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Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31212 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books or films, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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84 Returning To Their Senses
Wednesday 11 November
Harry woke up early on Wednesday morning to find that Draco wasn't in the bed. After a second's panic, he heard movement in their ensuite, and went to investigate. He found his husband standing at the sink, washing his face, having evidently just vomited into the toilet.
"Are you all right, Dragon?" he asked.
"I'm pregnant," Draco replied, his voice flat. "I've been feeling queasy for days, now I know why."
"Oh," Harry replied, one hand stroking Draco's back as with the other he conjured a glass filled with a bubbling liquid which he offered to the blond.
Draco, too out of it to even be amazed at the wordless, wandless magic, simply took the glass and began to drink, sipping at first and then swallowing it down in gulps.
"Elderflower," he said appreciatively, handing Harry the empty glass back. "You remembered!"
"Yes…" Harry responded, vanishing the glass and then pulling his husband into a tight hug and helping him back to their bed.
Draco sat down at the foot of the bed and looked up at Harry, his face betraying an insecurity that Harry had never seen him show before.
"How… How did this happen?" he asked, his hands pointing to his still-flat belly. "Dad and Hermione said that it wasn't possible."
"Yeah," Harry said, "but I'm Harry Potter, I do the impossible," he said, sitting next to his lover and squeezing his hand. "It kind of comes with the territory."
Draco looked at him, not quite sure if he was joking. And, to be honest, neither was Harry. He wrapped his husband in another hug.
"How do you feel about it?" he asked softly. And then, as an afterthought, as he felt Draco tense in his arms, "or haven't you come to grips with it yet?"
"That one," Draco answered. "You have to go back today, yeah?" he said, not really wanting to continue that particular line of conversation.
"Yes," Harry agreed, accepting the change of topic for what it was. "Thanks for reminding me," he said with a groan. "Robarts will be in early, I'd better get a move on."
Gawain Robarts was almost always one of the first in at the Ministry in the morning; it was very rare for him not to be at his desk by seven o'clock. As Harry was fully aware of this, the Malfoy-Potters called for a house-elf and ate in their room rather than waiting for the Hogwarts breakfast service to start. They were served by a hugely excited Winky; she had heard from Kreacher about their preferred breakfast, and Harry and Draco had to laugh when they were served two enormous stacks of pancakes.
Once their normal ritual when in private of feeding each other and kissing away the drips was completed, Harry Flooed to the Ministry, while Draco, by special privilege as an apprentice, used the Floo to travel directly to his lab. Which is how it was that, entirely by happenstance, neither of them attended breakfast in the Great Hall, nor had any interaction with anyone in the Castle that morning.

Something was different. Ginny Weasley could feel it. She couldn't name it; she couldn't have said what exactly had changed; but it felt like …
She sat up in bed, thinking it over. Just what did it feel like?
After a while, things seemed to come together. She felt somehow more awake than she had before. It was as if … as if she'd be enchanted somehow, and now she was coming out of it.
But how? What sort of enchantment could it possibly be? No-one had slipped her a potion that she could remember, nor did she feel that she'd done anything out of character recently; so what was it?
And then she pulled herself up. Recently? Who said it was recent? What if … what if this had been going on for some time? Was there something, anything, that she had done that, looking back, was out of character?
It took a couple of minutes before she decided that yes, there was. She pulled out the little mirror that the twins had given her. It was their latest item, something that Harry had suggested to him: pairs of mirrors that would let you communicate with the other, no matter where it was. Apparently this was something that Sirius Black and James Potter had dreamed up while they were at Hogwarts, so that they could chat to one another when they were in detentions; the professors had learnt early on to separate those two troublemakers, preferably at opposite ends of the Castle, or their detentions would turn into planning sessions for the next prank.
But the idea, no matter who had it first, was pure genius, she thought. She knew that her brothers would make a mint with it; the mirrors would practically sell themselves, and besides, the twins were fantastic at marketing.
One might expect that the other mirror of her pair would be held by her fiancé; no doubt that would be the proper, romantic thing to do. But Ginny didn't really feel the need to chat to Robin through a mirror; she much preferred to have him face to face, and not giving him the other mirror meant that he had to be with her to talk to her. Much better. No, she'd given the mirror to someone else entirely. Someone who, to be honest, she'd been a little bit scared of to begin with; but as they got older, she found herself having more and more girly chats with the bushy brunette.
