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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
- 37
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38 Some Returns from Loving Relationships
Wednesday 10 June 1998
Lucius straightened his robes for the fifth time, and decided he was finally ready.
What, he wondered, had got him so worried? He had an appointment to speak with the Minister for Magic. He was still arguably the most important and influential pure-blood wizard in Britain (no small thanks to the most influential wizard of all, who was upstairs out cold in his son's bed, the honest little voice in his head unhelpfully prompted); and the Minister had agreed to a Floo-call rather than insisting on an actual visit to his office.
The Floo blared green, that sickly colour it went as the connection took, and the Minister's face appeared in front of him.
"Good morning, Minister, and thank you for agreeing to talk at such short notice," he began.
"Yes, yes," Kingsley said, the voice clearly indicating what Lucius already knew: the Minister had a full schedule, and this interview had been squeezed in as a special favour. Best to be brief, then.
"I want to talk to you about Harry, and protecting him from his Muggle relatives," Lucius said.
Kingsley arched an eyebrow, which made for quite an impressive gesture on the bald man. "Does he really need protection? Where is he, anyway? Not at Grimmauld Place, I hear."
"He's here," Lucius replied. "He took sick yesterday, and has been ordered to bed by Madam Pomfrey. He's still asleep; the illness is taking a lot out of him, it seems."
Kingsley looked very worried, and it heartened Lucius to see the concern on the man's face. It was good to know that the, frankly, formidable Minister was still capable of human feeling.
"Should we get a healer to look at him?" he asked.
Lucius thought for a couple of seconds. "Perhaps not immediately, unless Pomfrey requests it. Don't want to tread on her toes. But it's probably good to have one on standby for when it's over. A mind-healer might be a good idea, too."
Kingsley stared at him. "Hasn't he seen one?"
"No," Lucius said, carefully removing all trace of emotion from the monosyllable. This had the intended effect; Lucius had calculated that Shacklebolt would put two and two together by himself, he didn't need to be beaten over the head about his own oversight; and the response proved him right.
"I'll get onto that right away," Kingsley said. "We should have you all checked out, too; the Debt is no doubt affecting you, if the War didn't."
"Thank you," Lucius replied, maintaining his emotion-free tone.
Kingsley chuckled; he knew Lucius's game. "Frankly, there are plenty of people in the Ministry who would be just as pleased if you were mentally scarred for life. But I think, and I'm sure Harry does too, that we all need to be healed. What did you want to talk to me about?"
Lucius grabbed the opportunity with both hands, providing a carefully worded account of finding Grunnings, his proposals to deal with the Muggle arrest warrant and injunction on Harry, his intentions with regard to the Dursleys, and exactly what help he was hoping for from the Ministry.
"Hmm. I can't say I approve, of course;" Kingsley said, thoughtfully; "has Harry said anything?"
"His exact words were, 'give him hell'," Lucius replied, with a wolfish grin.
Kingsley matched the grin. "All right," he said, "you can have Robin and Toby. Of course, I'll have to deny everything if it gets out; but between us, I wish you every success."
"Thank you, sir," Lucius said, very relieved.
"Don't mention it. Ever. Oh, and I take it Harry's condition is the reason for a Floo-call rather than a meeting? I mean, the Debt means you have to protect him, so you want to be on the spot?"
"Yes, Minister," the patrician affirmed. "Thank you for your time."

