Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31213 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books or films, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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81 Returning to More Secure Accommodation
Monday 5 October
After spending the night at the Manor, the two Malfoy-Potters Apparated to The Lodge first thing.
Draco, well aware of his husband’s difficulties with magical transport, went first, and made sure to catch Harry as he arrived. Not that it was really needed, at least for Harry; but Draco rather liked the opportunity to hold his husband perhaps a little more tightly than was strictly necessary.
As they turned to look at the property, Harry’s eyes went wide. In front of him stood a two-storey building built from light stone and rather beautifully proportioned, with large windows that seemed to beckon him in. In front were flower-beds that seemed to be very well cared for despite the fact that, if Narcissa was right, no-one had lived here for almost a hundred years.
“They’re lovely,” he said bending to smell the roses, which seemed to respond to him immediately as the fresh fragrance of old roses seemed to suddenly fill the air around them. “But how –?“
“House-elves,” Draco said in answer to his unasked question.
Of course, Harry thought. “Are they still here?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” Draco replied. “Tiny!” he called.
A house-elf immediately appeared in front of them. Harry wondered again at the strange names pure-bloods gave their elves; though in this case it was well-deserved, as Tiny was easily the smallest house-elf he had ever met.
“Master Draco!” he said excitedly. “Master Draco is come to stay!”
“Yes, that’s right,” Draco replied. “And this is my husband, Harry Potter.”
“Master Harry Potter!” Tiny replied, a note of awe in his voice. Even house-elves were aware of his status, Harry thought ruefully.
Harry coughed meaningfully, and Draco added, “now Harry Potter-Malfoy.”
“Harry will do fine,” Harry continued.
“Yes Master Harry! Is Master Harry wanting to be meeting the other house-elfs?”
“How many are there?” he asked in wonderment.
“There is being Tiny, and Dibby, and Twinkle,” Tiny replied happily. “Tiny is being the senior elf.”
Harry turned in wonder to Draco. “How come there are so many?” he asked. “Surely we only need one; after all, the Manor is easily three times the size of this place and seems to function fairly well with just two?”
Tiny looked pained.
“Twinkle is being in charge of the grounds of both manors!” she explained. “Before the War, Dibby is being at the manor, and Tiny here with Twinkle coming twice a week. Then Dibby and Twinkle is being sent here.”
“When the War ended, my parents sent all the Manor elves except Mappy and Dippy to various other properties,” Draco explained. “They thought that if the Ministry found them all at the Manor, they might do something stupid, like sell them off or try to set them free or something.”
Tiny looked as if she was in physical pain at this.
“No, Master Draco, we is being Malfoy elfs! We is not wanting to work for anyone else! You must not be letting them sell us or free us!” she said, her voice beginning to sound hysterical.
“No, no, we won’t do that,” Harry reassured her, wondering, as he did so, just exactly how he was going to explain all of this to Hermione. “Perhaps you could introduce us to Dibby and Twinkle, and then show us around inside?”
“Of course Master Harry!” she replied, swelling up in pride and happiness at being given proper orders by a master. She snapped her fingers, and two other house-elves appeared and were introduced. Dibby was visibly taller than Tiny, while Twinkle dwarfed both of them, and Harry had to stifle a giggle at the incongruity of their sizes.
“These is being Master Draco and Master Harry,” Tiny said to the other two. “They is being living at The Lodge, and they is not sending us away!”
“Of course not,” Draco agreed, and the three elves visibly relaxed.
“Tiny will be showing the Masters around,” the little elf said, and this was clearly understood as a dismissal by the other two, who apparated away, no doubt returning to whatever they had been doing before Tiny had summoned them. She went up to the front door, opening it with a wave of magic, then stood waiting for her masters.
Before he followed her, Harry took a moment to turn around a full circle, drinking in the view as he did so. From where he stood, he could see that the house was nestled in fields, with a grove of trees along one side through which he could hear the chattering of a small stream. He turned to face the house, already half in love with it.
Draco watched him doing it, enthralled by the sheer pleasure showing in Harry’s eyes.
“Shall we go inside?” he asked, his eyes smiling.
“I’d love to,” Harry replied.

The interior of the house was everything Harry could have wanted. The rooms were spacious, without being ostentatiously large, and as he wandered through the downstairs entertaining areas it took very little time for him to fall in love with the house.
