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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.

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67 Returning to the Table
Tuesday 11 August
The Clerk to the Court stood up and began the inevitable legal rigmarole.
"A judicial hearing regarding the matter of Dolores Umbridge's escape from Azkaban and issues arising, held at eleven o'clock in the morning in Courtroom Four. Present, his Honour the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt; his Honour the Chief Warlock, Elphias Doge; her Honour Madam Dalmatea Merrythought, Deputy Chief Warlock; his Honour Lord Roderick Restarick, Wizengamot member; Gawain Robards, Chief Auror; Glinda Dalben-Chun, Senior Auror; Robin Banks, Auror and Deputy Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts; Lord Lucius Malfoy, special adviser to the Minister; Anton Rosier, Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation.
"By agreement between the parties and by personal request of the Minister, his Honour the Chief Warlock presiding.
"Percy Weasley, Clerk to the Court."
Kingsley managed – just – to hide the smirk that threatened to spread across his face at the way Percy had handled the introductory nonsense as though born to it. It had, he decided, been a stroke of genius to move Percy over to the Judicial department. True, there had been many complaints about his officiousness, and the fact that he was busy reorganizing the paperwork along completely new lines; but Kingsley knew the DMLE paperwork very well, and it could certainly do with a reorganization. And if Percy was getting up people's noses, that only meant that they were being shaken out of their complacency. Accordingly, he had simply dismissed the claims, telling the complainants that if they came to him with substantial complaints, he would investigate, but in the meantime, they needed to get along.
"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Doge was saying, and Kingsley could not help but notice the slight blush that came on Percy's face that his boss had actually managed to remember his name. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I should tell you at the outset that we have had a request from the Daily Prophet to be allowed to cover these proceedings; I thought, with your indulgence, that perhaps we might get all the procedural matters out of the way this morning, and invite them to send a reporter along after lunch?"
Doge turned to the other members to gauge the response. The message was clear: anything they didn't want to be made public should be dealt with before lunch. Kingsley nodded his assent. The more that he watched Doge in action, the more he appreciated the man's willingness to step into the role his former friend and mentor, Albus Dumbledore, had held for so long. The last few weeks had shown that he was admirably suited for the job: like Albus, Elphias was polite to a fault; but he was more directive in his politeness, and seemed to effortlessly keep Wizengamot deliberations from running in all directions, which had happened a bit too much under Albus Dumbledore, if the reports Kingsley had heard were to be believed.
"Very good," Doge was saying. "Now, as you know, it has been suggested that, in her present state of mind, sending Madam Umbridge back to Azkaban would not be an appropriate course of action. I wonder if Miss Dalben-Chun could give us a very quick summary of the medical evidence?"
"Thank you," the Auror replied, all brisk and business-like. "As you may be aware, I have been asked to maintain oversight of Madam Umbridge during the process of this enquiry. As such, I have collated all the various opinions of the healers. To date, Madam Umbridge has been seen by three Mind Healers, who all concur that there is significant evidence of an Imperius curse having been used on her."
"Thank you," Doge replied, effortlessly forestalling any discussion on the point. "We can go into the details of their findings after lunch. For the moment, is Madam Umbridge secure?"
"Yes. I have left her in the care of two junior Aurors, Elspeth Macmillan and Daniel Tolipan. They have been briefed to ensure that she does not leave the room, and she is in the care ward where only trusted healers and medi-wizards and –witches can enter. So, for the moment at least, no-one should be able to get to her, and she is not able to leave the ward."
"Thank you, that's admirably clear," Doge replied.
"Have there been any visitors to date?" Kingsley asked.
"Acting Department Head Rosier visited yesterday evening," Glinda replied. "Apart from that, no-one."
"My mother is in hospital," Anton added by way of explanation, as the Minister looked at him for one. "As I was there, I thought I would check up on the prisoner to make sure all was well. Naturally the Department is interested in the case, given the possible international repercussions."
"Yes, of course," Kingsley nodded, looking quite content with the answer. In fact, he had heard that Rosier's mother had been admitted to St Mungo's, and had his suspicions about that. It was all too convenient that their main – their only – suspect had a built-in excuse to visit whenever he could. An excuse that now did not need to become public – as it surely would if the Prophet got hold of it. It was just the human-interest angle that Rita Skeeter, and more importantly her readers, loved.