It was a very strange experience, Madam Pomfrey thought, to sit in Minerva McGonagall's office for tea and sympathy. But she had to admit to herself that the woman was definitely growing into the role of Head mistress. She would, of course, never be an Albus Dumbledore; but then she wasn't trying to. No, if any thing, she was even more her own woman than before. She had not abandoned one inch of her principles; but she was letting the concern for others, that had always been there, out a lot more, and becoming much more approachable as a result.
It was always a little difficult for school medical staff to balance the conflicting demands of patient confidentiality and the needs of teachers to know enough to provide adequate pastoral care; with Harry, Poppy thought rather ruefully, they had erred rather too much on the side of caution, with the result that the abuse, which it was now clear that his relatives had dished out, had gone largely unremarked and unhealed. So she did rather feel that she needed to keep the headmistress abreast of the seriousness of Harry's condition, if not the detail.
So Poppy had sought an interview, and explained the general situation and her proposed healing regimen; and Minerva sat upright on her armchair and pursed her lips and had the grace to look both worried and ashamed that they had got to the point where Harry needed strict bed rest to recover from injuries that should have been dealt with long ago.
Once Poppy had finished, they sat in silence for a while, drinking their tea. It was Minerva who spoke first.
"That poor boy," she murmured. "And to think he looked so well at the party on Saturday. Still, I'm glad that he is in such careful hands. May I tell Professor Flitwick that the two of them will not be attending today?"
"Oh yes," the medi-witch replied. "I'm sure their friends will want to know that Harry is currently indisposed; though, of course, please don't give out details of the severity of the situation."
The headmistress chuckled. Pomfrey had always been so very protective of her patients' privacy. "Of course not. And I'm sure the rest will do him no harm," she replied. She paused, not quite sure how to ask her question without giving offense. She decided that, having a reputation for plain speaking, that being direct was best: "I wonder if perhaps he should see a healer?"
"I confess," Poppy said, setting her empty cup down and placing her hands on her knees, "that I am wondering the same thing myself." She had seen the headmistress's hesitation, so took pains to reassure her, saying, "There's no need to worry about offending me, Minerva. I'm well aware of my limitations. The problem is, though, who?"
"I was wondering," the headmistress replied, "about Agnes Touauld? And then we might ask Armand to have a look at him too."
Poppy looked stunned. Agnes Touauld and her husband, Armand Ionescu, were legendary in healing circles – Agnes had been Chief Healer of the Wizengamot for fifty years and had been instrumental in reorganising St Mungo's from a basic facility to the extensive hospital it was now; and Armand was equally famous for his pioneering work in mental healing. They were, in fact, the perfect choice. If you could get them. But they had retired a decade ago, and were living in a secret location in France.
"Well of course, Minerva. And perhaps we could ask Merlin's advice about Harry's magic while we're at it!" she scoffed.
"Well, I don't know if we can do that; but I shall ask Agnes, if you are agreeable," McGonagall said, giving a rather grim smile. She knew what was behind her colleague's irony; it was common knowledge that the two were obsessively secretive and guarded their privacy. It would be impossible for most wizards and witches to get hold of them. But Minerva wasn't 'most witches'. She had an ace up her sleeve.
For it was a much less well-known fact that Agnes Touauld was Minerva McGonagall's well-loved and favourite aunt; and moreover, the feeling was mutual.

He sat in the reception room for some time. He had deliberately chosen to receive the call from here, as he didn't want the cosy familiarity of his private study being visible to the Minister; that would have sent quite the wrong message. It didn't hurt that this was one of the rooms Kingsley would have remembered from the Dark Lord's occupation; he wanted to show that he was putting that behind him. The oak paneling had been removed and the room painted fresh and bright, as if to say, 'see? The old has gone.' He remembered how he had rejected using this room when Granger and Weasley came, precisely because it was connected with the old days; how much they had moved on!
One thought from his meeting came back to him: the minister's last question. He thought about it. It was the Debt that meant he had to protect Harry, right? That meant he didn't want to leave the Manor while Harry was defenseless upstairs?
He thought over this for a while, letting the idea flow around in his head. He visualised it as a sort of fluffy cloud; and then with a startling burst of sharpness, the epiphany hit him as the cloud coalesced into a solid whole.
It wasn't the Debt. Not entirely. He wanted to be here because he wanted to be with Harry. To be ready to help him. Not just, any more, because he owed him; not because of what he could get out of him; but because the ridiculous, impossible, inexplicable love the boy seemed to radiate had got under his skin and into his heart.
It was really very simple. All the pure-blood intricacies of formal relationships, the calculus of Debt and obligation and formal duty had become irrelevant.
In his own way, Lucius Malfoy loved Harry Potter.
The realisation shocked him. He had, he knew, no carnal feelings towards the man at all; but there are other types of love. This one, he knew, was the love of a father for his son: his feelings for Harry and his feelings for Draco were two peas in a pod. He knew, the whole wizarding world knew if they thought about it, that Harry had been missing this kind of love for sixteen years. It was impossible for someone with Lucius's acumen to miss the fact that, without knowing it, Harry was desparate for the love of a father; and it was that knowledge that made Lucius unwilling to leave the Manor while he could be there for him. He had to stay, simply because Harry might need him.
"He's conquered us all," he said, softly.
"I rather think he has," a voice behind him said, equally softly, and Narcissa came over and sat next to him, taking his hands in hers. "Unless, of course, he's really freed us all."
Lucius smiled. A warm, open, honest smile; and Narcissa matched it. She had not seen this since … since Draco had smiled like that, that day Lucius had praised him at Hogwarts. She was getting her men back, happy and whole; that was, perhaps, nearly worth a war …

