Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 38
- 39
- 40
39 Return Trips
When he left Lucius's study, Robin Banks returned to the Auror office he shared with Toby Proudfoot. Toby looked around as he arrived, and noticed immediately the very predatory smile on his partner's face. He knew that look: that was how Robin looked when he thought they were going to have fun. The sort of fun that involved taking bad guys down.
"All right, spill," he said. "What did Mr Malfoy have to say?"
Robin shut the door and warded the room against eavesdropping before he said anything; precautions that increased Proudfoot's curiosity to bursting point.
"You know the Minister has asked us to 'assist' Mr Malfoy?" he asked.
"Yes," Toby replied, the tone clearly saying 'get on with it!'
"Well, he's just told me he wants us to go on a little field trip," Robin said, his face looking like a schoolboy told he's off on an excursion and away from boring old lessons; which, given the amount of paperwork they had been doing, was pretty much how he felt.
"What's the plan?" Toby asked, steeling himself to be calm. In truth, he was as excited as his partner at the prospect of getting out of the office; but he didn't want to stoke the younger man up or they'd take forever to get away.
"Mr Malfoy wants to deal with Vernon Dursley," Robin answered. "But he can't move openly, given the terms of his parole, so he's being sneaky. We're to find out everything about the charges against Mr Potter, and everything about the injunction. And then we're going to work out how to overturn the whole lot."
Toby smiled. He was the Auror whose research had lead to the discovery of the warrant and injunction against Harry Potter, and 'absolutely ropeable' hardly began to describe his reaction when he had learnt about them. The thought that he could be a part of getting rid of them, and bringing true justice into a Muggle case as well as a Wizarding one, thrilled him to the bottom of his law-upholding heart.
"Excellent!" he said. "And I know just the place to start."

There are a number of half-blood and Muggle-born wizards who prefer to live more or less exclusively in the Muggle world. Most of them do so due to family ties, though occasionally some leave the magical world to find protection from pure-blood prejudice. The Ministry of Magic keeps friendly relations with as many of these as possible, both to ensure that the Statute of Secrecy is upheld and also to provide a bridge into the Muggle world. This has often proved to be very useful, especially where they rise to prominence in their chosen fields. This is more often the case than one might think; after all, the use of magic gives them a huge advantage in a non-magical world.
As a result of this liaison, the Auror office is easily able to obtain access to the Police services of Great Britain. Senior Aurors maintain cordial relationships with their counterparts in these services, and Robin and Toby were quickly introduced to men who could give them what they needed. After a pleasant half-hour conference, they had obtained the authorisations they would need and had also been given the names of a couple of detectives in the force who also happened to be wizards. These were too pleased to be given an impromptu couple of days off.
So it was that, with very little difficulty, two hours after they left their office, the two Aurors walked into the Association of Chief Police Officers Criminal Records Office and identified themselves as senior detectives with authorisation to access sensitive records in both child services and police personnel.
If the people granting their requests thought there was anything odd about them, they held their tongues; the staff could not have been friendlier, or more helpful, Robin thought. No doubt Proudfoot's light Confundus charms helped …
It took a couple of hours to sift through everything; but it became clear early on that there were two names of particular interest in the large sheaf of documentation that they discovered. One, George Grunnings, was on many of the documents; the other, Darren Dyson, did not occur so much as a major player in the affidavits and warrants themselves, but they got the feeling that he was behind a lot of what was going on. They knew who George was, of course; they had had lunch with him, after all. But Darren Dyson was a new name, and necessitated quite a bit of searching.
It turned out that Mr Dyson was a very interesting character indeed. He had been, at the time the main warrant for Harry's arrest was issued, a police officer; and while he didn't actually appear in the warrant paperwork itself, it was clear that he was there behind the scenes. Robin recognised the modus operandi: it was common enough in Wizarding circles as well. Why put yourself into the limelight, when you are trying to pull off something a bit shady? Much better to let other people do the work and expose themselves. Sure, they might get the credit for the operation, if there was any; but if Robin knew anything about the way the criminal mind worked, what this particular criminal – and he was completely convinced that Dyson was one, he could practically smell it reeking from the man's personnel file – what this particular criminal wanted was not fame, or promotion, but good old filthy lucre.
Two months after the warrant was issued, the man had left the United Kingdom and, as far as the Muggle world was concerned, vanished. But the Aurors had other resources at their disposal; and a few charms found their man for them. He had created a completely false identity for himself, and moved to Spain, where he was now living the high life on the island of Mallorca. And that took money and contacts: lots of money, and shady contacts who could produce the documentation to support this new identity.
