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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
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48. … and Not So Friendly Ones
Wednesday 24 June 1998
Vernon woke up early again, and stared at the clock. Quarter past seven. He sighed deeply. What was the point in getting up? He had no job to go to, and, if he was realistic about his chances, he felt sure that there was nothing to do about that but ride out the week and hope that he could get something happening next week. He didn't dare leave the house, anyway; from what that dry old stick Simpkins had said, the neighbours would probably lynch him on sight. And much though he hated to admit it, the man was probably right.
He really just wanted to pull the covers back over his head and fall back to sleep. There really was nothing stopping him from doing so, he decided. Except that … oh dear …
Five minutes later he had his head down the toilet again. It seems he could keep nothing down but bread and water. Well, if nothing else, this stomach bug should help him lose a little weight …

Armand Ionescu turned out to be quite the loveliest wizard Harry had ever met. He did, it was true, mutter under his breath about "damn healers who think they know all about mind healing", but it was clear there was no heat in it at all.
He sat Harry and Draco down together in Draco's study and asked them to tell him all about what had happened to Harry during his illness. Once he had heard the full story, the mind-healer sat in contemplation for a couple of minutes. The two lovers watched him carefully, wondering what he would have to say about the healing process.
"Well," he said, "I see now why Agnes thought you have been overdoing it; and as a provisional diagnosis, I must say I completely agree with it."
Harry looked a bit confused, so the healer continued gently, "once you agreed to see me, she filled me in on her own observations."
"So why did you make me tell it to you all again?" Harry demanded.
Armand smiled; it was a most disarming smile. "Because I wanted to know what you would tell me," he replied, simply. "And I am very happy that you have been quite open with me. And now I must ask you something I know is difficult, but I assure you is necessary. Will you allow me to cast Legilimens on you?"
Harry looked at him for a moment; but of course, the man was a mind-healer, the mind-penetrating spell had to be an important part of his diagnostic repertoire. The open, honest, serious expression the man now had on his face went a long way to reassuring the raven-haired lad that the man would not harm him, as other people had.
"I have had some rather bad experiences with Legilimency," Harry said, quietly. Draco snorted, having heard about the sessions Harry had had with Severus Snape. The mind-healer ignored him completely.
"I understand," the man replied. "I promise I will not add to them."
Harry gathered up all his courage. "All right," he said. "What do I have to do?"
The smile was back; the eyes crinkled and then grew wide; and all of a sudden Harry was aware of another mind alongside his.
"Can you show me the world you made that contained the blackness you fought?" he heard the healer ask. The man had been quite right; his Legilimency was so well-controlled, so subtle, that it felt not intrusive at all. It was much more like inviting a guest into your mind. Harry found that a comforting thought, and fixed on the idea of inviting Armand into the meadow he had sat in.
Instantly, the sky cleared and there was grass underfoot.
"Magnificent!" he heard – if that was the right word – the healer exclaim. "Your realisation of this space is truly impressive."
Harry watched as the older man walked over to the adjacent flowerbeds. The healer let out a big belly-laugh when the snapdragons snapped at him.
"Oh my," he said. "This really is most impressive. Now, where was the blackness?"
Harry thought for a moment, and they were falling through space, surrounded by the plumes of light. All of a sudden, they hit the ground; but there was no darkness any more, and the area looked clean.
The healer looked around, a concerned look on his face. "This area is empty," he observed, rather unnecessarily.
"Yes," Harry said. "It used to be black; isn't empty better?"
"Empty is better than black, yes," the healer said, slowly, "but full is much better than empty. You have a space here, a space that can hold memories; you and Mr Malfoy need to start filling it with happy ones."
He looked around a little more, and then smiled at Harry. "Do not worry," he said, simply, and Harry suddenly found that he had been worried, but no longer was. "Good," Armand continued. "Now, I think I have seen what I need to here; let us return."
Harry was sure that the man could easily have extricated himself from his mind, and probably without hurting Harry; but he decided that, for the healer, that would be rude. He was Harry's guest; it was Harry's duty to escort him out.
A moment later, Harry opened his eyes, to find Draco staring at him open-mouthed.
"You closed your eyes," the blond said, his voice a whisper. "How is that possible?"
Ionescu looked at him, the eyes brightening in delight at the intelligent interest the young man was showing.
"It is true that normal Legilimency requires open eyes," he said, in a clipped, precise voice that would not have been out of place in a classroom (where, Harry suspected, it had often been heard). "But Mr Potter had constructed an elaborate realm in his mind, one I believe you have visited?"
Draco nodded. "The meadow," he said.
"Quite so. It is possible to enter such spaces, and remain there, without the need for eye contact; indeed, it is easier that way.
"Now, we need to discuss the events since the healing."
Haltingly, the two boys told him things, finding that they wove together quite a story about the events: Ron and Hermione's return, Dudley's visit, their visit to Paris, the business with Bill, Neville and George's wedding, and the events of the previous day. The last interested Draco quite a lot; he had not heard about the visit to the Registry office, and was delighted to see how happy Harry appeared to be to have Dudley as a Potter.
The healer did not look quite so delighted. "Mr Potter, you have been very busy; you seem determined to make yourself useful to everyone else. Which is very commendable, of course; I'm sure your cousin is very grateful, and that the work you have done at Hogwarts is much appreciated. But the healing process you have been through is very traumatic all by itself. It's time for a little down-time. You need to go away for a while."
"Away?" Harry asked.
"Yes, away," the healer replied. "What, out of all the things you have recited, did you enjoy the most?"
Harry looked a little baffled. He was still worried that the man felt he had been overdoing things; to be truthful, as they had recited all of the events of the last few days, it certainly sounded like it.
"The Paris trip?" the mind-healer prompted, and Harry grimaced.
"I suppose that probably was overdoing it," he admitted ruefully.
Armand looked at him blankly. "Quite the opposite," he replied. "You may have been busy; but you were doing what you wanted, and you were being looked after. My professional opinion, Mr Potter, is that you need to go on another holiday like that, a holiday where you do what you like and nothing is expected of you. What do you need to do in the next week?"
"Hogwarts starts on the first," Draco said; "we need to get all our school supplies organised, and robes, and packing for the term…"
The healer waved his hand, the gesture clearly saying that this was all trivial detail. "I don't want you going to Diagon Alley; you won't get the rest you need there. I'm sure Madame Malkin can call here and measure you for robes; the rest can be ordered and delivered to Hogwarts. Do you have a house-elf, Mr Potter?"
Harry nodded, wondering if he was going to be allowed any say in the events.
"Very good," Armand continued, "he can pack for you both, I'm sure. What else needs to be done?"
Draco looked at him. The man was very business-like and professional; it was clear that this was going to happen. But what, exactly, was 'this', he wondered? It was all very well to say 'go on holiday'; but one had to find accommodation, and sort out transport, and pack …
"We do need to organise somewhere to go," he said, softly. "And then let our friends know we're going."
Ionescu laughed out loud. "Of course you do. But please, do not tell your friends where you are; just that you are away. I'm sure that they love you madly, but Mr Potter needs time to rest without being worried by anyone else. I'm sure that you'll think of somewhere; a family property, perhaps? Doesn't your family have a chateau in France?"
"Yes, indeed. I'll ask father if we may borrow it," Draco replied, and called Dippy and asked her to ask Lucius to come.
Half an hour later, it was all agreed: they would leave for the chateau after dinner that evening; and Harry was expressly ordered not to worry about a thing before the start of the next school year.