Draco wandered through with him; but he had been in The Lodge before, his father having brought him here a couple of times when Narcissa was entertaining some of the more doughty pure-blood women and the Manor was not safe for men. So the house itself was not new to him; but the expression of pure joy on his husband's face was, and Draco was left in no doubt that this would be their house.
Upstairs was naturally more private, and the decoration reflected this, with warm, dark colours providing a sense of intimacy that contrasted with the bright and breezy ground floor. The final room they visited was the master bedroom, where Harry kicked off his shoes and sank down onto the king-size bed, looking like he never wanted to leave.
"So," Draco dead-panned, "do you like the house?"
Harry lifted his head off the bed and stared at his husband as though he had gone mad. But it only took him a very few moments to realised that Draco was winding him up, so he decided to respond in kind.
"It will suffice," he said, a touch dismissively, his face a mask of boredom which lasted perhaps a second or two before they both broke down into laughter. Draco took his own shoes off and then launched himself on top of his husband.
"'It will suffice'?" he queried while tickling his now helpless husband mercilessly. "Merlin, Potter, what does it take to give you a present you like?"
"It's magnificent," Harry admitted through howls of laughter. "But what are we going to do with Grimmauld Place?"
"That's a good point," Draco said. "Are the Weasleys staying there? And what about Pansy and Theo?"
Harry looked up at his husband, a serious expression on his face. "Good point," he said. "We really should find out what's going on there. We have, after all, abandoned our friends for a week, seen them for an evening, and run away again."
"Do you have a problem with that?" Draco asked.
Harry looked at the mischievous grin on the blond's face.
"Er… no," he confessed, and then, quick as lightning, seeker-reflex-quick, he rolled over, trapping Draco underneath him. "Not when I get to do this!" he said as he proceeded to snog the breath out of his Dragon.

Harry and Draco flooed to Grimmauld Place that evening to find Ron and Theo hunched over a Wizarding chess table. Draco immediately pulled a foot-stool over to the table they were playing on and sat watching the game with evident avid interest. Harry stood watching for a couple of minutes; but no-one said anything, and as he was not the least bit interested in the game, he decided to go and see who else was here.
He went to the kitchen where he found Hermione reading a book.
"Oh, hello!" she said as he walked in. "Are those two still at it? I bet they didn't say a word to you, they've been ridiculously serious about that silly game all day. Anyway, what have you two been up to since yesterday morning?"
Harry sat down, ruminating on the vastly different receptions he had received from his two best friends.
"We spent yesterday at the Manor; as you know, Narcissa and Lucius practically demanded our presence. And it turned out they wanted to give us our wedding present."
"Goodness!" Hermione said, and paused to let Harry continue. He did not; he simply sat there, smirking at her.
"Well, come on!" she said. "What is it then? What does a pure-blood family give the son and heir when he gets married?" she asked, her thoughts turning to rare jewelry, or perhaps some ridiculously expensive potions ingredients.
"We're planning on staying there tonight," Harry replied drily.
Hermione's eyes opened so wide that Harry marveled that there was room on her face for them.
"They gave you a house?" she whispered.
"A cottage, really," Harry replied. "We'll have to have you over to see it. You can help plan the house-warming party. And what about you two? When did you come over here?"
"Oh, we left the Burrow after lunch yesterday. Pansy insisted on taking me shopping," and as she said this she raked her hand up and down her body, drawing attention to the new outfit she was wearing; "she said my wardrobe needed a bit of pizzazz."
"I don't really know what that means," Harry admitted, "but those clothes do suit you, Hermione."
"Thank you," she said. "Pansy, it turns out, has a pretty good eye for clothes, though you wouldn't have thought it from the way she dressed at school."
"Looks like the four of you are getting along all right then. Where is Pansy just now?"
"She and Blaise started their Healer course at St Mungo's today," she reminded him. "Theo should have gone to Hogwarts, but his arm was very sore yesterday, so he was told to stay home today. I don't think he and Ron have stopped for anything but meals all day. Thinking of which, are the two of you here for dinner?"
Harry nodded, and Hermione called Kreacher.
"Kreacher is coming," the elderly house-elf grumbled as he ambled out of his little den in the corner of the kitchen. "What is the Muggleborn wanting from Kreacher now?"
At this point, Kreacher spotted Harry and his whole demeanor changed.
"Master Harry!" he said, his voice animated. "Is Master Harry and Master Draco being dining at Grimmauld Place?"