All of which made the man even more interesting than before. It seemed that their field trip was going to take them further than they had thought …

Having returned to the office and sorted everything out to travel to Mallorca in the morning, Robin returned home. Ginny was there, but had only been home for half an hour. She had received a floo-call in the morning from Fred; apparently Angelina had set up an impromptu game of Quidditch with the team she was currently chaser for and wondered if Ginny would like to come and watch. There were, at present, no professional games happening; the league considered it poor form to play serious matches until all of the Quidditch pitches had been repaired, and there were still three left requiring further work. And that meant that there were plenty of seriously good players anxious to play to keep their skills up; and also that the teams were very happy to try out new recruits.
Ginny pondered the offer for a few microseconds, and then asked Fred where she needed to go.
"Just stay put," Fred replied with a grin.
Fifteen minutes later, when Fred had told Angelina and Angelina had had a quiet word with the manager of the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny had received a simple owl inviting her to come along and watch the all-female team, and perhaps play for an hour or so. In the event, she had wound up in the air for the entire afternoon, playing with the reserve team. At first she was chaser; then the reserve seeker had had to leave to help her sick mother, and Ginny spent the last two hours filling in for her.
Ginny told Robin all about this, of course, and he could see by the shine in her eyes that it had been a fantastic day. And he could guess by the fact that she'd been playing all afternoon that she must have impressed the selectors; for he was sure the game was as much about scouting for talent as keeping the players' skills up to the mark.
"So," he asked, when he finally got a word in edgewise, "did you catch the snitch?"
Ginny looked a bit sheepish, and then burst out, "yes! I did a perfect Wronski feint, and their seeker was totally flummoxed when the snitch finally appeared! So we ended up winning by two hundred points!"
Robin laughed, sharing Ginny's joy. "I'll bet the other seeker was cross."
"She didn't seem to be," Ginny mused. "We put it down to beginner's luck."
Robin rather suspected that that lack of ill-feeling was probably more to the rumour that he had heard that the current Holyhead Harpies seeker was thinking of retiring soon. But he decided not to pursue that; Ginny was happy, and if she was offered the post, she'd be ecstatic, he was sure of it. He also rather thought that Molly and Arthur would rather it not happen until she had finished her NEWTs.
He turned to his day, and explained a good deal of what he and Toby had been up to; though, with practised ease, he avoided saying too much. He was, after all, still in the Minister's confidence; but he had to say something to explain that he was going abroad. So Dyson became 'a Muggle who was possibly used by Death Eaters in crimes against wizards'. It was only stretching the truth a little; he suspected that some of the information that Dyson had used might well be traced back to Yaxley.
They had a very pleasant meal together, and then Robin decided it was probably about time he got back in touch with Dudley Dursley. He had worked out that the boy was heartily sick of his parents and he didn't want him to be worried that he was going to be abandoned by his new Wizarding friend. Accordingly, he went for a short walk to a nearby wood; he didn't want to call from their flat as the wards around it would probably interfere with the Muggle mobile phone he had bought especially to contact Dudley.
"Dudley?" he asked when the phone was answered. "It's Robin Banks; we met on Monday?"
There was a small silence on the other end, and Robin could practically hear Dudley getting his thoughts together.
"You're the wizard?" he asked. "I didn't think you'd want to speak to me, especially if you've talked to Harry …"
"Ah," Robin replied, "but I haven't; Harry is actually unavailable at the moment."
"Is he alright?" Dudley asked, and Robin wondered if it was fancy, or if there was genuine concern in the voice.
"Not at the moment," Robin replied honestly, "but he should be soon enough. He's overcoming the cumulative effect of neglect, and needs rest and quiet."
"Oh," Dudley said, in a very small voice. "That was our doing, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was; but largely it was your parents," Robin said firmly. "We spoke about that before. You're as much a victim as Harry. Frankly, anyone who survives a dementor attack needs a lot of help, anyway. And trust me, we're planning on sorting the whole mess out."
"Thank you," Dudley said, his voice coming a little more alive. "Just let him know I'm really sorry, OK? And I want to see him, if he'll let me. I've been doing a lot of thinking since Harry left, and what we did to him … I want those two to get what's coming to them."
"Why?" said Robin, shocked to hear a child feeling this way about his parents. "What did they do?"
"What didn't they do," Dudley replied, and spent twenty minutes detailing things that had happened to Harry. Things that they could prove. Like accepting money from Dumbledore to look after Harry and going on holiday with it – leaving him behind. Like spending a fortune on every comfort and forcing him to live in the cupboard – still showing signs of his occupancy - Dudley's spare room – still with the cat flap on it.