To Petunia's irritation, Vernon had spent most of the morning lying on the sofa, doing nothing. She had had to clean around him; why was it that people were always in the way, she wondered.
It was only after she'd vacuumed the room for the third time that she realised something was up. She looked around, slowly and carefully, and in front of her eyes she could see dust falling on the furniture, dirt patches on the carpet, and a slight odour in the air. It was almost like … magic.
Magic. The freaks. This was their doing.
Furious, she put down the Hoover, took off her gloves, and went and made a cup of tea for herself and Vernon.
When she returned to the front room, her husband was moaning.
"Stomach again?" she asked, handing him the cup of tea.
He looked up, surprised to be addressed. When Petunia started a cleaning frenzy, it usually took uninterrupted hours.
"Yes," he said, then took the tea with a hasty, "thanks."
"It's the freaks," she said, taking a seat, carefully avoiding the one the owl had done its business on earlier.
Vernon looked confused. Out of it, she thought. Well, in retrospect, he hadn't eaten much for the last few days.
"What's 'the freaks'?" he asked.
"All of it. Look, it can't be co-incidence. You've lost your job; we've had policemen here asking about my freak nephew; Mr Simpkins came and practically ordered us to keep our heads down in case the neighbours lopped them off; the house is always a mess, even when I've just cleaned it; that owl that brought the letter from Dudley yesterday, the bird must have come from one of the freaks; your stomach bug; and then there were those articles in the paper. It all adds up. Someone knows, Vernon. Someone knows what we did, and is going to punish us for it! And – ohh …"
Petunia had been working herself up, getting louder and louder as she ranted on, but at the end, she must have remembered something; she went strangely quiet, which Vernon found a lot more disturbing than the rant.
And then he too remembered. The dream came back to him again: dinner with the Malloys, who he had thought would be safe allies and hoped to impress enough to manoeuver Collings out, but who had turned out to be Malfoys, wizards, and far more dangerous than he had ever imagined ...

