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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
- 45
- 46
- 47
46. Don't Return a Kindness, Pass it On!
Bill spent Sunday evening trying to convince Karkaroff to return to England with him, to no avail. The man was adamant: his home was in Norway; there was no future for him in Britain.
"I belong at Durmstrang," he said. "That is where I shall return."
"But I thought we were going to tell Harry? Together?"
Karkaroff looked at him. "I'm sure Mr Potter won't wish to hear from me," he replied. "And if he does not believe you alone, then I don't think I will be able to convince him. No, that is not necessary."
"But you could explain it much better!" Bill said.
Karkaroff just looked at him stonily, not bothering to reply. He felt that young man was becoming petulant, and he had no wish to encourage it.
"What about the map? Who gets to keep that?" Bill asked, when it became obvious that Karkaroff was not going to reply.
Karkaroff looked at him askance. "The map? You want to keep it?"
"Of course!"
"Alright, keep it. You do understand that the Reperirispell won't ever work for it again? That's strictly a one-time-only thing, which is why the ritual needs to be performed more than once."
"Oh," Bill said, slightly crestfallen. "But, yes I do want it; it will give me something to show the goblins to convince them that this trip was worthwhile."
Karkaroff smiled, the smile of a wolf. He could understand, and appreciate, such slyness, especially from a member of a family known to be so … Gryffindor. This was how the young man had managed to keep his job with the goblins, he realised: he knew exactly how they thought. And it was undeniable: while the map was now useless for his purposes, it was a pretty thing, and would make an admirable addition to the goblins' store of artifacts; they would love that.
"Very well. But keep me out of the story, all right?"
Bill nodded. He had seen this coming. Well, the goblins didn't know about the need for a second wizard; he would simply neglect to tell them. He'd have to explain the tripped ward, thought, he thought; well, he could spin some yarn about a clumsy shepherd, or a mountain goat, or something. If they had the map, they probably wouldn't ask too closely about how he got it. They were quite used to their curse-breakers using not entirely orthodox methods to achieve their results; it was rare for them to investigate those methods. He rather suspected that they didn't want anyone to be able to prove they knew any dirty secrets; well, that worked for him.
They spent the night in an establishment he had stayed in before. You couldn't really call it a hotel; that implied separate locked rooms and concierges and people generally minding their own business. This was completely different; they had individual rooms, to be sure, but they all opened onto the central courtyard, where there was a blazing fire heaped high against the cold night and everyone sat around eating lamb and drinking hot, black tea together.
At first, Karkaroff sat in his room and brooded; but the voices outside sounded friendly, and people kept shouting out to him not to hide away; "come and tell us your tale!" they demanded, in passable English. Eventually he came out and accepted a mug of tea, which was strangely refreshing even after the heat of the day. His host, who owned the establishment, and treated his guests as family, fussed over him, making sure he had some food and cajoling him to speak; at first he said nothing, but under the patient onslaught of questions he told about how he had been living in the Scottish highlands for a few years.
The men around all perked up as he spoke; here, evidently, was a new tale, and they all hoped to learn from him. His listeners drew his story out of him with the amazing Eastern courtesy that evidently came naturally to them. They expressed great interest in everything he did, without once suggesting disbelief. He thought it would be rather sticky to explain why he was here; but once he had said that he was interested in the stars (which was true) and that he wanted to be at the Tropic for today's solstice (which was also true), he didn't need to make any further excuses: his hearers chatted excitedly in Arabic and once of them raced over to his pack and produced a chart of the stars, which they pored over together for hours.
Karkaroff was fascinated by this display. He had been brought up in a culture of excessive privacy, where all openness was judged immediately, almost always critically; he found that these men, so open, so friendly, so unjudgemental, made him question that whole upbringing and belief system. Above all, it made him question his whole philosophy of teaching; he had always maintained a huge distance between himself and the students (except for the occasional star pupils: one did not, for example, snub Victor Krum). But he could see as he read the charts, as excited as they were to look up to the stars and see them exactly where they were predicted to be, that these men, with their simple passion for astronomy, were sparking his, and giving him the space he needed to enjoy it.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when they all finished up for the night. Karkaroff sat by himself by the fire, gathering his thoughts. His hosts had been very kind to him; he had never known such openness. He felt a great debt, and wondered how he could possibly repay it. The men had enough of all the things they needed; nothing he could give them was of any value to compare with what he had received.
It was a few minutes before he came to his epiphany. He could not repay the kindness; but he could pass it on. He could go back to Durmstrang, and teach his students from a whole new perspective. One of tolerance and kindness. One which would encourage them to be the best they could be, without judging them for what they could not be. One that, perhaps, might just help to avoid another Grindelwald, or Voldemort.
His mind made up, he looked round to see where Bill was. The redhead was nowhere in the courtyard; eventually he could see a soft light in what he guessed to be the Weasley's room. He walked up to it and was sure when he felt the faint tingle of a privacy charm. He coughed quietly to tell the man he was there.
Bill's voice murmured, "Come in, Karkaroff."
"How did you know it was me?" the older man demanded as he opened the curtain and entered the space.
"Privacy ward would have kept anyone else away," Bill said, simply. "Since you're still up, I take it you had a pleasant evening?"
"Yes," the older man replied. "More so than I expected. They are interesting people, these Arabs."