"Yes thank you, Kreacher, if it's not too much trouble."
Kreacher recoiled as though insulted; but before he could say anything, a new voice spoke up.
"If what's too much trouble?" Pansy Parkinson asked as she appeared through the Floo, followed by Blaise Zabini. "Oh!" she said, spotting Harry, "so you two have turned up, have you? Will you be gracing our dinner table with your presence?"
"Yes, Mistress Pansy, Master Harry and Master Draco is being dining here," Kreacher said, a touch sniffily. "Master Harry and Master Draco are never too much trouble."
And with that he proceeded to pull out some pots and pans and start cooking, making rather more noise than was strictly necessary.
Pansy sighed and came over to Harry.
"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asked, mystified at Kreacher's sudden change in attitude.
"He doesn't like you to appease him," she explained to him. "It's his job to serve. If you tell him you're dining here, he'll make sure you get fed, and that's all there is to it. Now, I suggest we leave him to his cooking. Don't worry about him, he'll get over it."
She signaled to Hermione to go upstairs with them, and the four made their way to the drawing room, where Harry found the other three still hunched over the table in exactly the same poses they had been in when he left. He let out an involuntary giggle, and Draco looked daggers at him, putting a finger to his lips in the universal 'quiet!' gesture.
All of a sudden, Theo lifted his arm and tentatively pushed a pawn forward. Ron immediately, lightning-quick, took it with his bishop, and the two made three moves each in rapid succession after which Theo grimaced.
"Checkmate!" Ron announced gleefully.
"Well done," Theo allowed.
"What's the score?" Pansy asked, and Harry wondered if her evident interest was real or feigned.
"Fifteen games apiece," Ron replied.
Pansy groaned. "You've played thirty games already? Have you moved from the table?"
"Well, we did have lunch," Ron replied; his tone making it very clear to all present that not much else would have stopped them from playing. He looked a little bewildered when the others all laughed at this.
"Come on," Hermione said, "time to get ready for dinner."
Half an hour later, Kreacher called them to the table and they sat down to an enormous, and delicious, meal of stew with dumplings, washed down with the last bottles of the elf wine that Lucius had given Harry. The conversation flowed very pleasantly, though there was a noticeable hush when the food was on the table and everyone devoted themselves to eating.
"So, Blaise," Draco asked, "is Angelique back at Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Blaise said with a frown. "She is busy there. We will see each ozer on ze weekends – though I 'ave been thinking about looking for another place. My flat, it is a little small."
"I've told you, I'm sure you'd be welcome here," Pansy chipped in.
"That is very kind," Blaise replied, "but there are already four people staying here, I think maybe we would be in the way."
Which, Draco suspected, was Blaise's way of saying that there was no way he wanted to be in a house with both Pansy and his fiancée to gang up on him.
"There's Spinner's End," Harry chipped in.
"Pardon?" Blaise asked politely.
"Professor Snape's old house. No-one is living there now; you're welcome to use it if you wish."
"You are serious?" Blaise asked, and Harry nodded. "Again, you are so kind; but I could not impose."
This time, Draco knew, Blaise meant 'I do not wish to be beholden to you'.
"Actually, you'd be doing us a favour," the blond said, and Blaise looked at him quizzically. "Yes," Draco continued, "the place is empty; it would be better for someone to live there. Take care of the place. All the décor needs reworking, too. Professor Snape did not have the most up-to-date taste …"
Draco could see that phrasing it that way had made the offer that much more acceptable to Blaise; but there was no need to over-sell the idea, so he changed topics.
"Anyway, how was your first day at St Mungo's?"
Pansy's eyes lit up. "Oh Draco," she said, "it was wonderful! We learnt so much!" And with that introduction, the two medical students discussed their day, and what was coming up, and what they hoped to specialise in.
"So how are you going to get time off for your wedding?" Ron asked.
"Oh," Pansy said, "that's why we chose Halloween. We came to the class late, most of the students have set up work placements in various hospitals and during the four weeks of November they will be spending time there. But of course Blaise and I don't know enough to make that worthwhile, so we'll get most of November off."
"Nice," Draco observed, and Pansy grinned at him. "Fallen on your feet there."
Then it was Hermione's turn to be interrogated; she was asked what she had been doing while her husband and Theo played chess and Pansy was at the hospital; Harry was not at all surprised to learn that she had been working on her Muggle Studies assignment. They all groaned at her studiousness; but Harry made a mental note to at least pull out his notes and get them into some sort of order on the following day.