"Hermione?" she called.
It was a couple of minutes before there was a reply.
"Ginny?" Hermione's voice replied, as her face came into view in the mirror. "Oh, it was you calling. What's up?"
"That's the question," Ginny replied. "I don't know; but I feel that something is." She went on to detail what she had felt and then her subsequent thoughts.
"And there was one thing that stands out," she said eventually. "I've had a crush on Harry since forever. And yet I gave him up without a fight. Now, looking back, I'm certain it was the right thing. What's happened between him and Draco is just amazing; and I wouldn't give up Robin for anything. But at the time? I didn't know any of this, but I still went with it happily. But that's not me, really; I fight for what I want!"
"I see what you mean," Hermione replied pensively. "It's like me and the Manor."
Ginny gave her a puzzled look. "Explain?" she asked.
"Oh!" Hermione said. "Sorry. Yeah, I was invited there and all I could think about was getting to the Malfoy library. The fact that Bellatrix the Batty Bitch tortured me there just didn't enter my head. And now you mention it, well, it should have. I should have cried off; Harry even said so at the time."
Ginny chuckled a little at the nickname; but then, she reflected, it was well-deserved. "I remember," she said, casting her mind back to that day in the Burrow at the beginning of May. "It was rather surprising, I admit. And I didn't really think of that at the time, either. So… we were both manipulated then?"
"Hmm," Hermione replied, knitting her brows in thought. "It's funny. I think you're right; but it's not like we were forced into something. More like something that would have distracted us from doing the right thing was dampened down."
"The right thing?" Ginny asked, not entirely following Hermione's train of thought.
"Don't you think so?" Hermione responded. "As you said, you've ended up in the right place, and so has Harry. And my going to the Library meant I got to know Lucius, really know him, and work out that once you get through all the pure-blood / muggle-born nonsense, we're really very similar. It's like … it's like somebody knew we needed to be connected, but the connections were all wrong and they needed to be sorted out."
"Hmm," Ginny said, thinking it over. She didn't quite get it; but that was nothing new, it often took her a bit of time to work out exactly what Hermione was saying. "Do you think it was 'somebody'? Some spell or something?"
"Hard to say," Hermione replied. "But if so, I'd say it's lifting – after all, we're becoming aware of it, aren't we?"
Ginny paused, thinking that over.
"I see what you mean," she said eventually. "Not knowing it was there must have been part of it. Do you think it might have affected others as well?" Ginny asked, mulling it over. "Just wondering … some of the friendships and understanding ... well it hasn't all been ... I'm not making much sense, am I?"
"I think I understand," Hermione said. "We went from Houses at each other's throats over the last six years to one big happy family. Even the attacks involved people outside our crowd, and threw us even closer together."
"Yeah, that's it," Ginny said excitedly. "It's all been a bit too easy and smooth going, hasn't it?"
"Perhaps," Hermione said with a pensive expression. "Look, I have to go or I'll be late for work; but I'll—"
"—do some research in the Ministry library," they both said in unison.
Hermione broke into gales of laughter. "Am I that predictable?" she asked.
"'Fraid so," Ginny replied with a chuckle as she put the mirror down and went to get ready for the day herself.

It was about twenty past seven when Harry presented himself to the Head Auror with some trepidation. The man was famous for being a stickler for doing things properly, and Harry had technically gone AWOL from an official training event, even if it could hardly be considered his fault.
"Ah! Potter!" Robarts exclaimed. "Good! I'm glad to see you're here early, shows that you're not entirely the 'cheeky disrespectful sod' that Emmet claims."
Harry's mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile; but he managed, just, to keep his face otherwise impassive.
"Thank you, sir," he said, looking down and managing to keep his tone deferential.
Robarts surveyed him for a moment. "So, is this report from the Headmistress true?" he asked. "Your husband is pregnant?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any theories as to how that happened?"
"Er, the old-fashioned way, sir."
Robarts snorted. "Well, at least you don't flannel, I'll give you that."
Harry looked up into Robarts' face and saw that the man's eyes were sparkling.
