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Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31213 -:- 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
- 31
- 32
- 33
32 Trouble Returns
Saturday 6 June 1998
Draco woke with the sun. He lay in bed, remembering the night they had had. He was still astonished at the love that had been lavished upon him. Harry had gone to so much trouble to plan the night, and every detail had been perfect. The robes were beautiful; chosen with such evident care and taste. The restaurant had been magnificent; the food, stunning; the garden, an inspired choice. Obviously his mother had shown him his garden at the Manor, and Harry had extrapolated brilliantly to make a garden that had taken his breath away. The ring was exquisite; he loved the stones, they were set so well, and the green emeralds reminded him so much of Harry's eyes. And then coming home, and candles and rose-petals and … Oh Merlin, Harry had asked him to make love to him, and he had thought his heart would explode. But in the end, it was something else that had exploded, and no other orgasm had ever been like it.
It had all been so personal. So obviously done with him, and him alone, in mind. How did he deserve to be so much the centre of Harry's thoughts?
But he still wasn't one of life's optimists, and the uncertainties began to raise their ugly heads again. The first set of thoughts was about control. Harry had organised the whole thing, without input from Draco at all. Was this what their life would be like? Was Harry going to dictate how everything worked? Was this the effect of the Debt on them, that Harry would be the boss, and Draco would just go along with everything, finding his life mapped out for him?
But even as the vague thoughts became clear ideas, he knew it was all rubbish. Harry had organised it all, yes; but he had sought input from his mother, who had kept the secret too. And that wasn't so they could control him; it was because they loved him. If Harry had wanted to control him, he would have been the one dominating in sex. But he had given that role to Draco. And it hadn't been an order; Harry had been nervous, diffident. He'd asked Draco to make love to him; and Draco hadn't obeyed an order so much as accepted an invitation. No, Harry wasn't trying to control him. He was trying to love him.
The other set of thoughts that came were angry thoughts. His mother had shown Harry his garden. She had advised on robes for him. She must have known Harry was planning to ask Draco to marry him, and she had kept the whole thing a secret. She and Harry had kept secrets from him, even after Harry had agreed they weren't going to do that.
But again, this was rubbish. Harry loved him. He was keeping good secrets. Secrets that meant Draco was loved, and blessed, and surprised in a wonderful way. And even then, Harry had seemed worried about having kept it a secret, not wanting to have broken his promise. His mother had shared his garden, but only once she knew how much Harry meant to him. And Harry had not used that knowledge to ridicule him, or wound him, as he had always been afraid would happen if any of his friends found out about the garden. He hadn't told the world about Draco's private obsession with Japanese rock gardens, or treated it lightly. On the contrary, he had taken it very seriously, and used the knowledge only to Draco's advantage. Only to create a private, special moment for them.
At the root of it all, Draco was still insecure. He knew that Harry wanted him. He knew that something had happened last night, and it wasn't just making love. He had felt his magic reaching out, seen silver and green and red wrapping together, and he had known it was special. But how special? Could he bet his happiness on it? His life? And what was the red band, anyway?
He told himself this was silly. Here he was, loved by the most wonderful wizard in the world. Instead of being reviled for his past, instead of being dead by Voldemort's curse, or kissed by a Dementor, or spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, here he was sharing his bed with the one he loved more than anyone else.
It wasn't that he wasn't grateful. Or that he didn't feel grateful. But why did he feel like it was all so precarious? That it could all go away in an instant?
-#-
Harry woke slowly, and his gorgeous green eyes bored into Draco's silver ones.
"You're thinking too much," he said, and reached over to kiss his lover. As he did, Draco felt a tingle go through his body, and he surrendered to the feeling of ecstasy that coursed through him.
"Oh, Harry, what did I do to deserve you?" he asked, when he had managed to draw breath.
"Draco," the answer came, the voice deep and quiet, "you don't have to do anything. I love you. That's it. I want you. Always. We're tied together by this," he said, holding the ring that was still on Draco's finger, "and more. By love, and by debt, and by magic, and by choice."
