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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
- 35
- 36
- 37
36 Nightmares Make a Return Visit

Monday 8 June 1998 (still!)
By the time the Wizengamot proceedings against Marcus Flint had concluded, and Ollivander's testimony had been written up and signed, and the man sent home with many thanks from the Chief Warlock, it was already nearly six o'clock; so there was no question of Harry and Draco going to Hogwarts. As they stood together wondering what to do next, Libatius Borage came up to them.
"Mr Potter, my warmest congratulations on your engagement," he said, shaking a very shocked looking Harry by the hand. Seeing the look, and guessing its meaning, he smirked, and continued, "now, now, Mr Potter, while we Potions Masters have to be perfectionists – potions don't ever 'nearly work', after all, you have to get it exactly right every time – so we often come across as cold and demanding; but we are not entirely devoid of feeling."
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, then, feeling like a complete fool, "sorry."
"That's quite all right," he replied. "Now, you two gentlemen look to be at a bit of a loss; what say we go off and have a bite to eat together?"
There are times when Gryffindor impetuousness wins out; Draco was still trying to phrase a polite refusal in his mind, not wishing to put the man out, when he heard Harry's "that's very kind, we'd love to."
There was, he decided, nothing to be done but grin and accept the situation. He would feel awkward, he knew, especially after the discussion he and Borage had had at lunchtime. On the other hand, Harry would be there; he could feel awkward too.

An hour later, they were seated in Borage's very well-appointed dining room, having eaten some truly succulent spring lamb, and drinking an elf-wine that Harry had not tried before. Harry found the meal to be a truly surreal experience; here they were, a complete potions numpty and a former Death Eater sitting with a Potions Master who just happened to be a member of the major court of the wizarding world. As the meal went on, Draco and Borage would discuss Potions, and Harry would be totally lost; then Borage would lean over to Harry, and discuss the ins and outs of the Potter Code, and Draco would look equally lost. In an attempt to complete the circle, Harry started discussing the Haussmann shield, hoping that he and Draco would now have a topic which they could discuss with Borage being lost. But it was not so.
"Yes, now this is a truly interesting circumstance," their host said. "I understand that you two have a fully functioning Endurant Shield between you?"
They nodded in agreement. "How much do you know about such things, sir?" Draco asked.
Borage waved away the use of the formal title. "Call me Libatius," he said, "at least until you're my apprentice. Now, I have done some research on the topic, largely because the Ministry was very interested, at one point, about shields of all kinds and whether they could be created, or strengthened, by any form of potions. I should imagine they also had experts in other fields working on other ways to improve shields, but I know nothing about that."
As Libatius finished this little speech, the house-elves appeared and served dessert, which was a deliciously refreshing fruit sorbet. As he started eating, it occurred to Harry that this 'one point' was probably when Voldemort had come to power the first time; but none of them would want to talk about that, he was sure, so he asked, "and what did you find, Libatius?"
"Not much," the Master replied, sounding rather rueful. "The magic behind potions and the magic behind creating shields are quite different, and somewhat incompatible; potions, after all, work by being ingested, or spread on some person or object; in short, they work by contact, whereas the point of a shield is precisely to avoid contact. I did have some success with strengthening shields, but nothing really spectacular, certainly nothing worth exciting the Auror corps over. As for a Haussmann shield, I certainly have no idea how to create one and there's not much point in even thinking about strengthening one, given that they are probably the strongest kind of shield there is. Tell me about it," he said, and the look that came into his eyes was, Harry thought, exactly like the look that Hermione got when she was hot on the trail of some piece of research, "have you noticed any change in the shield over time?"
"Well," Draco drawled, "I wasn't really paying attention, I'm afraid. I found I was rather busy dealing with the fact of being attacked, to be honest."
Harry chuckled. It was such a Draco thing to say. "I would say, yes," he replied, reining in his amusement for Borage's sake. "When Ron sent the Stupefy and the Shield was created, the curse seemed to sort of splat against it and spread out before it got absorbed. Then the first time we were both attacked, I felt like the shield was very strong, able to absorb the first two curses easily, though it sort of wobbled a bit. Then it was as if the Sectumsempra was too much to absorb, and it got bounced back to Theo. The second time was different. They were all just absorbed and the shield held stiffly, there wasn't any sort of wobble. And it went opaque for longer the second time."
