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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
- 49
- 50
- 51
50. Returning to Class
Thursday 2 July
Harry woke up the next morning still feeling elated from their evening the night before. He raised himself up on his left side and looked over at the sleeping form of Draco lying supine next to him. Draco asleep was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he thought. All of the worries that seemed to tense the blond's face up for a good deal of the time were gone. The snarkiness, the self-control, the immaculate grooming were all absent: Draco's hair was messy, his face soft and rested, and his lips curled in a geniune smile.
It occurred to Harry all of a sudden that they were here. Back at Hogwarts. Back at the place where he had killed Voldemort. Back at the place where Tonks and Lupin had died, not to mention all the others. And he had managed to sleep through the night. Without nightmares.
It was that fact, more than anything, that stirred his blood. That brought home to him that he was no longer tied to the past. The love that he and Draco shared, the healing, the rebuilding of Hogwarts, it all pointed to the future. Of course, the past still reached out, still had to be dealt with; but it was happening.
It was really real.
Harry smiled. And in one of those cosmic co-incidences that give Chance a bad name, Draco chose that moment to open one silver eye and look at his fiancé.
Harry's face lit up with a smile was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, he thought, as he reached over for a good morning cuddle.
No surprise, then, that even though they were awake before most of the inhabitants of Dumbledore Tower, they almost missed breakfast …

The din in the Great Hall was astonishing, given that there were fewer than thirty students present. But not everyone at the Head Table appreciated it, it seemed.
"Can't we do something about the noise?" Slughorn asked petulantly, puffing himself up out of self-importance.
McGonagall looked at him. "Yes, Horace," she said calmly, "of course we can do something about it."
Slughorn deflated a little, glad to have her as an ally. But her next words gave the lie to that.
"We can encourage it," she said. "Or would you rather go back to the days when everyone was quiet as a flobberworm for fear of being noticed and singled out for torture?"
Slughorn looked down, not quite daring to meet Minerva's eyes. He didn't quite know how to deal with her habit of ruthlessly cutting through all the sensibilities he threw up. From anyone else, he would have dismissed it as rudeness, a lack of breeding or social standing; but the McGonagalls were a very old, well-connected family, and no-one in their right mind would dare call Minerva rude. The approved word was 'direct'.
"Yes, well, I suppose, if you put it like that," he rambled.
She decided to take pity on him. "Oh, Horace, if the noise really bothers you, do take your breakfast in your quarters," she suggested, with a tolerant smile.
Horace went bright pink. "Oh no, that would be very remiss of me," he stammered, "staff solidarity and all that," and proceeded to attack his ham and eggs with gusto.
The headmistress hid her smirk by taking a sip of coffee. She knew perfectly well that the real reason he wanted to be there was to recruit members for his Slug Club; she privately thought he was on a hiding to nothing there, these students knew a thing or two and his methods, which had worked well thirty years ago, were hardly likely to appeal nowadays.
Still, good luck to him, she thought. It was time to put away mean-spiritedness, and that included amongst the staff.

It was clear from the look on his face that Michael Corner definitely didn't get the owl about putting away mean-spiritedness. The Hufflepuffs and the Beauxbatons girls were waxing lyrical about how wonderful it was to be in Hogwarts, and how amazing the new Tower was and how incredibly skillful Harry and Draco were to have built it essentially by themselves and … Corner tuned out before he felt the need to throw up.
It didn't help matters at all that two of the Beauxbatons students were the Patil twins … what exactly was the point, he wondered, of transferring to a different school and then signing up for an exchange programme to your original school? He despised them for being illogical, and he hated them because Padma seemed to have sucked in Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin, the two returning Ravenclaw girls, and infecting them with the 'Potter is wonderful' vibe.
He just didn't understand how anyone would think that helping ex-Death Eaters was a good thing. He'd even tackled the two Patil twins about this last night, trying to get them to see reason, but they had just told him to grow up. Grow up? As far as he was concerned, it was he, and the other two male Ravenclaws, who were the grown-ups here; at least they understood a logical argument when they found one. How could you hope to build a solid, decent society on a proven rotten foundation? Looking around, he could see that Terry and Anthony weren't coping with the stupidity of it all much better.