When he finished his call and returned to the house, Robin was very pensive. He decided this all needed to be investigated, and there was enough solid evidence to involve other Aurors and even the Muggle police; he could even see a way to do so without giving Lucius away. Just to be sure, he Floo-called the Manor.
"How is Harry?" he asked to begin with, and Lucius, his voice full of concern, told him Harry was still asleep but being watched over by Draco. With that out of the way, Robin told Lucius they had a lead that would take them out of the country tomorrow; and then explained that Dudley had given him some information that he could ask one of the Muggle Liaison Aurors to investigate at Privet Drive. He was going to tell them it had come up in conversations with Harry's Muggle friends – which was very nearly true, after all, if one simply replaced 'friend' by 'family member'. And Robin did rather hope that before long it would be entirely true, that Dudley and Harry would become friends. He rather suspected they had a lot to offer each other.
Lucius thought about the idea. He could see that it had merit; but he was concerned. He wanted control of this investigation. Once the Muggle police got involved, who knew what would happen. No, better to take things a little slowly and remove the risk. So he suggested that Robin and Toby could investigate on Friday. They thrashed this idea out for a little while; Robin pointed out that they could at least get the Aurors to help with some of the paperwork Dudley had told him must exist somewhere; and the more Lucius thought about it, the more he liked it. Accordingly, Robin made a couple more Floo-calls and was very satisfied that things were set in motion.
Ginny had been hovering around while he was calling. "What's this about going abroad?" she asked.
"Oh, sorry, I should have said – we're following a lead to Spain tomorrow on a case," he said, cagey as he always was where specifics of work were concerned.
Ginny smiled at him. She loved his professionalism, even if it irked her from time to time that he didn't tell her any juicy details.
"It's all right," she said. "You were talking to Lucius Malfoy, and I can put two and two together as well as the next witch. It's about Harry, isn't it?"
"I can't tell you that," Robin said, smiling, and she had her answer. "Will you be alright by yourself if I'm away for a couple of days?"
"Of course," Ginny said, pretending to be annoyed at his concern while secretly loving how protective of, and careful for, her he was. "I might go out with Luna Lovegood tomorrow; she said she was free."
"That sounds excellent," Robin replied, glad to have one less thing to worry about. Which goes to show that even Aurors can't see the future, or he would never have let them go out together…

It was black, black as darkest night. Draco Malfoy opened his eyes; or at least, he thought he did, but it didn't seem to make any difference. He felt cool, but not unpleasantly so. The air around him seemed to be pulsating, and the sensation was strangely calming.
He sat, or lay, or stood there for what seemed like ages; but it was very strange. He felt that, wherever he was, time and space didn't quite work how he was used to. But somehow, there was no fear; he knew that there was no danger.
'How do I know that?' he asked himself. And, wondrous to tell, he answered himself: 'The Haussmann shield.' Of course. He was surrounded by the shield; he was protected from all danger inside it. He knew that, not just in his head, but in direct experience of three attacks survived unscathed.
He moved a little, to see what would happen, and what it would feel like. Around him swirled strange colours, and to begin with they were bright and unrecognisable … and then he remembered their names: there was green, and there was red. They seemed to caress him, and he felt peace and joy coursing through him.
"Where is this place?" he asked himself out loud. At least, he thought it was out loud; it was very hard to be sure what was actually going on.
Except that it must have been out loud, because a voice answered him. "This place is wherever you want it to be," it said.
Draco didn't recognise the speaker; but he had heard the voice before. It was the voice that had told him it was the shield; and it was the voice that had told him, long ago, before they had got together, that Harry needed his comfort. And then, he remembered, he had had that vision of the pig-eyed man who turned out to be Harry's uncle Vernon. Well, the voice, he had to admit, was right; and somehow he was sure he could trust it.
"I want it to be home. I want it to be my study," Draco said out loud. Instantly, the space around him changed and took form: instead of the pulsating nothingness of before, walls and floor appeared, and French windows and chairs and tables and within a very short time he was standing in what was, to all intents and purposes, his study.
He let out his breath, and wandered around, glad to be in a familiar space; though his study didn't have French doors. But it wasn't enough. Something was missing.
No, scratch that. Someone was missing. He needed Harry.
"Is Harry here?" he asked, tentatively, not quite sure of the protocol for speaking to someone he had never met who seemed to know everything and be both stranger and familiar.