They lay together, cuddling, for a long while, and Draco felt courage returning and reassurance blossoming in his heart.
"Thank you so much," he said. Then, a little less soppily, "Harry, I read about Le Jardin Magique. It's supposed to be impossible to get into. How did you manage it? Come to that, how did you even think of it?"
"It was the day of Umbridge's trial," Harry replied. And the day you were attacked by Flint he didn't say, but they both knew it, and thought of it. "After she had been sentenced, Kingsley and Elphias Doge invited me to lunch, to thank me for the help I had given them. Not that I helped much …"
Draco snorted. Harry was too modest; Arthur had discussed this while they were at the Manor together and made it clear to Lucius and the two newspapermen that Harry's advice was instrumental in helping the Wizengamot see its way clear to justice being done, a fact that Dempster Wiggleswade had noted down, in case a follow-up article was ever required.
Harry, oblivious of Draco's thoughts, continued, "So we had lunch at Le Jardin Magique, and the maitre d'hotel came and asked if everything was to our satisfaction … and I realised that it wasn't. Draco, after that day, after Umbridge was gone, after the Chief Warlock has praised me to the skies, and the Minister had expressed his delight, I realised that I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted one thing. I wanted you there. So I asked if I could come back, with you, last night; he seemed to be delighted. I hadn't realised it was hard to get in …"
I bet he was delighted, Draco thought, rather sourly, to be asked to host the hero of the wizarding world. But there was no reason to feel aggrieved; there hadn't been any press coverage, or awkward questions, so perhaps the man was simply happy to do what he could for a customer.
"And," Harry continued, "I decided then and there I wanted to propose to you on your birthday. I wrote a letter to Narcissa on the spot, asking for her help; I didn't think I could tell her to her face to begin with, I couldn't have got the words out. I'm sorry to have told her but have kept it from you, but I felt I needed some advice. And she was the best person to go to. As it happened, I didn't get to owl the note, but slipped it to Blaise, and he took it to your mother that afternoon while I was comforting you here."
"I'm glad you told her, Harry," Draco decided. "She helped you do a wonderful thing, and now you know that she is prepared to be on your side, and keep our secrets. I was sure of that; but it's good that you know it too. So, she knows that we're engaged?"
"Well, not exactly," Harry said. "I mean, she knows that I was going to ask you, and that's why you didn't get a party – and you will get one tonight, I promise, but you have to act all surprised, all right?"
Draco laughed. He didn't think that would be a problem. And if his parents suspected anything, they would be too overjoyed to see the ring on his fingers to comment. After all, his mother would have to hide that she knew beforehand, she wouldn't want him to know that she had known. Of course, he did know that she knew, but she didn't know that he knew that she knew; unless Harry told her. Which he should do something about, he decided, his complicated Slytherin thoughts finally resolving into action.
"I'll try, Harry. But you can't tell my mother that you told me she knew, all right?"
Harry didn't know, and probably wouldn't have understood, the intricate reasoning behind this request; but he didn't need to.
"Sure," he replied.
-#-
Eventually they had to get up. Harry would gladly have stayed there all day; especially as he could feel Draco's uncertainty, and he just wanted to lie with him, and stroke it all away, and let his lover know that it was all going to be all right. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had no doubt at all that he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the person he wanted to be with; indeed, the person who he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.
But they had to get on with things. So, reluctantly, they went through the morning rituals of bathing and dressing. As they walked downstairs to the kitchen, they stopped at the drawing room; Harry suggested that they should let their mothers know the happy news straight away, and Draco agreed.
Which is why the Floo in Narcissa's study erupted into life just before eight o'clock, and Mappy rushed off to find his mistress, convinced, by the urgency in Draco's voice, that some great disaster had befallen. Narcissa walked into her study and a single glance at the image of her son's face in the fireplace told her everything.