"Not what you're used to?" said Bill, with a grin.
"No," Karkaroff agreed, but did not volunteer anything further. He would need to think on what he had learnt tonight. "What have you been up to?"
"Writing a report," Bill said. "The goblins will insist on one and it's always better to give them one first thing. They like to feel that it was written on the spot, not compiled later. They seem to think that you'll tell lies if you get a chance to think things through. But I'm done now, time to turn in, I think. Good night, Karkaroff."
"Goodnight, Mr Weasley. And thank you. You have been of great assistance to me today."
And with that, the Slav left a speechless Bill Weasley and went to bed.
By the time Bill rose at dawn, Karkaroff had already left.

Monday 22 June 1998
Lucius was still spreading on his toast the marmalade Narcissa had passed to him when they heard the Floo chime. A moment later, Draco and Harry walked into the dining room.
"Oh, sorry to interrupt," said Draco, not sounding sorry at all, while Harry looked a bit sheepish to have walked in on the Malfoys at breakfast. He had insisted it was too early to visit, and it looked like, despite Draco's protests, he had been right.
"Not at all," Narcissa said warmly. "Come, join us. Have you had breakfast?"
"Er, yeah," Harry replied as he took the seat she indicated. His mind, unbidden, remembered the breakfast; they had had pancakes …
Narcissa could see the preoccupation in Harry's face and, by the sound of the laugh she gave when she saw it, may even have guessed its cause; but she simply said, "good! Would you like some tea?"
Tea was duly produced by Mappy and they sat there in companionable silence, until Lucius finished his toast and marmalade and spoke.
"Well, you two, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company at such an early hour?"
"Er, yeah, sorry, I did tell Draco it was too early-" Harry began, but Lucius cut him off.
"Harry, I remark on the hour not because it matters at all to us, you are welcome to come here whenever you wish; but simply because we are not used to seeing you up so early."
At this Harry blushed deeply and Draco decided to take pity on him and continue the conversation.
"Having missed out on seeing you yesterday, we wanted to come by and tell you about the wonderful day we had in Paris yesterday," he said.
Lucius had not heard about this, being rather caught up in his preparations for dinner with the Dursleys; so he raised an eyebrow at his son.
"Paris?" he asked.
"Yes!" Harry said, having recovered, "my first ever visit!" He went on to describe the day happily, completely missing the look that passed between Lucius and Narcissa. A look that boded no good at all for the Dursleys. As he burbled on, and Narcissa deftly engaged him in conversation, Lucius looked at Draco.
"And did you obtain…" he asked, letting the question trail off.
Draco huffed. "Of course, Father," he said, and took a small box out of his pocket. A small Engorgio and the box returned to its original size. Which was large enough for Narcissa, deep in conversation with Harry, to notice, and shoot a disapproving look. A look which the male Malfoys completely ignored.
It was well known to many students at Hogwarts that Draco Malfoy had a sweet tooth; but Lucius had managed to keep his largely hidden. But there was one shop in Paris that sold pastries he just could not resist. And now he had a whole box full of them all to himself.
"Thank you," he said quietly, as he beamed at Draco.

Bill's portkey took him straight back to the office, where he made his report and produced the map. Raredd accepted the report with his usual apparent indifference, which Bill knew perfectly well meant he was pleased; actual indifference would have the goblin scowling, while if he didn't like a report, the reporter usually found himself on the end of a violent tongue-lashing. If not actual violence; Raredd was surprisingly strong for someone so small.
But there was no indifference shown to the map. There were three goblins present in the office, and all of their eyes lit up with unmistakable delight bordering on greed. He was not really surprised when, as they thanked him for his efforts, they all but told him to get lost.
"All I know about it is in the report," he said calmly, if untruthfully; he had not mentioned the green triangle at all. "If you don't need me, I'll spend the rest of the week at home."
He wasn't even sure if they'd heard him when he left; but then, he didn't really care very much either; after all, they wouldn't hesitate to send for him if they decided they wanted him for something.

They checked out of the hotel early in the morning, but it was a still a little after nine o'clock when Number four Privet Drive came into view. Vernon groaned. He was going to be late for work, and that prick Collings would probably have something to say about it. He could hear the man droning away already: "Not the sort of example we should be setting," he would say. "Makes the other employees feel hard done by if they have to be on time but senior management just swan in whenever they like".
Well, sod him. Malloy had invited him to dinner; that would have to do. He'd just repeat that and glower at Collings. The way he felt right now, glowering was going to come very easy to him; he had not managed to keep any of his breakfast down, even though it was only tea and toast. He would murder for a nice pair of kippers, he thought, as he wearily got out of the taxi and went inside to get ready for work.
Petunia wandered inside, half-wondering if Dudders was home; but no, of course not, he was at Smeltings again. She was, all of a sudden, bone-tired, and sat down on the sofa for just a minute's rest, as Vernon thundered back down the stairs, jumped into his car and sped off to work.
An hour later, Petunia came suddenly awake. She looked around her with growing dismay. Her beautiful house was in disarray. The carpets were all grimy; it was as if workmen had wandered through with their boots on – which no one, not even Vernon, had dared to do in all the time they had lived there – and sat in her lovely lounge chairs. She raced to the cupboard to get the vacuum cleaner. It was going to be a long day.