He was shaken from his brown study by the older Durmstrang boy.
"You don't seem so happy today, Michael?" he asked.
"You see they're letting the Slythenins back?" Anthony Goldstein said.
"Yes?" Anders replied. "Why should they not?"
"Death Eater scum," Corner replied.
"But .. your war is over, surely?" Anders said, looking puzzled. "There are no Death Eaters left, they are in prison, ja?"
At this point, Ernie Macmillan, who had been keeping an ear on the conversation, leant over from the Hufflepuff side of the table.
"Yeah, forgive and forget, isn't that the thing now?"
"Easy for you to say," Justin Finch-Fletchey, seated next to him, replied. "You got to come here last year. My parents are Muggles; with all the blood-purity stuff I had to go into hiding. McGonagall warned us that the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, headed by that prize bitch Umbridge, had asked for a list of Muggle-born students and was likely to imprison or torture us. My whole family went to Denmark to avoid the crack-down."
"And coming here wasn't much better if you weren't in Slytherin," Corner continued, bitterly. "The Carrows had their precious pets using Crucio on students as punishment! They used to bind and torture students they didn't like; there was no-one to stop them. They say that Snape was a double agent, but he never lifted a finger against the Carrows the whole time. They just got worse and worse; in the end you didn't really have to do anything to deserve it. I sneaked out and released a first-year that had been chained up once. They caught me …"
He stopped abruptly and shuddered at the memory.
"It was bad, yes?" Stefan interjected.
Corner just nodded in answer.
"You do know that our former headmaster was a Death Eater once?" Ivan, the Durmstrang chaperone, added. "But he turned in his fellows and was pardoned."
"Yeah, I know about Karkaroff," Corner replied. "But that's even worse! How could you trust someone like that? A dirty turn-coat spy! You never know which side they're on. Like Snape. Everyone says how wonderful he was as a double-agent. But it's a good thing he's dead. How could we trust him? Why didn't he do anything about the Crucios?"
At this point, the volume from the girls all but doubled, and the boys looked up to see Harry and Draco walk in for breakfast.
"Right, I'm off," Corner said, in disgust. "I'm not staying to watch the Potter - Malfoy fan club go wild. I wish someone would calm them all down." All of a sudden, his face changed and a glint came into his eye. "I think I might just send an owl to my father," he said softly.
He got up and started to walk out of the Hall, with Goldstein and Boot following him. Goldstein did not miss the little sign of interest that Finch-Fletchley sent him, and gave him a little nod as if to say we will catch up later.

"Padma? Parvati?" Harry said in wonder as he sat down at the table. "I don't remember seeing you on the train?"
Parvati Patel giggled. "We were under glamours, Harry," she said.
"Our father did not want us to return to Hogwarts," Padma explained.
"So he enrolled us at Beauxbatons; but when we heard about the visitor programme, we begged Madame Maxime to let us go to Hogwarts," Parvati continued.
"And she said yes, but made us come under glamours just in case someone got wind of us and told him about it," Padma added in a conspiratorial whisper.
"We only took the glamours off last night at the welcome party," Parvati continued. "The one you missed. Where were you, by the way?"
Harry grinned. He had no intention of telling anyone what Draco and he had got up to last night. Twice. And again this morning.
"You two are just as bad as the Weasley twins," Draco drawled, taking their attention onto himself. "I'm getting a crick in my neck from turning from one to the other as you speak!"
To Harry's surprise, this remark earned a titter from the other Beauxbatons girls. He gave Draco a puzzled look; but it was one of the visitors who explained.
"We too 'ave noticed that these girls are 'ard to follow," Angelique Delacour, Fleur's cousin, said. "As are the Thibault twins."
"And who would they be?" Draco asked, curiously.
"Ah!" came reply. "Of course, you were not there last night, so you did not meet everyone. 'Ere, may I present the students of Beauxbatons: Padma and Parvati Patil you already know, and Fleur's sister Gabrielle; me, of course; our two twins are Marie and Danielle Thibault; and this stunning beauty here is our resident Transfigurations expert, Eva Thillin."
