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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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70 Returning to Study and to Schemes
Anton Rosier was still in shock.
He thought back, trying to work out just how it had happened. He had broken down in front of the panel he was supposed to be part of; he had confessed his guilt, and been sentenced before he even realized what was going on.
Hang on, that couldn't be right, could it? A sentence of twenty years handed down to him by a judicial hearing about Dolores Umbridge's escape? Surely it required the full Wizengamot to sentence a pure-blood wizard? And surely sentencing him for his actions went beyond the hearing's remit?
As he mulled over these matters, he found himself being frustrated by his lack of knowledge of the intricacies of Wizarding Law. He really needed a good lawyer, a fact which he found rather galling; he hated lawyers in general, seeing them mostly as parasites who obstructed people from getting things done. Of course, by 'people' he had always meant himself, and now that 'getting things done' involved him being in Azkaban he found he wasn't so keen on the idea after all.
This was all very well, but there was really only one lawyer who was likely to agree to help him: Prometheus Parturvithic. And in recent times, Parturvithic seemed to have rather gone to ground. At least, Rosier had not managed to find him for Umbridge's hearing; he did not have the resources to hunt for him now.
Still, he couldn't change that, so there was no point in dwelling on it. Much better to spend his time and energies concentrating on what he could do to get himself out of this mess. The only problem was that that was practically nothing.
How could this be? Couldn't they see that they needed him? Who else was going to run the Department of International Magical Co-operation? They wouldn't bring Anofeles back, surely; the man was an idiot, he was sure the Minister was aware of that, and the Press would have a field day if he got back. And there really wasn't anyone else in the Department who would suit: his own deputy, Appleby, was too ambitious by half and would come a cropper soon enough; and no-one would dream of giving Pontefract any role more responsible than counting paperclips. No-one sensible, anyway. And, while he did not like the man, considering him to be a crashing bore, Anton Rosier had a deal of respect for Kingsley Shacklebolt's intelligence. The man knew what was what, and he got things done. In other circumstances Rosier would have approved, or at least found some way to manipulate the Minister to his own ends; but that was a mite difficult at the moment as he was clearly on the wrong side of things.
Still, the man was sensible. He would see reason. Rosier just had to find a way to convince the authorities that he deserved a full trial in front of the Wizengamot, not being imprisoned as the result of what was really nothing more than a low-down trick. And then he needed to get Shacklebolt to accept that he was the only sensible man for the job of Head of DIMC, and his troubles were over.
Anton Rosier was good at fooling himself. A lesser man, contemplating the size of the job in front of him, might have given up. But not Rosier. No, he just needed to work out how to put his plan into practice.
He needed one of his contacts. That was all. There must still be some Aurors in his thrall; he would just have to wait for one of them to turn up.
Just wait. He could do that. He did not, after all, have very many alternatives …

When they returned to the Castle on Sunday evening, the students discovered that the results of the tests were now in. Harry, Hermione and Draco were confirmed as students sitting all of the NEWT exams, with the necessary exception of Muggle Studies. For the other students there was a series of small interviews after dinner to discuss their results. These were held in the Headmistress's office, each student being called individually while their friends waited anxiously in the library. It came as no surprise to Draco when Blaise and then Pansy returned with great grins on their faces: they had been recommended for all of their subjects. Ron's interview was next, and seemed to take longer than either of the Slytherin's had. When he returned to the library, his face was white with shock, and Hermione looked at him with sympathetic eyes.
"Oh Ron," she said, "I'm sure you'll be fine without us."
Ron looked at her, a little flummoxed, then broke into a grin.
"No, 'Mione," he said, "I'm fine. I'm shocked because I PASSED EVERYTHING! Even Potions, thanks to Harry's brilliant mentoring!"
There was a moment's stunned silence, then Harry and Hermione jumped up and crushed Ron in a hug.
"Thanks guys," he said rather hoarsely, "but I need to breathe…"
The two released him from their death grip, and they took their seats as a smiling Neville Longbottom joined them.
"I got through!" he said, smiling his thanks at Draco, own mentor, and there were more whoops of excitement.
In the end, it turned out that all of Hermione's organization and badgering, and all the extra effort they had put into studying and mentoring lately, had really paid off: for not only had Ron, Pansy, Blaise and Neville got through the tests, so also had Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin. Professor Flitwick was understandably very excited that the two Ravenclaw girls had managed to get in, and their Charms class on Monday morning was almost incomprehensible as a result, the diminutive Professor being even more squeaky and excitable than usual.
The only down side was that Hermione's mentoring partner, Susan Bones, had not been recommended.
"It's all right," Susan assured her, a large smile on her face. "McGonagall told me that Potions was up to scratch, which is all thanks to you. I could sit that if I wanted, but my Charms and Transfiguration still need a good deal of work."
"Oh," Hermione said, pleased that her work had some reward, but disappointed for Susan that she wouldn't get to sit exams early.
"Silly!" the Hufflepuff said, guessing what was going through Hermione's mind. "I don't mind, after all, it means I don't have exams in three weeks."
"Eep!" Hermione said. "We have to study!"