"And what have you been up to today, Harry and Draco?" Hermione asked, a sly grin on her face as she already knew the answer. Harry knew perfectly well he was being fed a line; but he was quite grateful for the opening, and happily described The Lodge to the assembled company.
"And what are you up to, Theo?" Harry asked.
"Oh I'll be back at Hogwarts," Theo replied. "I would have been there today but my arm was playing up, and the healers told me I had to stay home and not do too much. So I've been playing chess with my left arm all day."
"I thought it looked a bit odd," Draco said pensively, finishing the last spoonful of the very delicious steamed pudding that Kreacher had made them, He looked around to see that everyone had finished eating.
"Shall we have coffee in the drawing room?" he suggested.

They had been sitting in the drawing room for about twenty minutes when there was a floo-call; it was the Weasley twins, calling to see what everyone was up to. Harry insisted on them coming over; and George brought Neville, and Fred Angelina, so that it was a large party that played cards until ten thirty, when Harry excused himself and Draco.
"Oh," Pansy pouted, "why don't you stay here?"
"We can't," Draco said with a too-innocent air. "We have a bed to christen."
Blaise groaned. "I did not need to know that," he said mournfully, and everyone laughed in agreement.

As they lay together in bed that night, Harry with his arm around Draco, Draco with his head nestled on Harry’s left shoulder, the raven could feel how tense the blond was; the waves of anxiety coming off him were almost palpable.
“What’s wrong, Dragon?” he asked softly.
Draco looked up at him, and Harry could see the apprehension in the silver eyes he loved so much; he leant over and kissed him, smoothing his hands up and down Draco’s body in an attempt to soothe him.
“It’s just –“ Draco started, then stopped himself.
“Yes, love?” Harry asked after a minute of silence.
“Harry,” Draco began again, “are you happy here?”
Harry was surprised by the question. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, it’s just – with Grimmauld Place, you surrounded yourself with people. And it struck me that you’ve always had your friends around you at Hogwarts, and you so hated being alone with those horrible Muggles. I just thought maybe that’s what you really wanted? To share your house with your friends?”
“Ah,” said Harry, realising what this was really about. “It’s true that I’ve always had people around me. But this is the first place I’ve had that’s really mine – ours, I guess.”
“How do you mean?” Draco asked.
“Well, at the Dursley’s, I had the cupboard-under-the-stairs, and I had Dudley’s-second-bedroom. Never ‘Harry’s room’. Then there was the dormitory at Hogwarts; I had space there, yeah, but it was ‘the year group’s dormitory’, never just mine. The room at Grimmauld Place – I still think of that as Sirius’s room. And of course, there’s your room at the Manor. So the first room I ever had that was specifically for me was the one that Molly and Arthur gave me at the Burrow. But this is even bigger. This is the first house that I feel is my own – our own, I guess.”
“Oh,” said Draco. “It doesn’t bother you that someone used to live here a century ago?”
“Nah,” Harry replied. “I didn’t know them. No, Grimmauld Place is lovely when there are people there, but it’s pretty ghastly without. This place – this place is special. It’s ours, really ours. I feel secure here. I almost feel like I don’t want our friends to come here – well, not all the time, anyway. This is our space, just for us. Does that make sense?”
Draco roused himself and rolled over on top of Harry.
“Yeah, I think it does,” he replied, the tension in his muscles visibly relaxing. “And I agree. This is ours, all ours, and we don’t have to share it. I’m glad that it makes you feel this way," he said, peppering his love with soft kisses.

Friday 9 October 1998
When Dudley finished classes on Friday, Kreacher brought him to Malfoy Manor for an important meeting. He was ushered into a rather formal sitting room, to find Mr and Mrs Malfoy seated, looking relaxed, and his mother standing beside them looking anything but.
"Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Mother," he said in greeting.
"'Lucius' and 'Narcissa', please, dear," Narcissa said at once, "you are part of the family now."
Dudley smiled at her.
"Hello, Dudley," Petunia said. She kept her voice neutral, but she found it quite a considerable effort to do so. This was a moment she had been longing for and dreading in equal measure for days. Here, at last, was her son, and maybe, just maybe, she might be allowed to stay with him, and she was being eaten up by the hope that it would happen and the fear that she would say or do something wrong and muck things up entirely. Added to that, she couldn't help remembering his last letter to them, in which he had referred to her as 'Petunia'; it was hard not to read a lot into the fact that he had acknowledged her as his mother. Maybe, just maybe …
"Hello," Dudley replied.
