegant Mr Blaise Zabini, class-mate of Draco Malfoy's and fellow

Slytherin House member. Mr Zabini, it seems, visited Mr Potter's house, and tells me that he was

not entirely the gracious well-bred host; leaving his guests to go to bed! But surely we don't mind

- no doubt our hero needs his sleep!

His first thought had been that that it was Skeeter's usual tittle-tattle, but on rereading it, he saw another possibility. To bad-mouth Potter, there must be some feeling there. A little jealousy, perhaps? Zabini wouldn't be a Slytherin if he wasn't a bit miffed at Malfoy taking up with the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors. The friend scorned, perhaps? His grin sharpened as his ideas crystallised into a direct plan of action. Perhaps our Mr Zabini might be receptive to a little friendly persuasion …

Harry and Draco came downstairs to find Narcissa eating breakfast in the cottage garden. It was the perfect day for it: sunny, but not too hot. There was a slight breeze, and the trees planted as a border were swaying slightly, creating a delightful dappled sunlight effect. And the scent, particularly from the roses, was delightful. Narcissa fitted into this scene as though it had been made for her: her striking looks and blonde hair offset beautifully by the lavender bush behind her.
"Good morning, boys; I hope you slept well?"
"Very well, thank you," said Harry, as they sat down together, across from her.
"Tolerably well, thank you mother," Draco drawled; and Harry half-suspected he was simply being disagreeable for the hell of it, especially when he saw the amused smile ghosting Narcissa's lips. "Where is father?"
"Behind you," the aristocrat's voice said, as he stepped into the garden and came over to sit next to his wife. A house elf appeared and took orders for breakfast, which was swiftly delivered.
"I'm surprised at you, father, eating so informally," Draco teased him, as he and Harry tucked in to the pancakes they had ordered.
"Well, while Harry is here, we thought he might enjoy spending time in his garden." Harry blushed, and Lucius smirked to see it. But the warm feeling inside him reminded him that the Debt was still there, and thinking about it still made him a little uncomfortable. At least Mr Potter was happy, though, so all was well for the moment. And if all he had to do for the boy was to eat breakfast in the garden, instead of seated at a proper dining table, then really there was nothing to worry about. His concerns of weeks before were slowing ebbing away, now seeing silly compared to the reality, as Draco's hunch was proving correct: Potter's character made him a much more pleasant house-guest than Voldemort! "It seems silly to sit cooped up in the dining room on such a lovely day," he went on, and then paused to eat some of his breakfast.
Narcissa continued the conversation by asking Harry, "have you seen the Daily Prophet yet?"
"Well, no, we only just got up," Harry murmured.
"We were otherwise occupied earlier this morning," Draco added, with a straight face. The confession did nothing to help the redness of Harry's face, much to the amusement of all the Malfoys. Lucius, his eyes twinkling, produced a copy for each of them, and told them not to stand on ceremony; reading at the breakfast table was quite acceptable now.
Draco looked shocked. "Father? Is this really you? I mean, eating in the garden? Reading at the table? You told me you would have been whipped! I would have been beaten!"
Lucius threw his head back and laughed. It was a glorious sound.
"Well, Draco, we both know just how well that approach worked. I confess when your mother suggested it I wondered if the house would fall done in protest, but I find I rather prefer being less uptight about things that really don't matter. Now, please, you read, I'll eat."
They spent a few minutes in companionable silence, doing as they were bid. Harry finished the article first.
"I see that the interview with Blaise survived intact," he remarked.
"Yes, I suspect it was a sop to Skeeter," Lucius answered. "Really, Cuffe did a good turn by us, though. He obviously took your request of not calling you 'saviour' to heart; and simply changing 'saviour' into 'hero' seems to have worked well. We'd missed that altogether. I'm glad he thought of it."
Harry smiled. It was amazing to get to see behind the sneering, pompous Lucius Malfoy façade and find that the man did have a heart after all. And a big one, at that. He was very generous with his praise. No doubt that got him a long way in wheeling and dealing, Harry thought. But perhaps that was unfair. Why not take the man at face value, especially if he was being so pleasant?
"It's a lovely photograph of you," Narcissa remarked. "I must see about getting some copies of it."
Harry went red once more, and Lucius smiled at his wife affectionately. "My love," he said, "you do say the most amazing things."
Narcissa smiled back. Her husband was happier than he had been in years, probably happier than she had known him since they left Hogwarts. At last the horrors of his narrow-minded father seemed to be falling away. The only decent things about Abraxus Malfoy, as far as Narcissa was concerned, were that he hadn't stood in her way of marrying Lucius, and then had the good timing to die of dragon pox before Draco was born, so that he couldn't pass on his bigotry another generation. Lucius was becoming like his grandfather, one of the old Malfoys: a genuine man, full of bonhomie and tact; a proper aristocrat. She could see the same winsome traits coming out in Draco; and, not for the first time, she felt very grateful that they had Harry. The Debt might be there, and Lucius had not entirely lost his fears about that; but they were receding, and Harry kept bringing out these lovely traits in her men at every turn.