Harry felt like he had been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. His whole body ached, and there seemed to be a whole fireworks show going on in his eyeballs. He groaned and opened his eyes to find the room was quite dark, which suggested it was still nighttime. But he was, he noticed, alone in bed; surely Draco wouldn't have left him in the middle of the night?
There was the usual 'pop' of house-elf apparition, and Mappy stood next to him. The room lightened a little, but it was still not the fierce light of full day.
"Master Harry Potter is being awake!" the little creature said happily, clapping his hands. "Master Harry is being hungry?"
Harry pulled himself up on the bed, and looked at the elf, thinking for a second or two. Was he hungry? No, he wouldn't have said so. Famished was much nearer the mark.
"Yes, Mappy, could I have some – actually, what meal is it? I don't even know what time it is. Early, by the light."
Mappy's eyes went wide. "It is being half-past eleven o'clock! We's is being shielding the room because Nurse Matron Mistress Pomfrey be saying your eyes is changing, not wanting too many sunlights!"
Harry grimaced. If the light show inside his eyeballs had been any indication, this was most probably true.
"Here is your breakfast!" Mappy continued, and a tray appeared, hovering in front of him. It contained enough food for about three grown active men, Harry thought; obviously the Malfoy house-elves were just as enthusiastic about feeding him as the Hogwarts ones had been. He picked up the steaming mug of tea that was on the left of the tray, and took a sip. It was exactly how he liked it – hot, and strong, and sweet; obviously Draco had had a hand in it, then. Thinking of the blond, he asked Mappy,
"So, where is Draco? I'd thought he would be here."
Mappy looked sad. "Master Draco is being sorry Master Harry Potter is awake without him. He is being brewing in the Potions lab. Master Harry is needing many potions." Then an idea clearly hit the elf, as he brightened and said, "Mappy is telling Master Draco about Master Harry Potter being awake!" and disapparated.
Harry leaned back on the headboard. The way they used language was so strange; he had no idea, from what the elf had said, whether Draco already knew he was awake or not. Never mind, though; he was hungry, and here was food. He didn't need company to eat!

Draco was surprised at how much he had enjoyed the brewing he had been doing all morning. He had started a little after seven; he had had only one interruption: Madam Pomfrey had arrived at a quarter past eight and Draco and Narcissa had held a small conference with her to discuss Harry's progress. The nurse had made some more notes about Harry's progress in the last twelve hours, then given further detailed instructions about the potions and dosages he would need. She tried to be positive; but Draco could tell from her face that it wasn't going to be a pleasant few days for Harry. And the potions she prescribed were strong; so strong that the regeneration potions were not on the standard curriculum, and she had brought some special bases with her that Draco could use to brew from, which would cut the time needed to brew them down from days to a couple of hours.
Once the two women had gone, he became so engrossed with the potion making that it came as a big surprise when he looked up and saw that the clock said it was nearly twenty to twelve. Must be time to check on Harry, he thought, casting Scourgify to clean up his workspace, and cancelling the ward he had set up to stop anyone from interrupting him while he was in the very sensitive final stages of brewing. No sooner had he done this than there was the 'pop' he knew so well; in fact, he knew the elves well enough to be able to tell by the sound that this was Mappy. And since Mappy had been given the exclusive job of looking after Harry, he was not at all surprised when the elf told him, "be coming Master Draco! Master Harry Potter is being awake and eating!"
"Very good, Mappy," he said. "Take me to our room, please."
Mappy grasped Draco's arm and the two of them apparated into Draco's bedroom.