"Dudley," Narcissa said, feeling that this wasn't going terribly well, and that the Malfoys were rather de trop, "why don't you take Petunia out and show her Harry's garden?"
"May I?" Dudley asked. "I mean, it's his."
"I'm sure he'd be happy for you to," Lucius replied, waving them off.

"This is a beautiful garden," said Petunia, unwinding a little once they were outside and away from the Malfoys. "Did I hear Mrs Malfoy say it was Harry's?"
"That's right," Dudley said, as he seated his mother in a garden chair and sat down himself on one of the benches. "They made it for him specially."
Petunia sat up stiffly. "Oh," she said, as she looked around again. It really was a delightful garden; even in October, she could see that. Most of the flower-beds were dying back now; but the trees had beautiful Autumn leaves. "It must have been really something in high summer."
Dudley smiled awkwardly. "If all goes well, maybe we can come here next summer," he said. "But I guess that rather depends on you."
"Me?" she asked. "What about me?"
"Yeah. Well, for a start, I meant what I said; I'm Dudley Potter now. No more Dursley."
"And I'm Petunia Evans," his mother replied. "Your father divorced me. So no more Dursley for me, either. At first, I thought it was dreadful; but I've rather changed my mind. Look, Dudley, I've done a lot of thinking over the last few months, and I have to say I agree with you. What we did to that poor boy was monstrous. We thought we were being so generous by taking him in; but your father was always totaling it up, working out just what we were spending on him. We were his family; we should have been treating him as such, not leaving it to these people! When I think that we gave him nothing, and these people, who are no blood of his, would give him a garden like this …"
Dudley blinked. He wondered if that was why Narcissa had sent them out here: for here was tangible evidence of how the Malfoys thought about him.
"All right," he sighed.
Petunia cocked her head, wondering just exactly what he meant. But she knew her Dudders; he would tell her in his own time, and prompting would just make him angry.
"You can be an Evans; as long as you accept me as a Potter. Harry wants us to be together; he can't have his mum, but he wants me to have mine."
"He is a very generous man," Petunia said. "I hope, one day, he will be prepared to see me again, and we can put the past behind us."
Dudley looked skeptical. "That might take a while. Anyway, has Lucius discussed the plan with you? To get a house in Swansea?"
"He said something about it, yes," she replied. "I'm to be the 'landlady', or something like that?"
Petunia had said the word 'landlady' with evident disgust; for her, the word was about obese women running houses in sea-side resorts. Not her sort of people at all. Of course, these days, she wasn't her sort of person, either; but that thought did not occur to her.
Dudley smiled.
"Yeah, well he just means you look after the house. And me, and maybe my friends."
"But we'd be living together?" Petunia asked. "In the same house, I mean?"
Dudley nodded.
"Are you happy with that?" he asked.
Petunia sighed a sigh of pure relief.
"When do we start?"

Saturday 10 October 1998
The following weekend the good citizens of Swansea were treated to the bizarre sight of an immaculately dressed man and a rather shabbily dressed teenager out house-hunting, as Lucius searched for a place for Dudley and Petunia.
The first two real estate agents had been no help whatever; they had taken one look at Dudley and obviously decided that he must want a student let. The first agent they approached told them point blank that his firm did not handle such things; Lucius, taking an instant dislike to the man, simply thanked him coldly and walked out again. The second was not much better; an obviously harassed young lady explained that she had a couple of lets, but they were in the more expensive bracket.
"Thank you," Lucius replied, "but I was looking to buy."
"Oh," she said, obviously taken aback. "I don't think so."
Whether she meant 'I don't believe you', or 'no-one would sell to you', or simply 'I don't have anything' was unclear; what was clear, to Lucius, was that they weren't getting anywhere and once again he thanked the agent and left.
The third agency was much better. The properties they dealt with were more expensive; as a result, other than Dudley, who was rather stunned by the prices, there were no students in evidence, much to Lucius's relief. And the staff were extremely helpful; they actually bothered to discuss with Lucius what he wanted, and very quickly earmarked three properties that might interest him. One of these was discarded immediately as, while it was marketed as a 'four-bedroom terrace house', only two of the bedrooms were large enough to be used as such in Lucius's opinion.