"Opaque?" Borage asked, perking up. "It actually had some colour?"
"Yes, all three times," Draco said. "There were three colours: green, red and silver. They seemed to swirl together, didn't they, Harry?"
Borage's eyes shone with the excitement of an academic handed a whole new problem. He Summoned a quill and some parchment as he continued, "Fascinating. Tell me about these three times, especially about the colours."
So, for the next half-hour, they explained Ron's attack on Draco at Hogwarts, the attack at the Memorial, and the attack at their engagement party, while Borage took copious notes.
"I see," Borage said when they had finished. "So, the colours formed quite a large part of this story; one that I had not heard. I shall have to have words with my sources of gossip," he said, with a playful smile on his lips. "Mr Potter, your glass is empty. Some more dessert wine?"
"Thank you," Harry said. A different wine had been served with the sorbet, and Harry found it deliciously sweet and refreshing. "Do you have any theory about the colours?"
"The obvious hypothesis is that they have something to do with the magic of the participants," he replied. "That would certainly be how it would work if we were talking about bonding spells, and the Haussmann Shield seems to always be discussed in the context of bonding. In your case," and here Harry held his breath; would the man come out with some snide remark about their relationship?
"In your case," Borage continued, oblivious of Harry's concerns, "do you have any reason to associate the colours red, green and silver with yourselves?"
Harry thought over the times when the colours had come out. "Hmm," he mused. "I guess I've tended to see the colours in nightmares." It occurred to him that he really didn't want to talk about his nightmares at length with Borage; the man was likely to be clinical about them, and he wasn't sure he was quite up to such a discussion. "Um, I guess, I've seen silver bands encircling me, and woken up with Draco's arms around me; perhaps that means that silver has something to do with him?"
"That's plausible," Draco agreed. "And the other night, I felt your magic coming out, and saw long green strands; so maybe the green is you?"
Draco didn't say when this was, and Borage didn't ask; Harry was grateful to both of them for this, remembering well that this was the night he had proposed to Draco, and they had been very intimate …
"Well, that all seems quite possible," Borage remarked. "On the basis of your evidence so far, I would say that green stands for your magic, and silver for Draco's; but what the red stands for is anyone's guess, of course, as we have no information to base a hypothesis on. Unless you can think of anything?"
Harry thought back to the creation of the shield. "You don't think it could be Ron's, do you? I mean," he continued, as both the other men were looking at him rather strangely, "he was involved at the start, when the shield was created in response to his attack; and red, I don't know, maybe has to do with his hair? Or being a Gryffindor?"
Borage smiled at him. "An interesting idea," he replied. "And more plausible than you seem to think, Mr Malfoy," he said to the blond, having obviously noticed Draco's rather shocked expression at the idea. "Though of course, Mr Potter, both green and silver are Slytherin colours."
"I was almost sorted into Slytherin," Harry confessed.
"Indeed?" Borage said, his eyebrow arched, but he did not pursue the matter. "Interesting. That does lend a little weight to your hypothesis. But we have no data, so for the moment, it must remain just a theory. I understand Mr Weasley is currently abroad?"
They nodded.
"Yes," Harry replied, "they're due to return at the end of next week." And it was only as he said it that he realised just how soon it was.
"Then when he gets back we may find some way to test the idea. Until then, I think we must just wait. Now, you two young men have been very kind, but it's just on eight o'clock and I'm not getting any younger. Why don't you toddle off and enjoy the rest of the evening?"
With this obvious, but courteous, dismissal, the two thanked their host and took their leave and Flooed back to Grimmauld Place. For his part, Borage chuckled and waved them away, settling down in an armchair in front of his fire with a fine old cognac at his elbow.
"Two delightful young men," he mused to himself. "And obviously head-over-heels in love with each other. But poor Mr Potter is rather embarrassed about the whole thing. Delightful."

