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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
- 64
- 65
- 66
65. Returning to Devil's Crag
Friday 7 August
Tombinias Barnes was severely pissed off. There really was no better way to describe it. For the whole day, that fusspot Rookwood had done nothing but gone over and over the preparations. The cauldron was scrubbed so clean that Barnes wondered that there was any metal left in it for all the scouring. The robes were hanging, pristine white. At least for this ritual, they had to be white, he thought with some satisfaction; the ghastly pink ones that Umbridge had selected before were now a distant, bad, incendioed memory.
Meanwhile, that witch herself was getting on his nerves. She demanded tea and toast about every half an hour; it did not seem to have sunk in that she was their prisoner, so was supposed to do what they said. No, she just lounged on the bed she was stuck to with a Sticking spell, and whinged and demanded.
Even though he had expected it, the combination of Rookwood's obsessiveness and Umbridge's whining still drove Barnes mad; especially since the former meant he had to spend most of the day looking after Umbridge and enduring the latter. The memory spell certainly seemed to have worked; the witch was quite convinced that the two wizards had kidnapped her. But they were having a hard time convincing her that she had been framed for crimes she had committed. For some reason, she just seemed to switch off whenever they mentioned the Imperius charm.
And, to Barnes's dismay, that little problem did not help Rookwood's tendency to worry one little bit. If she didn't have the story perfect when they set the charm, the older wizard argued, who knew how Rosier would be able to spin things?
In total exasperation, at midday Barnes decided that the best way to convince the witch might be to actually make the story true, at least a little; he put Dolores Umbridge under the Imperius curse, using the techniques he had learnt from the late, unlamented Yaxley to make the spell difficult to detect. This appeared to work a treat; he was reasonably confident that the memory charm would make the actual curse look as though it had been around for a lot longer than it had.
But now it was mid-afternoon, and Barnes had had enough. He grabbed the other wizard and practically flung him into the room with Umbridge.
"You watch her," he snarled. "I'm making dinner."
Begrudgingly, Rookwood accepted that they did need to eat, and Barnes was the better cook of the two of them. In fact, the best of the three; Umbridge had turned out to be completely incompetent in the kitchen, having apparently relied on house-elves her whole life. It figures, he thought, as he sat down and listened to her drivel on about their inhumanity to her at the top of her voice.
He lasted three minutes before putting a Silencio spell on her. How did Barnes put up with this all day? he wondered. Any more of this and he would be seriously considering using Avada Kedavra and being done with it.
But he kept reminding himself that he had been promised immunity and a new life if he fulfilled his part of the bargain; and he still counted on being the only person who knew the pass-phrase to unlock Umbridge's memories. After tomorrow, life would get better, he told himself, over and over again, willing himself to be calm as he watched the witch do her little trick of holding her breath until they removed the spell, then shouting again.

"Heard something interesting today," one of the latest recruits said to Toby Proudfoot as the two waited in the lunch line at the Ministry canteen. Proudfoot eyed the man critically. He was part of the newly-arrived batch of trainees from Durmstrang, roped in to try and get numbers up after they had lost so many Aurors during the war: some killed, some exposed as double agents and now resident in Azkaban. Proudfoot schooled his face to impassivity. Years of experience meant he could tell immediately that the man, Josephus Rennet if the name tag was to be believed, was the type who was always trying to impress everyone around him; but it was, generally, a harmless vice, and Proudfoot could understand the nervousness that drove it.
"And what might that be?" he asked, putting just a hint of 'the older man humouring the younger one' in his voice to make it clear that the answer had better be to the point.
"About mind magic," the other replied. "Seems it's very dangerous to interrupt a ritual, or stop the second one of a series of two or more, if the first is complete. Did you know that, Mr Proudfoot?"
"Now that is interesting," Toby replied, not even having to fake the interest in his voice. He didn't mind letting the other man think he had told Toby something he didn't know; Proudfoot knew a great deal about mind magic, and had read around it when the first ritual had been performed, so he knew well that the subject could be driven mad if the process was interrupted. But he also knew perfectly well how the rumour mill worked. It was, he was certain, no accident that the subject had come up the day before Rookwood and Barnes were going to complete the ritual with Umbridge; it seemed that someone was concerned to make sure that that ritual went ahead without interference.
But who? That was the question. And Proudfoot, patient, obsessive Auror that he was, knew that finding that out was a work of carefully crafted questioning.
Mind you, Rennet didn't need particularly deft handling, he thought.
"So how did the subject come up?" he asked.
"Oh, Vissides, Johnson and I were just discussing different branches of magic, and Vissides asked if we knew much about mind magic, and Johnson said of course he did, he'd studied it for extra credit at Durmstrang, and mentioned some rituals. Then Vissides asked about what happens if you can't finish the ritual all at once, and Johnson told us all about multi-stage rituals. Apparently there are quite a few. Um, do you know where I could find out more? It sounds interesting."
Toby smiled at him, and suggested a couple of books to him. The other man, his eyes showing awe that he was being helped by such a senior figure, hastily scribbled down the names of the books and thanked him profusely as his turn to be served came up.
The lad, Toby could see, was something of an innocent, and easy to fool; he certainly hadn't noticed what to Proudfoot was obviously a staged performance. The main rule of spreading rumours was never to be suspected as the source, he knew; he would bet Galleons to Knuts that Angelo Vissides knew perfectly well that Tade Johnson had studied mind magic, and moreover knew that Rennet was something of a blabbermouth.
For Toby Proudfoot was not at all easy to fool. He had had his eye on Vissides for some time. Something not quite right about the man; and this little episode hardened a vague suspicion into a near certainty. There was a connection between Angelo Vissides and Anton Rosier, he was sure of it. He'd just have to work out what.