Rita Skeeter was absolutely furious. She had written what she thought was a brilliant article, and that blankety blank blank no-good low-life Cuffe had edited it to death. True, he'd managed to get a photo, and a pretty good one too, but that hardly made up for what he'd done to her text. Hers! All hers! No-one ever touched her articles!
She stormed into his office, and was instantly hit by a silencing charm. Her fury reached hitherto unknown heights at this indignity; but Cuffe just told her to sit down (on a chair he conjured for the purpose) and shut up (as if she had a choice about that!).
When he thought she'd calmed a little, he removed the spell.
"You BASTARD!" she screamed. Too early, Cuffe thought. But he was stuck with it now, he had to brazen it out, he knew, as she continued, "you ripped the heart out of my article! What the HELL did you do that for?"
"Rita! Shut it! And what happened is three words: Lucius Sodding Malfoy."
"What did he threaten you with?" she asked, instantly spotting an interesting line and latching onto it like the seasoned gossip-monger that she was.
"Never you mind. But at the moment he and the Ministry are working together on this, so you know we have no chance if we want to ever get more on Potter. Wiggleswade has already been given another interview, he talked to Potter yesterday about Volde–"
"BORING!" Rita said, speaking over the top of her boss. "And for this, you emasculate my prose? You even changed 'our Saviour needs his sleep', I was proud of that line!"
"It's not like you're writing great literature here!" he yelled in reply. "And Potter doesn't want to be called the 'Saviour' any more."
Rita looked dumbfounded. She knew he was publicity-shy, but really? Refusing such a title? "Why the hell not?" she asked.
"God knows," he replied. "He gave me some crap about it's not him, it's how everybody works together, blah, blah, blah, sanctimonious bullshit. Could have come straight from Scrimgeour. I thought you told me he didn't want to be the Ministry spokesman?"
"He doesn't," she replied. "Maybe he actually believes it."
The look on the Editor-in-Chief's face was priceless. But he pulled himself together. "He can believe anything he wants, I suppose. Perk of being the bloody boy-who-didn't-die-twice. Meanwhile we daren't stir up wizardry against him. Not openly, anyway. Why don't you see if you can dig up some more dirt? That Parkinson girl should be good for something. Go off and become her chum."
Rita grinned, evilly. She didn't need advice on how to do her job, but she could see how to put the knife in. Cuffe had told her to make friends; that made the inevitable bar tab a legitimate excuse …
He really did make things too easy for her sometimes, she mused. But then, she was a sensationalist journalist who took pride in a long heritage of milking everyone she met for all they were worth.Kingsley Shacklebolt was worried. He was quite happy with the turn of events at Malfoy Manor yesterday; but nonetheless, there was still plenty to concern him. He didn't believe that Skeeter would take the affront to her journalistic pride lying down; so he had sent word through the Ministry network of informers and helpers to ensure that whatever she did, he was told about it. And they had not had any word of Yaxley; he still did not know what he was up to. He only hoped Harry was right about his plans.