Barnabus Cuffe was even more livid than usual. First he had found out that Skeeter had made a devil's bargain with Potter. Not interview him or his friends while he was at Hogwarts? What the hell was she thinking to propose such a thing? And what made it worse was that he had to admit that she was right: painting the Prophet as the protector of Potter's privacy was a whole lot better than being kept away from him by Ministry decree. But that was a rational response, and a large part of being a successful newspaperman was gut instinct, which knew nothing of rationality; he might accept that making the bargain was the right thing to do, but that did not at all assuage his anger at the fact that it had been made on his behalf without his consent.
And now Wiggleswade had turned in his report on Marcus Flint's trial, which he had hoped would have some fire and life to it; he had already prepared in his mind a smart editorial about the evils that were still out there and the need for watchfulness. But it seems the trial had been a non-event; and without a sensational bit of news to hang it on, his editorial was useless. He supposed that hoping for sensational journalism from Wiggleswade was a long shot; the man was as dry as they came, but he did write surprisingly readable copy, and he was a useful link back to the Ministry, so Cuffe kept him on.
And then there was all this other guff about the Elder wand. Especially now that it was now apparently completely powerless. What was he supposed to do with this? All that Rabbity-Babbity nonsense rehashed? Really, did the Wizengamot have nothing better to do than listen to fairy-tales? And what was the point? "Potter has Useless Wand" hardly made for a good headline!
He sat slumped in his chair, nursing a shot of fire-whiskey. Boring, boring, boring. An editor's worst nightmare. And then he sat up. Nightmare. That was it. What had his former boss said to him? "When you've got a nightmare and you want to get rid of it, give it to someone else." Now that was an idea. Definitely an idea. Where was the little paper, which that intern - what was her name? Susan Bones, he remembered, that was it – yes, where was the paper she had researched for him?
He recalled giving her the brief: telling her it was to 'flesh the story out, make sure they had some depth to it'. Well, of course he had said that. You could hardly say 'give us ammunition to fire at Harry Potter' to one of his schoolmates, after all …

As they came out of the Floo, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry.
"You're missing them, aren't you," he said, more a statement than a question.
Harry's eyes widened. Draco didn't have to say who 'they' were, of course; the truth was, he had been thinking about Ron and Hermione ever since they'd started talking about the colours, and it had struck him how much he was looking forward to their return.
"Yes," he replied, adding, keeping a very light tone that belied real concern, "not jealous, I hope?"
Draco snorted. "Of which one? I don't have reason to be, do I?"
And Harry could tell that, while Draco's tone matched his, this could be a real flash-point. His lover was worried about what was going to happen when Ron and Hermione got back from Australia. And fair enough, too. After all, Ron and Hermione had been staying here, which was fine when it was just him, and would even have been fine if he and Ginny had got back together; but the four of them, Ron, Hermione, Draco and him in the house together, that was a whole new dynamic. His friends had been very supportive of them before they left, it was true; but things were bound to be different now that they were engaged.
Draco was within his rights to have concerns; and Harry was determined to deal with them carefully. The last thing he wanted was for this to deteriorate into a 'them-or-me' scenario. He needed his friends, and he needed Draco. Most of all, he needed them all to know he loved them all. He pulled back from his fiancé, keeping his arms on his shoulders so Draco would know he wasn't being rejected, and looked him straight in the eye.
"Never. Absolutely not. They are my friends, like Pansy and Blaise are yours. They are welcome in this house and in my life because they are my friends. But you're different. I can't call you my friend; you're half of me. We're together now, and I mean that to be for good. And I won't say you're welcome in this house; you are, but because it's your house as well now, not because I say so."
"And Pansy and Blaise?" Draco asked, a bit shocked at this forthright declaration.
"It's your house, they're your friends, of course they are welcome here. And Theo as well, and anyone else that we can be friends with, regardless of house or history. That's what I want, Dragon, to put the name-calling and fighting and bitterness of the War behind us and thumb our noses at the old divisions. Our schooldays were a nightmare that made us enemies because of who our parents were, not who we were. We're going to change that, alright?"