Saturday 8 August
Neville had stayed the night with George at the flat over the shop, and was now languidly running his hands over his husband's body and thinking it was about time for the two of them to get up when the door opened half-way and an all too awake and grinning head peeked in.
"Morning sleepyheads!" Fred said with a smirk, as the delicious smell of bacon wafted in. "Mail for you! Breakfast in ten!"
"Eh? Wassat?" George said sleepily, as Fred threw a letter onto the end of the bed and quickly shut the door. George might be his twin, and before now they had lived in each other's pockets and shared every moment; but now that they were married, he and Neville deserved their privacy.
Neville wondered idly if it was the noise or the bacon that had roused him; probably both, he decided as he scooted over to the end of the bed and picked up the envelope.
"Wassit say?" George demanded, still sleepy, and Neville's heart melted as he looked over at his husband. George was all too adorable. But they needed to get on, if breakfast was so nearly ready.
He quickly opened the very formal-looking envelope. Inside was a very stiff (and, Neville guessed, very expensive) piece of parchment, engraved in crimson ink, and he knew at once that it must be an invitation to Harry and Draco's wedding. Accordingly, as George seemed to have put his head back down and to be nodding off, he read it out loud.

Mr and Mrs Peter Granger,

Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy,

And

Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley
Have great delight in requesting

the pleasure of the company of

their friends, cousins-in-blood and companions-in-magic
Neville Francis Longbottom

And

George Fabian Weasley
At the wedding of their daughter and sons by blood and by adoption,
Ronald Bilius Weasley Dragonrider Goblinfriend
To
Hermione Jean Granger Dragonrider Goblinfriend
And
Draco Lucius Malfoy
To
Harry James Potter Dragonrider Goblinfriend,

the Destroyer of Voldemort,

Lord Black
3pm, Saturday, 26 September 1998, at The Malfoy Manor,

and afterwards.

"Bloody hell," George said as he sat bolt upright. "It's really happening then."
"Yup," Neville answered. "I bet Harry's not happy about his full title being shown off though."
"Of course he won't be," George replied. "But at least the three of them all have 'Dragonrider Goblinfriend' to put up with."
"Hey, you two love birds," Fred yelled, "are you coming, or do I have to eat all this bacon myself?"
In the event, Fred had plenty of help eating the bacon.