The agent, spotting a man who knew what he wanted, happily discarded the errant property, and arranged to meet them for viewings of the other two during the rest of the morning.
In the event, they only saw the one property. Dudley walked in the door of the semi-detached house and fell in love instantly. Even though it was cold and teeming with rain, the house felt warm and inviting and not the least gloomy; and as they were shown through, his initial impression was confirmed with everything they learned. The only problem with it, as far as he was concerned, was the price: he was shocked when he learned how many hundreds of thousands of pounds the vendors wanted.
"It won't be a problem," Lucius assured him, and then told the agent he would be happy to make an offer subject to contract. They returned to the real estate office, where Lucius happily filled out the paperwork for an offer at the asking price, subject to survey and contract. The agent was very excited to learn that there was no finance clause and no chain: this was likely to be a quick sale as she was selling the property on behalf of the owner's family, the owner himself being an octogenarian who had just moved into a nursing home following a nasty and debilitating fall. And her excitement turned rather to shock during the following week: the owner's family happily accepted the offer on Sunday afternoon, Lucius's solicitor turned around the paperwork on Monday morning, the survey was completed by Tuesday afternoon and the sale was completed by Friday afternoon, making it by weeks the shortest sale she had ever had anything to do with.

Saturday 17 October 1998
Petunia span herself around in her new room, amazed at the size of it. It was what most people would think of as a normal size; but for her, having lived in maid's quarters for months, where a room contained a bed, room for clothes, and not much else, this was enormous. She sank down on the bed, feeling blissful as she did so: the mattress was so comfortable!
Lucius had dropped her off at the house in Swansea that morning and Dudley and his friend were due to drive over from the hall that afternoon; so now she had something truly unusual these days – a few hours all to herself, with nothing to do, no horrible patron demanding things of her, no overbearing supervisor breathing down her neck.
It was Heaven. Well, for the first half-hour, anyway, as she just lay on her bed. But then she found herself feeling unsatisfied. She needed to do something. She got up and made sure everything was in order throughout the house; she scrubbed the kitchen bench, one could never be too clean; she ran over the pantry with a critical and experience eye, and made up a shopping list of things she thought Dudley might want; she made herself a cup of tea; she drank her tea; she made some scones fresh for when Dudley go there; she scrubbed the bench again.
All of a sudden there was a pleasant 'toot' and Dudley's Toyota Corolla drew up. Petunia finished up her cleaning and went to go outside to introduce herself to Dudley's friend; but they were at the door before she got outside, so she held it open for them, welcoming them inside and noticing, a little to her surprise, that Dudley's friend was female. Not that she minded; it was just that her boy had always been rather shy around the opposite sex.
"Welcome," she said with a big smile. "Now, Dudley, your rooms are the two at the end of the passage there," she said pointing, "so go and dump your things and I'll put the kettle on."
The two students did as they were bid, and five minutes later they reappeared in the kitchen.
"Now," Dudley said, "mother, I'd like to introduce my friend and fellow engineering student Megan Llewellyn; Megan, this is my mother, Petunia Evans."
"Lovely to meet you," Megan said, and extended a hand.
"Likewise," Petunia said, shaking it, and they all then sat down at the kitchen table where a tea-tray was ready waiting for them, complete with scones and raspberry jam and cream. "Is that an American twang I hear in your voice?" she asked by way of conversation.
Megan blushed a little. "Yeah, I'm trying to get rid of it, but apparently I haven't succeeded yet!" she said with a nervous little laugh. "I was born in Swansea, but my parents took me to the States when I was six months old."
"Oh, I hadn't realised that," Dudley said, rather amazed that his mother had known his friend for two minutes and found things out about her that he had no clue about despite having known her for weeks.
"It never came up," Megan agreed. "Well, there was this mad-man on the loose at the time, and my parents were very concerned he might attack us, so they up and left Britain. He's been active all this time, but got caught earlier this year, so Dad said I could move back to study if I wanted to. So here I am!"
Something went 'pop!' in Dudley's head. A mad-man? Getting caught recently? Could it be?
"Um, this man," Dudley began, wondering how to continue; then a way forward occurred to him. "Some of his victims wouldn't have been my cousin Harry's parents, would they?" He looked at his mother. "What were their names?" he asked, feeling rather ashamed that he didn't know.
"Lily and James Potter," Petunia answered swiftly.
"No way!" Megan said. "You're related to Harry Potter? As in, the Harry Potter?"