Draco smiled. He had been concerned about the reception Pansy and Blaise would have in the future, especially when the other Gryffindors got back; Harry was very accepting of his friends, true, but they were his friends, not Harry's. But apparently that didn't make any difference; the friction he had foreseen simply wasn't there. Not from Harry, anyway. And by the sound of it, he wouldn't stand for it from Granger and Weasley either. As for the other way round, well, Blaise and Pansy were certainly being won round by the openness of Harry and Neville, even if Dean and Seamus were still a bit stand-offish.
"Thank you," he said, simply, and kissed Harry on the cheek.
"Welcome," Harry said, blushing slightly. Feeling the need to break the moment lest it turn more embarrassing, he picked up an overcoat and walked to the front door. Draco arched an eyebrow at this unusual behaviour.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Just for a walk," Harry replied. "We've been cooped up all day."
"But it's raining," Draco pointed out, as Harry opened the door on a spring shower.
"Oh come on, Draco, we've played Quidditch in worse!" he jibed, and raced out the door. Draco sighed, and followed him out the door at a somewhat more leisurely pace. As he drew level with the two Aurors on duty, he saluted them, and asked, "is he going to be safe?"
"No sign of enemy activity, if that's what you mean, sir," the Auror replied. "But I reckon he's going to get wet, he'll want a warm toddy when he gets back in, I should think."
Draco sighed again, cast an Impervius charm to keep the rain off him, and sauntered out after the impossible, irritating, impetuous Gryffindor. The one he loved. The one he was supposed to protect, a thought reminded him, and he knew it was the Debt announcing that it was still there and operative. Fortunately, Harry had not gone far; he was standing in the park opposite the house, arms stretched out, getting thoroughly wet.
"Isn't it lovely and warm!" he said, as Draco came up to him.
"Well, it is if you're sensible enough to ward off the rain," Draco said, his voice taking on the exasperated tone of scolding love perfected by mothers everywhere.
Harry just poked out his tongue, then decided that maybe Draco had a point; he was, truth to tell, getting saturated to the skin, so, being Harry, said "all right then, race you home!" and ran off, Draco following more sedately. When he got back into the house, he found Harry was in the drawing room, toweling his hair dry, having already spelled most of the water away. They both sank into armchairs, finding, to their surprise, that they were exhausted by all the testimony they had heard and thinking they had done during the day. Not to mention the pleasant food, fine wine, and tiny amount of exercise.
"What did you think of Borage? 'Not getting any younger', my foot," Draco said, caustically, imitating the older man. "He could tell we wouldn't want to stay much longer."
"He wasn't anything like what I expected," Harry observed.
Draco looked at him askance. "Why, what did you expect?"
"Snape, basically," Harry replied, shortly.
Draco laughed. "Two things, Harry. First, Borage isn't Snape, he doesn't have to act like him, and I think he's rather got a soft spot for both of us. And second, in a sense Snape wasn't Snape, either; the Snape you knew, always attacking and sarcastic, was largely a front. When he wanted to be, he could be quite kind …"
The blond's voice trailed off, and he was obviously thinking back over something that Snape had said to him, or done for him; Harry, sensing that it was rather private and special, gave him a moment of peace before continuing.
"So, Draco," Harry asked, when he judged that the blond had had enough time, and not him to begin feeling awkward, "what did you and Borage discuss at lunch? Doge and I rather missed your company, you know. Did it have to do with being his apprentice, like he suggested at dinner?"
The blond's eyes lit up at once. "Yes, exactly!" he said. "He wanted to know how serious I was about that," he said, excitedly. "He said that Arthur had discussed with him about how, now that the Wizarding world was trying to recover from the War, we need all able-bodied witches and wizards back on deck, not hiding away any more, and pressed him to come back out of his current semi-retirement. You saw what he's like, once you start a rational argument with him, he's going to follow it wherever it goes and damn anybody's comfort, even his own. So Borage agreed that he would take an apprentice if he could find someone good enough. Arthur must have suggested that I might be interested; Borage grabbed me at lunch and put the whole thing in front of me, telling me he'd decided to sound me out straight away."