"Yes," the reply came, and the voice sounded amused, as though it had been wondering when he would get around to asking. "He's outside." And then, as Draco was wondering how to get there, it said, "through the doors."
And, not wasting a moment, without hesitation, Draco walked through the doors.

The garden was beautiful. Not the formal, refined beauty of the Manor; no, this was a cottage garden, but on a huge scale. He turned around to see the doors he had walked out of and somehow he was not surprised to find that they were no longer French doors at all. Behind him was a stone cottage, with a simple rustic wooden door-on-a-latch; around him were flowerbeds that stretched for what looked like miles, but couldn't have been, planted with snapdragons and petunias and pansies and rose bushes.
"Antirrhinums," he told himself, "not snapdragons; use the proper name."
"No," came a breathed-out sound, and he looked to see the plants actually taking the form of little dragons. "We are dragons, little master; and we snap!" Saying this, they crashed their jaws together; the sound was quite fierce.
Draco chuckled. "Very well," he said, "snapdragons you are, then."
They gave him a pretty bow, and he wandered off towards a grove of trees he could see in the distance. He was not surprised to find Harry there, lying leaning against one of the trees, dozing in dappled sunlight. As he drew near, the brilliant green eyes opened and looked at him, and Harry smiled. It took Draco's breath away.
"Hello," Harry said, simply, and Draco couldn't help himself; he dropped to his knees in front of the Gryffindor, and kissed him.
A while later they lay together, Harry with his back to the tree, Draco leaning with his back on Harry's chest, one of Harry's arms around him holding him firmly, but not too tight. The other hand was carding through Draco's hair softly; and as they lay there, Draco felt something cold in his heart melt away.
And all of a sudden he knew what had happened. He was with the one he loved more than anyone else. More even, he knew now, than he loved himself. He had what he had asked for. He was, simply, home.

Agnes Touauld was still dumbfounded.
The two boys lay together, exactly as they had been for the past three hours. Her diagnostic spell was still active; this was unusual in itself, normally her spells would pass painlessly over the patient in seconds, and give her a detailed readout of what was going on. This time, they seemed to have coalesced somehow, and formed a blanket over the two boys.
Men, she idly corrected her thought. But there was no way the one hundred and forty year old healer could look at these eighteen and seventeen year olds and think of them as men. And yet, even though she was probably still the best healer available, these boys had stymied her.
"Do you have any theories, Madam Touauld?" Poppy asked hesitantly.
The hesitation in the voice and the use of the title made it quite plain to the healer what Poppy's problem was: she was nervous that her treatments had been at fault. Now, Agnes was famous amongst the more arrogant healers for being difficult to get along with; but she had a very soft spot for medical people who actually cared about her patients.
"Agnes," she said, insisting on her first name. "This is no time for formality, Poppy. Everything you did was perfect, or I would have sent you out of the room straight away. As it is, we need to work together; this is ground-breaking healing. I don't believe anyone has ever written anything about the medical aspect of How—what were they?"
"Haussmann Shields," Lucius supplied, his voice weary, but his body determined to stay and help.
Touauld looked at him sharply. She had already told him and Narcissa to go to bed twice or they would be useless in the morning; Narcissa had gone, not because she agreed willingly but because a house-elf had taken her when she had actually fallen asleep. But Lucius Malfoy, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff. Well, she thought, a grim smirk on her lips, it's his funeral!
"Haussmann Shields," she repeated, getting her tongue and her mind used to the words. "Yes. Well, there doesn't seem to be any actual problem here – both patients are quite stable …"
"Wait!" Poppy said, interrupting. "Look! Something's happening!"
All three of them stood and crowded closer to see. Something was definitely happening. The blanket of the diagnostic spell suddenly disappeared, and a lime-green light came back to the piece of parchment in the healer's hand. But she didn't look at it straight away; for, in front of them, was an amazing sight.
The two boys were still covered by a silvery-green cocoon of light, but inside they could see two strong shapes: one silver, one emerald-green. It was obvious that these somehow represented the two wizards underneath: silver for Draco, green for Harry. But what were they?
And then Agnes Touauld's eyes went wide. She had read about this, but never seen it. She had asked about it, but no-one she knew had ever seen it either.
"They're beautiful," Poppy whispered, interrupting her thoughts.
"But what are they?" Lucius, also whispering, asked.