"He's my nephew," Petunia admitted.
"Wow!" Megan said. "Hang on, how come you're a Potter then, if your mother is his aunt?" she asked Dudley.
"I took his surname," Dudley said. "My father … wasn't very kind to him. I felt I was in the position of having to choose between them; and I chose Harry. So, are you a witch?"
Megan snorted. "Come right out with it, why don't you," she asked. "What would my dad say; he told me to hide all of that away and here we are talking about it openly. Yes, I'm a half-blood witch; my dad is a Wizard but mum is a Muggle. But what about you two? I don't think either of you can be magical or I would have felt it; though there is a faint trace of magic here."
"Neither of us is magical," Petunia admitted. "My sister Lily was, and her husband James of course, and my nephew Harry. The trace would be from the man who brought me here this morning, Mr Malfoy."
"Malfoy?" Megan asked, stunned. "Like, Lucius Malfoy?"
Petunia nodded.
"No way! My folks used to tell me stories about him. He was the mad-man's right-hand-man or something. You're not on his side, are you?" she said, suddenly wondering if perhaps her dad had been right to be ultra-cautious after all and this was some kind of trap.
"It's a long story," Dudley said. "Perhaps we had better have some more tea."

Vernon Dudley didn't say very much anymore. The man who had never been shy of giving his opinion on any and every topic now found that there really wasn't a lot of point. No-one here was interested in what he had to say; they told him what he had to do and he did it, to the best of his ability. To begin with, it hadn't been like that; he had slackened off occasionally; that had not gone so well. The Director knew spells that meant he couldn't sit down comfortably for days; they didn't interfere with him doing his job, but they made everything else Hellish.
Johann Ries was pleased that it seemed Vernon had learnt his lesson after only being hexed twice. His staff never commented on Vernon's work to the caretaker, but they certainly let the Director know how he was doing, especially when he stuffed up. Since that wasn't happening all that often, he was being allowed the things that Lucius Malfoy had made clear were special privileges: meat once a day, a hot shower twice a week, and being allowed to sleep till eight o'clock on Sunday morning. Things that the rest of his staff would have regarded as barbaric, but were heavenly to Vernon, who had known the lack of them for his first two months working at the orphanage.
Vernon, for his part, hadn't seen the Director to speak to for three weeks, and he was happy with that; if the man didn't talk to him, he didn't get into trouble. And mostly, these days, he got to eat, and he was left in peace. Sometimes, to be sure, one of the children would decide they needed to prove themselves, and would prank or attack him; but he no longer retaliated. He had learnt that the Director knew pretty much everything that went on; if he responded to their taunts, he got chewed out; if he just left them alone, a day or two later words would be said at an assembly about 'being kind to one another', and the offender would look particularly uncomfortable for the next couple of days. Vernon had a bit of a light-bulb moment one day when a couple of the older boys were discussing something called 'stinging hexes'; it seemed that the Director would use them against misbehaving students as much as underperforming staff, and somehow Vernon found he felt much better about things. Until he reflected that Harry Potter had never had such evenhandedness shown to him, not by the Dursleys; and then he would feel awful, and retreat into the cleaning cupboard for a little while to gather himself together.
The worst thing about Vernon's life at the moment was that horrid woman, Dolores Umbridge, who had been wished on them. She seemed to have it in for Vernon, making snide remarks about him whenever she passed him. Until the Director heard one, and invited her to his office for 'just a little chat about staff morale', after which hers had plummeted. She hadn't said much to him since; but it was obvious to him that, while he was resigned to his lot, she was full of anger and aggression. To be sure, she smiled sweetly enough to the children, but it was quite obviously false.
It was mid-November when things came to a head. It started simply enough; Vernon was busy cleaning windows in one of the corridors used by the younger students, while Umbridge was prowling around, having been goaded by the students, which in itself was nothing new. And then one poor kindergarten student, running down the corridor after a happy session of finger-painting, happened to crash into her and – horrors – wipe paint all over her pink dress.
"You brat!" she hissed, looking daggers at the girl, whose eyes popped open in surprise. "Look what you've done to my beautiful dress!"
Vernon privately thought that the paint was a distinct improvement, but chose not to say so. He really did not need the aggravation it would cause. But, on the other hand, he wasn't about to let the child suffer; she was one of the nicer ones, and occasionally would sidle up to him and offer him a sweet. But what to do?