Draco, without a word, held up his hand to show her the ring on his finger. She smiled; it was a huge, warm, genuine smile that involved her whole face. "Congratulations, darling," she said. "May I come through?"
In answer, he retreated from the fireplace, inviting her with a gesture. She threw in a pinch of Floo powder and went over to Grimmauld Place, stepping out of Floo and into her son's arms. Harry enveloped them both, then made his own call, and in a very few minutes, Molly Weasley was there, hugging them both too and crying tears of joy.
-#-
After admiring the ring, the mothers pleaded that they had to get back to their families; Draco wasn't quite sure he believed this from his mother, but she explained that the call had come while she was at the breakfast table, and Lucius would become anxious if she didn't return soon.
"Don't forget, you have to come and fetch your present before you go to the Burrow this evening," she reminded them. "It should be ready by half-past five, so come then, or just a little earlier if you can spare the time."
"Do we really have to have the party at the Burrow?" Draco whined.
"Dragon!" his mother said, sternly. She'd never put up with him whining at her, and she wasn't about to just because he was an adult, nor because it was his birthday party. "You know that Saturday nights are at the Burrow, you agreed to that, and you should be grateful that the Weasleys are being so accommodating!"
Draco looked abashed. "Sorry, mother," he said. "Mrs Weasley – Molly - my apologies. Mother is right; I'm very grateful to you for hosting my party at the Burrow."
"Of course, dear," Molly replied. "No harm done. We'll be delighted to see you, and I'm sure everyone will have a wonderful time."
"But you will come to the Manor first? And we'll Floo to the Burrow with you once we've given you your present," Narcissa added.
"We'll be there, Narcissa," Harry promised.
-#-
Lucius Malfoy was having a very good morning. The plans for the party were well in hand; of course they would be, Narcissa was involved, but of course this party was rather more important than usual. Mappy's entry had made it quite clear that the developments Narcissa had been expecting were progressing nicely. Not that she'd said anything about it to him, but he'd been married to the woman for over twenty years and he knew how to read the signs. The boys had got engaged last night, or he was a Hippogriff.
His mind turned to the other matters in front of him. Over the three weeks since his trial, he had been working with the Ministry to help with reparations, in a very direct way: Malfoy money was being used to rebuild the homes of wizards and witches who had been dispossessed by the Dark Lord. He was doing it quietly; Kingsley had been concerned that the money might be refused if people knew where it came from. That had stung his pride; but he couldn't fault the logic. And he was discovering that a little altruism was in fact good for the soul; something of Harry Potter's Gryffindorishness was rubbing off on him, and to his surprise he was finding it felt quite good.
He had also been working through Muggle builders, seeking to help where-ever the Death Eaters had attacked. But this was a little less altruistic; he was putting out feelers, looking for a man. A man he suspected worked, if not in the building trade, then in some allied industry. He wasn't sure quite why he suspected this; but his intuition for such things was generally spot on. He couldn't imagine the man would work in an industry that required brains or charm; no, it had to be some sales role or supply company for building or perhaps those horrible motor things the Muggles used.
And this morning he had hit paydirt. He had found the company; and its board had last night recommended his offer to its owners. By Monday, he could have it in his grasp.
Yes, a very good morning.
-#-
It was eight o'clock in the evening in Sydney before Ron got around to checking his email. There was, as usual, an email from his father; at least, it came from his father's email address, but he was pretty sure that his mother would have written it. Molly had really taken to sending him email; it was lovely to have the connection back to his family, though he did rather wish she could keep her letters a bit shorter. After all, she should have twigged after eighteen years that reading wasn't really his thing.
Not that it mattered much; he simply printed the emails out, skimmed them, and handed them to Hermione, knowing that his fiancée would read every word and then make sure he knew everything of importance in them. He'd managed so far to keep to the pretence that he too had read assiduously; but if Hermione believed that, she didn't know him well either. In fact, Hermione knew her man quite well; she knew he hadn't read carefully. But she was happy to make a point of discussing everything in the emails with Ron and her parents; and she could see that her parents loved to hear news from the old country, and news about Ron's folk. It was helping them all to feel like one big happy family.