Harry was bemused to see that as each student was introduced, she stood up, gave a simple, but charming, curtsy, and sat down again. All of the motions were the same; in two short months, even the Patil twins seemed to have grasped the Beauxbatons way of doing things.
"Bravo, girls, bravo Angelique!" said the buxom lady sitting with the girls. "And gentlemen, I must tell you I am Madame Dubois, the official Beauxbatons chaperone. I must say hope some of you have dishonourable intentions, or I shall have very little to do!"
Harry, rather astonished with this pronouncement, replied "sorry, Draco and I are taken; and so are quite a few of us, I'm afraid."
"Yes, it's not fair, not fair at all," one of the Thibauld twins – Marie, Harry thought – pouted. "So many of you are paired up, how shall we find 'usbands?"
"We are delighted to meet you all," Draco said, his eyes sparkling. Unlike Harry, he was well acquainted with the flirtatious side of French life; he just rather hoped that the girls would not be misunderstood by the more phlegmatic English wizards. "Perhaps Mr Thomas and Mr Finnegan might like to accommodate you?"
At this, the two Gryffindors flushed bright red, and Draco knew he had scored the bull's-eye he was aiming for. Before they could comment further, Professor Flitwick came up to the table.
"All getting along splendidly, I see," he said, and no one disillusioned him; the two Gryffindors couldn't, they were still choking after Draco's remark. "Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter, could I have a word in my study at your convenience?"
Harry looked at Draco, and they had a conversation-without-words, Draco nodding his agreement for Harry to speak for both of them.
"Shall we come now?" Harry asked.
Flitwick beamed. "Excellent!" he said, and they left the Hall together.

After breakfast, Ivan Smetana, the Durmstrang chaperone, sought an interview with Headmistress McGonagall. She welcomed him warmly into her office and offered him tea, which he declined with a polite smile, explaining that he mostly drank coffee or firewhiskey, and didn't feel the need for either just at the minute. A response which Minerva realised could easily have come from anyone; but somehow, this man reminded her of someone … She couldn't place who. Never mind, it would come to her.
"Now, what can I do for you, Mr Smetana?"
"Oh, please, call me Ivan," the man replied smoothly, pronouncing the name as 'Ee-van' in the Continental way. "I wished to speak with you about some of the events of the last twenty four hours or so. I was a little – concerned – at the views your students hold on a number of matters."
The headmistress lifted an eyebrow in surprise, "Go on," she said, her tone mildly encouraging.
"There seems to be some marked dislike for the Slytherins," he began.
Minerva smiled at him. "Well of course. People need to sort out what they feel; we need to give them a little room to do so."
The other man hummed and hawed; he clearly was not convinced, but thought it would be rude to say so openly. "Well, perhaps. But there was a marked dislike for the Death Eaters. Now of course, the things the adults did were awful. But I saw the anger against Mr Malfoy this morning. I am worried it will boil up."
McGonagall scrutinised him carefully. The man did have a point; but she always prided herself on being fair-minded, so decided to play Devil's Advocate.
"Well now. Mr Draco Malfoy did do some wicked things himself. Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley nearly died at his hand."
"Yes, I heard," the man replied, "but Mr Weasley, I understand, has forgiven him; I am not sure of Miss Bell. But surely he did these things for fear of retribution against his family?"
"I'm sure he did," the witch replied. "But does that really excuse him? Does it excuse helping Death Eaters to break into this school?"
Smetana looked thoughtful. "I think perhaps, in a war, maybe it does. For a pure-blood, family is all, after all. And I think Mr Malfoy was not trying to hurt anyone but Dumbledore, no? And Dumbledore forgave him, ja?"
"Indeed I did, Mr .. Smetana, was it?" said an ancient voice behind the headmistress, as Dumbledore's portrait sprang to life behind the headmistress. "Mr Malfoy is no angel; nor is his father. But at root they were both terrorised men, forced into situations they had little control over. Surely everyone deserves a second chance? I know that most of us need one …"
"Lucius Malfoy as well?" the headmistress asked, her lips pursed. "Do you really think so, Albus? Even after the diary?"