When the mail arrived at the Hogwarts breakfast table, Hermione, Harry and Draco were rather astonished to find that, as well as the cream parchment envelopes that their schoolmates were receiving, they had letters too, in white envelopes and delivered, Harry realised at once, by school owls. They took the envelopes and the owls, as was usual for school owls, stole some bacon from the chafing dish in the middle of the table and flew off.
The envelopes were stiff and formal, and nowhere near the quality of the other parchments; but as he turned it over Harry noticed the Ministry seal. Oh no, he thought. Letters from the Ministry were rarely good; his thoughts flew unbidden back to the letter from Mafalda Hopkirk that had announced his pending trial for underage magic, and he gave an involuntary shudder.
By this time, Draco, who did not have the same unhappy memories, had opened his letter, and was sitting there staring at it, his mouth gaping open in a most uncharacteristic pose that Harry found adorable.
"Trying to catch pixies, there, Malfoy?" Seamus asked, and Draco looked up at him, closing his mouth as he realised what the Irishman was saying.
"This is unbelievable," he said. "Harry, open yours."
Harry, bemused, picked up a butter knife and slit the envelope open, a habit he picked up from his fiancé, and then opened up the parchment within.
Dear Mr Potter,
I write to inform you that an application has been made by the teaching staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on your behalf for special consideration for N.E.W.T.s. This application demonstrates that your teachers regard you as already having sufficient knowledge to pass your examinations, and should be considered as a signal honour.
Accordingly, an offer is extended to you to attend special Aptitude tests to be held during the week of the fourteenth to the eighteenth of September. Hogwarts staff have recommended that you sit for the following examinations:
- Ancient Runes
- Charms
- Defense Against the Dark Arts
- Herbology
- Potions
- Transfiguration
* Note that, by special arrangement for this year only, Muggle Studies is to be completed by project rather than examination, and for this reason an examination is not offered in this subject.
These examinations are designed to provide a moderated indication of your level of achievement in comparison to that required for N.E.W.T.s. As such, should you achieve grades of A or better, you will be entitled to convert them directly to N.E.W.T. grades without undergoing any further examination. However, you will be offered the opportunity to sit an N.E.W.T. examination in any subject or subjects you see fit, should you wish to improve any grade you receive.
Yours faithfully,
Matilda Hopkirk,
For Madam Professor Griselda Marchbanks, CDMG, APMO, fdBB,

Governor,

Wizarding Examination Authority
Cc: Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall
"Phew," Harry whistled. "Did you get the same?" he asked, and looked over at Draco's parchment. It was indeed the same, except that Defense was missing and Arithmancy had been added.
"Hermione, did you get one of these, too?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, her eyes shining with delight. "We get to take the exams early!"
And then the enormity of that fact struck her, and she let out an 'eep!'
"I have to study!" she shrieked. "We all have to study! Ron, did you—"
"No, Hermione," the red-head replied, "I didn't get a letter. I guess the Professors don't think I'm ready yet; and they're probably right. Which means that they do think you are ready. So, calm down, deep breaths, you can do it."
As he said this, Ron rubbed his fiancée's back; and to Harry's great surprise, it actually worked.
"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, visibly calming in front of them. "You're right. We can do this. OK. Right. Um, I'm just going to go and set up a study schedule," she said, starting to rise from the table.
"No you're not," Ron replied, rising with her. "You are going to come for a walk with me and forget about study for the morning. You know what Poppy said."
"Yes, all right," Hermione said meekly, allowing herself to be guided out of the Great Hall.
Harry looked dumbfounded. What had Poppy said, he wondered. But he was interrupted by Mandy Brocklehurst coming up to him with something in her hand. So as not to appear rude, he stood to meet her advance.
"Is this for real?" she asked bluntly, holding out the piece of parchment she had received in the mail that morning.
Harry automatically took it and read it. It was, of course, an invitation to their wedding; he was not surprised that Narcissa had gone totally overboard with the titles, but he did blanch when he saw his own taking up three whole lines.
"Um, yes," he replied, realising that he and Mandy had never had much to do with one another. "I've always thought of Hogwarts as my home before now; that makes her students my family. And this wedding is kind of a big thing, so we agreed to invite the whole family."
Mandy squealed with delight, and hugged him.
"Oh, thank you!" she said, then looked at him suspiciously. "Wait, 'the whole family'? Corner as well?"
"What do you think, Brocklehurst?" Draco said to her, his face stern. "He could have killed Harry! There's no way he's getting an invitation."
"Oh," Mandy replied, abashed. Then her face set into a fierce grin. "Good. At last that bastard can't claim to be better than me!"
And with that surprisingly vicious outburst, she took back her invitation and resumed her seat.
Harry sat back down, and Draco turned to him immediately.
"Are you all right? You went white a moment ago."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, mate, I'm fine. It's just – Seamus," he said, turning to the Irishman, "can I borrow your invitation for a moment?"
Seamus happily passed him the parchment, and Harry gave it to Draco to read.
"She's really gone all out, hasn't she?" he said idly as he read it. And then his eyebrows marched up his face; and Harry knew he had reached the point that had bothered him.
But there was still plenty of Slytherin in the blond. He folded the letter and passed it back to Harry, who mechanically returned it to Seamus.
"Well?" Harry demanded.
"I'd say," Draco said, his tone carefully measured, "that, given the number of people we invited to the wedding, it won't be long before everyone knows that the Prophet's article is indeed factual."
Harry snorted, but Draco was having none of it, and wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him close.
"Raven," he said softly into his ear, "you deserve it. You are special. It's a good thing. I know those Muggles called you freak, because they hated that you were different – but when we say you're special, it's the opposite. We love that you're different. That you're so loving, so forgiving, so powerful, so strong."
Harry gave up the fight he was having to restrain tears, and let his Dragon comfort him. Yes, it was in the middle of the Great Hall, and he should have been embarrassed; but somehow, the words he had said to Mandy were sinking in along with Draco's words. These people were his family. It would be all right.
He took a moment to calm his breathing, then wiped his eyes as they came apart from their unexpected cuddle. He found that the Headmistress and Hagrid had come over, their faces filled with concern, evidently meaning to make sure all was well.
"Hi," he said to them, then picked up his letter. "Um, Headmistress, this is quite an honour. Are you sure we're ready?"
"Harry," McGonagall retorted, doing her best to look affronted, "of course we are sure. All the staff are united in this opinion. There is no way we would make any such suggestion to the W.E.A. otherwise."
The words were in the stern tone he knew well from this strict witch; but somehow they were blunted by the slight twinkle in her eye; McGonagall, he suddenly knew, was actually amused.
He smiled at her in return.
"Thanks, Headmistress," he said.
"All right, Harry?" Hagrid asked, and Harry nodded in reply. "Thanks for the invite. Ah, wondered if yer'd both like to come for morning tea tomorrow."
"We'd love to," Harry heard Draco say. It seemed they really were a family.