"I hear that there was a formal complaint made against me," Harry said, feeling confident to broach the subject now that he knew the Head Auror was not, in fact, angry with him.
Robarts waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, our prize pain Jufeus couldn't resist the opportunity to have a dig at you."
He rummaged around on his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment.
"Here we are," he said. "Let me see now, 'Trainee Potter clearly believes he is above the rest of us. He refuses to accept the discipline of his elders and betters, or to join in the spirit of the events organised – witness his bringing a tent with him; I wonder he didn't go all out and simply apparate home. He consistently shows off, and belittles the rest of us …' oh, he goes on," Robarts said, putting the parchment down, "and on and on… Tedious really. Jealous prick."
Harry stifled a giggle at this; it was pretty much how he felt about his classmate, though perhaps he might not have phrased it that way. Then, remembering that this was a formal complaint, and the man in front of him was his superior, he schooled his face back to impassivity. The Head Auror did not fail to notice this; and he had no trouble understanding the thoughts that would drive Harry to behave that way.
"I'm not going to penalize you," the Head Auror said simply. "Hell, from what I read on your file, you should be teaching this course, not taking it. On the other hand, you are still a trainee. Do you want to go back?"
"I kind of do," Harry said, rather stunned to be asked. "As you say, I am still a trainee, even if I do know most of this stuff. But what will the trainers think? I feel that Auror Tachygloss would rather I wasn't there," Harry replied.
Robarts chuckled. "Oh, I think Emmet's wising up a little. You're way out of his league, and it's a bit of a shock to him is all. But Tom Godwin says he's had a word, and I don't think there will be any more issues there."
"Then I should go back, really, shouldn't I, sir? Otherwise it will look like you're giving me special treatment."
"People are always going to say that," Robarts answered. "And the answer is that when their grades are as good as yours, I'll give them special treatment too."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, not really sure how to react. "Um, how do I get back then?"
In lieu of an answer, Robarts picked up a small piece of parchment, scribbled a note and folded it into a paper aeroplane, which flew out of his hand and down the hall to where Harry knew the duty Auror desk was to be found. Not twenty seconds later a rather familiar Auror entered the room.
"Yes, sir?" Robin Banks asked.
"Ah, Banks," Robarts said. "Please take Mr Potter back to the Auror training site. And who knows, if you're quick, the two of you may even get breakfast."

Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table, wrapped in her thoughts. It couldn't be a potion, she decided. No-one had been with her the whole time; and surely no potion could be that long-lasting and then, all of a sudden, wear off?
A spell then? But that seemed strange, too. It would have had to be a very powerful spell indeed to affect both her and Hermione. And who else? she wondered. For she must have been right before; surely she and Hermione could not be the only ones. Especially given how quickly all the differences seemed to have been forgotten.
All of a sudden she felt a swish of robes as someone sat next to her, and she turned to see who it was. The smiling face of Luna Lovegood greeted her.
"Morning," the blonde said breezily as she started helping herself to scrambled eggs. "You look funny. Are the wrackspurts bothering you again?"
Ginny smiled despite herself. "Remind me, what are wrackspurts, again?"
"Oh," said Luna, her eyes opening wide as she paused in the middle of spooning eggs onto her plate. The egg slipped off the spoon and it was all Ginny could do to keep from laughing and listen to her friend's answer. "Wrackspurts are invisible creatures. Mostly they're harmless, except they can float into a person's ears, making their brain go all fuzzy." Luna then tipped her head to one side, clearly thinking about something. "Mind you," she said in her imperturbable way, "it's more like something's been cleared away, isn't it?"
"How do you mean?" Ginny asked, somewhat taken aback that her friend seemed to have hit the nail on the head; a feat that was all the more impressive as, as so often with Luna, the blow seemed to have been delivered more or less at random.
"Oh, there's been a general sort of funneling going on for some time," she announced simply. "We've all been being pushed into doing the right thing."
"How long have you thought this?" Ginny asked, arching her eyebrows in disbelief at this pronouncement, astonished at how closely Luna's words echoed those that Hermione had said to her earlier, despite how differently the two girls thought and spoke. "And why didn't you say anything?"
"Ages. And because it was the right thing, of course," Luna replied.