"I think…" the healer started, then wondered how much to say. But she trusted this medi-witch, Minerva had vouched for her, and she could see the woman's integrity clearly enough for herself; and it was obvious that, despite everything she had ever heard about Lucius Malfoy, he loved his son, and had strong feelings of protection towards Harry Potter. And if what they had told her about the Shield was true (and why wouldn't it be?), there was no way Lucius was going to do anything to harm him. So she decided to throw caution to the wind.
"What we see here," she continued, her voice much firmer, the tone one scarily familiar to generations of student healers who had lived in mortal fear of her, "is supposed to be impossible. Through some unbelievably powerful magic, we see, not the two boys, but the cores of their magic." She bent over and peered closely, making careful observations. As she looked closer, she could see thin strands of red that arched between the two cores; she pointed them out to the other two.
"They seem to be moving together," Lucius pointed out, and indeed the red strands were getting thicker and pulling the two cores towards each other. At the same time it was clear that there was something strange about the emerald-green core. Thick blobs of darker colour seemed to come out of it, and as they reached the surface, they were surrounded by the red light which seemed to track them.
Agnes was about to point this out, when the two cores touched. Instantly, silver spread out across the surface of the green; and as it hit the red-rimmed dark green pockets, they seemed to lift off the surface and melt away. It was not long before the whole green core was covered in silver; and then the most amazing thing of all happened.
The two cores started throbbing together with the lub-dup rhythm of a heartbeat. As they did so, they gave of a yellowish light, which hit the three magicals in the room. As it did so, an incredible feeling of peace and well-being passed through the two witches and the wizard, and they almost fell into their chairs.
Agnes looked at the piece of parchment in her hand. A moment later, as she read the diagnosis, a shocked expression forced its way onto her face.
"What is it?" Poppy asked, her voice filled with concern.
Agnes looked at her, her eyes filled with awe. "From what the diagnostic spells say, what we just witnessed was a very profound magical healing. The dark green blobs were a visual representation of weaknesses that Harry had taken into his core. You can see here," she said, pointing to schematic diagrams that had appeared on her parchment, "that his own magic had locked them away. That meant they didn't trouble him too much, but it cost him quite a bit of his magical power to maintain. Now they have been brought out of the core, and the red magic seems to have kept them away from Harry's core while the silver –"
"Draco's magic?" Lucius asked.
"Yes, I think so," Touauld replied. "The silver magic has removed them."
Poppy looked thunderstruck. "This is …" she began, but didn't know how to continue.
Touauld did. "This is the most amazing healing I have witnessed in over a hundred years of practicing the art," she said crisply. "Now, they seem to have calmed down; I think we could all do with a few hours sleep."

Thursday, 11 June
Robin and Toby checked in to the hotel that their researches had shown that Dyson liked to spend a lot of time at. It was already quite warm, and the sun was shining brightly; Robin could see that Toby was torn between duty and the desire to sunbathe by the pool, so he told him to go outside while he kept watch. It was about eleven o'clock when he spotted Dyson entering the hotel. An unobtrusive little alarm charm got Toby's attention easily, and the senior Auror quickly got fully dressed and went to meet his partner who was already stationed near the bar. They were just in time to install themselves there before Dyson came in, a pretty girl hanging off each arm. He bought drinks for the girls; then, spotting the two Aurors, asked them what they were having and invited them to join his group.
"Oh," Robin said diffidently, "we don't want to intrude…"
"Nah!" Dyson said, waving them over. "Always glad to see new faces."
The two girls looked a bit miffed at this, and Robin rather suspected that they were not exactly 'new' faces. Toby rather suspected that he could guess their profession, but he didn't want to go there, so extended a hand.
"John Sligo," he said, giving the false name with practised ease as he extended his hand.
"Frank Fortescue," the other man replied, as he shook the offered hand.
"Tom Collins," Robin said, and he and Dyson repeated the ritual.
The handshakes over, and the men having given each other false names, the two Aurors sat down and were introduced to 'Debbie' and 'Denise' as a waiter placed a jug of sangria on the table.
The conversation flowed easily. Robin discussed football, confessing to being a Chelsea fan; 'Fortescue' exploded, saying that Arsenal was the only team in the league worth anything, and it took them a good forty-five minutes before they agreed to disagree.
"And what do you think about football, Mr Sligo?" 'Fortescue' asked the senior Auror.
"Oh," Proudfoot replied as he gave a sly wink to his partner, "I think there's only one 'f' in Fulham …"
And that argument took another hour, during which time the two young ladies had excused themselves to go and swim in the pool.
The waiter came up and asked if the men would be having lunch.