"Yes, even then," the former headmaster replied. "I know you think it was attempted murder, but Lucius didn't really know what he was doing. He had no idea it was a Horcrux, I'm sure of that. He just thought it would discredit the Weasleys and open the Chamber of Secrets."
"Thus allowing the basilisk to potentially kill Hogwarts students and staff," Minerva replied hotly.
"Yes, well, he didn't really understand that. Nobody did. But this is an dull argument, and we have a guest; I hope, Mr … Smetana, you will forgive us for rehashing an old canard."
"Not at all," the European replied smoothly. If he noticed the slight hesitation over his name, he made no sign of it. "Your conversation has been most – instructive. And now, Headmistress, having told you of my concerns, I shall take my leave. Thank you for so graciously hearing me out."
With that the man turned and left, with no further ceremony. Minerva turned to the painting of the old headmaster.
"And just what was all that about?" she asked.
But Dumbledore just smiled, with that infuriating twinkle in his eye. McGonagall was a patient witch; but she knew there was no way she could out-wait a painting, so she huffed and got back to the inevitable paperwork on her desk.

When they reached Flitwick's office, he explained that this was to be a mentoring session, and that Arthur Weasley was waiting at the Ministry to chat with Draco. Accordingly, the blond Flooed to the Ministry, while Harry and Professor Flitwick sat down for a little chat.
Two hours later, Harry mused on how exhausting a 'little chat' could be. Without any obvious difficulty, he had been expertly led through all of the events of the last two weeks, and Flitwick had added some interesting insights about what exactly was happening with the Debt.
"I think perhaps the Debt is becoming less of an external obligation and relying more on Mr Draco Malfoy's devotion to you," he suggested.
Harry was flummoxed. "You speak as though the Debt were sentient?" he asked. "Capable of thinking? Is that really true?"
"Hard to say," the Ravenclaw replied honestly. "But there is literature that discusses the higher debts in that way. Life Debts, for example, seem to know when they have been satisfied, and people find that the relationship between them changes once they are repaid. From what I understand, though, they never revert to the previous relationship; all Debts create some sort of bond between people, though it may never amount even to so much as friendship. It is a fascinating subject. But I think that Mr Malfoy is returning to us."
And indeed, the Floo chimed to indicate incoming travel, the flames flared up with their eerie green glow, and Draco stepped out. As always, Harry envied the sheer grace of the man; he stepped out for all the world as if he were just stepping across the fireplace, not across the country. And, Harry noticed, there was not a spot of soot on his robes. Well of course not. There wouldn't dare to be.
"Now, gentlemen. How about a spot of tea?" Flitwick offered.
Even though Harry was sure Draco would have had tea with the Deputy Minister, they accepted happily, and in a very few minutes were seated comfortably around a tea table set with an enormous plate of buttered scones.
Flitwick noticed that Draco didn't look particularly keen on the scones and smiled to himself as he Summoned a pot of strawberry jam. The young man's sweet tooth was legendary, after all; and indeed his face brightened a lot as soon as the jam arrived. They sat happily munching for a little while.
"Now, tomorrow you will be starting classes; I believe, Mr Malfoy, that you are not keen on continuing in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"Um, no," Draco said, after swallowing the rather large mouthful of scone and jam that he had just eaten. "No, I think it would be too much of an invitation to hex me. Forgive me Professor, but I don't think your Ravenclaws like me particularly much."
"I'm afraid you may be right. Nevertheless, I do want you to attend the class on Friday, please; I think it will do you a lot of good."
Draco arched an eyebrow at this. "Can you tell me why, Professor?"
"You will find out tomorrow," Flitwick replied, "but it won't hurt to explain, though I think the Professors would rather you didn't tell everyone."
"Professors?" Harry asked. "More than one?"
"Yes, yes; I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I. Let me explain; but don't tell anyone else, please. We've decided that it's a bad idea to rely on a single Professor for each subject; Albus's troubles with DADA over the years are proof of that. So we are calling on some former teachers, and training up some new ones; so your classes will involve quite a few staff members. We thought it was an ideal opportunity to change things around, given that there are so few students for the next two months. For DADA, the three lessons will involve theory and practical spells, and the Friday session will be largely about dealing with the mind – a lot of Defense is really about getting yourself in the right frame of mind. We all feel that you two in particular will benefit from that class."