Harry was already nearly three-quarters of the way through the food on the tray when they arrived. Mappy took one look and grinned broadly.
"Master Harry Potter is eating! Nurse Matron Mistress Pomfrey is being saying Master Harry Potter is needing lots of feeding, and Mappy is being a happy elf to see Master Harry Potter is finishing his breakfast!"
"Thank you, Mappy," Draco said, suppressing his mirth at the ridiculous title the elf had wished on Madam Pomfrey. "Is there any mail for Harry?"
"Mappy is going to see!" the elf chortled. And then, perhaps he had caught something in Draco's voice; for he asked, "Shall Mappy leave masters be for a little while?"
Draco smiled. He liked it when they anticipated his desire for privacy. "Yes, bring the letters, and Harry and I will talk till noon."
"Yes Master Draco!" the elf said, vanishing promptly. Perhaps twenty seconds later, a large pile of letters appeared on the bed.

Harry put down his knife and fork, not wanting to seem rude by eating while Draco was there.
Big mistake.
"Have you had enough to eat?" Draco said fiercely; and when Harry shook his head, Draco frowned. "Harry, you have a lot of healing to do," he said. "You're going to need a lot of food, and a lot of potions; so don't you dare stop eating just to be polite. Got it?"
"Yehrs," Harry said, the word coming out all wrong as it made its way around a piece of sausage. But Draco was not fazed in the least.
"Good," he said, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed, sitting next to Harry so that Harry wouldn't feel he was being watched.
A little while later, Harry had finished his meal. He was a little astonished that he had managed to get outside all of the food that Mappy had brought; obviously the elf wasn't as wildly optimistic as Harry had thought.
"Good," Draco said, as Harry set his utensils down on an empty plate. He picked up the cup of tea, still only half-finished, as Draco Vanished the china to the kitchen. Almost immediately, a second mug of tea appeared, and a plate of pastries. A huge smile forced its way onto Draco's face as he realised they were intended for him.
They sat drinking their tea together, and when all was done, Draco pushed the tray away and rubbed his lover's face gently.
"Still tired?" he asked.
"Yes," Harry said, simply, as Draco wrapped him in a hug.
"And still a bit warm. We need to get this temperature down, and then the fun really begins."
"The fun begins? What do you mean?" Harry asked, nervously.
"Madam Pomfrey has prescribed some potions for you that will be rather intense, apparently. But let's not think about that while you're still feverish. Here, open these," he said, passing Harry the letters.
Harry was rather surprised at the crest on the top envelope; who did he know from Beauxbatons? The only person he could think of was Fleur Delacour's sister Gabrielle; but why would she write to him? Mystified, he opened the letter, and glanced at the signature at the bottom. Immediately, he sat bolt-upright, filled with excitement.
"What is it?" Draco asked, stunned at the sudden burst of energy.
"A letter from Hagrid!" Harry replied. "He's well!"
Draco wasn't a big fan of the Hogwarts grounds-keeper; but he knew Harry was very fond of the half-giant, so he refrained from comment as Harry read the letter.
Eventually, Harry held it out to him. "Here," he said, "read it!"
This was a bit more than Draco was quite prepared to do, so he asked Harry to summarise for him. Harry looked at him rather strangely, then, evidently realising what was going on, began to read; though, as he had been asked to summarise, he skipped over quite a lot.

"Dear Harry,
Sorry not to be in touch before. Saw yeh at the Memorial Service but yeh was busy with Malfoy and all so I didn't want to bother yeh. …
I've been here at Olympe's, Madame Maxime's, I should say, request for the last week. Her horses needed seeing to, and they've responded wonderfully. Seems they like Hogwarts whisky better than the stuff she could get here …"

"Sounds like those two are getting on well," Draco drawled.
"Shush, you," Harry said, skipping the bit that proved Draco right, and continuing,

"So, I hear that you and Malfoy are together now? Well! Blimey! I had quite a pull at the horses' whisky when I heard that! But by all accounts, yer happy, and that's what counts in the end. Ye'll have to bring him round for a cup of tea and some rock-cakes when term starts. McGonagall's written to tell me all about yeh and how much mischief yer up to!"