Arthur was quite delighted when his oldest son was announced as a visitor, and declared it to be morning tea time. Bill happily accepted a cup of proper English tea – the way the Arabs drank tea worked in their country, he felt, but here one needed milky tea – and some of the pastries his father always had. The Arab sweets were amazing; but too sugary for Bill's taste. This morning, there were apple turnovers and small tartes aux citrons; with great enjoyment he had two of the latter.
"Now, Bill," Arthur began as they were comfortably settled. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You seemed a little preoccupied on Saturday night."
Bill sighed. His father might seem oblivious and put-upon; but in truth he didn't miss much. "There is a museum in southern Egypt that I warded a few years back. On Saturday night, the main access ward was tripped, telling me someone had entered the Museum."
"I see," said Arthur. "And so you had to investigate?"
"Yes. Yesterday was the solstice, you see."
"Ah," said Arthur, evidently putting the pieces together. "And this museum is on the Tropic of Cancer, I take it?"
"Got it in one," Bill said, with a grin. "So of course I had to investigate immediately. And this next bit is strictly confidential, OK?"
"Ye-es," Arthur said slowly. "I am the Deputy Minister, Bill, it better not be anything outright illegal."
"I'm shocked you could think that, Dad!" Bill rejoined; but the twinkle in his eye gave the lie to the statement. "No, not illegal, just private. The ward was tripped by someone who doesn't want it widely known that he's still alive."
"Who?" Arthur asked bluntly, a light of curiosity in his eyes.
Bill took a deep breath. He hadn't told the goblins about Karkaroff; but he didn't feel his promise extended any further. He would keep the man's reappearance confidential, but not secret. Not from the Ministry. That was the sort of thing they actually did need to know.
"Karkaroff," he replied, equally bluntly, and was gratified by the reaction as his dad sat bolt upright and his face went grave.
"How?" he asked.
And Bill began to explain, telling all that he had learned about Karkaroff's story from him meeting the crofter up to finding him in the ritual room; he mentioned the ritual but skipped over the details for the moment, and continued with the story of the night in the hotel and his not being there this morning.
"Bet he left you the bill," Arthur said jocularly.
"Funny you should say that, Dad," Bill replied. "I thought he probably would; after all, he can't have a lot of money, and I would have expensed it. But in fact he paid for both of us."
"Hmm," Arthur mused. The tale made a whole raft of strange facts, and this merely added to it: Igor Karkaroff was not famous for his generosity; stingy was the word he would have used to describe the man. Something must have changed.
"All right," he said. "Well, as you say, nothing illegal; he ran away from the Triwizard Tournament, but that was in fear for his life. Quite justified fear, as it turns out. So there's no reason for us to pursue him. Do you think he poses a threat to Harry?"
"Ah," said Bill, "Karkaroff no, but there are some things I need to discuss with Harry. The ritual threw up some, ah, interesting things."
"I see," said Arthur. "And you'd rather discuss them with him first, I'm guessing. Very well, keep your secrets."

Narcissa and Lucius had invited Draco and Harry to stay for lunch, but Harry did feel they should go to the Burrow and help out. He knew that his best-man duties didn't entail much; but he felt they couldn't just turn up at three o'clock for the rehearsal. And, truth to tell, while he had had a lovely time in Paris, he had missed Hermione and Ron. He hadn't seen them since Sunday morning as they had spent Sunday night at the Burrow. It seemed that Miriam had wanted her sister with her as she had cried every time Hermione put her down; so they had decided to stay just in case she woke in the night, inconsolable. And it is it the manner of small children that, this precaution having been taken, she, for the first time ever, slept through the night.
Accordingly, Harry and Draco Flooed to the Burrow, arriving a little before ten, to find that Ron had only just got up and was tucking in to a huge plate of bacon, sausages and eggs.
"Y' want some?" he asked, generously if not graciously; the two lovers refused, but happily had a cup of tea with Molly, who took their arrival as an excuse to sit down for five minutes. It was obvious that the rest of the household had been busy for some time; the house was spotless, and there were the noises of people working in the garden.
The back door opened and George and Neville walked in.
"Harry!" Neville exclaimed in delight. "How was Paris?"
Harry gave a quick summary of the day. Neville asked some polite questions; but Harry could see that he really only had eyes for George today. In his turn, the twin looked like he was walking on air; Harry didn't think he'd seen him so happy since that day at Hogwarts when he got his ear and his brother back.
But he didn't have long to just sit and observed; a tiny voice called "Har!"
"Hey Teddy Bear!" he called out, and got up to go and play with his godson. He found Teddy and Miriam Granger playing together in the sitting room, while Andy and Margaret were sitting with Hermione and Ginny.
"The gang's all here!" he said happily as he sat down and Teddy crawled to him. A moment later, he had a happy dark-haired, green-eyed boy gabbling in his lap; and then Miriam, looking round and seeing Teddy had gone, began to wail.
"There, there Miriam," Hermione said, and picked the little girl up, taking a seat on the floor next to Harry so the two babies could see each other. She stroked her sister, who quickly calmed down with the attention.
"I heard what you told Neville about Paris. I guess that was your first time abroad, yeah?" she said softly to Harry.
"Um, yeah."