After that beginning, the week settled down into a grind of classwork, homework, and extra study, the last being overseen by a merciless Hermione Granger, who kept the whole group up to the mark with study sessions and quizzes, roping in the other students to search out curly questions to ask them, and getting past papers from the Professors.
Of course this new dedication to study did not go unnoticed by the rest of the student body. There was a variety of reactions to it: some students were drawn in to study mode, taking advantage of the chance to sit with excellent students and observe, and absorb, their study habits; some happily helped those who were taking NEWTs early by asking questions, which for once seemed to be encouraged; while some made sure that the group remembered minor things like meals and going to bed, which Hermione, they suspected, would have clean forgotten about if the Hufflepuffs hadn't taken it upon themselves to mother the group.
But not all the reactions were positive. Dean and Seamus, in particular, rather regretted the sense of seriousness that had descended, and wrote to the twins for advice on how best to prank the students and bring back the levity that they preferred. Still others, the Durmstrang students in particular, while not thinking of pranking the study group, were watchful; Hermione and co meant business, and it was a good idea to stay out of their way.
And then there was one student who welcomed, not the studiousness, but the fact that everyone noticed it and commented on it. For Eva Thillin, this concentration on studies was a god-send; she was able to quietly insinuate herself back into conversations without drawing attention to herself. This was particularly important as the rather delicate topic of Rosier and Umbridge came up; it was inevitable that the students would discuss it, so she needed to steer the discussion out of dangerous territory. She was glad to see that there was very limited reporting in the Daily Prophet of what had happened at Hogwarts; if the truth wasn't reported, she reasoned, it would give her a chance to get her version of it out there, and she suggested that there must be some Ministry conspiracy to keep everything quiet. This rumour was taken up eagerly; it was much nicer to bad-mouth the Ministry than to remember that there might yet be a miscreant on the grounds, after all, and Eva found that it was quite easy to steer the talk in directions that were very profitable to her. By Tuesday lunch-time, by dint of careful prodding and hints, she had learnt a great deal about certain people at the Ministry who might be very useful to her indeed, and so she quietly stole away early from lunch. She needed to strike now, while the iron was hot; from what she had heard, a couple of owls would easily net her some useful allies.

Wednesday morning was a definite highlight of the week for the Transfiguration students. To begin with, Professor Dreyfuss discussed some theory with them, which occasioned a lively discussion on whether changing someone into a person from a different country would count as Transfiguration or a Charm. Halfway through the class, the Headmistress came in to find that they were now talking about the difference between an animagus form and a Transfigured one, which made a perfect segue into asking whether anyone else had mastered an animagus form.
"Now remember," she said, "there's no shame if you don't have one, and even those of you who do have an animagus form may take a lot of practice before you can change into it. Many very powerful witches and wizards have tried to become animagi and failed; and it's really quite astonishing that Mr Potter…"
But whatever Minerva had been about to say about Harry was lost to posterity as she gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. It wasn't every day that you had a white Bengal tiger in your classroom, after all.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" Harry said, beaming with pride.
"Yeah, but how do you and he get on together?" Seamus asked. "I mean, you don't really suit each other, do you? Fight like cat and dog?"
"Let's see," said Harry, transforming to his own animagus form.
Perhaps, with hindsight, no-one should have been surprised that Harry Potter was the first wizard in recorded history to have two animagus forms; but certainly it was a great shock when he transformed, not into the black Labrador they had all seen before, but into a rarer creature even than Draco's animagus: a powerful, sleek, black tiger, who let out a roar and then circled around the white tiger.
"Wow!" the students exclaimed, Hannah Abbott and Lisa Turpin jumping up and down with excitement.
"They're so beautiful together!"
And indeed, as they circled each other, the contrast between the two was stunning. Draco let out a very contented chuff and the two of them curled up together.
"Well!" said McGonagall. "It seems, Mr Finnegan, that the point is rather moot, as Mr Potter has once again done the impossible."
Hermione's head snapped around to the teacher, and Ron groaned as he recognised the glint in her eye, the one that meant she now had a new research project and was going to be spending even more time in the library.
"Really?" she asked. "Has no one else ever had two animagus forms?"
The Headmistress nodded. "I am unaware of it happening before," she replied. "Though I have not made a particular study of the matter."
"Wow!" Hermione replied. "I'll have to research how this could happen. I need to …"
"Go to the library!" almost the entire class chorused, dissolving into laughter, with the two tigers joining I, letting out happy chuffing noises as well.