Harry's face fell a bit, and Draco knew perfectly well why, and was getting ready to scold him (would he ever stop feeling guilty?); but Hagrid, it seemed, had beaten him to it:

"And don't yeh go blaming y'self for not writing or anything. It's my fault, if it has to be fault, not yours. I knew where you were, after all; but I was away, where no owl was going to find me. Had to clear out for a bit after the Memorial. Left before yeh got attacked, only heard about it this week when Mme Maxime tracked me down.
Anyway, 's enough for now. Stay safe. See you soon.
Rubeus Hagrid."

Harry sank back into the pillows, and Draco could see that, while the letter had been encouraging for him, it had also taken a lot out of him. He shook his head.
"I think that's enough for now, Harry. Madam Pomfrey will be returning this evening, if that's all right."
Harry looked at him, mystified that Draco was asking his permission.
"Of course. I trust Poppy implicitly. She can come whenever she thinks she needs to." Harry yawned, and added as an afterthought as he closed his eyes, "and if she thinks I need to see anyone else, that would be fine, too."
Draco was very pleased to hear this. His beloved still needed a lot of healing, he could see that. He pulled up the covers and tucked him in carefully, then went off to Floocall Madam Pomfrey, who had insisted on a full report of anything that happened, and to tend to his potions. There was still bottling to be done for the ones he had brewed; and if Pomfrey was right, he didn't have anywhere near enough pain-killing potion yet …

Lucius sat in his office, brooding on exactly what he was going to do with Vernon Dursley. Harry had told him to give him hell, and he was going to do so, with a great deal of pleasure. The only question was exactly how. Oh, he had plenty of ideas; but it had to be done carefully, creatively, and above all it had to give Harry the catharsis he needed to leave that whole sorry chapter of his life behind him.
First things first, he reminded himself, and placed a Floo-call to the Auror department.
"Mr Malfoy?" the receptionist replied as she took his call, "Auror Banks is expecting your call, one moment."
A few seconds later, Robin's cheerful face appeared.
"Mr Malfoy," he said briskly, "I was told you might call. What can I do for you?"
"Best discussed in private," Lucius replied. "Would you come through, please?"
"Of course," Robin said, and did so.
Lucius waved him to sit in a comfortable chair, and began to explain exactly what he wanted the Auror to do for him. The discussion took some considerable time; so much so that Narcissa knocked on the door and, seeing Robin, invited him to lunch. They had an agreeable meal, during which the conversation naturally fell to the engagement party, with Robin effusive in his thanks for a lovely party, though somewhat marred by 'uninvited guests', a euphemism that made both Malfoys smirk visibly. Then they discussed Harry's health, and Robin's brows darkened as he learnt his friend's condition; and when he heard it was attributable to the Dursleys, he felt he could have jumped up and throttled them right then. Except, he told himself, Lucius's idea was going to be a lot more fun.
After lunch they continued their discussion, Lucius summing up the situation and his proposal. Robin's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Very interesting," he said. "And very well put. I agree with you about Grunnings. So, a spot of field-work for me?"
Lucius nodded.
"Can't wait!" the Auror said, chuckling, and he Flooed away.