"Those bast-" she began, then broke off; there were babies present, after all.
"Yeah," Harry replied, knowing full well who she meant. "But I got to go there with Draco, 'Mione. Which made it really special all round. Let's not think about them, OK?"
"OK," Hermione said, through gritted teeth. She didn't really want to leave the subject alone, but she would respect Harry's wishes. She had heard that Lucius was dealing with the Dursleys; she was torn between concern that he would be too vindictive, and her own feeling that they deserved everything they got. "Miriam has really been enjoying playing with Teddy," she continued, in an obvious, and welcome, attempt to change the subject.
"Teddy's been enjoying it too," Andy said. "When I took him home to bed last night, he kept saying 'Mi-Mi-Mi' in a hopeful voice and looking for her."
Margaret chuckled. "It's funny how even at only a few months old they can be social," she said.
At this point, Teddy took it upon himself to do what babies do best; and Harry heaved him up. "All right," he said, "where's the change table?"

When Harry and Teddy emerged from the bathroom, there was another red-head standing in the sitting room.
"Ah! There you are!" Bill said, turning to him. "You're a hard man to track down, Mr Potter!"
"Hello, Bill," Harry said, a bit mystified. "Er, why were you trying to track me down?"
"Let's go into Dad's shed and I'll tell you," the oldest Weasley son replied enigmatically. Harry could see that Hermione was desperate to know more following this mysterious pronouncement; for that reason alone, he decided to fall in with the plan.
"Sure," he replied. "Can Hermione come too?"
"I suppose so, if she wants to," Bill answered. Hermione got to her feet and handed Miriam to her mother so fast that no-one was in any doubt about what she wanted. Bill chuckled.
As the three of them walked through the kitchen, it occurred to Harry to wonder exactly where Draco had gone; but as they entered the garden, he spotted him. The blond had been roped in to helping Neville and Ron putting up yet more strands of flowers. Harry looked over as he and Bill passed through, and Draco gave him a funny look, mouthing 'save me'. Harry interpreted the look as mock-serious, and smirked at Draco.
"You're doing a great job," he said, blowing a kiss. He turned to Bill. "Can Draco come too?" he asked.
"Course he can," Bill answered, and Harry waved to Draco, indicating he should join them, and then went into the shed. A few seconds later, Draco came in, too, and stood looking mystified as he surveyed Arthur Weasley's collection of Muggle artifacts.
"Now you see why I love visiting museums," Bill said, clearly amused at the wonder on Draco's face. He led them over to a little sitting area next to Arthur's desk.
"Let's get comfortable. I'm sure we've all had enough tea by now," he said, enlarging a bottle of butterbeer he produced from his pocket, and accioing glasses from the kitchen. "Cheers!"
The boys all drank; Hermione declined the offer. Harry was actually rather glad to have something stronger than tea.
"Right," Bill said when he had taken a good pull on his beer. "Now, I want to tell you about some rather remarkable events of the last thirty-six hours. When last we met, we were having a party. Then I felt some wards being tripped in a museum I've been looking after in Egypt."
"Wards? What sort of wards?" Draco asked.
"Ah, well, this was mostly just an alert ward. But the museum it guards is a very special place. So of course if someone I didn't know had entered it, then I needed to check it out. Immediately. So I got a port-key and went to Egypt on Sunday morning."
"Really?" Harry asked; then, realising this sounded disbelieving, which was not what he meant, clarified, "I mean, why was it important to do it so quickly?"
"The solstice," Draco said, realisation suddenly dawning on him.
"Yep," Bill answered, delighted to have a listener who understood. "And you won't like this much, Harry. The intruder was Igor Karkaroff."
"The Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute?" Harry asked.
"The very same. The one you thought had it in for you. The one you thought put your name into the Goblet of Fire."
"Yeah, I did think that at the time," Harry replied. "But we know now it was Barty Crouch Junior using poly-juice. Anyway, what was Karkaroff doing there? And I thought he was dead?"
"Everyone thought so, and that's how he wanted it." Bill explained about the crofter, and how the Death Eaters killed him thinking he was Karkaroff. "So you see, he could now lie doggo until Voldemort was eliminated," he finished up.
"OK," Harry said, still a little puzzled. "But why didn't he come out of hiding after the War?"
"Well," Bill replied, "think about it from his angle. Voldemort had been killed once before, he thought, and came back. What was to stop him doing it again? And that brings us to the question of why he was in Egypt. You see," he continued, refilling their empty glasses, "the museum I guard is called the Museum of the Realms of this World. It is a very special place of ancient Egyptian magic, particularly concerning the secrets of the dead."
"You mean like necromancy?" Draco asked.
"You mean like horcruxes?" Harry asked at almost the same time.
"Both of those," Bill answered. "The Egyptians knew about Horcruxes – 'Eggs of Evil' they called them. But they never used them; to them, death is part of the progress of the soul, motion from this realm to another one. Horcruxes stop this motion; but motion is essential to life, so they saw their creation as one of the most truly evil things you could do."
"So you're saying they didn't try to cheat death?" Draco asked, incredulously. Surely everyone tried to cheat death? Who would actually want to die?
Bill chuckled. "That idea would have horrified them. In Egyptian magical thought, death is part of life, moving out of this sphere into another one. They didn't hold with suicide either, mind; we all have to progress through the spheres, but at the right times."