"And …" Harry said, encouragingly.
"And …" Draco replied, teasingly. "And, I'm very interested, of course, you know that. He seemed very pleased; he said I need at least a top E for Potions and he would definitely consider me."
Harry smiled at him warmly. "Of course he was pleased! Congratulations!" he said. "You're a shoo-in for an Outstanding, after all. I bet he's guessed that too; surely one expert can tell another! And at dinner it certainly sounded like he thought the apprenticeship was only a matter of time."
"Thanks," Draco said, but he didn't look convinced.
Harry looked at him for a few minutes, wondering how to encourage his lover out of the blue funk he seemed, all of a sudden, to be sliding in to. It didn't help that Harry had no clue what the problem might be; he hadn't often seen such a lack of self-confidence from Draco Malfoy. But perhaps, he thought, the stresses of the last few weeks were telling on him. Being in prison, and attacked, and getting howlers and rude letters, and not wanting to go out in public; things had changed so much in the last few weeks, after all, even more for Draco than for him; it was no surprise, really, if he felt a bit insecure.
Perhaps he could get Draco doing something? Harry found that always worked for him, maybe it was worth a try for his fiancé.
"Look," he said, "you're brilliant at Potions. Why don't you go off and brew something just to remind yourself of the fact?"
Draco looked at him, a shy smile creeping onto his face. "What shall I brew?"
Harry thought for a minute.
"How about hangover cures? Then we invite the twins round, drink some of the elf-wine your father gave us, and use the potions later …"
"It's a plan!" Draco said, laughing at the sheer cunning of his lover, pulling the idea seemingly out of thin air. It was … magical …
As he made his way to his room to set up a makeshift potions lab, he wondered about the Elder wand. It had lost its magic; and Harry seemed to have gained a new magic. A magic that had captured his heart, and was changing him. He knew he was no longer the same mean, sarcastic git he had been at school. Oh, he was still himself, he knew that; but he had to face the fact that 'himself' wasn't the same person as a year ago.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat at his desk, reading through the article that Dempster Wiggleswade had written about the trial, which was to be published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. He winced as he read it. Cuffe was going to hate it, he knew that. It was circumspect, and informative, without pointing fingers at anyone or making any sort of sensationalist claims. Everything, in short, that Cuffe detested in a newspaper article.
Sighing, he turned to Tom Godwin's report. This corroborated everything Wiggleswade had said; well, of course, he hadn't expected anything else. He was well acquainted with each of them; he had always made a point of being on friendly terms with his colleagues in the Ministry, a habit that was bearing rich fruit now that he had become the Minister. Both men had high ethical standards, as one would expect for employees of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This was the main reason why Dempster was allowed, in fact encouraged, to write for the Prophet; without any overt force, the Ministry managed to inject the voice of common sense through him. Merlin knew that the Prophet needed someone to write sense for it! And this was also why Tom had been earmarked for senior rank in the Auror corps; there was even a chance he might well make it to Head Auror. He winced again as he remembered the interview he'd had on Friday with the current Head Auror, Gawain Robards. The man was clearly exhausted, and had indicated he intended to retire soon; even though he'd only been in the job for two years, the War had taken a great deal out of him. Kingsley grimaced at the thought of what Gawain must have endured under Pius Thicknesse as Minister.
Godwin's report went further than Wiggleswade's. Tom had appended a memorandum to his report; the report proper dealt with the facts of the case, while the addendum was more about people's reactions and how they had struck him at the time. He always did this, especially now that Kingsley openly encouraged him to. The facts were important, and had to be set down precisely; but to know the impressions, the thoughts he had had at the time, that gave a whole new dimension to the proceedings.
And there were a number of things in that report to worry him. Surprisingly, the details of the Elder Wand didn't concern him over much. After all, Ollivander had testified that it was now useless, so no-one was going to try to wrest it off Harry. Which removed a burden he hadn't even really thought about; but should have, perhaps. After all, Harry had announced that the wand was the fabled Elder Wand, and that he was its master, to the whole room at the Battle of Hogwarts.