Rookwood consulted the almanac for one last time. Moon rise in London was at 8:49pm; he calculated that it should be visible at Devil's Crag by nine o'clock. And that was good enough for him. Sunset was scheduled for 8:37pm but there should be twilight for at least forty minutes after that. For this ritual, light was important, in the same way that darkness had been important two weeks before. He double-checked; yes, these were local times, taking in to account the use of Summer Time.
Then he checked all the ritual elements. Umbridge had finally completely exhausted the patience of the two wizards and was in a full body-bind. Rookwood wondered why they hadn't done it before; it made putting the white robes and circlet on her so much easier that it would have been otherwise.
He checked the books again. Yes, he knew the steps. Yes, he knew the words to the incantation. And moreover, he didn't need to distract Barnes again like he had had to last time; the tiny addition to the ritual, the specific words needed to release Umbridge from the mind-lock, did not need to be used this time. Rookwood was pleased about that; it would remain, he thought, his secret. His one bargaining chip with whoever Umbridge's Ministry contact was; the one thing that he could count on to keep him out of Azkaban.
And finally it was time. The group of three Apparated to Devil's Crag, arriving at a quarter to nine. Rookwood calculated that the set-up would take no more than ten minutes; he had managed, by using quite a quantity of magic, to Apparate in with the cauldron already set up and on the boil. A brief pause to set firewood and a quick Incendio charm, and five minutes later the cauldron had returned to the boil and was again bubbling away.
Nine o'clock came, and everything was ready. Rookwood placed Umbridge, bound, on the stone bench that she had sat on during the previous ritual, and intoned the requisite words, placing the circlet into the potion as required, and then placing it on Umbridge's stupefied head, noting with immense satisfaction that, exactly as the book had said, it glowed orange as he removed it from the cauldron and a murky green as he placed it on Umbridge.
Barnes was on high alert, watching the shadows, when he heard Rookwood intone what sounded like a great deal of nonsense in Latin, followed by words he recognised, words he had been told to listen out for, as the conclusion needed both of them to intone it.
"It is," Rookwood was saying, "it is established now, and it shall remain so."
That was the cue; and Barnes joined with the other wizard in saying, "so mote it be."
That was it; the ritual was over. Before Barnes could move, or respond, or even think, there was a clap of lightning, and suddenly the small clearing was swamped by Aurors. He raised his wand, but it was already too late; Stunning spells hit him from three sides, and he fell to the ground as consciousness faded.
Rookwood, who had been standing behind Umbridge, was a little quicker to react; but he was not able to make any use of it. For, running through his head were words of sheer disbelief: they had been sold out. The Ministry contact had betrayed them. But how? Only he, only Rookwood, knew the passphrase; surely the contact would need it?
He also was hit by a Stunner. As he fell to the ground, the last conscious thought was that perhaps, just perhaps, the man was an Auror, and would sort things out in the cells. It was probably his last hope.