"What are the spheres?" Hermione asked.
"The Egyptians talk about a thing they call the Ascent of the Soul. Apparently there are various stages of being; we only know about one of them. There are four spheres of this stage of being. They give them fancy names, but I didn't really understand it very well until Karkaroff explained it to me yesterday. The inner-most sphere they talk about, the Sphere of Tangible Presence, is basically us – everyone who's alive. Then there's the Sphere of Intangible Presence. Karkaroff described it as those who have passed on but are still tied to this world in some way. It's where you find ghosts and other creatures that aren't really part of this world, but can interact with it. It seems that people in this sphere can still influence this world and maybe even return to it.
"Then there's what's called the Sphere of Intangible Extension, which is the realm of those who have left the Sphere of Tangible Presence and passed through the Sphere of Intangible Presence. They cannot return, but are still tied to people they knew here, people who remember them. There must be a fourth sphere, which goes by the strange title of the Sphere of Intangible Absence; but nobody really knows what that means."
"And everybody ends up in the fourth sphere eventually, right?" Draco asked.
"No, I don't believe so," Bill said. "All the writings I found indicate that people leave the Sphere of Intangible Extension and proceed out of this stage of being into another one. There's practically nothing written about the Sphere of Intangible Absence.
"OK," Harry said, obviously struggling to take it all in. "I think I've got that. Four spheres But so why did Karkaroff have to go to this museum yesterday?"
"Ah," Bill said, "this is where it gets interesting. See, there is a very special ritual that as far as I know can only be performed on the summer solstice, and only at the Museum of the Realms of this World. This ritual produces a sort of map, which shows the location of important people in the spheres of this world. Karkaroff used it once before, when everyone was worried that Voldemort was going to come back; he found Voldemort in the Sphere of Tangible Presence the first time he looked, which is why he made sure he was out of England as much as possible. This time he was going to perform a partial version, which would not have given as much of a view, but could be used to track a single wizard."
"But why not do the full version? Especially if he'd done it before? Is it too hard?" Hermione asked.
"The full ritual requires two wizards," Bill answered. "There has to be an intertwining of separate strands of magic from different cores. So of course he couldn't do it by himself. He found an Egyptian wizard to help him the first time; this time, of course, he didn't want anyone else to know he was alive. But when I turned up, I convinced him we could do it together, and share the result."
"Alright, so you did perform the full ritual then?" Draco asked. "And did it work?"
"Yes, and yes," Bill replied. He gave a very brief explanation of what performing the ritual entailed.
"So, once we had the map on the parchment, Karkaroff used a spell to make it quite literally jump off the page and show the map in three dimensions."
"That sounds really amazing," Hermione said breathlessly.
"It was," Bill agreed. "Karkaroff used another spell to show where Voldemort was; apparently the spell shows each individual up with a distinctive shape and colour, so we spent a few minutes checking for the one representing Voldemort – when Karkaroff had seen it before, it was sort of a black kite-shape; but it didn't show up in any of the three spheres that we could see."
"I thought you said there were four spheres?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Bill said, "but the fourth sphere wasn't really visible. It's the one no-one understands properly, remember?"
Hermione nodded.
"However, the next thing," Bill said, turning to Harry, "um, are you happy for me to discuss this with these two? It concerns you very intimately and it's rather sensational."
Harry looked dumbfounded. "Yes, of course. I trust these two with anything."
"OK," Bill said, letting out a sigh. That was a lot of trust; he might do the same for Fleur, he supposed, but he couldn't imagine letting anyone else know something before he was told it, after such a warning. "Karkaroff then cast a second locating spell, this one to find Harry. And that's when things got really weird. To begin with, Harry showed up as a green triangle."
Draco looked puzzled. He said, in a low voice, obviously speaking mostly to himself, "Green makes sense, I guess; it goes with Harry's magic in the Shield and all, but the triangle?"
"Well, actually, I understand the shape better than the colour," Bill answered, starling the blond who hadn't realised he had spoken out loud. "We could sort of zoom in on the image; and when we did, the triangle turned out to be a more complicated shape: it was an equilateral triangle containing a circle with a line through it…"
If Bill had hoped for a reaction, he was not disappointed. Hermione twigged first; her face went ashen white.
"The Deathly Hallows," she said in a loud whisper.
"That's what Karkaroff said, too," Bill replied. "And that Harry was Master of Death. But I thought that was a child's fairy tale?"
"No," Harry replied. "The Deathly Hallows are very real; and I am the owner of all three of them."
Hermione stared at him. "I thought you had lost the Resurrection Stone?" she gasped out.
"I had," Harry agreed. "But when I did that bit of magic after the Battle, the Elder wand brought it to me. So I've still got it, hidden away. And I trust the three of you will never mention that to anyone. I've had the Invisibility Cloak ever since my first Christmas at Hogwarts; and the Elder wand, well, everyone knows about that." He turned back to Bill, feeling that this was interesting, but not quite as earth-shattering as he had expected. He had known about the Hallows, after all.
"Was there anything else?"
"Yes," Bill said. "As I said, we could zoom in; we could also zoom out. As we did that, your triangle did something very strange. Most of the shapes stay the same relative size; but yours expanded as the image shrank. When it went through the Sphere of Tangible Presence we saw there were silver threads all through it."