Having decided with Harry exactly who to tell what, Draco insisted that it was he who Floo-called the Burrow. Harry really wasn't going to worry about a thing, as far as he was concerned, even the small stress of telling people he was going away. Molly took the call, and told him that Ron and Hermione were at her parents' house. He thanked her for letting him know, explaining that they were going away for a few days at the orders of the healer.
"Oh!" said Molly. "But I thought Harry was looking better? Is it really as bad as that?"
"Healer Ionescu seems to think so," Draco replied.
"Armand?" Molly enquired, a stunned look on her face.
"Yes, indeed," Draco replied.
"But he retired years ago! Hasn't been seen for ages! How come …" and then realisation dawned on the face in the fireplace. "Oh. Of course, Agnes called him in. I see. How clever of Minerva!"
"Headmistress McGonagall?" Draco asked, a little confused.
"Yes," Molly replied. "Agnes is her aunt – that's the only reason she came, I'm sure; she's been retired for years and refuses all requests to come out of retirement. When Voldemort came to power, she and Armand left England for France and vowed not to come back. But Agnes always had a soft spot for her niece, and Armand would do anything for Agnes. It's funny, really. Minerva comes across as a tough-minded old stick, and Agnes can be even worse; but the family was always very close and loving to one another."
"Hmm," Draco said. "Thank you, Molly. Please excuse me; I must get on with a few more calls. We'll catch up with you sometime after we get back, I'm sure."
"Yes, well, we'll see you on the platform, of course, but you must come and visit soon after that."
Draco called off. He chuckled to himself. The platform. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at Kings Cross Station. He had quite forgotten about the Hogwarts Express. This time, they would all be – well, if not friends, at least not enemies. It was going to be a different trip to usual, that was for sure. To his wry amusement, he found he was, for the first time in years, actually looking forward to it.

Petunia was sitting at home in body, her eyes closed; but in her mind she was reliving the dinner on the previous Sunday evening. She watched as they entered the restaurant, and once again felt the sense of awe that she had been allowed into such a beautiful place. Everything screamed good taste, from the rich, velvet curtains right down to the simple but elegant damask napkins on the tables, all folded perfectly.
They sat down to the table, and the waiter unostentatiously helped her with her napkin and poured her some water. The food was laid before them. She had remembered before only that it was exquisite; but now she could see it again in front of her, and the delicate quails in the oh-so-delectably-light truffle sauce made her mouth water all over again with the memory.
The sole meunière had been even better; she and Narcissa had both felt so full after it that they forewent the meat course, and while the men had happily hoed into the delicious-looking beef, they had chatted like old friends. It was amazing to Petunia how well the other woman understood her; it was almost like having Lily back, she thought, Lily before the freaks had got to her sister and stolen her away from her.
That should have been a clue, she thought ruefully. But she watched on as the memory played out. After a delicious and sinfully rich tiramisu for dessert, they had had coffee and liqueurs in the lounge. She had expected a large, shared room; but they were shown into quite a cozy, intimate space, roomy enough for them, but clearly a private area.
And then the balloon had gone up.
"I'm afraid we haven't been entirely honest with you," the blond-haired man had said. "You see, my name is actually Lucius Malfoy."
"And you?" Vernon had asked of his wife. "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."
Petunia had nearly fainted at that point, and even the mere memory of the event was enough to send shock rippling through her. It really was Lily all over again – the only people she could really have been friends with were stolen away by those freaks.
And then Mr Malfoy had said that his son was engaged to The Freak himself, her nephew, and Petunia had gagged. Trust the freak to marry a man!
Vernon had yelled at him, and the reply had come back in a very cold voice: "Of the two of you, he is not the one I would refer to as 'the freak'."
Petunia had found herself quite literally speechless, and remembered willing Vernon to shut up at this point. Mercifully, it seemed he had worked out just how much danger they were in, as the Malfoys explained about how much they knew. It was frightening; Vernon had assured her that no-one could ever work it out, but it seemed he had been completely wrong about that.
She played perhaps the last card she had left.
"What could I do? I had to! Don't you see? Vernon is my husband; it's my duty as his wife to back him up!" she spluttered, ringing her hands in her desperation to be believed; but it rang false even to her own ears. And Narcissa had dismissed her coldly, and she knew there was no further hope for them.
But then Lucius had mentioned 'Harry's protection'. Her heart leapt. The freak, protect them?
"It's what he does," Narcissa had said, and she realised she must have said something out loud.
Petunia opened her eyes, to find Vernon looking at her.
"Harry," they both said to each other. And both knew that, if there was any hope, he was it.