It was Wednesday morning before Rosier got his wish. To his very great surprise, he was told that he had a visitor from the Ministry, no less. The guard did not tell him who his visitor was, but that was no very great surprise; he had learnt very quickly that the guards did not consider it their business to inform the prisoners about anything that they did not have to.
So he was rendered quite speechless when he was ushered into the Azkaban interview room that had been set aside for the meeting. For there, opposite him, separated from him by a table that ran the length of the room, was about the last person he had expected to see, except perhaps the Minister himself: the former Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
"Ah! Rosier," Fudge said, then pointed to the rather uncomfortable looking chair on his side of the table. "Do sit down."
As Rosier did so, he considered the situation. Fudge's voice had sounded bored, the tone of a man given a duty that he found rather distasteful, but who was determined to discharge it to the best of his ability. He wasn't particularly surprised at this; going to Azkaban had always been considered very demeaning by everyone at the Ministry, so no-one would want to do it; while on the other hand, Fudge's name was mud, so perhaps this was an opportunity to suck up a bit and maybe get into someone's good books. Privately, Rosier didn't think that would happen; but perhaps Fudge was enough of a fool to imagine that it might. Fudge had, after all, been something of an idiot, at least in Rosier's view. Though he must have had something going for him to get elected Minister and to keep the position as long as he had.
"Now," Fudge was saying, sounding rather uncomfortable, "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
Rosier gave him the slightest of wry smiles, but remained silent. He wasn't about to try to make the man feel comfortable; he could stew in his own juice as far as Rosier was concerned.
"The Minister is concerned to make sure everything is – ah – above board," Fudge continued. "He's sent me to see if there's any evidence you feel might have been overlooked, or not given its proper due weight."
A guilty conscience, Rosier thought at first. Though it was odd; Kingsley Shacklebolt did not strike him as the sort of wizard to have a guilty conscience, at least when things were as cut and dried as they had made them out to be. Ah, he thought. That was it. Not a guilty conscience so much as a concern that there were no loose ends to cause the whole thing to unravel. They'd stitched him up good and proper; clearly they wanted things to stay that way.
He grinned. If that was the way things were, it gave him some power. And he knew just how to use it. It was, in fact, fortunate that they'd sent the fool Fudge to him; he was so easy to manipulate.
"I see," he answered. "Above board, eh? All done properly?"
Fudge nodded.
"Tell me," Rosier said abruptly. "How is International Co-operation doing under Appleby?"
Fudge looked confused. "It isn't," he replied. "Banks is in charge now."
Banks? Rosier thought. And then he remembered. That blasted Auror Robin Banks had a father, who had been in Germany as Ambassador for a long while. What was his name?
"Ah … Viridis Banks? I bet you love that."
"That's him," Fudge said, tight-lipped. He and Banks had a history that went back quite a way; Fudge had always thought him something of a threat, which was why he had been happy to have him as the representative British Wizard in Germany. Now, of course, the man was back in Britain, and head of a Department, while Fudge was a mere dog's-body. In fact, Banks had been nothing but gracious to him; but of course it rankled with Fudge that the man had ended up so much better off than he had. Still, he had wound up better off than Rosier, so it wasn't all bad. "Doing an excellent job, by all accounts," he continued, enjoying the look of discomfort on the prisoner's face. "And I might also tell you that the Auror Department has instituted quite a clean-up; several Aurors have been discovered to have been coerced by third parties of low repute."
Rosier sat there fuming inwardly. Of course Fudge meant "by you", but trust him to find such an outright offensive way to say so. Then he spotted an opening.
"And will they be joining me here soon?" he asked smoothly.
"Oh, I doubt it," Fudge continued blithely. "Most of them have had their cases reviewed, and it has been accepted that their actions, while not entirely blame-free, were under duress, and have been pardoned."
Rosier arched back as though he had been slapped. This was something he had not foreseen, and which could easily destroy his power-base altogether. What influence could he exert if the fear of discovery was removed?
"And I imagine that very few of them will hesitate to testify against those who coerced them," Fudge continued, reveling in Rosier's discomfort.
Rosier looked daggers at the former Minister. All right, he thought, the gloves are off.
"Well now," he said. "This is all very interesting, but we have strayed somewhat from your brief, don't you think? You were talking about things being above board. Well, a pure-blood wizard was sentenced by a mere hearing. Surely it is at the very least a breach of etiquette, if not of Wizarding Law, to send a pure-blood to this place without giving him a chance to plead his case in front of the entire Wizengamot?"
Fudge looked thoughtful.
"If that is your answer," he said slowly, "I shall relay it to the Minister."
He stood up.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me, and for your time," he said, and there was no mistaking the malice in the comment; after all, an inmate of Azkaban had no choice about either. But the other wizard was determined to have the last word.
"Oh," Rosier said airily, "of course. Do call again; I shall instruct the footman to give you admittance."
And with that, his head held high, he walked out of the room and was escorted back to his cell.
Fudge smirked. The outcome was exactly what the Minister had predicted; Rosier had played the Wizengamot card. Well, if he wanted a full trial, he would have one, and be damned for all the Wizarding world to see.