Harry and Draco both nodded at this.
"Excellent!" Flitwick beamed. "The other thing I should tell you, which Arthur has probably told you, Draco, is that the Ministry is keen for us to completely revamp Muggle Studies. As such, this will be a compulsory course for our eighth year students."
Harry groaned; but surprisingly, it was Draco who spoke up for the idea.
"No, it's well thought out," he said. "We'll be working on projects aimed at taking a good look at the Muggle world and working out what they're up to, what we can learn from them, and what steps we should take to preserve the Statute of Secrecy. And you'll love the teachers, too."
"Who are they then?" Harry asked.
"Uh-uh!" Draco replied. "Spoilers!"

They returned to the Dumbledore Tower common room, and found quite a few students sitting around chatting. All of the inhabitants of their own Tower – the North Tower – were there, and after complimenting them on their building work, invited them to come and survey their handiwork in decoration.
On the first floor, Seamus and Dean were rooming together; Draco was astonished to see that Dean had accepted a room decorated largely with shamrocks and leprechauns; when quizzed, he said simply that the red-and-gold of the Gryffindor dormitories had always been a bit garish to his taste, and he found the green soothing. Chacun à son goût, Draco thought; it definitely wasn't to his taste.
Opposite the two boys, Neville had a room to himself. It was no surprise to find that it was decorated with a plant theme – there was ivy spelled onto the walls, and a curtain of bamboo around the bed. It could have been awful, Draco thought, but somehow Neville had made it all come together.
"So you'll be alone, Neville?" Harry asked.
"Yes," the tall Gryffindor replied. "Though the Headmistress has given permission for George to visit at weekends, or me to go home. Unless Theodore Nott comes back, which won't be for another month at least."
"Theo?" Draco asked. "You'd bunk with him? A Slytherin?"
Neville looked at him fixedly. "Of course. He's had a tough time of it, he deserves to be given a place here, and I'd want to help him any way I could."
Not for the first time, Draco wondered at the generosity of Gryffindors. Once he would have considered it to be stupid; but having lived with Harry, he knew better now.
The room opposite theirs was another lion-snake pairing: Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini. Draco privately wondered how that was going to work; the two seemed to have both become magnets for gossip. Their room was, he had to admit, tastefully decorated in browns and creams; except for the awful posters of Chudley Cannons players on the walls around Ron's side of the room. Draco decided not to comment.
Their tour of the Tower had taken them up to lunch; after which, there were games on the lawn, and a few impromptu game of Shuntbumps, one of which Draco won, two Flitwick, and the last, to everyone's surprise, was won by the Beauxbatons student Eva Thillin.
Then came dinner, followed by cards in the Common Room, and bed.
It wasn't until they were in their room that Draco wondered exactly why he had not seen the three Ravenclaw youths since they had left the breakfast table just as he and Harry had arrived.

Friday 3 July
When they woke up on Friday, the sky was a dismal prospect; rain was teeming down their windows. Draco found the sound very soothing, and insisted on cuddling Harry in bed for so long that they had to race to make breakfast
It being the first day of classes, Flitwick and McGonagall handed out timetables.
"Can you explain please just why classes are starting on a Friday?" Seamus asked the headmistress.
"You will find out in good time," she said, smiling enigmatically. Harry had a strong sense of déjà vu – this was exactly what Dumbledore would have done. He hoped that McGonagall wasn't going to turn out like him – one wonderfully dotty head teacher in his life was enough, he rather thought.
He came to, suddenly, realising he had zoned out as Flitwick was explaining that most classes were going to have two (or more) professors.
"We will be calling on old, experienced Professors and also training up some new ones to try to avoid the problems that plagued some of our classes in the past."
"You mean DADA," Michael Corner said, rather derisively.
"Yes indeed, Mr Corner," Flitwick replied, not at all put out by the interruption, and seeming to ignore Corner's tone.
"Five points to Ravenclaw," Justin Finch-Fletchley said sotto voce. But it was not soft enough; the Headmistress had heard, and turned a calm gaze on him.