When he Floo-called the Granger's house, it was Hermione who took the call.
"Draco?" she said at once, a little concerned that it was him making the call, rather than Harry. "How is Harry? Has the healer been? Is everything alright?"
Draco smiled. The witch seemed quite incapable of asking one question at a time. "Yes, the healer's been. Harry is doing OK, but he needs a good break. We're going to go away for a few days, so I wanted to let you know we won't see you before Hogwarts."
"What?" Hermione nearly yelled. "But–" They had worked like Trojans and her parent's house was practically complete, much to the surprise of the Muggle inspector who had wanted to condemn the place on Monday and had visited this morning to find a pleasant, and entirely habitable, house. Nothing had been said, but she had rather assumed that, once the house was all done they would spend quite a lot of the next few days catching up with their friends, particularly Harry; it was hard for her to not feel totally let down.
But then her formidable mind kicked in. No-one had promised her that she would get that time; and she could hardly berate Draco for taking Harry away when she and Ron had been away for so long herself. Not to mention that this was doctor's orders.
She looked at Draco again. The blond had a pleasant look on his face; he was clearly waiting for her to continue. She wondered what her face must have looked like to him.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I guess I'd hoped we would get to spend time with you both."
Mostly Harry, Draco thought, but surprisingly the thought didn't hurt. After all, he could well understand wanting to spend time with Harry; the difference was, of course, that he was going to. But he decided that being seen to be smug about that would not help the relationship with Weasley and Granger – er, Ron and Hermione – one little bit; and he couldn't lose them. Harry needed them, after all; and, truth to tell, so did he. He needed all the friends he could get. His and Harry's time together had been bumpy enough, but so far they had been mostly in private. Come July they would be back at Hogwarts, and it would be a lot harder to hide. At least for the first couple of months it would be only the eighth year students; but somehow, he felt that would be hard enough all by itself.
But these were worries for later.
"I'm sorry," he replied, in deliberate echo of Hermione's statement. "I would have liked that too; but Harry needs some time away, and that trumps everything."
"I agree," Hermione replied. "So, what did the healer actually do?"
"We discussed pretty much everything that happened since Harry fell ill; it was a bit strange, really, he didn't seem to ask a lot of questions, but somehow the story came out pretty much in full."
Hermione chuckled. "He's probably pretty adept at getting people to open up. Isn't he supposed to be rather good?"
Draco's eyes went wide. "Good? From what I hear, he's probably the best there is! Once we'd talked things through, he cast Legilimens on Harry."
Hermione took a sharp intake of breath; she remembered what Harry had been like with Snape. "Harry allowed that?" she asked in surprise.
"Yes," Draco replied, realising that of course Hermione would know all about Harry's failed Occlumancy lessons. "But it was nothing like the sessions you're thinking of; they sat together, and then it was obvious that Armand had entered Harry's mind, but there was no tension at all. Then Harry closed his eyes, and—"
"What?" Hermione said, her voice shrill with surprise. "How is that possible? I thought Legilimency required eye contact between the parties?"
"Me too," Draco replied. "But apparently, when the subject has constructed a mindscape like Harry had, it's possible to stay in it without. I guess," Draco continued, thinking out loud, "that must be what happened when I saw inside his mind. Anyway, there was something about needing to fill space with positive memories, and going away, and relaxing with no stress. So that's why I'm calling instead of him; he's curled up in bed at the moment having a nap; the healer was very helpful, but it did take a lot out of him.
"So, we'll be leaving tonight, and we won't be seeing anyone, I'm afraid. Will you tell our friends?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione replied, as she made a mental note to look up everything she could find about mindscapes and their creation. She wondered if it would be alright to owl Mr Ionescu?
But that was a problem for later. There was a question she did need to ask for the moment. "Would it be alright for us to go to Hogwarts, do you think?"
"I'm sure it would," Draco replied. "You can Floo directly to the Great Hall; I'll be visiting there myself shortly, there's one thing I want to get done before we go. The Floo address is simply 'Great Hall, Hogwarts'. It should be open for you; Flitwick has welcomed all former students with open arms." Which wasn't always a good thing, he thought, remembering Marcus Flint and an unfortunate attack on the Quidditch pitch.