"Oh, rather," 'Fortescue' said, a bit too loudly, no doubt due to the rather large amount of sangria he had been drinking. Though perhaps the shots of vodka that Proudfoot had snuck into his glass from time to time had something to do with it as well …
He turned to the other two. "Join me, gents? I've taken quite a shine to you two."
"That would be our pleasure," Robin replied at his most disarming. And so they adjourned to the dining room, Proudfoot shaking his head in wonder at how easy it was for his young colleague to wrap people around his little finger.

Lunch was very pleasant. They moved on to rioja; Proudfoot wondered how Dyson could do it, but the man was obviously practised at serious drinking; his nose was a bit red and he was talking a little too loud, but apart from that there were no obvious signs that he had been drinking.
The conversation naturally turned to what the men did in 'real life'; the Aurors explained that they had been visiting Spain for their company and been given time off, so had hot-footed it to Mallorca for a day or two of sunshine. They made it clear that their jobs were too boring to talk about, and Dyson didn't pry.
"I was a p'liceman in Surrey before I retir'd," he said, starting to slur his words just a little, to Robin's relief. Drunken men, he found, were much easier to get information out of. He wasn't by any means a great legilimens and, while Muggles were generally an easy target, drunken Muggles could have memories interrogated without remembering it.
"Really," Robin said, expressing quite genuine interest. "Must have done all right if you can retire so young?"
Dyson winked at him. "Did all right," he said, echoing the other's words as drunken men will. "Did a bit on the side, see?"
Proudfoot clamped down on his enthusiasm and affected mild interest instead. "I thought that was Debbie and Denise?" he asked mischievously.
"Pah!" said Dyson with a laugh, enjoying the joke. "Yes, well, they are in a way. No, I found this bloke who had a friend who was having trouble with his lodger, see. The bloke ran a company, the friend was his employee, and the bloke wanted something done about the nephew 'cos his friend was missing too much work, see? He said it was 'a problem one of my employees is having'. So of course, being a good friend like, I offered to take care of this problem for him."
I'll bet you did, Robin thought to himself. For a price.
"Goodness!" he exclaimed, astonished to have hit pay-dirt so quickly. "So, what was this nephew like then?"
"Proper piece of work, apparently. Harry, that's the boy's name, got himself sent off to St. Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, according to this employee. Mind you, I happen to know there is no such place, so I wonder who was delusional?"
At this point, Dyson went off into himself, obviously thinking back to the time when this happened. Robin poured him another glass of wine.
"Oh, thanks, don't mind if I do," Dyson said, accepting the wine. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, so this Harry. Vern—ah, the employee–-said he went to this school but it doesn't exist. I reckon he was winding Old Man Grun—ah, my friend up. But I did well out of it, because Grunnings paid me to help him out, and Vernon paid me not to tell Grunnings what he was up to." He finished this with a wink; and if he noticed he had finally lost the battle of hiding the names, he didn't show it.
"And what was he up to?" Toby asked, a wholly feigned sympathy in his voice.
"Oh, small stuff. Taking money from someone to look after the boy, and then going on holiday without him. But also I reckon he used to beat him and stuff. The file was a bit of a shocker. Went missing though; that's how I got most of the money out of him."
"Amazing!" said Robin, hiding the sickening feeling he felt in his stomach on learning that there was actual paperwork somewhere that proved Vernon's abuse. "But what if he split the beans on you?"
"Oh, that's no problem," Dyson said, an indescribably sly expression on his face. "Things that are lost can get found again, you know …"
The lunch continued on; they found that, as they had suspected, this was only the latest of Dyson's rather unethical behaviour. The man was well-dressed, not working, and living a lavish lifestyle with a false identity; he had money coming in, that was obvious. And the most likely source was blackmail; and a blackmailer seldom sticks to a single victim.
After lunch, Dyson went off to join his 'girlfriends' by the pool, and the two Aurors went to 'have a siesta'; which did not, in fact, involve much sleep. They spent the next couple of hours comparing notes about what had been said; and also what they had quietly managed to find out by legilimens. Robin conjured some unbreakable glass vials and placed in them three memories he had managed to extract from 'Fortescue' at various points. These proved culpability on his and Dursley's part beyond doubt. As for Grunnings, they came to the view that he had merely been stupid, believing what Dursley had told him rather than checking anything out. Which may or may not mean that Lucius would spare him. But they were quite sure that Dyson would not enjoy meeting Mr Malfoy. That Dursley was going to positively hate it was a given …

Draco was loath to break the moment; but they had been there for a while, Harry must be getting stiff.
"Where is this place, Harry?" he asked. "I asked before, and some voice said 'wherever you want it to be'; but that doesn't make a lot of sense."