Blaise and Pansy had made great progress with the greenhouses during the morning; and they were delighted when Neville Longbottom and Professor Sprout turned up with armfuls of plants that Neville had been tending carefully at the shop. By lunchtime, all the broken panes of glass had been fully repaired and the place was beginning to look like nothing had happened. The Slytherins had known Longbottom loved Herbology; but even so, they were amazed at the happy youth who helped today, and astonished at the depth of his knowledge, as he carefully placed plants in harmonious groups, and he and Sprout expertly repotted several root-bound mandrakes. They noticed that rather than using earmuffs, Neville cast a strong Silencio charm on them which seemed to protect everyone from the mandrakes' screams just as well. As a final flourish, he put some of his lantern vines around the greenhouse, and the soft light they gave out gave the place a very welcoming atmosphere.
At lunch, Neville was still evidently enjoying himself, and even the normally dour Millicent had to smile at the infectious enthusiasm of the young man. Filius Flitwick smiled indulgently; he was delighted to see the students finding some happiness now that the terror of the war was over, as well as proud and amazed at how well the students from the different houses were getting on. He only wished he didn't have to tell them the bad news.
"Professor Flitwick?" Blaise asked. "Do you know if Harry is OK? Will he and Draco be joining us this afternoon?"
"Yes," Neville chipped in, "they could give us some more hints about the Eighth Year Tower!"
Pansy looked confused. "But they haven't given us any hints yet," she pointed out, querulously.
Neville smirked. "Well, they can still give more; just not less!"
"Tease!" Pansy said, throwing a rock cake at him, which Neville Transfigured into a small firework while it was still half-way across the table, much to the Slytherin's amazement. Where was the boy who had been afraid of his own shadow?
"The twins are really rubbing off on you, aren't they?" Blaise asked him.
"One in particular," Seamus added, to general amusement.
At this point, Flitwick decided it was time to take charge. "I'm afraid," he said, his voice deceptively mild, "that Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy will not be joining us for some time. I am told that Mr Potter is still indisposed, and recuperating at Malfoy Manor, which is expected to take a few days."
"A few days?" Seamus asked. "Blimey! Harry doesn't do things by halves! He normally waits till term starts to have a turn in the sick bay; seems like he's started early this year!"
"I told you!" Pansy all but shrieked. "I knew when that elf came to get him it wasn't good! Narcissa would never send an elf like that into someone else's property without asking first unless it was urgent!"
"All right, all right," Blaise said, putting his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down, which eventually had some success. He turned to the Professor.
"That's too bad," he said. "Can we visit Harry?"
Flitwick smiled inwardly. Three months ago, for a Slytherin to have shown anything but contempt for any Gryffindor, never mind Harry Potter, would have been unthinkable. Now it was becoming normal.
"I don't think so," Flitwick replied. "But of course, you should consult with Mrs Malfoy."
"Perhaps we could see if we could all visit on the weekend?" Pansy suggested, and there was general assent to this. "Now, Neville, teach me that charm."
"Which one?" Neville asked.
"The one you used on the rock cake."
Half an hour later, Pansy had become quite the expert at converting small objects into little coloured fireworks, and Hogwarts was down half a bowl of fruit and some cupcakes.
"It's a good thing Draco isn't here," Blaise observed drily, "or there would be no cupcakes for you, he would have eated then all."
Pansy giggled. "You mean 'eaten'. He still has his sweet tooth, doesn't he. He's changed so much in other ways!"
"Not just him," Millicent added. "I heard that the Malfoys actually had dinner at the Burrow on Sunday night."
"No way!" Seamus exclaimed. "Lucius Malfoy at the Burrow? Surely not!"
"Fact!" Neville confirmed. "Not only for dinner; he challenged the twins to a rematch of the Bouncy Beating Challenge, lost to George, and gave him a cup to commemorate it."
Of course the others wanted to know all about this Challenge, so Neville explained. The Slytherins were amazed to learn that Draco had not only taken part, but won the inaugural event. The world, they decided, was getting stranger by the day.
"Perhaps," Flitwick observed. "But it seems to me we are getting along much better. Now, it is time to return to work!"
And, with the obligatory, but entirely fake, groans and accusations of Flitwick being a slave-driver, they all got up and back to work.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Harry woke again, feeling refreshed at last.
Draco, who had been cat-napping beside him, woke instantly, and snapped his fingers; another tray of food, easily as full as the breakfast tray had been, appeared. Harry knew better than to argue, and he was extremely hungry, anyway; he muttered, "thank you", and fell to eating.