"Draco?" Harry asked. "His colour is silver in the Shield."
"Could be," Bill replied. "Was there red as well?"
"Yes," Harry answered. "We don't know what the red is."
"OK, well, when your triangle breached the Sphere of Intangible Presence we saw a red line around it as well. So I'd say, yes, the silver was Draco. And the red …" Bill closed his eyes, obviously thinking back and trying to remember exactly what he had seen. "The red did not start in the first sphere, I'm sure of it. So it's no-one still alive. I can't remember if it started in the second or third sphere, though."
"That's a pity," Hermione said, "it could have been a useful clue."
"Yes," Bill replied, amused that the witch could be so objective. "But the most amazing thing is when the Hallows shape met the fourth sphere, the Sphere of Intangible Absence."
"What happened?" Draco demanded, as Bill paused for effect.
Bill smirked. He thought he could get a rise out of the blond. "You must understand that the fourth sphere was very dark. We couldn't see anything in it until the triangle entered it; then, by its green light, we could see a black shape."
"A kite-shaped black shape?" Harry asked.
Bill nodded slowly, and watched as comprehension dawned on all three faces.
The three teens sat in stunned silence. It was Harry who spoke first.
"So that means Voldemort is in the Sphere of Intangible Absence, right?" he asked.
"That looks like about the size of it," Bill replied. "We don't really understand what that means; but it certainly seems like he must be gone for good."
"Well, perhaps," Hermione replied. "But it would be nice if we weren't relying so heavily on guesswork and conjecture. I wonder if there's anything –"
"- in the Hogwarts library," Harry chanted along with her.
"I very much doubt it," Draco replied. "How about we do some research in the Manor library? If there are going to be books on this ideology anywhere in Britain, I'd bet galleons to knuts they'll be there."
Hermione looked altogether too pleased at the prospect of visiting the Malfoy library again. Harry groaned.
"So, when are we going?" he asked.
"You," Draco said sternly, "are not going anywhere. You are still convalescent; I know you've made incredible progress in the last few days, but you still need to take things easy. We had a very active day yesterday; today we're going to stay put here."
Hermione was both surprised and amused to hear this blunt, bold statement from the Slytherin, and the answering meek look on the face of the Gryffindor. Harry, she decided, was in good hands.
"I'm sure there's no need to do anything today," she said diplomatically.
"No, I agree," Bill replied. "And how about I see if dad will let us use the Ministry pensieve so you can all view the event for yourselves?"
The eager light in three pairs of eyes gave Bill all the answer he needed.

Collings, mercifully, had left Vernon alone. In fact, pretty much everyone had steered clear of him all day; the expression on his face was not at all welcoming, reflecting how he felt all too well. He had been to the local for lunch; but the very smell of the fish and chips they served made him heave, which was very unpleasant on an empty stomach. He had managed to keep a couple of sips of his lunch-time pint down, and counted that a success, at any rate, as he scurried back to his office.
In the afternoon, he was feeling a little better, and even managed half a smile when Grunnings knocked on his door and came in. It didn't do to show the old man any weakness.
"Afternoon, Dursley," Grunnings said in his chirpy northern way. "Fancy a pint after work? Mr Malloy said he was interested in catching up with the two of us."
The smile widened. A drink with Grunnings and Malloy, without Collings. Excellent.
"Thank you, Mr Grunnings, I'd like that," he replied.
"Good," the man said, beaming and nodding, as he walked back to his office.
Neither man noticed that the door to Collings's office was open, nor that he sat there scowling at them from within. What was the old man doing showing kindness to Dursley? the general manager mused to himself. Still, it probably didn't matter. While he didn't like Dursley, he could handle the man; and anyway, Dursley was his own worst enemy, he mused, he'd probably cock this opportunity right up. Michael Collings prided himself on being a shrewd judge of character; and unless he was very wide of the mark, Luke Malloy didn't like Vernon Dursley one little bit, he thought, an evil smile playing on his lips…

It took the whole day to clean the house. Petunia could swear the dirt increased every time she turned her back; she vacuumed and washed and scrubbed and for the first time in her life actually wished that Harry was there to help. However much they had complained about his work, he had actually kept the place presentable; that seemed to be almost beyond Petunia today.
The final straw came at four o'clock, as she was sitting down enjoying a well-earned cup of tea. There came a crash, and she raced into the front room to find that some local yobs had thrown a pot-plant through the front window. She opened her eyes very wide at the scene of devastation. There was broken glass everywhere; and the pot had shattered on the carpet, throwing dirt and shards of pottery everywhere.
She took a shuddering breath, burst into tears, and fell into one of the armchairs. Tea was not enough, she decided, and she hunted in the grog cupboard for some brandy. After drinking half a tumbler full, she rang an emergency glazier, and then fetched the vacuum cleaner.

Harry found it hard later to remember much about Neville and George's wedding. Everyone agreed afterwards that was an amazing event: the two men, very obviously in love with each other, had both dressed in matching elegant pure white robes as they exchanged simple vows of fidelity before the beaming celebrant. There was no procession, or arrival of the bride, or anything at all that suggested either was subservient to the other; they simply stood, hands clasped together, before the congregation, supported by Harry and Fred as their best men.