Thursday 27 August
The owl post that came on Thursday morning brought some rather unusual mail.
Dean was quite surprised to receive not only the usual parcel from his mother, who clearly didn't believe that the school fed him properly as she sent him a fruit-cake every week, but a couple of other letters in very plain envelopes. He turned them over to find that one of them had 'Seamus to open this one' written on it, so, rather intrigued by the strange notion of someone sending him a letter for Seamus to open, rather than sending it to Seamus directly, handed it to his friend.
The mystery was solved when they both opened the letters; it was obviously a ploy to make sure they opened them together, rather than one at a time, when they might have been forewarned. For, as they opened the letter, they were each engulfed in coloured smoke. When it cleared, Dean's dark skin was a vibrant pink, clashing rather horribly with his bright yellow hair. And Seamus's pale complexion was now an emerald green, while his forehead was still pasty white and his hair was a hideous orange.
The rest of the student body collapsed into laughter as Seamus pulled a small piece of parchment out of his envelope. 'Hope your Irish eyes are smiling', it said in George's untidy script which Seamus recognised from his time helping at the shop, 'but we're not going to prank my husband, thanks!' Seamus huffed, then conjured a mirror to see just what the twins had done. He had to admit that it was a brilliant job: the green, white and orange were indeed very reminiscent of the Irish flag.
Dean, meanwhile, had found a small sachet inside his envelope, together with a note of his own. 'Sorry,' it said, in Fred's hand, 'George couldn't let Neville's honour be impeached. But we have no qualms about you using the enclosed on Ron.' Dean grinned. This would be fun.
Eva Thillin was very glad of the distraction caused by the explosions, and the ensuing laughter, as she read her own letter. Her instincts had been right, and she had managed to hit pay-dirt. Her contact was indeed very angry at the treatment he was receiving from the Ministry, and clearly believed he was worthy of a much better job; but he was also in a position to be useful. It seemed that the current Minister was not above sending a former one as an errand boy, and that Cornelius Fudge resented it very much. Good. That meant he was unlikely to mention her modest request for an autograph 'from such a distinguished member of the British Establishment' to anyone. And wonder of wonders, he had told her about his trip to Azkaban. The man was clearly lonely and happy to have someone to pour out his feelings to.
Yes, this Fudge would be very useful indeed, she decided. It was fortunate that everyone was still gawking at Dean and Seamus; had anyone seen the look on her face at that moment, they would have been deeply suspicious…