"Please don't," he said softly.
Umbridge turned to him and looked at him with her most disdainful look.
"What is it to you?" she said imperiously. To Vernon's relief, little Maisie seized the opportunity and scampered away while Umbridge was no longer looking at her.
"Oh, I think it's commendable that our caretaker actually takes care of our students," a voice drawled, and they both turned to see the Director, who had, it seemed, materialized out of thin air behind them.
He looked at Umbridge, his face like granite.
"My office," he said quietly. "Now."
Umbridge dropped her head and rushed away. Johann Ries turned to Vernon.
"Well done," he said simply, then turned on his heel and walked away.
Vernon beamed at the simple praise; they were the first kind words he had heard in months.

It was not a pleasant interview. Dolores had not been offered a seat, so she had to stand there, her cheeks burning at the indignity of being called out in front of that filthy Muggle. She felt humiliated, livid with rage, and ashamed that she was being seen in clothing with paint on it. Paint! On her beautiful skirt!
To add to it all, the Director sat and looked at her, coldly and critically, and did not say a word for what seemed like hours. And when he did speak, his question startled her.
"Are you happy here, Dolores?" he asked.
She looked at him as though he were mad.
"Happy?" she shrieked. "Of course not! Azkaban was better than working with filthy Muggles and abominable brats!"
The Director nodded his head slowly, as though she had confirmed some suspicion he had.
"Are you serious about that?" he asked. "If you go back to Azkaban, there is no other choice for you. Ever."
"Better than being here," she hissed.
"So be it," he said sadly.

Most witches and wizards dreaded the thought of Azkaban; but Dolores Umbridge was not most witches or wizards. For one, she had actually been there. She knew the ropes. She had set up a complicated network of people who owed her favours; she had managed, with Rosier's help, to smuggle in various contraband and so make allies.
So when she returned to the island prison, she was actually in remarkably good spirits. Spirits that were no longer dimmed by Dementors, as their use was banned. She could make this work, she was sure of it.
Except for one small problem. Azkaban has a variety of "special" cells, for different classes of dangerous criminals; thus, the former Death Eaters were housed in their own high-security area, a virtual prison within a prison. She was not taken there, having never been a Death Eater.
No. She was taken somewhere worse. Much, much worse.
She found herself housed in a small, gloomy cell, with bed, and toilet, and washbasin. There was no chair but rather a somewhat uncomfortable three-legged stool. No table, but instead a low stone shelf projecting from the wall. There were what could laughably be called windows: dirty, tiny specks of glass that let in a mockery of sunlight. But worse of all was that there was no door. She was apparated in by a prison house-elf, and then left alone in a cell for one. Completely cut off. There was no-one to talk to, not ever; even meals were delivered magically to the shelf, twice a day.
When she had been told about the feared Solitary Confinement cells, she had dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The Ministry, she thought, would never stoop to such depths. How wrong she had been, she realised, about everything, as the final vestiges of her blind devotion to the Ministry were finally peeled away as she came to see the awful truth that there was probably no-one who knew, or cared, if she was alive or dead.
To begin with she yelled and screamed and demanded that she be allowed to talk to people. That this was cruel, and inhumane. There was no answer; only the stones of the wall, mocking her with their silence.
She had been there – two days? A week? Ten days? She had no idea, really – when she decided she had to do something different. Hoping that there had to be somebody listening, surely, or some monitoring spell, or something, she made a new demand.
"All right!" she yelled. "I demand to be allowed to write letters! I have that right! I demand parchment and quill!"
Nothing happened.
But the next day, when she awoke, she found, to her great surprise, her request had been granted: next to the bowl of meagre gruel that constituted her breakfast was what she had asked for: a (very small) stack of parchment and a quill.
It was, unfortunately, exactly what she had asked for, she discovered, as she absent-mindedly picked up the quill: there was no ink. She hadn't asked for any. Whoever was listening was clearly the sort of pedantic idiot who took everything literally; well, she could work with that.
And then she looked carefully, and understood. There didn't need to be any ink, she realised bitterly. Her jailers had had the last laugh.
She was holding a Blood Quill.

Notes:

More handrubbing glee as I stick it to Umbridge again …
Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.
Other locations: See my profile for details about facebook and AO3.
Thanks: To all who are reading! It gives me a lovely warm feeling that you're interested. And double thanks and scones with jam and cream to those who commented on chapter 80.
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Returning to Sanity