And there was Crockford to consider. The healers had discovered that he, like Thicknesse, had been under a very deep, undetectable form of the Imperius curse. Harry's 'Signum Revelare' charm had now been used by the healers on all of the Aurors to see if they could discover whether anyone else was a hidden death eater. But somehow, the charm didn't seem as effective as when Harry had used it. One old witch had been positively identified; but as she had had quite a bit to do with Thicknesse and had been all but pensioned off anyway, they simply talked her into retiring for good. Since there was no evidence of criminal activity, and having the Dark Mark was not sufficient proof, it would have been hard for them to take any further action, so this was probably the best possible outcome. There were a couple of people who the healers had suspected, but not been definite about; they had been put under very discreet surveillance. But it was not entirely satisfactory; and there was no real reason anyone could see why the charm was not particularly effective for anyone other than Harry. Kingsley wondered if this was just because Harry's magic was so strong, or whether there was something else at play.
And that idea worried him too. He knew about the Debt, of course; he was impressed at how Harry had managed to keep Skeeter away from the details, though others would look them up, of course; it wasn't going to stay secret forever. Skeeter was a sloppy journalist, but it would not be wise to rely on that. No, the worry was more that he felt there was something else there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. That shield, it had been so strong; that must mean that his magic and Malfoy's were highly compatible. But how did it stay strong? He didn't believe the Debt was entirely responsible for that. But if not, then what?
However, he had to leave his musings. However much Harry was his friend, and despite how much he wanted to help him, however he could, he was still the Minister for Magic; he had a job to do, and that job demanded so much of his time. He sighed. Some days, he would give anything to be an Auror again, off on a case, worrying about one thing at a time, not having to answer a thousand questions on a hundred matters every time he walked into his office. At least he could draw some of the fire, he thought; he had insisted that Arthur stay home today, as he had had to work over the weekend. He sensed that Molly was getting a bit fed up with it; and he didn't blame her one bit. He had promised that he wouldn't let the Ministry take over Arthur's life; but Harry had needed the help over the last couple of days, and he knew Molly could see that. He hoped that making sure he was home today would smooth things between them.