The rest of the morning was taken up with discussions as to exactly how the investigation was to proceed; though much of that would depend on exactly what they learnt when they managed to interview Umbridge. It was generally agreed that the Daily Prophet should be present for the afternoon; the previous policy of keeping things under wraps had only kept people ignorant and fomented suspicion and discord. Accordingly, at lunchtime, Percy Weasley was asked to send an owl inviting the Prophet to send Rita Skeeter along for the afternoon session.

Barnabus Cuffe was not a happy wizard. On his desk in front of him was the newly-arrived letter from the Wizengamot. The delivery owl had dropped it and had the good sense to fly off before he could react at all. The Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet thought morosely that his reporters should show such sense. He did not appreciate being told which reporter to send on a story. But the letter, though politely phrased – he could even hear Doge's dry, soft voice in his head as he read it – really brooked no argument: he was to send Skeeter, or not bother.
Fuck it, he thought, as he reached for the firewhisky. If it was Skeeter or no-one, he'd send Skeeter. But at the same time, he was going to be unhappy about it. At least she didn't need to know she'd been asked for by name.
"Lindsey!" he called to his assistant. "Pull Skeeter out from whatever rock she's under and send her in here! At the double!"
Lesley, Cuffe's assistant, sighed. She'd given up trying to have him use the right name years ago; as far as courtesy in the office was concerned, since she'd given up hope she felt a whole lot better. He treated her like dirt; but then, she knew perfectly well it wasn't personal; he treated all the staff like dirt. She got results, so he paid well, and she could put up with the rest. As long as he kept his hands to himself, she could cope with his bad manners.
At the moment she knew perfectly well that Rita was in The Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade. A quick Floo-call to Aberforth Dumbledore elicited a promise that he would send Rita through as soon as possible; and barely three minutes later the lady herself arrived. Lesley looked at her distastefully. Drinking again. On the firm's money, no doubt. Still, it didn't really matter much – Cuffe did it too, without leaving his office; at least Skeeter might possibly actually have been pursuing a story.
"Boss wants you," she said, as the reporter dusted herself off. "Yesterday."
"Thanks, Lesley darling," Skeeter replied. "Any idea what's up?"
Mollified that the woman had actually got her name right, Lesley gave her a half smile, but shook her head. "He did get an owl just before he hollered for you. But he seemed to be in a right old strop."
"No change there, then," the seasoned reporter replied, and stumbled rather unsteadily to the Editor's office.
"SKEETER!" Cuffe roared, and Lesley winced before getting back to her work. "Where the hell have you been? I have a little assignment, and I've decided, out of the goodness of my heart, and the lack of anyone else with a pulse, to give it to you."
"All right," Skeeter replied, coolly, not fooled for a moment. "And just who is it, exactly, who asked for me by name?"
Cuffe looked a little sheepish. "Didn't think I was that transparent," he said softly, then added in a normal voice, "the assignment is at the Courts. There's a hearing into Dolores Umbridge and whether she should go back to Azkaban. Be there at two. Got it?"
"On it, Chief," she replied. A quick Tempus cast as she left the office showed her she had fifteen minutes to sober up. First to find a potion, she thought; but before she even considered where to get one, Lesley had shoved a phial in her hand, and she recognised the standard Prophet hangover cure by colour immediately. No doubt Lesley kept a supply close to hand for Cuffe, she thought. Given his drinking habits, she probably needed to. Rita took the contents of the phial in one gulp – it tasted as vile as ever – and handed the empty container back to Cuffe's assistant.
"Thanks," she said, as she wandered into her own office to put her notes from the previous interview somewhere safe, together with her Quick Quotes Quill. The less the Ministry knew about what she'd been up to that morning, the better.

The afternoon session was really everything Skeeter could have asked for. The medical evidence was led; it took an hour of deposition and examination to decide that, by all appearances, Umbridge had been, for some considerable time, under an Imperius curse similar in type to the ones known to have been cast by Yaxley and Barnes. It seemed to be difficult to pin down exactly when the curse took root; but the medi-witches seemed to be agreed that it would most probably have been in place during the year that Umbridge was at Hogwarts.
Further evidence was given as to her current state. Here, the medical staff was much less guarded: Umbridge had been cruelly treated, they all agreed, and her current mental state was extremely fragile. When asked, they strongly opined that sending her to Azkaban would probably destroy that state altogether, leaving her a wreck within days.