But this email was different. This time, it actually was from Arthur; this time, there weren't too many words; and this time he did read every one of them.
"OI! Hermione!" he yelled. "Come quick!"
"What is it?" she replied, rushing into her father's study.
"It's Harry and Draco!" Ron replied. "They're engaged!"
-#-
Minerva McGonagall sat in her office, a smile twitching on her lips. After two weeks of negotiation, she finally had a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. She was very grateful to Filius Flitwick; it was his brilliant idea to write to old Professor Galatea Merrythought and ask her if she had any suggestions. Her reply had been crisp, and to the point, which had made Minerva smile; she and Galatea had always got on rather well as neither of them took any nonsense from anyone.
The reply had simply been to the effect that Galatea had taught her daughter everything she knew, and they wouldn't find a more competent candidate. So Minerva had set about trying to get hold of the younger Merrythought. She had had quite a time of it! The witch had pleaded age, and commitments to the Wizengamot, and lack of teaching ability, and generally being busy. To begin with, Minerva had replied politely; but after ten days of sending owls back and forth, she had lost patience and sent an owl that said simply that they needed a professor, Dalmatea was the best for the job, and Minerva would expect to see her in Hogwarts no later than Saturday the fourth of July, ready to begin teaching the eighth years on the following Monday.
To the headmistress's enormous relief, the direct approach had worked perfectly. The reply owl had arrived that morning; it laid out the conditions that Dalmatea had, all of which were entirely reasonable: time off for important Wizengamot considerations was the most troubling, but Elphias had reassured her during the week that he would make sure, as much as possible, that that did not interfere with teaching, so they would have to wait and see.
There was a knock on the door, and Flitwick entered. "Ah! Minerva!" he twittered. "You look happy?" he said, as he took a seat in front of the desk. Despite its hard appearance, the chair was surprisingly comfortable, and he wasn't surprised that it rose up so that they were at eye level. He had loved Albus Dumbledore; but he had to admit that the Headmistress was, on the whole, much more approachable and easy to deal with.
"Don't sound so surprised!" she rejoined. "Yes, we now have a DADA Professor!"
"Merrythought?" he asked.
"Indeed," she replied. "She will be taking up residence on the third of July. I take it that will pose no problem?"
"Of course not," the tiny man replied. "I shall write to her and ask how she would like her rooms."
"There's no need," the headmistress replied. "She's sent a detailed sketch." And with this, she levitated a piece of parchment over to the Charms professor, who studied it carefully. "Is it achievable?"
"There should be no problem," he replied. "So, is that everyone?"
"Just about," McGonagall replied. "The biggest difficulty remaining is Muggle Studies, but the Ministry is looking into that for us."
"And you are happy for that?" Flitwick asked, puzzled. "After all, the last professor they provided was Umb-"
"Yes, Filius, yes," Minerva said, cutting him off. She really didn't want to hear Umbridge's name ever again. The woman was a disgrace to teaching. Scratch that, the woman was a disgrace to women. Minerva did not like name-calling, but in Dolores's case she made an exception: in her mind, the witch was a poisonous old toad, and there was an end to the matter. "But Arthur Weasley is not Cornelius Fudge!"
"About that," Flitwick asked. "Why are you dealing with him, and not the Minister?"
She looked at him a little askance. "I think that Kingsley has rather a lot on his mind," she replied. "And frankly, Arthur has proved to be perfect to deal with. I know you were worried that he wouldn't have the clout to get things done; but that doesn't seem to be the case. And he knows about teaching from the parents' point of view as much as the Ministry's, which is enormously helpful. His ideas about pastoral care are excellent; you do realise that the mentoring programme is all his idea?"
"Really?" Flitwick asked. "I hadn't. In that case, why has he suggested me for Mr Potter? I would have thought he would want to look after him himself?"