Sunday 9 August
Robin and Toby were invited to question the prisoners; and Toby suggested that they might like to get the new recruits involved so they could see what working at the coal-face was like. Robards considered this for a moment, then asked, "who did you have in mind?"
Toby, mildly, suggested that he had heard things about Tade Johnson and Angelo Vissides that suggested they might benefit from the experience. Robards looked at him critically; the Head Auror was no fool, and he could see that Proudfoot was up to something. But he had learnt long ago who could be trusted with his own counsel, and Toby Proudfoot was definitely in that camp.
"Very well," he said, detailing a junior Auror to fetch the two youths in question.

"'Arry!" Hagrid said as Draco and he arrived at the half-giant's cottage. "'Ow are ye? Ye're looking well!"
"I'm great, thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, a huge smile on his face.
"I see that," Hagrid replied. "What's made you so 'appy today?"
"Oh," Harry said, blushing to be so easily read. "Um, I got an owl from Robin Banks at breakfast time. It seems that Umbridge, Rookwood and Barnes were captured last night and are in secure custody at the Ministry."
"That's great!" Hagrid rejoined.
"Isn't it?" Draco said. "I thought it might call for something a little stronger than tea, to celebrate." And so saying, the blond produced three bottles of butterbeer.
Hagrid thought for a second, muttered, "oh, it'll be alright" to himself, and invited them in.
They chatted for a little while; Hagrid decided that bread and cheese would go better than rock scones, and given that he was a half-giant and didn't do small portions, they had what amounted to an early lunch. When the bread and cheese and butterbeers were finished and there was a lull in the conversation, Hagrid spoke up.
"Now," he said, "I've got sommat to show you. Come along, Fang."
With that, he rose and went out the back door, the over-sized boarhound lolloping behind him, and the two bemused boys following the dog.
Hagrid led them out into a clearing, and gave a loud whistle.
"Winterwind!" he called. "Come on, you and your friend!"
They heard a crashing noise, and through the undergrowth came two hippogriffs.
"Ah, there y'are!" Hagrid said. "Come and meet the lads. Boys, this hippogriff 'ere is Winderwind, and I daresay 'Arry you remember the other one?"
Harry had indeed recognised one of the hippogriffs at once: he had grown quite fond of Buckbeak. And from the way the second hippogriff was eyeing him, and bowing to him, it seemed that Buckbeak remembered him fondly too.
"Now, Draco," Hagrid said. "I remember ye didn't get off on the right foot with these creatures, so thought ye might like another crack. This one 'ere, Winterwind, she's a bit smaller 'n more docile than Buckbeak, see, so I thought she might be a good ride for you."
Draco looked at him, stunned, then broke into a smile. "Yes, I would like that," he replied, showing perfect Malfoy manners. "Thank you for the opportunity."
"Stuff and nonsense," Hagrid replied. "Yer 'Arry's intended, yer don't 'ave to be all formal with me. Yeh remember what to do?"
"I think so," Draco replied, and slowly approached the large creature. "I remember you taught us they are easily offended, and not to insult one."
So saying, Draco stopped while still a safe distance from the beast, and bowed to her, and waited. After a few seconds, Winterwind, having surveyed him closely, took a few steps towards him, coming close enough that Draco could touch her, and bowed in her turn. Draco reached out his hand and stroked her cheek. At this, the hippogriff evidently had decided he was trustworthy, and knelt down.
"There y'are, lad," Hagrid said, beaming. "She likes you, and she'll let you fly on her."
"Wicked," Draco replied, and, with only slight hesitation, mounted the beast. As soon as he was settled properly, she spread her wings, and seconds later they were soaring high over the Quidditch pitch.
"BRILLIANT!" Draco yelled, as the hippogriff beneath him soared, and banked, and looped, while taking care never to let him fall.
"Isn't it!" he heard a familiar voice, and looked over to see Harry riding Buckbeak, the two of them zooming up to meet Draco and Winterwind.
"Hello!" Draco called to him, and the two beasts flew happily together. "Merlin, I was a prat in third year, wasn't I?"
"Maybe," Harry said. "It's not important any more. Is it?"
"Nope," Draco replied, then spoke softly to his steed, "let's race them back."
At first he wasn't sure whether the proud creature would understand him; but then she suddenly turned and swooped back down at a rush.
"Beat you back, Potter!" he called, and Harry laughed. He had begun to notice that Draco called him Potter, no doubt unthinkingly, whenever he was feeling competitive; but at some point as they grew together it had changed from an insult to an endearment, and he loved it.
"Come on, Buckbeak!" he yelled to the hippogriff beneath him. "We're not going to get beaten, are we?"
Not, it seemed, if the hippogriff had anything to do with it; he sped into a turn so fast that Harry, now holding on for dear life, was at first afraid he would fall. And then the feeling that he had every time he rode his broom came over him, and he could no longer be afraid of anything. The wind rushed past him and caught his robes, and all there was in the world was him and the hippogriff and the target, now up ahead. And now Buckbeak was closing fast on Winterwind, and now Buckbeak's superior size and strength started to tell, and the two beasts were drawing level.
And then, all at once, they were there; and the hippogriffs both landed in front of Hagrid at the same moment.
"If that was a race," the half-giant boomed, "it's a tie!"