Molly heard a strange little 'ding' and a loud cry of excitement as Arthur yelled "Molly!" from his 'Muggle-den', as his children called the isolation cell he had set up inside his garage, so that the magical energy of the Burrow did not interfere with his Muggle devices. What is he up to now? she wondered. He had been playing with Muggle technology for his whole life, and she'd put up with it; every now and then it turned out to be useful, and she could tell from his tone that this might just be one of those times.
As she entered the room, she was careful to place her wand in the grounding-box next to the door to keep its magic away from the 'electrickery' Arthur loved so much. As she did so, she was a little surprised that his wand was not there; but she didn't say anything. There was no point; she could see at a glance that her husband was too agitated to listen to anything that anyone sensible might say to him. No, he was sitting over the strange machine he called a kumputer, or whatever the word was, and all but bursting with excitement.
"What is it, Arthur?" she asked.
"I've done it, Molly!" he almost shrieked. "We've got email!"
"What?"
"It's like an owl, Molly, only you can send it across the world in seconds. Look, I've got a message from Ron!"
He pressed some buttons on his kumputer, and the bizarre contraption next to it roared into life, producing a piece of Muggle paper with writing on it. He handed it to her, and Molly took it, rather suspicious. It wasn't proper parchment, and the writing on it was very plain, not at all like a proper message written with ink and quill like she was used to … But all this was instantly forgotten as she read the words and knew instinctively that they had indeed been written by her youngest blood-son.
Hi dad! The message read. So glad you've got email! Hermione's dad let me type this on his computer, it's brilliant! You'd love their house; it's full of every possible Muggle device! Hermione managed to give them their memories back and everything. It took a lot of explaining, but eventually they've forgiven her and all five of us are returning to England together. Yes, five! Hermione has a little sister called Miriam! She's just two months old and she's absolutely gorgeous! The muggle doctors have said that she's allowed to fly now, so we've all booked tickets to come back leaving here on the nineteenth of June and arriving in England on the twentieth. Tell Harry – no, actually, I'll send him a separate email. Hermione's mum was a bit teary at the thought of leaving Australia, and having to pack up the house and everything, so we told her magic would make the packing up easy at least.
Tell mum hi! We're loving it here, even though it's autumn the weather is lovely and we've even been to the beach. Miriam has to be slathered in sunscreen and wear this funny coloured paste on her face, called zinc cream, because she's even fairer skinned than Hermione! It's brilliant, you can get it in lots of colours, and it stops the sun burning her nose at all. And even with all this stuff on, they insist on her being in the shade the whole time! H's parents insisted on us being covered in sunscreen too, even though we told them a protection charm would work just as well.
The message prattled on in this vein, with details about the trip and the house they were living in, and asking about everyone, with special greetings for each sibling.
"It's lovely," Molly sighed. "It's almost like he was here; I can hear him saying it."
Arthur agreed; he knew just what she meant. "What would you like to say in reply?" he asked.
"Reply?" Molly said, puzzled. "OH! You mean we can send a – what was it? He-mail?"
"Email," Arthur corrected, chuckling.
"Whatever. You can send one back to him?"
"Of course!" Arthur said. "What would be the good of messages only going one way?"
Molly was so taken by the idea that she could send a reply that she insisted then and there that Arthur teach her how to do it. He chuckled and set her down in the seat in front of the computer, then, to her surprise, fetched her wand.
"I've worked out how to do a little magic that works with the computer," he said, affecting modesty; but Molly knew this was a major thing. He had been working on trying to integrate Muggle ways and magical ones for most of their married life; it seems he now, at last, had achieved success.
"Really? Show me," she said, her voice projecting excitement and encouragement. He pretended he didn't care what other people thought of his love of things Muggle; but she knew that he took it very personally if his obsession was criticised, so she was always careful to be positive about it whenever she could. And the smile on his face that her words elicited was priceless to her.
Arthur puffed up with pride, buoyed by the simple words. "It's taken nearly fifteen years of tinkering, but I've finally worked out what you have to do to get magic to work with electricity! You have to be very careful with the way you cast spells; our normal spells leak out a certain amount of extra magic which interacts with the electrical field, but …" Molly tuned out at this point. It was a big deal, she understood that. And she was very proud of him that he was the one who had worked it out. But that didn't mean she was going to understand a word of the details; so she smiled and nodded and let him burble away happily.
After his explanation, he spent the next hour teaching her the spells, which involved intricate wand work and some magic that she had never heard of; Arthur tried to explain it, something about an 'inverted phase signature' that she simply could not follow; but it didn't matter. In the end, she mastered the spells, and using the strange new Dictato incantation that she suspected he had originated, found that her spoken words were transcribed onto the computer screen, just like automatic writing with a quill. It wasn't an entirely reliable process yet: the magic and the electricity would still give out sparks if she wasn't careful enough; but even so, twenty minutes later she had dictated a five page resume of everything that had happened since they left. Arthur wondered what Ron would think about such a huge message; but there was an easy way to find out, he decided: he pressed the 'send' button.
"Oh no!" Molly said, dismayed as her long message vanished off the screen. "It's all gone!"
Arthur chuckled. "Yes, it's been sent to Ron, dear! Oh, and look, there's another email from him. Oh, hang on, it's for Harry."
"How can you tell?" Molly asked.
"He's given it a subject, to tell us what's in it; and it says 'For Harry'," Arthur replied simply, as he opened the email and printed it out. "Let's get this off to him."
He placed the print-out in an envelope and went off in search of an owl to send the whole thing to Harry.
Molly smiled as she watched him go. Her mother had warned her that the Weasleys were simple people, and Aunt Muriel had been very vocal on the subject: Molly was a Prewett, Muriel had insisted, she could have a hundred better men. But she hadn't wanted a better man: Arthur, to her, was perfect. What they had called 'simple' was, to her, warm, and uncomplicated. She loved her man devotedly; he might be the Deputy Minister, but he was still that loving man she had married. He had simple pleasures, it was true; but he was so honest and straightforward about them that she couldn't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm. And his love for all things Muggle seemed to now fit with the times; perhaps, she thought, the truth was that he was ahead of everyone else, and it was the rest of them catching up to him.
The computer dinged again, but she had no idea what to do about it, so decided it was time to retreat to the kitchen. Arthur would no doubt be coming in search of a cup of tea soon enough. When she got to her domain, she found that Ginny had beaten her to it: the kettle had just boiled, and a fresh pot was brewing nicely.
"Oh thank you, Gin, I was just coming to do that."
"That's a pleasure, mum," the younger witch answered. "Um, mum … we need to talk …"Once they had finished breakfast, a house-elf appeared with a stack of mail for Lucius. He grimaced as he read the first couple; he seemed to tune out for a minute, and then shook his head as he seemed to come to a decision.