"I think he sees himself as Potter's father," the headmistress replied. "Which is rather good, don't you think? The poor boy has had such a woeful family situation for so long, shut away with the Dursleys, who hated him by all accounts; and I think Arthur wants to be there as a father for him now that it's all coming out into the open. So perhaps he thought it would be good for Harry to have a different mentor?"
"Yes, I agree. Well, that's all to the good. So, then. We still have to wait on a Muggle Studies professor; but we have four weeks yet to fill the position. Now, this evening. Are you all ready for this party?"
McGonagall looked abashed. "Oh! Yes! It's tonight, isn't it!"
Flitwick looked at her, concerned. The woman spent altogether too much time thinking about the school, and not nearly enough looking after herself, he thought. "Yes, it's tonight. And don't even think about crying off! Have you bought some robes?"
"No," she answered, surprised to be asked. "I thought I'd just wear these?" she continued, pointing to her standard school robes.
"Oh no you don't!" Flitwick said. "Draco deserves you to make an effort! We're going to Madam Malkin's!"
-#-
It was all coming together at last. MacNair had joined him last night, quietly; he had been impressed that the man had stayed out of the Ministry's clutches for so long, and even more when he walked into the wards around the hideout without being discovered by any of the outlying spies beforehand. This was definitely the sort of ally he needed. If they were going to take down the traitors, being able to come and go unobserved would be crucial. Especially, tonight, the going part, he thought, and went over the plans in his mind again.
MacNair had provided the portkeys, and they were perfect. He could tell at once that the Ministry Aurors had not managed to get their grubby hands on them; no, these were left over from the Dark Lord's days, and still had his protection spells on them. Excellent. They would be able to do the deed and escape before anyone had realised what was going on.
Those fools at the Ministry had left Flint in the holding cells, ripe for the plucking; he would liberate him just before they left for the ambush site, so that there would not be time for the Aurors to react. He did, of course, still have his spies in place, just in case they needed to divert the hunt; the Signum Revelare spell was, apparently, not foolproof. But he always liked to have a plan that relied on as few people as possible. The Auror spies were just a smokescreen, a fail-safe measure, not integral to the success itself.
He wondered again what had happened to his own little traitor. The man seemed to have gone completely to pieces after he had reported on the date, time, and state of the wards. The report had been a good one; as he had foreseen, the Ministry had not allowed Malfoy to touch the wards, and their own spells were quite insipid. There was no-one left with the brilliance of Mad-Eye Moody, and his informant had managed to remove the plugs that the Ministry had made to the wards. So the Dark Lord's followers could get in freely again. As for Flint, they would smuggle him in as one of the revelers. He had wanted to use his traitor, but as he had gone to ground, the next best thing was available: they had poly-juice, and a strand of his hair, so Flint would take his place.
Yaxley smiled to himself. It was all going swimmingly.
-#-
Minerva was making a fuss, but secretly she was rather pleased that Filius had insisted. She hadn't set foot in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for many years; and Madam Malkin herself, still there, had bustled round, commenting on how delightful it was to see Minerva again, and how she must come more often – to which Flitwick had agreed, making her blush to think about how old her robes were. But they were perfectly serviceable still, she insisted; why would she go to the expense of buying new robes when the old ones were still good to wear?
Madame Malkin chuckled, not at all offended by this. The robes she sold were good quality; they outlasted the fashions, at least, so that people bought new robes because they wanted to, not because they had to. If McGonagall didn't want to, that was, of course, her business; but the robes she was wearing were so old that if Malkin didn't sell her new ones soon, there was a danger that they would be fashionable again!
Flitwick was magnificent, commenting critically on the robes and not allowing McGonagall to simply buy the first thing she saw, which she had the last three times she'd visited, to Madam Malkin's certain knowledge; and the seamstress had to admit that the man had taste. The outfit the headmistress ended up with struck exactly the right balance between the gravity of her position and the fact that she was supposed to be going to a party.