Tombinias Barnes refused to say anything except that he'd been set up, which he'd said over and over again, so the Aurors simply cut short the interview.
"Not much to be done there," Proudfoot observed to the two trainees. "He's already been convicted, so he'll probably get shipped back to Azkaban."
"Will he get an increased sentence?" Johnson asked, slightly breathlessly; he was still finding it hard to believe that he had been invited along to these interviews.
"It probably doesn't matter," Robin replied, candidly. "his current sentence is fifteen years; but given his previous crimes, and Death Eater status, there has to be a review at the end of that period, and the Minister has to be convinced he's no threat before he's released. I don't actually see that happening, to be honest."
Neither of the Aurors failed to notice that, while Johnson seemed quite pleased with this reply, Vissides had gone a few shades paler.
I wonder. Proudfoot thought. I bet there's a Death Eater in his family. Father, perhaps? If Rosier's hanging that over him, he'd make an excellent conduit for rumours and information; those young trainees get everywhere and hear everything.
But Proudfoot kept his own counsel, and they proceeded to the next interview.

Rookwood said much the same thing, although admittedly with more erudition.
"Surely you can see that we have been coerced into this," he demanded. Both Aurors raised their eyebrows, quite sure that they could see no such thing.
"I've been framed!" he wailed eventually. "I demand to see my legal counsel!"
"Fair enough," Robin replied, equably; "and who might that be?"
"Prometheus Parturvithic," the prisoner replied sullenly. Robin smirked. It figured that he would go for the counsel who had defended Dolores Umbridge. Not, perhaps, the smartest of moves, given that he had failed to get her off.
"I see," he said. "You do appreciate that it is now Sunday afternoon and that lawyers typically do not take kindly to being interrupted at such times? I think you can wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, I suppose you won't tell us any more?"
Rookwood shook his head sullenly, and with that, the interview was over.

Umbridge was rather different, and frustrating for an entirely different reason. She seemed perfectly willing to talk; the only problem was that she couldn't seem to remember a thing. She knew that 'those two bastards', as she most uncharacteristically called them, had kidnapped her; but from where, or why, or what they hoped to obtain, or what purpose they had with her, she could not say.
It was all very unsatisfactory.
"Well, I'm sorry, boys," Proudfoot said as they left the interview rooms. "That wasn't very exciting."
"Oh, no!" Johnson gushed. "Thank you for the opportunity to watch a real interrogation! It was very interesting. I learnt a lot."
"Good," Robin said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps you should go and share it with your fellows?"
"Sure thing," the trainee replied, getting the hint and walking away.
As Vissides made to follow him, he found his arm caught in a firm grip.
"Not you," Toby said. "We'd like a bit of a word, if you don't mind."
Angelo Vissides looked like a rat caught in a trap. It was clear that he did mind; but there was no way he was going to say so, as Robin led them back into an empty interview room.