"That's enough of that, Mr Finch-Fletchley," she said. "We have decided not to regard the Eighth Year students as being in Houses; that has already been explained to you."
A horrible thought occurred to Ron Weasley.
"Does that mean no Quidditch?" he asked.
Hermione, sitting beside him, looked to the skies, the classic 'God give me strength' gesture.
"Well, I suppose not," the Headmistress replied. "Though perhaps you could organise a small tournament amongst yourselves, if you wished."
"Very good," Flitwick continued. "Now, to your classes. This morning, you will have Defense, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies. Some of you are not taking Defense, but we do suggest you attend this class, as the curriculum should be interesting to all students. And you will note that you all have Muggle Studies; the Ministry has decided to expand its scope a great deal, to include studies of all the societies that you will potentially interact with: Muggles, Centaurs, Veelas, Merfolk, Werewolves, and other sentient creatures. Such as Wizards."
This was obviously meant as a joke; no-one actually laughed. Flitwick cleared his throat and continued.
"The idea is to attack the blind prejudices that have led to discrimination and outright hatred in the past. I'm sure you all remember the Defense professor you had in Fifth Year…"
There was a general shudder from the Hogwarts students; evidently they all agreed that Dolores Umbridge had been the worst teacher imaginable.
"Yes, well, we were asked how such attitudes might be avoided; and we decided on education, by expanding a class that I know is traditionally viewed as a soft option by our students. I think you might find it rather more challenging than you thought. Off you go!"
And with that clear dismissal, they headed off to the DADA classroom.

Hermione was feeling a bit miffed. True, it was nice to be sitting next to her fiancé; but she had rather counted on not having Draco for the three periods that Harry had DADA, and now one had been taken away. She had bustled up to him at the beginning of class, hoping to sit with him; he had been the perfect gentleman and held her seat out for her, then, once she was seated, signed to Ron that he should sit next to her.
It was strange. Harry had always relied on her, needed her help in class; but here he was, sitting next to Draco, and by the looks of it they intended to study together quite a lot. She felt the green-eyed monster of jealousy rising up in her heart, and tried to push it down as the door opened to admit the teaching staff.
The Headmistress entered first, followed by an elderly-looking witch and an even more elderly-looking wizard. Harry and Draco smiled broadly when they saw the newcomers. Hermione was surprised; she thought there was something familiar about the witch, but was sure she had not seen the wizard before.
"Well, the class is not quite due to start," McGonagall began, "but as you're all here, may I introduce Professor Dalmatea Merrythought, who will be in charge of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."
There came a knock at the door, and a man entered wearing Auror robes. It took a second before Hermione recognised him; she hadn't seen him robed for a while…
"Ah! Auror Banks! Glad you could join us!" the Headmistress said.
"Thank you," Robin replied. "Um, I do hope I'm not late?"
"No, we made an early start. And now I will hand over to Professor Merrythought for the rest of the introduction."
With that the Headmistress nodded to her fellow staff members, and left the room.
"Very good!" Merrythought said. Her voice tinkled; there was really no other word for it. It had the sweet, crisp sound of a well-tuned bell. "Now, as you have heard, this young gentlemen is Auror Banks; he will be assisting me in your practical sessions, which will be held every other week during our double period on Tuesdays. I should say that next week's double period will be our first Theory class."
There was a general moan from the less industrious students.
"I should also say that you will not find Theory quite as dull as you expect," she continued drily. "Now, Friday's class will be a little different, and will largely be taught by our third staff member here. Permit me to introduce a man we are very honoured to have coaxed out of retirement: this is Armand Ionescu."
"Thank you," Armand said softly. "This class will concentrate on an area that I have always felt our curriculum does not handle well: Mind Studies. We will be looking at Legilimency, and Occlumency, and the various disciplines of Mind Healing that are known to the wizarding world."
"So we won't be learning any spells then?" Terry Boot asked, a trifle belligerently, with an unpleasant smirk on his face.
Ionescu looked at him. The expression on his face was mild; so the steel in his voice came as rather a shock.
"Your name, sir?" he asked.
"Terry – Terry Boot," the youth stammered.
"Well, Terry Terry Boot, you are quite wrong. Prosecho!"