Once they had left the shop, after Flitwick had insisted she buy two more sets of robes for normal wear, they strolled along Diagon Alley. Minerva was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia; she hadn't simply strolled along an alley, having nothing to do, for she couldn't remember how long, and it reminded of her of going shopping with her grandmother, who would say things like "let's pop into Zonko's!" and when asked "why?" would reply, "just for fun!"
"Professor McGonagall!" a voice called out, and she turned to see George Weasley standing outside of what she knew at once must be his shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She was instantly torn. As the Headmistress of Hogwarts, it was her duty to disapprove of many of the items the twins sold; as their former housemistress, she was proud as proud could be that they had made such a success of themselves.
"Mr Weasley!" she replied, turning to him and stopping outside the shop. "I'm surprised to see you here, instead of helping set up for this evening. And I do hear congratulations are in order? Where is Mr Longbottom?"
"Thank you, Professor," George replied. "Neville's helping to set up for tonight. Um, would you like to come into the shop?"
"Thank you, no," she replied; "people might think that I approved."
George laughed.
"But I don't understand – why are you here, if he's not? Or is there Trouble in Paradise?"
This got another laugh. "Oh, not at all," he replied. "In fact, Mum specifically said she wanted Fred and Neville to help, and me to mind the shop, as she knew she wasn't going to get much work out of us if it was Neville and me, or Fred and me!"
And this remark even managed to elicit a laugh from the headmistress, which George counted as a major success.
-#-
At four o'clock, Draco was fretting more than a little. He normally allowed at least two hours for the process of getting ready for a major event. They were supposed to be at the Manor in an hour and a half at the most, and he hadn't even decided what to wear.
"I thought we could just wear the robes from last night?" Harry asked.
Draco looked at him. "Wear the same clothes two days in a row?" he asked, scandalised.
"Yeah, why not?" Harry asked. "They were quite clean, and I spelled them so anyway as I put them back in the wardrobes. Please, Draco, I bought them for your birthday, it would mean a great deal to me."
Draco decided that he was getting soft. Harry's begging face was too much for him to resist.
"All right," he said. "But can I at least wear a different shirt?"
"Of course," Harry said, reaching into his wardrobe and pulling out a shirt. "I bought this for you as well."
Draco took the shirt, and loved it instantly. It was a pale green, with silver strands through the material; and when he put it on, he could see that it complemented his eyes and hair beautifully. Once again, he was amazed at Harry's new-found taste.
"So, did my mother help you choose this?" he asked, teasingly.
"Actually," Harry said, "this one was all me." And then he added, diffidently, "do you like it?"
"Oh Harry!" he said in mock exasperation. "It's lovely! But you have to lose this insecurity! What am I going to do with you?"
"Um … shag me?" was the cheeky reply.
Draco looked at him, seriously contemplating it. "You sure you don't want to shag me?" he replied.
Harry looked a little crestfallen. "Actually, I do. But I don't think you're ready for it."
Draco wanted to protest that he was up for anything, but the words stuck in his craw. Harry was right; there was something, some reservation in him that he hadn't even suspected was there, still to be resolved.
"It's OK, my love," Harry said, softly, and Draco found the tone comforted him and deflated the anger and guilt that were rising up. "I know you love me. I want us to feel totally comfortable together. It's not a test."
It really wasn't surprising, then, that they didn't actually get to the Manor until nearly six o'clock, both wearing their new robes; and both, if they only knew it, looking absolutely gorgeous. Though it might be said that Harry's hair was even messier than usual …
-#-
Elphias Doge sat in front of his fire. It might be a balmy June night, but he was an old man, and he loved being warm. It was very kind of Molly and Arthur to ask him to the party, and part of him wished he had accepted; but he had to be realistic. He liked his own company; and he liked being in his own house; and he was finding that his job was getting tiring enough without adding socialising on top. A few more years, that's all they'd get from him, and he'd be back in retirement.