"Draco, would you spare me an hour? There are some accounts here I'd like to walk you through. It's about time we got you introduced to the business of running the Manor."
"Of course, father," Draco said, rather in the manner of a prisoner invited to his own execution. Lucius laughed.
"It won't be that bad, I promise," he said, as he rose. Draco did too, with an apologetic look at Harry.
"I do apologise for stealing Draco, Harry," he said, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"That's alright, as long as you leave me Narcissa, and don't keep him too long!" Harry rejoined, his tone and words answering the twinkle rather than Lucius's words. Lucius snorted, smiled, said "touché!" and the two Malfoy men went back to Lucius's study.
"More tea, Harry?" Narcissa asked.
"Yes thanks," he answered, and she poured him a cup.
"I'm glad to know that you see me as a suitable replacement for Draco, if only temporarily," she said teasingly. Harry began to apologise, but she smiled at him and assured him that she wasn't in the least offended.
"There is something I would like to discuss with you," he confessed. "I know that we've been keeping our plans for Friday and Saturday under wraps; but I did promise Draco I wouldn't keep secrets from him …"
Narcissa understood immediately. The poor boy had never grown up understanding about dealing with people properly; every secret had probably been destructive. How could he know how to deal with normal, loving secrets? She decided she should probably give him more or less the same talk Draco had had when he was six.
"Harry," she began gently, "you need to learn about secrets. There are two types of secrets: good secrets and bad secrets. We tell our children that good secrets make you happy; bad secrets make you sad. You're keeping our ideas for your dinner and the party a secret because that makes you happy, knowing that when Draco finds out, he'll be absolutely delighted. You're not planning on keeping them secret forever, just till the time when he'll be most happy. That sort of secret, a good secret, is essential in a relationship; you keep it because Draco is special to you, and you want to give him a lovely surprise. But if knowing it would be a nasty surprise, that's a bad secret, you shouldn't keep that. He needs to know that nothing nasty will suddenly surprise him that you knew about beforehand; but he doesn't need to know the nice surprises until the right time. Does that help?"
"Very much," Harry agreed. He was, once again, amazed at this woman, who was a better mother to him than his aunt had ever been.Molly and Ginny took their cups of tea into the front room together. Molly's mind was racing; they needed to talk, Gin had said.

Oh Merlin, she doesn't mean …
"What's up Ginny?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Her daughter blushed bright red, and Molly feared the worst. "Are you … pregnant?" she asked.
Ginny look shocked for a second, then relaxed, her face visibly cooling down as the blush faded. "No! Mother!" She decided, now that her mother had jumped to the wrong conclusion, she would have a much better chance, so pressed on immediately, "Robin and I have been talking about things, and he would like to court me; but he wants to do it the Continental way."
Molly looked puzzled. "The Continental way? What is that? And why would he want to?"
"He was brought up in Germany, remember? He explained that the fashion now, if two magicals love each other, is to live together for a little while, to see if they are compatible. So he's asked me if I would move in with him."
During this speech, Arthur had come in, having sent off his owl, and now joined them, bringing the cup of tea that Molly had left in the kitchen for him. He caught the tail-end of the conversation; but he was not particularly surprised.
Molly turned to him. "Did you know about this, dear? Living together? It would never have happened in our day! What would Muriel think?"
Arthur sat down carefully, thinking hard about how best to keep the peace. He loved both his girls dearly, but they were both rather determined to get their own way, which made his life very … interesting … at times. And this was definitely one of those times.
"Did I know about what? Living together? Yes, it's definitely the done thing on the Continent these days. I take it Robin has asked you to?"
Ginny nodded.
"Well now. Your mother is right; it would never have happened in our day."
Ginny looked mutinous, but Arthur pressed on, "but that doesn't mean that it shouldn't. He's a lovely young man, and you'll be seventeen in August, when you can do what you like; it seems rather stupid to say no for the sake of two months because of old-fashioned ideas or old-fashioned relatives, don't you think, dear?"
The last question was aimed at Molly, who made a pretense of considering this carefully. In fact, she secretly admired Ginny's pluck in coming to her at all and had thought Arthur would demur. Now that he seemed to be happy, or at least comfortable, with the idea, she could acquiesce gracefully. Not that she wasn't going to try a little emotional blackmail anyway …
"Yes, I suppose, if you put it like that. He is a very nice young man, after all. All right, Ginny, if you insist on leaving us all alone here …"
But Ginevra Weasley had her mother's measure, and simply answered, with a sickly-sweet smile, "well, I wasn't going to insist, but if you really want me to …"
Molly laughed. "I'm glad to see my daughter is no push-over!" she said. "Even if I'm sad to see her using the skills I taught her against me! Now, you will both come to dinner every week, of course, won't you?"
And, to Ginny's very great relief, the conversation went on into the logistics of moving out and how it would all work. She had been dreading a huge fight with her parents; but apparently her six siblings had prepared them for this better than Ginny could have hoped.After a very restful morning at the Manor, Harry and Draco spent the afternoon at Hogwarts. Draco had been very concerned about the article and possible feedback; and Harry became worried as everyone suddenly went quiet as they Flooed in for lunch. But then Neville had given them a wolf-whistle, and, after a few cat-calls, it was clear that the general feeling was a positive one. To be sure, Seamus still looked rather put out; but Harry felt sure he would get over it in time.