Petunia and Vernon sat together in silence, each wondering what to do next. It was all very well for that blond wizard to talk of the Freak protecting them; but even if they wanted him to, how were they going to go about it? It wasn't as if they could ring him up, or even drive to where he was; they had no idea where he was, no way to contact him.
Perhaps, Petunia thought ruefully, even this ray of hope was a mere illusion.
The front room window, the one which the owl had come through, suddenly swung open. There was no way to tell whether Vernon had not closed it properly when Ozymandias had left, or the wind had blown it open, or simply that some magic happened; but there was no time to, either, really, for a large black eagle owl, even bigger and more impressive than the one from yesterday, swooped in, lazily circled them, dropped an envelope on the rug, and flew out the window before either of them could react.
Vernon reached down with a grunt and picked up the envelope. He ripped it open. Petunia jumped up and stood beside him as he extracted from it a single sheet. She placed her hand on his shoulder as they both surveyed the parchment, on which was written, in the most beautiful copperplate writing:

Have you made your choice?

"Yes," Vernon said.
"Are you mad?" Petunia said, with a look that clearly indicated she thought so. "Talking to a piece of parchment?"
"Maybe I am," Vernon said, belligerently, looking up to her. "But it's magical, isn't it? Maybe it understands us. How are we supposed to know what kind of freakish things they do?"
He looked back hatefully at the parchment. He felt they had been cornered into being associated with this kind of unnaturalness, and he very much resented it. "Yes, we want his bloody protection!"
Vernon blinked as the writing on the parchment changed in front of his eyes.

Whose protection?

"The freak's," they said together. Nothing happened.
"Perhaps we have to say his name," Petunia suggested.
It was Vernon's turn to look at Petunia as if she were mad. But on the other hand, nothing was happening …
"Harry Potter's!" he said, disgust evident in his voice. Immediately, the parchment changed again; this time there were just two words.

Touch me

Without pausing for thought, the two Dursleys reached out and touched the paper. A few seconds later they felt a strange feeling, as if someone had put a huge hook in their bellies and pulled; and then it all went black…

Ron and Hermione had no difficulty getting to Hogwarts. The place was a-buzz with people coming and going; the Hall itself was filled with house-elves busy scrubbing floors and washing windows. In the middle of the room, near a huge board covered in lists of jobs, most of which appeared to have been crossed out, Filius Flitwick was sitting on an enormous stool. As Draco had foreshadowed, Flitwick was happy to see them, crying out with delight as soon as he saw them, and asked about their time in Australia.
"Wonderful, thanks, Professor," Hermione replied, not quite sure how to converse with a Professor out of term time. "Um, we were hoping we could help? Draco and Harry can't come, Harry's been unwell and they've been ordered away for a holiday."
"I'm very sorry to hear that!" Flitwick replied in his sing-song voice. "Mr Longbottom! Miss Parkinson!" he called.
The two students, who had been busy repairing the entry stairs, walked into the Hall.
"Hermione! Ron!" Neville cried, racing over and surprising his two friends by wrapping them in a firm hug. "How are you?"
"And how are Draco and Harry?" Pansy asked, as she walked up to them, somewhat more sedately.
Ron looked amazed. He had been told how much things had changed; but the evident easy camaraderie between Neville and Pansy still came as a shock, as did the fact that she sounded genuinely interested in Harry as well as Draco.
They explained about the holiday, and, to Ron's amazement, Pansy's face fell.
"That's too bad," she said. "They would have wanted to be here to finish the Tower. Still, never mind; we can do that when they get back, can't we, Professor?"
"Oh yes!" Flitwick twitted. "The house-elves can furnish the rooms easily enough, and we can leave the actual decorating for the students to do when they arrive. Now, we must find jobs for you two!"
He clapped his hands in glee, and Hermione laughed. The sheer exuberance he radiated was infectious, and even after spending a day and a half renovating her parent's place, she found herself excited to be joining in with helping repair the castle.