"How do you know?" Ginny asked, bemused by the air of absolute certainty coming from Luna. Her reply, however, merely confounded the puzzlement…

"Harry! Welcome back, mate!" Ron called out the moment Harry and Robin arrived at the Auror Training campsite.
Harry and Robin strode over to the table where the trainees were just finishing up breakfast. He watched carefully; Ron and Thomas Parris were obviously glad to see them, and Auror Tom Godwin as well; the other trainees were all clearly interested and trying hard not to show it, though it was clear that Johnson and Jufeus were not at all pleased to see him back.
"I take it we're too late for food?" Harry said, sitting down.
"Yeah, sorry mate, you can probably snag something if you ask a house-elf though," Ron replied.
"It's all right," Harry said, pouring himself a cup of tea, "I had breakfast with Draco."
"I had breakfast with Draco," Petrus Jufeus's voice echoed in the tone that schoolboys use to taunt in playgrounds. "It's all right for some. Getting to swan off whenever they want and spend the night with their family while the rest of us have to tough it out here in the freezing—OUCH!"
At this point Jufeus went rather silent; he had been hit with a Stinging Hex. Harry looked around to see who had fired it; surely the Aurors wouldn't stand for such things.
"I think we've all heard enough, Mr Jufeus," Auror Tachygloss said, and Harry realised with a start from the look in the man's eye that he must have thrown the Stinging Hex. "Mr Potter did not 'swan off', as you put it – you attacked him and the Haussmann Shield he erected involuntarily pushed him through the Ministry-strength anti-disapparition wards around this place."
"Bloody show-off!" Johnson said.
"Enough!" Tachygloss replied. "When you can defend yourself half as well as Mr Potter, then you can slag off about his abilities. Yes, this is a training exercise; but Mr Potter's was given leave by the Head Auror. His partner particularly needed him, and we are not heartless bastards. You would do to remember that, Mr Jufeus, Mr Johnson."
And, having chewed out the two students who most curried favour with him, he looked around the table.
"Right you lot!" he shouted. "Get ready for another day of fun!"
And it should have been fun, too – the Ministry provided portkeys and they found themselves kayaking on a river in some foreign country; they weren't told where, and all Harry knew was that it must have been in the Southern Hemisphere; for instead of dark and rain, there was clear, blue sky and warm air. It was hot, to be sure, but they had cooling charms, and being on the water was soothing to the soul, and there was fresh air and sunshine and plenty of exercise. The problem was that, even in the midst of this idyllic setting, the trainees still found plenty of time to grumble and bitch about something – the heat, the sun, the insects and, of course, the topic of the day: how unfair it was that Trainee Potter was cut so much slack. It was clear that Jufeus and Johnson were smarting badly from the slapping they'd got at the breakfast table; though of course they made sure to keep quiet when the Aurors were in earshot.

Having had a quiet lunch in a small bistro just off Diagon Alley, Lucius wandered the corridors of power. Somewhat to his surprise, the Minister had asked to see him at two o'clock. This was unusual; he had rather got the impression that the Minister himself preferred to let Arthur take care of Muggle matters, which were what Lucius was spending most of his time on at the minute.
At that thought, he stopped dead in the corridor.
Just exactly how had that happened? In just over six months, he, Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin of Slytherins, the uber champion of the pure-blood cause, had become a powerbroker and major player in the Muggle world?
If anyone had told him this before Potter came to the Manor and he and Draco had gone back to Grimmauld Place, he would have laughed them to scorn. And then hexed them half to death lest they repeat such heresy. And yet, here he was.
And the truly bizarre thing was that he was rather enjoying it. No pure-blood had ever occupied the role he had; even Weasley, Muggle-lover that he was, had never had the contacts with them that Lucius did.
He shook his head and moved on, oblivious to the muttering around him. It was weird, bizarre; one might even have said inconceivable. Was there some coercion perhaps? Some enchantment that had been placed on them all?
On the other hand, it was a good outcome. And any good Slytherin knew better than to look a gift unicorn in the mouth.
By this time, he had reached the Minister's office, and Shacklebolt's secretary waved him in. He knocked and, once invited to do so, went in.
"Minister!" he said. And then, quite unaccountably, instead of the polite 'to what do I owe the pleasure' that had formed in his mind, he found himself blurting out, "what's going on?"