Harry laughed. "It's true, though," he said, and as if to make the point he moved slightly and all of a sudden they were lying together cuddling in a beautifully soft bed.
"I thought," Harry said, "that I was dreaming, and that this was the land of dreams. But then how can you be here? Unless I'm dreaming you, of course …"
Draco swallowed. Of course, Harry didn't know what had happened with the Shield.
"No, I'm real," he said. "Harry, we were lying in bed together at the Manor, and this old healer came and cast a diagnostic charm on us, and something must have happened with the shield because it all flared up and then everything went dark for me. Then I asked where we were, I heard the voice, and decided I wanted to be in my study; and then, just like that, I was. Then I wanted you, and it lead me outside and I found you. After I found some grouchy snapdragons," he remembered.
Harry laughed again, and Draco wished he could make him make that sound all day. "Yeah, they're pretty feisty, aren't they? I spent quite a while talking to them." He went quiet for a second, and then continued, "So, you hear the voice as well?"
"Yes," Draco said. "Any idea what it might mean?"
"Not much," Harry admitted. "All I know is, it feels like someone's there, watching over me. I feel like whoever it is is completely trustworthy and always honest; so maybe it's something to do with the Debt? Because that's the same isn't it, protective and truthful."
Draco thought about this for a moment. He hadn't thought about the Debt in such simple terms before. That Harry had rather worried him.
"You know I'm not only protective of you because of the Debt, right?" he asked, his voice betraying his insecurity.
That got another laugh, which made him smile in spite of himself.
"I know," Harry replied, "there's also that you love me. And I love you."
I was said so simply and matter-of-factly that Draco knew, just knew, that it was the truth, that he and Harry were bound together, not by obligation but by love. By adoration, at least on Draco's part. He kissed Harry again, trying to put into the kiss just how much it meant to him to be affianced to this gorgeous, funny, lovely man.
"Wow," Harry said, after they had got their breath back. "Thank you."
"Harry," Draco replied, "I should thank you. Now, I suppose we should think about your healing? You were supposed to have rest, I'm not sure if my being here counts …"
Harry looked at him; there was a little sadness, but only a little, in those beautiful green eyes.
"I feel fantastic, as far as healing is concerned," he said. "But I think you're right, Dragon. You should probably go back to the others, and let them know all is well."
Draco felt torn, a mixture of conflicting desires. He wanted to stay with Harry; but he didn't want to impede the healing, and he wanted to tell his parents that it was all right.
"OK," he said at last. "But only if you know I'm not leaving you alone."
"I know," Harry said, smiling. "We'll be together again, soon, I promise."
"When is soon?" Draco asked, but even as he did he felt like he was rushing up through water, then through darkness; and finally he opened his eyes to find he had returned from his little trip into Dreamland, if that was indeed where he had been. He found himself in his own bed cuddling the sleeping body of his fiancé. He blinked his eyes in the noon-day sun, and smiled as he saw his father dozing in an armchair that had been drawn up next to the bed.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy," the unfamiliar voice of Agnes Touauld said from the foot of the bed. "Good. Now, perhaps, we will get some answers."

Ginny and Luna spent a very pleasant day in Diagon Alley. They shopped, which of course really means they visited every shop that sold clothes for young women, tried on practically everything that might suit, rejected everything, and then went back and bought the first three items they had tried on. Along the way they had lunch in a fashionable new little café that had sprung up on Diagon Alley; and they had talked! The whole day!
Even now, in the afternoon, having shrunk their purchases and pocketed them, they were back in the café and talking. They talked about Hogwarts, and wondered how far the renovations had gone and whether it really was nearly back to normal, like their friends said; they complained to each other that they weren't allowed to help simply because they weren't yet of age. And they talked about the war.
And it was at this point that the secret listener to their conversation perked up. She had been hanging around them all day, hoping that they would say something interesting. She was about to be rewarded beyond her wildest dreams.
"Of course," Ginny was saying, "we were all devastated when we found out Fred was dead."
"But Fred isn't dead," Luna replied, her face serene.
"No, not now," Ginny replied, in the sort of tone one uses to a child who seems particularly thick, "but he was killed in an explosion. And then when Harry removed the mark from the Malfoys, something really weird happened in the whole hall, and Fred seemed to sort of wake up."
"Oh, well that explains it then," Luna said airily.
"It does?" Ginny asked, confused.
"Of course. If Harry brought him back to life, that explains why he's not still dead."