But this wasn't really that important. No, more important, perhaps most important, was the almost complete non-participation of Draco Malfoy. What was going on there? Why was the boy, who had always come across as cock-sure, arrogant, and full of himself, prepared to sit quietly in Harry Potter's shadow? All right, they were engaged; but there had to be more than that. Was it something to do with this Debt, he wondered? He shuddered as he thought about what might happen if Cuffe got hold of that idea. After all, the Prophet already knew of the Debt's existence; but Harry had managed (rather neatly, he thought) to keep Skeeter away from any details when she had interviewed him here in the Ministry. But, knowing Cuffe, someone was going digging and sooner or later, they would find some dirt, and make a nice ball of filthy mud to throw at someone.
He sighed, and almost wished for the simpler days when all he had to worry about was pursuing murderous Death Eaters and trying to keep the Wizarding World safer. At least then his enemies were obviously villains. His life now was more tip-toeing around, trying to foresee and fend off attacks from all sides. He found most of his days were like waiting for a bomb to go off.
He could only hope it was later, rather than sooner, and not aimed at him, he decided, as he put things away and headed home.

Draco was still deep in his ruminations as he brewed the hangover potion. When he'd finished, he came out of his room to find that the twins and Neville had arrived, and were playing Exploding Snap with Harry. George took one look at him, and decided that Operation Delighted Draco needed to go into overdrive.
"Hey Draco!" he said. "Great party on Saturday! I specially enjoyed the coloured lights!"
Neville went pink at this remark, having made the flowers, as they all knew perfectly well. The sight made Draco laugh.
"Right!" said Fred, happy to hear the laughter; he had, of course, reached exactly the same conclusion as George, and was delighted that his brother had acted so promptly. I must remind him to apologise to Neville, he thought. But to help things out, he continued, "are any of your friends free? We could have a big game."
A quick round of Floo calls found that Pansy and Blaise were free. Pansy told them that Theo was spending the night in St Mungo's, they were still monitoring him on and off, which apparently would continue until term started.
"Ooh," Fred twitted her, "how come you know so much about Theo?"
Pansy went red, and Blaise collapsed into laughter. "You Gryffindors!" he said.
"Pardon?" Harry asked, sure he didn't want this division back into houses.
"Oh, sorry," Blaise said at once, immediately taking his meaning. "I just meant, in Slytherin house, we would all have traipsed very carefully around the question; but here you are, charging in. I think," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, which was pointless as they could all hear him, "there might be a little thing going on between them. But don't tell her I said so, OK?"
"Blaise, how very dare you!" Pansy said, but it was the tone one uses to an exasperating but loved friend, and he took no offense. The others smirked, and Draco said that they had mentioned something about cards?
The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly; they all played cards, had cocoa and fruit-cake, and drank rather more elf-wine than was wise; though Draco noticed that Blaise was careful not to drink too much, keeping Harry's glass full instead. The hangover potion was going to get a good workout, he thought; and with that thought, his mind went back to his concerns of before, and he wondered again just who he was and what he wanted.
The others all went home happy enough, but Draco was still very pensive when they took the potion. It was, of course, flawless; all pain went straight away and they went bed, tired out, but happy.
And he was still thoughtful as he and Harry lay in bed together, cuddling.
"You all right, Dragon?" Harry asked, his voice filled with concern. "You've seemed to be in an odd mood all night."
"Yes, not really," Draco replied. Oddly, the reply made sense to Harry.
"What's wrong? Can I help?" the raven-haired man asked, his arms gripping Draco tighter, trying to convey the love and concern that were running through him.
"You are helping," the blond replied. "Just … keep holding me. Please."
Harry smiled and kissed his lover. He fell silent; Draco seemed to need space to think things through, and that was OK with him. It wasn't long before he fell asleep, and Draco lay still, listening to his lover's even breathing, as Harry's arms fell away and they lay together, side by side.