The ceremony had gone in a blur; tables laden with food had appeared out of nowhere, and everyone had eaten and drunk their fill; George had got up and said that it was time for speeches, at which everyone settled back just a little. Big mistake.
"As if!" Fred roared out. Suddenly, all the bellflowers had glowed in reds and blues, making a spectacular light display, and the little stage they had been married on suddenly expanded to be a disco floor, a DJ appeared out of nowhere, and most of the chairs vanished as the congregation found themselves more or less unwillingly dancing to a hypnotic beat.
But in all of it, Harry found his eyes constantly drawn to Draco. There was something about the blond that just captured his heart all over again; and when a slow song came on at last, Harry grabbed his fiancé's arm and they stood together swaying to a gentle beat.
At ten o'clock there were the obligatory Weasley fireworks; but by then, best man duties over, Harry and Draco had snuck away to make fireworks of their own…

Vernon parked his car in the garage and came into the house swearing. One look at him and Petunia, who had been about to let rip about her disastrous day, fell silent.
"What happened?" she asked later, as he sat nursing a glass of whiskey.
"'M finished," he said indistinctly. "Drinks with Malloy and Grunnings. Should have known they're swine. Bastards, the pair of them." He took another sip. If he threw up later, too bad; he needed alcohol now.
"Tell me about it", she entreated. Vernon didn't usually swear like this, not in front of her, anyway. Something serious had happened, she could feel it. Her hands felt like someone was poking them with needles; and the irrelevant line her mother had drummed into her came to her: by the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes.
"(hic) We went to the pub after work. Had a small w'skey and soda," Vernon said, hampered by alcohol and hiccups. "Going well. Then Grunnings ordered a basket of chips. I had some and promptly threw up."
Petunia closed her eyes. Her poor Vernon had such a tender stomach at the moment. She wished he would go and see a doctor; but he simply refused point-blank: "just a bug," he had said whenever she asked.
"All over Malloy," he finished.
Oh dear, Petunia thought. "Oh dear," Petunia said.
"Grunnings was furious. Told me 'I'm not very happy with what I hear about that nephew of yours, Dursley. We've shown you nothing but kindness, but it seems that you didn't pass any of it on. Shame. Well, this is your last chance. Unless you can control yourself, you're finished'."
Petunia took in a sharp breath. "What has he heard about the freak?"
"Apparently someone has been filling his ears about how we mistreated the freak for years. Says he's heard that Dyson skipped the country because things were getting too hot for him. And I have a good idea who that someone was," he said darkly.
Petunia gulped, remembering her conversation with two detectives some days ago …
"Yes," he said, taking another swig of whisky, "that damn Malloy. Long and the short of it, I tried to apologize, of course, but no words came out."
"Oh," Petunia said uselessly, before she could stop herself.
"Unfortunately, something else did. I couldn't stop vomiting, so Grunnings told me not to bother coming back."
Petunia was now beyond shocked. "Oh Vernon!" she said, horrified. "What are we going to do?"
"Right now, I'm going to bed," he replied. "I suppose tomorrow I'm going to have to grovel to get my job back."

The two lovers, blond and dark, lay slightly drunk and very happy in each others arms. Draco was still being protective of Harry; too protective, perhaps, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to object. They had explored each other's bodies for the first time in what seemed to Harry like forever; but it was slow and soft, deliberate and gentle.
Now they lay together, quiet and still. Harry let out a sigh.
"Are you alright, love?" Draco asked.
Harry smiled. Smiled at the concern in the voice. Smiled that after all the horrible images he had been through while healing, he now had this wonderful man in his bed, who cared about him. Who looked after him.
"Thank you," he said, and kissed Draco. And if Draco wondered what it was that Harry was thanking him for, he didn't ask, choosing to accept the love that was offered him. For he in his own way had known horrors; and now he too had a beautiful man in his bed, who cared about him. Who accepted him.
"What did you think about the spheres?" Draco asked.
Harry turned to look at him. "Oh, we have to be serious now, do we?"
"No, sorry," Draco said; "Salazar! Way to kill the mood, Draco!" he berated himself.
"Hush, love, I was only teasing. You remember that Bill talked about the spheres being connected to 'this stage of being'?"
Draco thought back. Yes, he did remember that; he hadn't really understood at the time, but then perhaps they didn't understand much of it anyway.
"Yes; what do you think he meant by that?"
"I think that we can only see some of life. Our own stages, if you like. Maybe if we could see more dimensions, it would be more like a bowl, where the spheres really go on and on. But the fourth sphere that he talked about? That's more like the lip of the bowl. I think when you go there, you've fallen out of the Ascent of Souls altogether. That's why it's hard to see anything there; if you go there, you're not connected to anything any more."
Draco mulled over this for some time. "An interesting theory. Why didn't you mention it today?"
"Because Hermione would have attacked it and pulled it to pieces then and there. And I'm not sure about it. What would I know, anyway?" he said, with a yawn, and snuggled down in Draco's arms.
As Draco drifted off to sleep, two thoughts floated through his head. One was that, if Harry was the Master of Death, then his theory was almost certainly going to be the right one. The other was perhaps less pure; perhaps it was a little shallow of him, but he went to sleep with a smile on his lips because Harry had chosen to share his ideas with him rather than Hermione.