Ginny cocked her head. There were times when she wondered about Luna; could anybody really think like that? But she always had; and her bizarre thoughts were always entertaining, at least.
"Yes," she agreed, "though it doesn't explain how Harry could bring him back from the dead. That's not even supposed to be possible, right?"
"Nor are Debts of Magical Emancipation," Luna said, sounding serious for once. "But obviously they are."
"That's what's between Harry and Draco," Ginny mused, remembering the night in the Burrow after the Battle of Hogwarts and Luna nodded. "How do you know about it?"
"Oh, Daddy has some old books about it," she replied, somewhat off-hand. "When he heard what had happened, he said that must be what it is. It means that Draco has to protect Harry and be truthful to him. And some other stuff, too, I think, about –"
At this point Ginny finally decided a little bit of care was needed, and shushed her friend. This didn't seem to bother Luna at all, and they went on to discuss fashion with equal interest.
But their eavesdropper was not interested in fashion. As the little beetle animagus flew away, Rita Skeeter knew she had a story. No, she had 'A STORY!' In capital letters. With an exclamation mark.
This was the debt that Potter had told her about, but left out all the juicy details. And he had brought someone back from the dead, and somehow no-one had said anything. How did that work? Either it had been deliberately suppressed by the Ministry, or they didn't know, in which case Potter must have suppressed it. Either way, this was exactly what Cuffe was looking for, she was sure of it.
And it was going to be her by-line.
She couldn't wait.

While Ginny and Luna were drinking coffee, Robin and Toby did in fact have a siesta; and now they were enjoying yet more sangria, this time with the local Mallorcan Aurors. The Auror's office was across the street from the Muggle police office; the chief auror told them that the two groups actually co-operated quite a lot. Toby was scandalised at this breach of secrecy, until it was explained to him that most of the police thought that the wizards were plain-clothes detectives. There were only a couple of officers, who were in fact a Muggle-born wizard and a squib, who knew different.
It was a pleasant evening, and they were sitting outside in the sunlight. Proudfoot had been a little concerned about seeking the help of fellow wizards; but Robin had assured him it would be all right, and indeed it had. It turned out that one of the Aurors had been on an exchange visit to Germany and knew Robin from those days, and remembered him fondly. A fact that did not surprise Toby Proudfoot one bit. His partner was impossible: he either knew everyone already or had them wrapped round his little finger within minutes. As an Auror, he would go far with those skills.
He realised he had tuned out, and only heard a few phrases of the conversation – chief among them being "undercover investigation" and "child abuse" – but as he came back to himself he could see that the Spanish Aurors were very sympathetic to the situation, and eager to assist.
And then Robin said the magic words.
"The reason why it has to be low-key," he was saying, "is because the abused wizard involved is rather famous. But then you will have heard of Harry Potter?"
There was a collective gasp around the table. The Spaniards, because they were shocked at the thought of this most important of British wizards could have been mistreated; Proudfoot, because he was shocked that Robin had made that public. But he bit his tongue. There was no going back now, he knew that.
A few moments later, he was glad he hadn't erupted in anger. The Spanish wizards were shocked, yes, but they quickly rallied round, asking for the evidence. Robin laid out the story in front of them – very creditably, Proudfoot noticed absently – and they all agreed that something had to be done. And that they would help in any way they could.
"To start with," their chief said, "we will all swear not to reveal any of this, yes?" he asked, looking round at his colleagues. They all agreed, and touched their wands to his. A brief blue light flickered, and Proudfoot knew that his concerns were now void; the men had all sworn an oath not to reveal anything, one that their magic itself would enforce. He was humbled by the gesture.
"Next," the chief said, "this man? Fortescue, you say?"
"Yes, he goes by the name 'Frank Fortescue'," Robin replied. "But his real name is Darren Dyson."
"Very well," the chief answered. "We will find him, and we will watch him. You need have no fear that he will leave this island without being followed."
"Excellent!" Robin said. "And now, gentlemen, we have trespassed on your hospitality long enough, and it's time to eat."
They all agreed happily with that, and spent the next few hours wandering the streets, eating at tapas bars and drinking more wine.
The two British Aurors rolled into bed at two o'clock in the morning. Tomorrow they would return home, happy that they had cases against Vernon Dursley and Darren Dyson that would hold up in court. Even a Muggle court, if it had to. Tomorrow, they would talk to Petunia Dursley and see what she had to say to the evidence they had been collecting.
Tomorrow would be a good day, Robin thought. So why did he have a niggling feeling something was going to blow it all to hell?
Perhaps Aurors can see the future after all …

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