And Shacklebolt, far from looking put out by the bluntness of the question, inclined his head to one side and viewed him thoughtfully.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
"Yes," Lucius answered; though had he been challenged, he would have been quite unable to explain what 'it' was.
"Take a seat," Shacklebolt said, as Arthur Weasley entered the room. The three men sat at the small conference table in Kingsley's office.
"I'm guessing, from your face, that you don't really know any more than we do," the Minister said.
"Probably not," Lucius agreed. "What exactly do you know?"
"Exactly is rather the word," Arthur said. "Something happened last night; we both felt as though some sort of ward or spell had been relaxed. It's like we'd been being pushed in one direction, and then the elastic broke."
"Elastic?" Lucius queried. Arthur chuckled, then explained the reference to the rather sheltered pure-blood.
"Hmm," Lucius mused. "Yes, that's a rather good analogy. Though I must say, I'm very glad that we were pushed in the direction we were."
"That's the thing," Kingsley said. "We ought to feel outraged and abused; but it's more like someone gave us a helping hand to go where we would have anyway, only more quickly."
"Ye-es," Lucius said slowly. "Yes, I do think so," he said rather more decisively after a short pause. "But it's still rather concerning to know that we were all being pushed along without realising it, don't you think?"
"Yes, we do," Arthur replied. "That's why we called you in – that and to make sure that no-one was trying anything. We don't know how widespread the influence was, nor why it's suddenly stopped; but we worry that there may be people who were under it who might wish you harm now that they are not."
"I see," Lucius said. "Thank you for your concern. Though I rather suspect that that won't be an issue."
The other two looked at him quizzically.
"Why not?" Kingsley asked.
"Two reasons," Lucius replied. "Firstly, as you said, we were being pushed along a road we would probably have travelled anyway, albeit more slowly. And secondly …"
"Yes?"
"Here, today, in this room, two former Order of the Phoenix members have taken the trouble to give a kindly warning to a former Death Eater," he replied with a smile.
The other two laughed, rather seeing Lucius' point, and the meeting continued in happy vein for another twenty minutes as the three busy men took advantage of a chance to spend time discussing personal matters. Arthur had already mentioned to Kingsley that Harry and Draco had some news, and the Minister had worked out what that must mean; but Lucius and Arthur then filled him in, explaining about having twins. Kingsley twitted Lucius about a pure-blood having more than one child; but Lucius just smiled, his evident joy at impending grandfather-hood a delight to behold.
But when Lucius left, he still had a small twinge of uneasiness. He would go back to the Manor, he decided, and see what he could find in the Library. And even as he thought that, his mind wandered to another bookworm who might well be doing the same thing herself …

Narcissa could not remember being so nervous. Except, she thought, perhaps on the day that she had lied to the Dark Lord about Harry Potter. The image came back to her mind, unbidden: the sheer terror of what she was doing hidden from her by the adrenalin rush that came from the impossible fact that Harry had survived, that maybe, just maybe, there might be a way out … And then in the Great Hall, she had sat on the sidelines, watching as Harry dueled the snake-faced monster, and she closed her eyes, unable to watch … And then it was all over, he was dead, and suddenly another shock came as she realised that they were going to have to deal with being on the losing side of a bitter war …
It had all ended up better than she dared to hope. Here they were, the Dark Lord's former right-hand man and family, and they were now generally accepted as part of society again, thanks to the incredible, apparently limitless generosity of the man who was now her son-in-law, and soon to be the father of her grandchildren.
Of course, she mused, it had not all been plain sailing. Lucius's trial had been simply horrid. But it had been much easier than she had any right to expect. But now … Now, somehow, she was getting butterflies in her stomach. In a few minutes, Molly Weasley and Margaret Granger were going to come and visit her for afternoon tea. And for perhaps the first time ever it struck her just how impossible that was: the parents of the young couple who had been Snatched during the war and held prisoner in this very manor. Hermione's mother, a Muggle, whose daughter had been tortured by Narcissa's own sister here. Molly Weasley, who she had been brought up to believe was a blood-traitor, scum, unworthy of notice.
Her musing was interrupted by Mappy popping in.