Vernon slept fitfully. Something was there, clawing at the back of his mind; some half-memory of the night before. Part of him wasn't really sure that he wanted to know; but his dream self had a courage that his waking one almost entirely lacked. In his dream, in front of him, he saw what looked like a door; before he could stop himself, he yanked it open.
He was back at the restaurant from last night. There they were, Petunia and memory-himself, sitting opposite Luke and Narcissa Malloy. It was strange to watch them; he knew the enormous man seated there was in fact himself, but he felt strangely detached from him. It was as if he was watching a stranger.
The table was very private, walled off in its own alcove, and somehow he knew that no-one could possibly have overheard them. He heard the voice again and it all came back as the scene played itself in front of him.
"I'm afraid we haven't been entirely honest with you," the blond-haired man was saying. "You see, my name is actually Lucius Malfoy."
Dream-Vernon snickered as he watched the absurd expression on memory -Vernon's face. "And you?" memory -Vernon said. "Are you really Narcissa?"
The woman smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Oh yes," she said, softly, too softly, "I really am. And I am a witch."
Memory-Vernon gaped like a fish. "A witch?" he said, unable to take it in.
"Indeed," Malloy – or Malfoy, or whatever his real name was – replied. "And I am a wizard. And we have a son. And that son is engaged to a very famous wizard. One I believe you have heard of. One Harry James Potter."
If dream-Vernon had thought memory-Vernon had gaped like a fish before, it was nothing compared to the stupefied look on his face now.
"Wizard – witch –" he said, stupidly. And then, anger in his face, he yelled out, "engaged? Wait, the freak is engaged to a man?"
Memory-Vernon was too caught up in the moment to see the expressions on his hosts' faces; but dream-Vernon saw clearly that, of all the things memory-Vernon could have said, this was probably the worst.
"Yes," Lucius replied, his voice low, cold and controlled. Dream-Vernon thought it would have been better if the man – wizard, whatever – had exploded in rage. This voice boded no good at all. "The freak, as you call him, is going to be my son-in-law. And I must say, of the two of you, he is not the one I would refer to as 'the freak'."
Memory-Vernon gulped, having finally decided that perhaps his usual bullying and blustering wasn't going to get him out of this one.
"No," Narcissa continued, "my husband has uncovered quite a lot of evidence about your actions, Mr Dursley."
And even though the title was the correct one, and the tone was icily polite, the effect on memory-Vernon was worse than if she had called him a filthy name; it was clear she had not one shred of respect for him, and the man quailed in his seat.
"Evidence that has been given to the Muggle authorities. I trust you understand what that means?" Lucius said, his voice matching his wife's.
"The police …" Petunia said, terror in her eyes. "But Darren …"
"Darren Dyson was arrested in Mallorca this morning," Lucius replied, looking briefly at the woman before returning his gaze to Vernon. "So if the two of you were relying on his good offices, I suggest you think again. No, Mr Dursley, the Muggles now have a pretty good idea of just what you did to Harry, and what lengths you went to to cover it up. And, dear lady," he said, turning again to Petunia, and the light in his eye giving the lie to the feeling in the words, "I'm sure they will be interested to know that you were aware of Mr Dyson's activities, and did nothing …"
"But… but…" Petunia spluttered. "What could I do? I had to! Don't you see?" she spluttered, ringing her hands as she tried desperately to make them understand. "Vernon is my husband; it's my duty as his wife to back him up!"
"You could have treated your nephew with kindness," Narcissa replied, her voice like steel. "You could have protected him, and loved him, and done what you were expected to by all the laws of family and blood!"
"Love him!" memory-Vernon exploded. "How could anyone love that fre—"
"ENOUGH!" Lucius said, and the single word stopped Vernon more surely than a rifle-shot would have. "My son loves him. We love him. Hell, half the wizarding world loves him; and all of the wizarding world is in his debt. So, put this foolishness at an end. Whatever happens, you two have done unspeakable acts, and you will be punished for it. You are going to have a rough trot, to put it mildly, there's no question about that. No, the question is, are you going to take the punishment that the Muggle world dishes out; or face up to Harry?"
Memory-Vernon sneered. "What, your punishment or ours? What do you take me for? Our lot might lock us up; but your lot, who knows what they will do?"
Lucius arched an eyebrow. "I don't think you quite understand, Mr Dursley. It's not a choice between one punishment and the other. 'Our lot', as you so charmingly call them, will probably do whatever they do whether you are punished by Muggles or not. No, the choice is whether you will face punishment with or without Harry's protection."
"Harry's protection?" Petunia asked, through tears. "Why would he protect us?"
"It's what he does," Narcissa answered. "And let's face it, unless he does, you're pretty much sunk."
"And why would you offer this to us?" Memory-Vernon asked, his voice still slightly disdainful.
Lucius looked at him; it was a strange look, a compound of mostly revulsion with .. pity?
"Because Harry offered us the same kindness," he replied evenly, "and we could not fail to offer it on to you."
Dream-Vernon gulped at this, as Lucius murmured some words and the memory faded away. Soon, all too soon, it was locked away again; "until the right moment", he heard.
He shuddered as he fell back to sleep. There wasn't going to be anything 'right' about that moment for him, he felt certain.

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