This caused considerable debate as to the best way to proceed. She had been tried and found guilty; legally they could ship her back to Azkaban straight away. But given her current state, perhaps she should be pardoned and quietly sent to the Janus Thickey Ward, the ward at St Mungo's which housed residents whose minds had been permanently been affected by spells. Or, in order to ensure justice was seen to be done, should her previous conviction be quashed and a new trial be instituted? Rosier seemed to think so; not outwardly, but with a nod and a wink; but Skeeter was a little surprised that the urbane Acting Head of DIMC was prepared to show his hand even so far. And Doge, it seemed, was not going to let him stay in the shadows.
"You consider that we should have a second trial of Dolores Umbridge, Mr Rosier?" he asked, his voice polite as ever, but with an iron control barely hidden.
"Well," Rosier began, temporising just a little as he drew out the monosyllable, "I would think that the Potter Code would push us in that direction, would it not? A fair trial and all; if Madam Umbridge was in fact under Imperius, surely she should have the chance for that fact to be recognised openly, and any treatment then to proceed on the basis of helping a poor unfortunate, innocent woman, rather than a convicted felon, whether pardoned or not?"
This occasioned yet more discussion; at four o'clock, the prisoner herself was brought before the hearing, and it took only fifteen minutes for them all to convince themselves that the medical evidence about her current state was entirely accurate.
At five o'clock, Doge asked people for a show of hands; Rosier, it seemed, had been convincing as a slim majority of members agreed that there should be a fresh trial.
"Well," Doge said, "this body has been given letters by the full Wizengamot to investigate as it sees fit, so I think it is competent to try the case by itself. Accordingly, I propose we adjourn until Friday, and continue the hearing then. Will that give your department time to sort out its position on the evidence, and the case, Mr Robards?"
"Yes, I think so, thank you, sir," Gawain Robards replied.
"Very well. This hearing stands adjourned."
Rosier left with the rest, a bemused smile on his lips. He told anyone who asked that he was happy that the Potter Code would give the poor woman a decent trial. But privately, he was a little stunned by how easy it had been. And how quick; it was almost as though Doge had a dinner appointment he didn't want to be late for, or something.
Oh well, Rosier thought, dismissing his misgivings. Perhaps the man did indeed have a dinner engagement. He had to do something in his evenings, after all. And best not to look a gift Pegasus in the mouth; here was a chance to visit his mother, and possibly talk to Umbridge, before the evening was gone.

But it wasn't Elphias Doge who raced home to get ready for dinner, taking care to buy a bunch of red roses on the way. No, the man on tenterhooks for his important date, the man who checked and double-checked everything, his robes, his hair, the reservation at the restaurant, was Auror Robin Banks.
As Robin had been extremely busy preparing for the judicial hearing, and had been out of the house before she had even opened an eye, Ginny had spent her seventeenth birthday visiting her mother and playing Quidditch in the afternoon. She arrived home soon after six thirty, still rather hot and sweaty, to find her boyfriend looking exceptionally dapper.
"My word," she said, "what's up with you? Going somewhere nice?"
"Oh, I hope so," Robin replied teasingly. "Happy birthday, my love. You'll find your first present on the bed."
Ginny, excited at the thought of a present, and the hopes of more to come, bounced into her bedroom to find an exquisite set of robes laid out for her. An acromantula silk blend, by the feel. She had a quick shower and got dressed in a hurry, then went and found her boyfriend reading a rather dry looking book in their sitting room.
"Darling!" she said, as she plonked herself on top of him. "I love them! But however did you afford them?"
"Well," Robin said, a bit embarrassed, "it seems that Harry is very pleased with the work we've done to unearth the Hogwarts-Ministry-Azkaban connection, and insisted that Toby, Glinda and I be paid a bonus."
He kissed her, before continuing, "which turned out to be a very handsome bonus indeed."
Another kiss.
"And I must say, those robes look exquisite on you, and worth every knut. Now, we had best get a move on."
He eased her gently off his lap and stood up, brushing himself down. Once they had both straightened out their robes, it was already nearly quarter past seven.
"Right!" he said. "Time to go!"
"But you haven't said where?" Ginny replied petulantly.
"No, I haven't, have I?" Robin replied, embracing her in a hug.