A yellow light flared out from the teacher to Boot, and he suddenly sat up very straight, his full concentration aimed at the teacher, his face carefully blank and attentive.
"You see?" Ionescu chuckled, his voice soft again. "The Prosecho spell vastly increases concentration. We shall master it today, and I will teach you how to use it on yourselves and you will find that your studying will become much more efficient. We really should teach this to first years…
"However, for the moment, I should say two things. Firstly: Finite Incantatum." With this, Boot relaxed again. "Mind spells are very dangerous, and you must not use them on one another without permission. Something as mild as the concentration spell is acceptable in a controlled environment; but it is very mild compared to other things you will learn. Mr Boot, how would you explain the effect?"
"Just as you said, Professor," the now wide-eyed youth replied. "I found suddenly that I was concentrating on what you said, and all the thoughts of previous DADA classes came to mind, and it was like they were meshing together inside my head. Actually, it was pretty amazing."
"Thank you," Armand said, smiling, then turned to the class. "I will expect you to pair up with fellow students that you trust for any practical work.
"Secondly, this class is not a bludge, or an easy option. You will have to work hard. The aim of this strand of Defense is to teach you to control your own minds and protect them against attack; mind attacks can be very brutal, as Mr Potter is very well aware."
Harry grimaced at this, and Ionescu nodded to him.
"Right! Form yourselves into pairs and we will get you learning the Prosecho spell."

Transfiguration, they discovered, was being taught by Professor McGonagall.
Angelique Delacour put up her hand. "Excuse me," she said, "but I thought Monsieur le Professeur Andre Dreyfuss would be teaching this class, non?"
"You are quite correct," the Headmistress answered, "but as Professor Flitwick has explained, the classes will have multiple Professors; while Monsieur Dreyfuss is an excellent teacher, he has no experience teaching in English, so he and I will be teaching in tandem to assist him in that.
"Now as the Hogwarts students have heard me say before, Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You should consider this to be the only warning I will give you.."
And with that, the class began in earnest. They were stunned at how fast-paced the class was; there was no turning matches into needles in this class! No, they discussed Vanishment, both Partial and Absolute, and by the end of the class were all able to perform the Evanesco spell with varying degrees of proficiency.

Muggle Studies was something completely different. The first surprise was the teachers: Ron and Harry's jaws gaped wide as Elphias Doge and Arthur Weasley walked in.
"Dad!" Ron said once he regained the power of speech. "You never said you were teaching!"
Arthur Weasley gave a very uncharacteristic smirk; as Harry looked around, he saw that there was a matching one on Draco's face.
"You knew!" he hissed.
"Yep," said Draco, grinning at him. "Told you you'd like the teachers."
"Right!" Arthur said. "Well, as Ron has indicated, I am Arthur Weasley, his father; but not during classtime. I am also the Deputy Minister for Magic, and this gentleman is Elphias Doge, the Chief Warlock. Our being here should give you a clear idea of just how important this class is in the eyes of the Ministry. It is so important, in fact, that we have asked all students to take it.
"The course will concentrate on Muggles, in particular what we can learn from them, and what we need to do to keep the Wizarding world safe from them. We have traditionally looked down on them; but they are actually very clever indeed, and we need to beware lest the Statute of Secrecy be breached by them being able to detect us. Yes, it is a very real possibility," he said, as some students were looking at him incredulously.
"We will also be studying other important societies: Centaurs, Veelas, Werewolves, and so on. The idea is to make sure that we greet other races and creatures with understanding, rather than the prejudice that we have used before – but am I boring you?"
This time it seemed to be Ernie Macmillan's turn to be the resident troublemaker. "Yeah, Flitwick said all this before."
"Professor Flitwick did, did he, Mr …?" Arthur said, rather sternly.
"Macmillan, sir. Ernie Macmillan."
"Thank you, Mr Macmillan. And did he mention the projects?"
"Um… no… I don't think so."
"Right. During this course, each student will be given a different section of Muggle society to study. We want you to write a report detailing the things Professor Flitwick and I talked about earlier: what we can learn from Muggles and what steps need to be taken to keep the Statute of Secrecy in place.