He admired his dear friend Albus for his strength to keep the headmastership for all those years; but he couldn't be him. He was glad that Arthur had asked for his help with the curriculum, though. Somehow, being involved with Hogwarts, even if only tangentially, made him feel a connection to his first ever real friend. And Arthur had not only asked; he had also listened, and commented, and together they had built what Elphias believed would be an amazing unit, the likes of which had never been seen before.
Given the division in their world, it needed to be, he thought, rather ruefully.
-#-
Harry and Draco Flooed into Narcissa's study, which was completely empty of people. As they arrived, Harry called for Dippy, who appeared with a pop in front of them.
"Master Harry!" she said, with large, excited eyes. "And Master Draco! Please, stay here, and I will be informing the mistress yous is here!" And with that, she vanished.
Draco was amazed to be asked to wait, in his own house; but Harry neatly caught his attention by pointing out the chaise-longue. Draco laughed to see it.
"I hadn't realised it was here," he admitted, "but my mother was always good at getting her hands on furniture she liked; and it's a great compliment that she chose to keep it, and put it in her own study."
"You don't think she did so just because you made it?" Harry asked, teasingly.
"Not at all," said the lady herself, as she entered the study. "It is a beautiful piece, exquisite in detail, and I'm sure you agree, a wonderful addition to this room. It's lovely to see you, Draco dear, Harry dear," she said, kissing each of them on the cheek as she named them. "I'm happy to say that your birthday present is ready; please come into the garden and I will show you."
His curiosity well and truly piqued, Draco followed her out of the study, Harry bringing up the rear.
-#-
Narcissa lead them out to French doors next to the ones that lead into Harry's cottage garden. Through these doors, Draco knew, was a large expanse of lawn that was separated from the individual planted gardens by a high laurel hedge. But as he went through, he found that the lawn, instead of its usual pristine and vacant self, was filled with people, and a marquee, and tables and chairs. As they walked out, everyone rose.
"SURPRISE!" They all roared.
And so Draco realised he was to have his wish: his party was at the Manor. The first people to come up to him were his friends: Blaise, Pansy, Millicent, Greg and even Theo, let out from St Mungo's especially for the occasion. They each wished him a 'happy birthday' in turn, but he was too stunned to say very much. He did ask Blaise where he had been hiding all week, and the Italian pulled a face.
"Pansy has already grilled me," he confessed, "and I tell you what I told her: I just felt I needed a bit of a break after that interview with the horrible woman."
"A break for a whole week?" Draco asked. But Blaise grimaced, and Draco could see that he really didn't want to talk about it; and there were many more guests to greet, so he allowed Pansy to lead his friends away in search of drinks.
After this, all the other guests came up to wish him a happy birthday: Arthur and Molly Weasley led their children up, together with Neville Longbottom and Robin Banks, who commented on how glad he was to finally visit the Manor as an invited guest, rather than as an unwanted Auror!
"You were the best," Draco said, quietly. "We were so glad when you came instead of that horrible Crockford man."
"Ah," Robin said, "some, though not all, of Dandelus's behaviour was caused by the Imperio; he is still in St Mungo's recovering. He was under the curse for a long time, and the Healers say that the recovery time is related to the time spent under the curse. We'll see what he's like when he gets out."
Draco was pleased that Robin tried to see the good in people; he was, after all, a beneficiary of that attitude himself. So he smiled agreeably.
As Draco was talking to Robin, Harry looked around the garden. Narcissa and Molly had done an incredible job decorating it, he saw; the silver-and-green theme they had agreed on was everywhere: the tablecloths, napkins, bunting on the marquee all had the same motif running through them, the same understated elegance worked through. As he looked around, he noticed Neville's bell-flowers were draped over the hedge, giving a beautiful soft silver light, and he realised that this must be the 'special order' that Neville had referred to when he had visited the shop. He pulled his friend over to him.
"So this is what you were doing on Thursday?" he asked.
Neville smiled, pleased to be asked. "Yes. What do you think?"