Harry and Draco entered the room to find a very strange meeting in progress. Lucius and Narcissa were seated together on a beautiful sofa, both looking cool, calm and collected. In front of them, looking very out of place, the Dursleys were standing on a cover-sheet. Harry knew very well that underneath the sheet was a priceless Chinese rug; the sheet, and the fact that they had not been offered a chair, were obviously designed to make it quite clear to the Dursleys just exactly how little regard their hosts held them in.
"Ah, boys," Narcissa said, "do come in," and with a swish of her wand she conjured another sofa for them.
Draco hesitated. He still didn't think this was wise, especially given what the mind healer had said; this was bound to be stressful for Harry, after all. But his mother had convinced him that Harry needed to finish with his uncle once and for all; and, despite his misgivings, he could see the logic of it. He looked at his lover, arching an eyebrow, silently asking if he was OK with this. Harry gave a slight nod, and he and Draco sat down together on the sofa and looked at the Dursleys. Harry could see that they were uncomfortable in the extreme; he made a show of holding Draco's hand quite openly, and felt richly rewarded when his uncle's face went a deep shade of red. He wondered a little if it was anger or embarrassment that coloured it. But only a little; it was probably both, but he could not bring himself to care.
"Good afternoon uncle, aunt," he said, with a very small nod to each of them. "This is my fiancé, Draco; I gather you have already met my in-laws-to-be?"
"Ah, yes, we have had that … pleasure," Vernon replied. It was very clear that he didn't find it even remotely pleasant; but he was trying to be on his best behaviour. Harry was amazed at that thought; the huge man had never had any regard for him at all, and now he wanted to play nice?
"You do remember why you are here, Mr Dursley?" Lucius asked.
"Yes," Vernon said, as bowed his head, but his voice was like steel and Harry could still feel the antagonism coming off him. "To face up to Harry, and to seek his protection."
Draco sneered at the man. "What makes you think you deserve that?" he asked, coldly.
Vernon began to glare at Draco, then dropped it, bowing his head and rubbing hands together in his lap.
"We just wanted to be normal, ordinary people," Vernon told them as though it would explain away all they had done. "Just wanted the… Harry," he corrected himself, having only just managed to keep the word freak from spilling out, "to have a chance to live a normal life, just like everyone else."
All three Malfoys began to speak; the men naturally deferred to Narcissa, waving for her to speak first.
"The way you treated Harry is simply abominable," Narcissa informed the Dursleys.
"Harry is far better than 'normal'," Draco sneered out. "And he is not like anyone else."
"And do you think all the things you did were normal?" Lucius said, his voice soft and full of menace.
"Anyway," the man snapped, his temper soon getting the better of him, "where do you get off, telling me how to behave? A man marrying a man? That's disgusting, that is!"
Lucius leapt to his feet, and Petunia put her hand on her husband, saying "Vernon!" to him sharply. But Harry waved them all down.
"Let him continue," he said, his voice like flint.
Vernon swallowed. He might, he thought, have gone too far. But he was not the sort of man who would kowtow to a mere boy; especially when the boy was the Freak! There was no way he could control his temper when these people thought it was alright for men to marry men! It was disgusting! He wished he could beat that out of him now; but all he had to wound with were words. He looked over at Harry and a poisonous thought came into his head as a malicious gleam entered his eyes.
"And anyway, marrying a man? That won't get you a family. How are you going to have children, Harry?" And the stress he placed on his nephew's name made using it sound like an even worse insult than 'freak'. "You aren't, are you? You don't deserve them! You really are a freak! At least your freakishness will die out with you!"
There was silence after this outburst, and a deathly stillness. Harry closed his eyes, and for a long minute nothing happened. Then the raven-head spoke out, softly, but in the firmest voice they had yet heard, almost hissing the words.
"Get him out of my sight. I never want to see him again."
When he opened his eyes again, only Draco was still with him. The blond wrapped Harry in a huge hug as the Hero of the Wizarding World dissolved into tears.

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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