"This is going to be the main piece of assessment for this course; let's face it, the historical exams have largely been a farce. But your reports are expected to be of a very high quality; once you have finished them, you should be an expert in your chosen subject.
"So at least half of your class time will be spent in self-study; and you will be expected to do a large amount of research outside class. You may use whatever materials you can find to assist. The Headmistress will give permission for field trips, provided you can convince her that you are actually working and not just bunking off."
With that, the two Professors gave each student a topic to investigate.

By the end of the class, they all had their topics, together with a large sheaf of notes to assist them. Harry was very impressed with the work that had gone into this curriculum already; he had to study the Muggle Judiciary, and had vast notes detailing the British Court system, and contact names of Wizards who worked in the Muggle world and would be happy to help. And his materials were not unusual; Ron, who was studying the Police system, had contacts in the Police force, and for Court Officials and Magistrates to give a view from their side; Hermione, studying Administration, had many contacts and also, surprise, surprise, had written three pages of notes already; Draco, studying the Pharmaceutical industry, had information about research chemists, and marketing, and epidemiologists; and so on.
It was at about this point that Harry suddenly got it.
"Nev," he asked, "what's your topic? Plants?"
"Um, yeah, it's called 'horticulture'," Neville replied.
A light went on in Draco's eyes.
"Clever!" he said.
"What is?" Hermione asked.
"Don't you see?" the blond asked, but seeing that she was not happy that she hadn't, he continued before she could speak, "the topics have been chosen not only to inform the wizarding world but also to fit each student."
"Yes, I do see," Hermione said, getting the point. "Like, you love potions, and pharmaceuticals are the Muggle world's version of it. And Ron wants to be an Auror, which is our version of the Muggle Police. It's brilliant!"
Harry nodded in agreement. But he did wonder just exactly why he had been given the Judiciary to study …

Hermione and Draco had Ancient Runes last thing, while Ron and Harry had a free period. Hermione told them to spend it in the library; and so, of course, they went to the Quidditch pitch and flew.
Once the class was over, Hermione went to the library while Draco, who had seen the glint in Harry's eye and knew exactly what he was going to do, told her he'd see her at dinner and headed off to the pitch.
And so a little while later Hermione was sitting in the library at a desk that gave a good view over the grounds. She was a little miffed that Harry and Ron had blown off time they could have been studying; but she couldn't help the smile that came over her face as she spotted the three students who were instantly recognisable by their hair – the deep rich red locks of her fiancé, Harry's black messy bird's nest, and the distinctive platinum blond of Draco Malfoy. Two of them, of course, she had nearly seven years of friendship with; and Draco, she realised with a surprise, was fast joining them in her affections, even if part of her was upset with the thought that Harry was relying so much less on her. Of course, that didn't alter the fact that Draco had been a git, and horrible to them, and nearly killed Ron with the poisoned wine; and yet here they were, playing Quidditch together as though they had been best friends for years.
They were all growing up, she thought.
About time too.
Her reverie was rudely interrupted by an eagle owl knocking on the window. She recognised Archimedes, Ozymandias's sire, at once, and let him in. The bird hopped lightly onto her table and proffered his leg. She removed the letter attached to it, and he cocked his head at her.
"Sorry, I have no treats," she said, a trifle mournfully. "You could try the kitchen."
The owl hooted huffily at her and flew out the window again.
She shut the window and turned to her letter. It was, as she had seen at a glance, from Lucius Malfoy. They had corresponded quite a lot over the last week; she was finding him to be a very stimulating and courteous correspondent. And how the hell had that ever happened?
But his letter offered her almost no hope at all. There were no known potions that would do what she wanted; no rituals; no documented spells, light or dark. Though Lucius did point out that it was the sort of thing you weren't likely to document…
Days like today Hermione wondered just exactly what was wrong with her. Here she was happily researching methods for men to have babies, and her co-researcher was the father of one of the men in question. And the thing that was upsetting them both was the lack of progress…
Damn Vernon Dursley to Hell for planting the issue so forcefully in Harry's head!

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/ . Please indicate which chapter you are reading, as aff doesn't make that clear. I will generally try to reply to posts before posting a new chapter.
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Returning to Sanity