By the end of the week, the whole group was exhausted; which wasn't helped by a grueling Saturday afternoon study session where Hermione had roped in Robin Banks and Filius Flitwick to give them mock orals in Defense and Charms. It was hardly surprising, then, that, as a group, they rebelled against Hermione's slave-driving and spent the evening playing cards. Hermione, seeing that they were getting tired of study, graciously consented to let them have the Sunday afternoon and evening off as well.
Some of the group used the time off as an opportunity to visit Hogsmeade. Ron took Hermione out to a new café that had opened there after the war. It had a reputation for serving very delicious continental food, and he had wanted to go there for a few weeks, but had not managed to convince Hermione she needed the time out from study. Neville had managed to get George to come out too, and the four of them had a very pleasant afternoon in which George only pranked Ron twice. And really, as he said, the second one was hardly a prank; the dark purple eyebrows actually matched both Ron's complexion and the bottle-green hair he had sported since Saturday morning when Dean had made use of the powder that the twins had supplied. Matched in a very loose sense. In a dark light. If you squinted.
Blaise and Pansy went a little further afield; they had decided to visit Theo, who was doing well, but still spending a lot of time at St Mungo's undergoing various physical therapies as well as advanced magic to rebuild his co-ordination. When they arrived at the ward, Pansy was a little surprised to find that Theo had a visitor already; but Blaise just smirked, and said he didn't want to feel like a pimple on a pumpkin, so had invited his own date along too. Pansy's jaw dropped; and then she pulled herself together, kissed the newcomer, and looped her arm through Luna Lovegood's as though they had been friends forever. Luna, for her part, just smiled knowingly at Pansy, then brilliantly at Blaise as she took his arm with her free one, and the four of them made their way to Diagon Alley for lunch followed by shopping and ice-cream.
Harry and Draco, however, elected to stay in the castle, spending the afternoon in each other's arms in their bedroom. It seemed to Harry that they had spent the whole week being so busy studying that they had hardly said a word to each other; and felt it was time to do something about that.
"That Hermione is something else," Draco said halfway through the afternoon.
Harry groaned. "Do we have to talk about study?"
Draco turned and propped himself up on his elbow, studying his fiancé carefully. "I wasn't," he replied simply. "I was talking about Hermione. I think there's something going on, Harry. Something more than just getting stressed about the jealousy curse."
"Do you think so?" Harry asked dubiously. He couldn't imagine that Hermione would keep a secret from him; but then, on the other hand, Draco's instincts were pretty remarkable; after all, he had spotted that Hermione was in trouble before, when it was the jealousy curse.
"I do think so," Draco said, but then decided that he wasn't going to get much further with that topic, so drew Harry in for a kiss.
"Mmm," Harry said appreciatively as they separated, needing air. "I love your kisses."
"Of course," Draco said archly. "You love everything about me."
"I do," Harry replied, kissing his lover again. "Although…" he began wistfully, then stopped.
"What?" Draco asked, a touch of worry coming into his otherwise self-assured tones.
"I was just wondering about Saturday night," Harry confessed. "And how you felt about it."
"Having sex with you, you mean?" Draco asked.
"Well, yeah," Harry replied. "Um, but especially you making love to me. Instead of the other way around."
"I see," Draco said, growing thoughtful. He lay down in silence for so long that Harry was beginning to be afraid that his words had inadvertently somehow hurt his lover. Without either of them noticing, his breathing started to become a little shallow at the thought.
"I think," Draco said eventually, "that I do prefer it the other way around."
Harry let out his breath slowly, and then his breathing began to return to normal. "I think so too," he replied. "Do you think it's the debt?"
"Maybe," Draco replied. "Or maybe …"
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe I just really like having you inside me," he replied with a lascivious wink.
"Oh!" Harry said, cottoning on. "Like now, perhaps?"
"Mr Potter!" Draco said, in mock astonishment. "You are such a romantic!"
"And you love it," Harry replied.
"I do," Draco replied, handing him the bottle of lubricant from the bedside cabinet.
And he did. He loved it so much that they only just made it to the Great Hall in time for dinner. And even then Draco was very glad for the cushioning charm that Harry wordlessly cast as he sat down on the bench.

Notes:

Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.

Thanks: Thanks and custard buns to those who comment.

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