Draco watched for a minute; then, satisfied that his fiancé was eating well, got up to visit the bathroom. When he came back, to his astonishment, Harry was finished; the raven-haired boy followed his example, then, having showered and brushed his teeth, came back to bed.
Draco felt his forehead and grinned.
"You're much better," he said. "I think we're ready for the next step." So saying, he Vanished the china and placed a couple of potions on the tray instead.
"What are they?" Harry asked dubiously.
"Do you really want to know?" Draco asked.
"Of course," Harry replied. "I want to know exactly what Poppy thinks I should have, and why."
"The 'why' is easy: we want to get you well. As for the 'what', this is a rather powerful Pepper-Up potion," he said, pointing to a vial of luminescent lime-green liquid; then indicated two different pink potions as he continued, "and these two are tissue regeneration and pain-killer potions. I don't know what they're called officially, just what they do. You need to take all three together; the Pepper-Up first: Madam Pomfrey said it sort of tells your body to get cracking; then the light pink one will start healing your bruised tissues. The theory is that that will also get your magic active; apparently this combination of Pepper-Up and regeneration potion is the best way known to get your magic to heal itself. But it's going to hurt, hence the pain-killer potion; and if necessary, I have a draught of Dreamless Sleep potion as well, if the pain is too much."
"Sounds delightful," Harry said, his voice dripping with irony. "When do we start?"
"Actually, for the first go, it's probably best to get started as soon as possible after eating," Draco said apologetically.
"The first go?" Harry replied, shuddering at the thought of more than one painful episode. "How many will it take?"
"No-one knows," Draco confessed. "It all depends on how much damage there is, and how powerful your magic is at healing itself. We know there's a lot of damage, which usually means more sessions; but no-one has any idea how powerful you are, apart from 'very', so you may get away with fewer."
"Very helpful," Harry responded sarcastically.
But Draco looked at him imploringly, and Harry couldn't stay narked.
"All right," he said, lifting the lime-green potion. How bad could this be? He asked himself. After all, he'd had all the bones in his arm re-grown in second year; that night after he had taken Skele-Gro had been pure agony, and he had survived that.
"Bottoms up," he said, downing the first potion. It tasted every bit as bad as it looked, and it felt weird going down, every nerve seeming to jangle as the potion hit it.
Draco took the empty vial from him and handed him the lighter pink potion. Harry drank that down, but it was a huge effort; not only did it taste awful, it seemed to prickle his tissues as they came in contact with it, and he could feel the instant when it combined with the Pepper-Up potion: it felt like someone was stabbing him with red-hot needles. He started yelling in pain and Draco didn't even bother handing him the third potion; he just grabbed his head and practically forced it down.
After a few seconds more screaming, the pain-killer kicked in and Harry went limp. Draco looked at him, his heart aching at the hurt he had just been through. He had been told what to expect; but he had still not realised just how bad it would be to see his fiancé in such a state. There was, evidently, no need for the Dreamless Sleep; Harry had passed out from the pain. Draco tucked him up, then undressed and put his own pajamas on and got into bed next to the raven-haired youth, holding him tight. Harry let out a low moan and gripped Draco tightly in return; Draco could feel he was still a little bit feverish, but Madam Pomfrey had told him to expect that.
There was a knock at the door, and his parents, obviously alerted by Harry's screaming, rushed in, followed by Madam Pomfrey in the company of a witch Draco had never seen before; a healer, by her lime-green robe.
"Is he –" Narcissa began, but Draco cut her off.
"He's taken the potions, and fallen asleep from the pain-killer," he said. "He seemed fine."
"I think I'd better be the judge of that," the healer said.
"Draco, this is Healer Agnes Touauld," Madam Pomfrey said. "You did say that Harry would see anyone I recommended?"
Draco nodded. But it was perhaps not quite the time for introductions and permissions; the healer had already begun a rapid and complex series of diagnostic spells that she sent towards Harry.
It wasn't her fault really; no-one had told her about the Shield. But then, of course, why would they? Data about Haussmann shields was in short supply; no-one could possibly have thought it would have any relevance to the situation. But Draco was holding Harry, and the Shield obviously saw the spell as something of an attack; for, as the amber light of the spell reached them on the bed, the two lovers were suddenly encased in the now familiar silver, green, and red light.
For a few seconds, the magic around them crackled, as though the shield were testing the healer's spell; it was almost like it was sentient, debating with itself whether it was safe. But it must have decided it was; for suddenly, the shield collapsed around them; and Draco found himself surrounded by red light, and amber light, and then the world faded to black …

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