There was the familiar sensation of being stretched through a very thin tube, and the world changed around them. When everything resolved, Ginny could see at once that they were in the receiving room of a very posh restaurant.
"Ah!" a deep voice said behind her. "Auror Banks, Miss Ginny Weasley, welcome to Le Jardin Magique."

While Robin was entertaining Ginny, Kingsley was doing some entertaining of his own. But, unlike a restaurant like Le Jardin Magique, where, given enough patience, anyone could get a reservation, the Merlin Club was a very exclusive, members-only venue. Kingsley knew that he would never have been offered membership had he not been Minister, and he had even considered turning it down when it was offered. A solitary man, he didn't go out much, and usually hated to do so; but he knew perfectly well that some socializing was inevitable, and he might as well do it in discreet and pleasant surroundings.
Tonight, he found that the company was both engaging and intelligent, and, to his very pleasant surprise, he was actually enjoying himself very much.
"Now, Minister," the other wizard said, once they were seated in a quiet corner with some delicious rare roast beef in front of them, "this is very pleasant indeed, and I appreciate the chance to have your ear privately; but I suspect there was something in particular you wished to discuss?"
The Minister steepled his fingers and surveyed his guest over them. The man's eyes had a twinkle to them that reminded him immediately of Albus Dumbledore; he suspected that getting one over Ambassador Banks wasn't going to be any easier than getting one over the former leader of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Isn't that a bit direct for a diplomat?" Kingsley asked sardonically.
"Quite possibly," the other replied, the twinkle seeming to brighten. "And on many occasions such as this we would dance around each other with words and say nothing of substance until the coffee. But unless I miss my guess, you are rather happier with plain speaking?"
"You're right," he said, his voice weary, "I have no patience for small talk. An attribute that was excellent for an Auror but is something of a liability in politics."
He paused for a moment. The ambassador remained silent, his face open, and Kingsley appreciated that he was being given the time he needed to frame things just so.
"You know about the trial – that is, the hearing?" he asked, by way of preamble.
"Robin has mentioned it," the other replied cautiously. "I rather gather that you have some agenda here, beyond the letter of the law? After all, if you only wanted justice, you could send her straight back to Azkaban."
"Indeed," said Kingsley, warming to the older man. He was sharp, but he didn't make Kingsley feel inferior, like Albus always had. "We believe that there is a conspiracy of some depth, and wish to have it all out."
"I see," the other replied, his brows knit together in thought. "And if you are telling me… Anton Rosier is part of the hearing, I understand?"
"Quite so," Kingsley replied.
"Ah," said Banks, calmly cutting himself some more beef. "Am I to take it that there may be a vacancy in the Department of International Magical Co-operation?"
"That is a very probable outcome," Kingsley replied, which got a smirk from the other wizard.
"Careful, Minister," Banks interjected, "you're learning diplomacy."
Kingsley laughed. "I don't think there's much chance of that," he replied. "But if there were such a vacancy, would you be interested?"
"Ah," the other replied, his fork pausing half-way to his mouth. "I might," he continued, cagily, the fork completing its journey.
"I see," Kingsley replied. The man was going to have conditions. Well, of course. Kingsley was asking him to give up what by all accounts was a pretty cushy life in Germany to come back to the hotbed of Ministry politics, after all. "What would it take?"
"Minister," he replied, his tone making the word say 'how could you doubt me?'. "Look," he said, deciding that the man could be trusted with a direct approach, "I really have no problem returning to England. I cleared out in the first place because Fudge was making his bid to be Minister and he was paranoid that I would put my hat in the ring. So when I suggested to the then Minister that I was interested in Germany, Fudge happily put his supporters behind the request. But frankly, I'm not interested in being Minister at all, and never was. Too many people sucking up to you for favours all the time. Though I guess you know that by now. So I want to play it as: I am reluctant to return from Germany but am doing so as a special favour to you, and would return at the first opportunity."
"Really?" Kingsley asked, somewhat surprised. "But Fudge has gone, you don't have to worry any more, surely?"
Ambassador Banks snorted, a very rare impropriety. "There are plenty of other people who want your job, Minister. I just want people to think that I'm not one of them. That way, I stand a chance of actually getting things done without lots of people trying to get in the way and make me look bad."
"Alright," Kingsley replied softly, feeling relieved that the discussion had gone so smoothly. "Dessert?"