Angelo took a seat, very straight backed, and braced himself. Here it comes, he thought, what they call the 'third degree'. He looked at the Aurors, expecting an attack; but, to his very great surprise, their eyes showed nothing but compassion and concern.
"You went very pale when I mentioned the sentence for former Death Eaters," Robin said quietly. "Is there something you want to tell us?"
"Er … no?" the lad replied, very tentatively.
"Well then," Proudfoot replied, "perhaps we'll tell you instead. I'd say that there's someone in your family that you're shielding, yes? A Death Eater?"
They know! Vissides thought. He managed to blank his face a split second after the shock of the realisation hit; but he was already too late.
"Thought so," Toby continued. "Who? Father? Uncle?"
Vissides sat still in silence.
"Come on," Robin said, his tone that of a gentle reprimand. "You know that we'll find them, now that we know to go looking. If you tell us now, we may be able to help; if you don't, we definitely won't be."
The trainee sat still for a moment, considering this. Eventually, the logic seemed to convince him: if he told, things might still be bad, but if he didn't, they definitely would be.
"It's my father," he said, eventually, miserably. "He was forced to be a Death Eater by Voldemort. He said my mother would die otherwise."
"I see," Proudfoot said quietly. "Well, if he was coerced, he should get off. We don't lock up innocent people, Angelo."
The lad raised his head and looked him in the eye; for the first time in the whole conversation, there was a tiny glimmer of hope. But there was also still suspicion and fear.
"Really?" he said. "But you—" here he looked at Robin, "—you said fifteen years! And not be a threat! How could we prove that!"
"Fifteen years for Barnes, yes, but not for all Death Eaters," Robin replied. "And I assure you, Auror Proudfoot is quite correct. If he was coerced, he should get off."
"But he said—" Vissides began, then stopped.
"Go on," Proudfoot replied. "Who said what?"
The trainee hung his head in his hands. This, he realised, was it. And he suddenly found that he wanted to tell them everything. He had seen these two; they were honest men, he could sense that. Not like the other.
"His name is something like Roseeya, I think. He told me I had to do what he said, or my father would be rounded up and sent to Azkaban. He said having the dark mark was enough to put him in Azkaban forever."
"I see," Proudfoot replied, a little sterner. Not that he was angry with the lad in front of him; no, Anton Rosier was going to pay for this. Browbeating new recruits was not a big addition to the long list of things they had on the man; but it was one Proudfoot felt strongly about. Moreover, if he had done it once, he had almost certainly done it before. How many more Aurors were hidden away, under threat from the man?
Robin could see Vissides getting anxious, and realised that he was interpreting Toby's response as antagonistic towards him.
"It's all right," he said, reassuring him. "We already know that Anton Rosier is not trustworthy. He is implicated in the whole business that we are investigating." He turned to his partner. "We're going to have to keep him away from the trainees, though."
"Point," Toby replied. "Perhaps we could suggest to Head Auror Robards that it might be time for some fieldwork?" he asked, with a grin.
Robin grinned back. "I like your style," he replied.

Anton Rosier was a most unhappy man when he went to bed that night.
He had heard about the raid, of course; and he had quietly snuck into the Ministry under a glamour to find out what was going on with the prisoners. Barnes had been a dead loss, he had had to tell the man he would look after him, and promise him a new identity, and even then he had only got a promise of silence.
Rookwood had shown a little more intelligence, and he had been able to reassure him that the two wizard escapees might have return to Azkaban for a short while, but they would be out when Umbridge's full memories needed to be returned. Of course, Rosier had no intention of doing any such thing; but lying came easily to him, and the man wanted to believe it.
Umbridge had been a different thing altogether. She was, in a word, useless. She was supposed to have enough of her memories to start working her charms on the Wizengamot. But this prisoner knew nothing. She might stay out of Azkaban, not because she was seen to be innocent but because she was seen to be completely incompetent. She was, in short, no threat to anyone. And that made her no use to Rosier.
The second major blow came half an hour later, when he heard that Robards had ordered all the new trainees on a fortnight's training in the field. Suddenly, Angelo, his most useful pair of eyes and ears, was gone. He would have to rely more on other spies; spies who would demand more from him, spies who had less to lose than the boy. Angelo had been a gift. And even worse, the boy had been invited to the interrogations, but now could not give him a report. He would dearly love to know what had been asked, and more importantly what hadn't.
Was it, he wondered, suspicious that the Aurors involved were that young upstart, Banks, and his decrepit sidekick, Proudfoot? Surely not. He couldn't look for conspiracies everywhere. No, it had to be co-incidence.
It had to be.
But his sleep was troubled that night.

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.
The story is betaed by the wonderful BickyMonster, http://members.adult-fanfiction.org/profile.php?no=1296919762, with assistance from ruth_lity. The remaining errors are all my own!
Note that aff has now caught up with ff.net and AO3 so updates will be somewhat less frequent.
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Returning to Sanity