"It's incredible," Harry replied, "really incredible. They're beautiful, Neville."
"Neville, beautiful? You trying to muscle in on my fiancé?" George asked, mockingly.
"Not at all," Harry asked. "I have a beautiful fiancé all of my own!"
"And don't you forget it!" Draco responded, now finished talking to Robin and becoming interested in this new conversation. "What were you talking about?"
"The bell-flowers," Harry replied, pointing them out. "Neville made them."
Draco looked around. "You're right," he said at last, "they are beautiful. You made them for me?" he asked Neville.
"Of course," Neville replied. "Narcissa ordered them, and I knew Harry was planning something, so it didn't take much to put two and two together."
"Thank you," Draco replied, a little teary at the thought that Harry's friends really did accept and love him.
George had looked like he was going to burst during this conversation, and finally broke in, "now that you've stopped talking about flowers," (Neville glared at him, but he pressed on), "fiancé? So you really did it?"
"Yes!" Draco said, all smiles, and showed George and Neville the ring Harry had given him.
"Best to keep that quiet for the minute, though," Harry warned. "I think Lucius wants to make a big announcement about it."
There were still plenty more guests to meet, and Harry pointed out that one of the tables was given over to presents. Draco smirked to see that it was there, and that there were so many gifts on it. The table had to be propped up with magic; there was no way it would still be standing otherwise. He loved presents. But they were going to be hard-pressed to top the ones Harry had given him last night.
-#-
Lucius showed a beautiful sense of theatre, Harry thought; instead of announcing the engagement as soon as they had got there, he had let everyone greet Draco and have a few words about the birthday before he stood up, cast a Sonorus charm, asked everyone to make sure that they had a drink in their hand, and began to speak.
"Thank you all for coming to help us celebrate Draco's eighteenth birthday," he began. "We are truly blessed to have survived the last year; and it's amazing to think how different the world is to when Draco turned seventeen and we were all living in fear of a madman. Narcissa and I are very pleased to welcome you all today; many of you have not been our friends in times past, and we hope that we will be able to build firm relations with you in days to come. And we want to salute Harry Potter," he said, looking straight at Harry, who blushed; "without him, we would all probably be vassals of that madman. So, congratulations Draco, and thanks Harry. And we do have another happy occasion to celebrate," he said. "Arthur, Molly, Narcissa and I are delighted to announce that last night Harry asked my son to marry him – and I understand that the offer was not entirely unacceptable?" he asked, teasingly, looking over at Draco.
Draco walked over to his father, holding Harry's hand as he did so. As they got there, he turned to all the guests and showed off his ring.
"Thank you for coming, and your warm wishes, and love," he began. "I too am overwhelmed by the number of new friends we have made. And yes, Harry is the most wonderful romantic," he said. "He gave me an amazing dinner, and then topped it off with a beautiful ring, which I fell in love with immediately. Really, how could I say no? If I had said no, I would have had to give it back …"
There was a general roar of laughter, and everyone clapped madly and cheered them both. Draco's face flushed with pride at being so accepted and loved, and Harry was overjoyed to see that the nervousness of the morning seemed to have vanished altogether.
-#-
Harry and Draco sauntered around the garden, happily chatting with their friends, as everyone came up to offer congratulations. They were standing by the French doors that led into Harry's garden when Narcissa called for Harry to come inside. Draco followed, but came out again a moment later.
"That was quick, Drake," Pansy said. "What did your mother want?"
"Harry," he replied. "She said with her eyes that she just wanted him without me. I think we're going to have the cake now. Come for a short walk?"
They strolled over to the old oak that served as the focal point for the cottage garden, and Pansy left Draco alone there, going to fetch drinks for them.
Harry walked out of the French doors, looking over to Draco. And then it happened.
"STUPEFY!" A voice yelled. Draco thought he recognised the voice. Could it be? Blaise?
"CONFRINGO!" A deeper, older voice. MacNair?
"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mwah hah hah hah hah …
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