It had only been two days, and Hermione was already driving the rest of the group to distraction. Somehow, despite having classes all day, and her own study, she had managed to produce timetables for each of them, carefully colour-coded by subject, and designed so each subject got equal study time. And now here they were, sitting in the library, revising charms, having been all but frog-marched from the dinner table as soon as they had finished eating.
"Is she always like this?" Draco whispered to Harry.
"Er, a bit," Harry replied. "But this time is worse than ever."
Ron leaned over to them, having heard Harry's remark.
"Pomfrey says she's still stressed from the jealousy spell," he whispered. "It will take another week for it to be fully out of her system."
"Is that why you took her out for a walk the other day?" Neville asked.
By this time, the whispering was no longer discreet; and Hermione finally noticed.
"What are you lot talking about?" she demanded. "Why aren't you studying? The timetable says study charms, not talk!"
"Actually, Granger," Draco replied, with his best frosty Malfoy countenance, "we were discussing you. Specifically how you seem to have decided that your word is law all of a sudden."
"Respect!" Ron muttered, acknowledging the bravery Draco was displaying.
"What?" Hermione expostulated. "Don't you want to do well on these tests?"
"Yes," Draco replied. "But I also want to be sane at the end of them. Look, it's nine o'clock already, and we're all tired and stressed. We're all very grateful for the work you've put in to the timetables, but I don't believe that spending another hour revising charms is going to help anyone much. How about we relax, play games for an hour, and go to bed, so we're all fresh for the morning."
The only reason that Draco had got away with saying so much was that Hermione was in shock, her mouth opening and closing but her brain not supplying any coherent words. When he finished, thought seemed to kick in again.
"But…" Hermione spluttered, "the timetable! It won't be even!"
"It really doesn't matter, Hermione," Ron said soothingly. "Remember what Poppy said about not getting stressed?"
"Oh," Hermione said, sheepishly, as she seemed to suddenly snap out of her driven mindset. "Right. Sorry, guys."
"What did Poppy say?" Harry asked.
"Oh," Hermione said, her cheeks going red, "just that the jealousy thing needed to work its way out fully and I should be careful to rest and stay calm."
"And you were going to tell us this when?" Harry replied.
'Just now, I guess," she rejoined, looking down at the table. Then she forced herself to look him in the eye.
"Look, I'm sorry, right?" she said, with force; and then her voice became quiet as she continued, "I know how often I pressed you to tell us everything that was happening, and here I am trying to keep this a secret. I was wrong to do that. Please forgive me."
"Of course," Harry and Draco said together, and Hermione looked at the blond, stunned that he had replied as well.
Draco looked at her with twinkling eyes. "Now," he said, "about those games…"

Dinner really had been magical. The restaurant had produced a rustic and rural garden, with a backdrop suggesting a forest of trees reminiscent of the Black Forest. Ginny's eyes had nearly fallen out of her head when she saw it; she loved the stories Robin told her about camping in Germany, and now she could visualise what it would have been like.
And the food had been every bit as wonderful as the setting. But the best bit was what happened just as she finished off the delectable lemon syllabub she had chosen to finish the meal with. As she set the dish down, she found Robin had come round to kneel before her, holding a small open jewelry box in front of her.
"Will you marry…?" he began, but she didn't even let him finish.
"Of course I will!" she almost shrieked, as she took the ring out of the box. "Oh, Robin, it's exquisite!"
He took the ring from her and slipped the thin band of gold onto her finger. As he had foreseen, the purple amethyst and the two emeralds reflected her eyes and hair colour, and the whole effect took his breath away. He rose from his kneeling position, she rose as well from her seat at the table, and they embraced each other in the first of the night's many entirely unchaste kisses.
Notes:

Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions. Ruth_lily is currently indisposed; I hope she will be back on deck soon!
Thanks: To all who are following and favoriting! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and custard tarts to those who reviewed chapter 66.
Nominated: Returning To Sanity has been nominated for a naward at thenon-canonawards.blogspot.com.au! As has Fragmented Soul by StrawberryGirl87 and BickyMonster, and The Rise of the Drackens: The Scaled Bits by StarLight Massacre. Star also has an omination for The Royal Author Award. Very exciting.
Please please review; and do stop by facebook and let me know what you think!
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Returning to Sanity