And there was not really any time for animosity to be expressed after lunch: now that the Eighth Year Tower was complete, they returned to the Astronomy Tower and continued to repair the external stonework, now that the interior was quite safe and renovated, in company with Neville, Dean, Seamus, Pansy and Millicent. Four of these five, at least, were warm and friendly towards them, and Harry was filled with hope that, if the rest of the students were half as friendly, they might actually have a fun eighth year.
And so it was that they did not return to Grimmauld Place until after six o'clock. As they Flooed into the drawing room, Harry was rather taken aback to see the table; or rather, not to see it, as it was entirely covered with letters.
"What's all this?" he wondered aloud.
Kreacher must have been listening out for them, for at this point he apparated into the room. "Master Harry and Master Draco are being receiving hundreds of owls," he said, by way of explanation. "Nasty persons is even sending Master Draco howlers, but Kreacher destroyed them," he said, proudly.
Harry groaned. He should have known: it was simply too much to hope that everyone would approve. But on the other hand, if Kreacher had destroyed the howlers, it meant they didn't have to deal with them.
"I suppose we should look at these …" he said, his voice despairing.
"Harry," Draco chuckled, "have you never heard of magic?"
And with that he cast some incantations that swiftly sorted the letters into two files, each containing four piles.
"These are your letters, these are mine," he said, pointing to each file in turn. "The first pile is from people you actually know; the other three are from strangers. The second pile is positive, the third negative or neutral, and the last might actually be interesting. Now, I suggest we send the letters in the second and third piles back to sender, with a polite, or not so polite, message."
Harry readily agreed, and Draco cast a quick charm; four of the piles vanished. Draco picked up Harry's 'from known contacts' pile and handed it to him, then picked up his own, much smaller pile. To his surprise, the first letter he came across was from Arthur Weasley.
"Here's a letter from Mr Weasley," he said as he opened it. "I wonder what he could want?"
"Dunno," Harry said. "What does it say?"
Draco read the letter out loud; it was short and to the point: 'some members of the Wizengamot have expressed concern that you might not be being supervised properly by Mr Potter', Arthur wrote, 'so I'd like to suggest we meet on Thursday mornings; not that I have any such concerns, just to keep in touch and make sure the members feel comfortable."
"That sounds like a great idea," Harry said.
Draco agreed. It couldn't be a bad thing that the Deputy Minister for Magic was taking a personal interest in him!
Harry skimmed his mail and found that he too had a letter from Arthur, which he proceeded to open.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's from Ron and Hermione! Ron's sent an email!"
"A what? And what do they have to say?" Draco enquired.
"An email – it's a Muggle sort of message. Like an owl, only it's much quicker. I wonder how Arthur got it … Anyway, there's lots of news here," he said, and proceeded to read out all about the trip, and Hermione's parents and new sister, and that they were all coming home together.
"Wow," he said; then, being Harry, wondered aloud if they had enough money for the extra ticket. But then he read on.
Hermione's parents were gobsmacked that you'd paid for their tickets, Harry. They don't really need it, they said, and there's no problem with Miriam's ticket either, so don't worry. "Too late," Draco murmured softly as Harry read this bit out; which made Harry blush at how well Ron knew him.
There was a bit more, but it was personal; so personal that Harry didn't want to share it with Draco. Not yet, anyway. It was, he decided, a good secret. It was certainly good to know that Ron and Hermione approved of his decision and, even though they didn't know his plans, didn't mind him going ahead without them. Which was just as well, really.
Harry was really looking forward to the weekend now.

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