What was wrong? He didn't really know. There was the Debt; was that still worrying him? He couldn't be sure. But somehow, Harry had given his all, and Draco wanted to do the same. He wanted Harry to make love to him, to fill him. He wanted to feel the deep connection that Harry had felt three nights before.
Who was he? Draco Malfoy, of course, that was hardly even a question. He had always known, always been told, what it meant to be a Malfoy. But Harry had changed all that. Harry was a breath of fresh air who had arrived into the Wizarding world from a Muggle hell and made people question all the things they had taken for granted about their world. He had come into Draco's life, and loved him, and made him his lover. His fiancé. How things had changed! Before, he would have sneered at being described as Harry Potter's fiancé. Now, he loved it.
What did he want? He wanted to surrender to his lover. But he was afraid. Of what? He couldn't say. But perhaps, just perhaps, he had found how to deal with the problem. He had to face his fear, whatever it was; instead of running from it, as he always had, he had to look it in the eye and grapple with it.
And that asked the question:
How does a Slytherin become brave?

Draco was still awake when it started.
Within the space of a heartbeat, it seemed, Harry went from gentle snores to full-blown blood-curdling screams. Draco, willing himself not to panic, threw his arms around Harry and held him tightly, and as he did so, images started pouring through his mind. Images of someone falling, falling into the Veil, and Aunt Bella's hideous voice shouting 'I killed Sirius Black'; and Professor Lupin being killed by a Death Eater, he wasn't sure who; and then himself, under the tree in Harry's garden, and it was only at this point that he knew what must be happening: Harry was having a nightmare and somehow the images were playing in his mind as well, and he heard a voice taunting: "you can't save them; they all die because you're a freak! Evil! Unclean!"
And he knew as he heard it that this was the voice of the pig-eyed man, Harry's uncle, who was at the root of so much of the hurt he had received; and he caressed his fiancé, smoothing his hands over him and whispering what he hoped were words of calm and comfort.
"Shh, Harry," he said, "I'm here, you're safe here, with me, shh, it's all right …"
He carried on; he had no idea what he was saying, only that somehow he wanted to break through the pain, shatter the images, silence the voice that was making Harry hurt so badly. He wanted his lover to live, really live, not to have fear or pain dictating their lives. He wanted Harry to be whole, beyond the reach of his uncle to ever hurt him again, even in his dreams, and free from whatever other demons tried to get at him in the night. He wanted Harry to know how important he was to all of them, how connected he was. Above all, he wanted Harry to know that he belonged to Draco. They belonged to each other.
And it hit him, all of a sudden, that he wanted this. This was his very own desire. It wasn't the Debt forcing him; it wasn't the bond pulling him in; it wasn't an expectation put on him by Harry or his parents or his friends. He wanted it for himself, not because it was something he was supposed to do as a pure-blood, or how he should behave as a Slytherin student.
This was purely, simply, the desire of his heart. That he and Harry would be together. That they would be one. He felt a strange release going through him, and knew it for what it was: he had finally, completely, given his heart to Harry Potter. He thought he had done so before; now he knew it was true. Now all he had to do was to work out how to make it real …
Completely oblivious to Draco's sudden epiphany, Harry blinked and tried to sit up. But Draco's hold on him was too tight; so Harry's eyes opened wide and he looked around, obviously wondering why he could barely move.
"What – oh, Draco? What happened? Did I -" and then it became clear to Harry what had happened. "Oh Merlin, another nightmare. Draco, I'm sorry, I don't know why you put up with –"
"Harry Potter," Draco began, his voice low and steady, but with a steely undercurrent, "don't you DARE apologise to me for ANYTHING!"
Harry could barely hold back a grin as he remembered these were the very words Andromeda had said to him weeks ago in the Burrow. "OK," he murmured, and the blond's wrath seemed to evaporate completely as Harry snuggled into him.
"That's better," Draco said, the warmth of his lover calming his own heartbeat down, so that they came down from the adrenalin high of the frightful dream together.
Five minutes later, they were both sound asleep, wrapped tightly in each other's arms, a smile on both of their faces.

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