"Excusing me, Mistress," the house-elf said in his cheery way, "Mistress Andromeda Tonks and Master Teddy Lupin are here and waiting for you in the green drawing-room."
"Thank you, Mappy," she replied. "Did you offer them tea?"
"Yes, Mistress," Mappy replied. "Dippy is fetching it now."
Narcissa smiled. It had been very hard on the elves during the War; Voldemort would have Crucioed them without a second thought if he had seen them, he regarded them as vermin, so they had had to hide most of the time. But now they were back in the swing of things, and working as a team. All to the good.
"Thank you, Mappy," she said reassuring the little creature. "Please tell Andromeda I shall be with her presently."
It was only a minute or so later that Narcissa made her way to the drawing room and greeted her sister, but even so she was only just in time to greet her other three guests: for Margaret Granger had, as usual, brought young Miriam with her. Teddy, hearing the whoosh of the Floo and knowing what it probably mean, was up on shaky legs almost immediately.
"Mi! Mi!" he called, and was answered with joyous cries of "Te! Te!" as Miriam appeared, clutched tight in her mother's arms.
"Here he is, young lady!" the brunette said with a laugh, and placed the little girl down on a rug that the house-elves had set out for the purpose. Little Teddy, seeing the girl, started to totter over to her.
"Now, now, Teddy," Andromeda said, grabbing his hands, "you know you're not strong enough to walk that far by yourself."
"Da!" the toddling baby replied as he made his way over to the rug, half-walking, half being swung by his grandmother.
"Well now, ladies!" Narcissa said once the children had been settled and the ladies had found seats and cups of tea. "I have big news!"
"Ooh," her sister replied. "I felt there was something odd today."
"Yes, me too," Molly chimed in. "But I don't think it can be Narcissa's news, because it wasn't a nice feeling at all, and I know her news is good."
"Tell us dear, what is it?" Margaret asked, then added teasingly, "are you going to be a grandmother?"
Even though she knew Margaret was a Muggle and so lived in a world where there was no question of men being pregnant, and that the question was asked to tease, Narcissa's face still fell for a second before she recovered her equanimity.
"As a matter of fact, that is the very thing I was going to tell you!"
"What?" Margaret said, astonished.
"But Lucius said it couldn't happen!" Andromeda added.
"Lucius does not know everything," Narcissa replied in a conspiratorial whisper.
"I knew that," Andromeda replied tartly. "But I didn't know that you knew it!"
And then Narcissa Malfoy did the most un-Malfoyish of things: she poked out her tongue at her sister. Molly Weasley collapsed into giggles at the sight.
"Oh!" the Weasley matriarch said eventually, wiping away tears of mirth. "That was precious!"
"Thank you," Narcissa said with a little ironic bow to her guest. "And, I must add, that not only is Draco pregnant, but with twins! Unheard of in the Malfoys or the Blacks."
"Harry Potter is a very special man," Andromeda said. "Now, details, please! The important things: do they know the sexes? And have they chosen names?"
"To be honest, we didn't discuss things like that," Narcissa replied, a little chagrined. "Though I rather think not, poor Draco looked like he was still in shock."
"Of course he would be," Molly agreed. "Pregnancy is hard to take even when you are expecting it. And I imagine Harry would be too, for that matter."
"Quite," Narcissa agreed.
The conversation went back and forth for some time before Margaret, remembering something that had been said long before, asked Molly, "Now, you said you had a bad feeling before?"
Molly thought for a second. "Not really bad," she replied slowly, "just odd. As though something was not quite right … How to describe it … I know! You know the feeling when suddenly you were old enough to be told all the family secrets?"
Margaret nodded, remembering the fateful night two days after she turned sixteen when her Uncle Geoff had left his wife and Margaret was, for the first time, actually allowed to stay at the dinner table after dinner and discuss it with the rest of the family.
"It was like that," Molly continued. "As though we'd been babied along a bit, and now someone trusts us to make our own decisions." She looked over at Narcissa. "You felt it, too, didn't you?"
"Yes," Narcissa agreed, a little hesitantly. "Though perhaps not like that," and went on to explain the thoughts that had crowded in on her just before they had arrived.
"So, you see," she said, mostly to Margaret, as the Muggle was the one who wouldn't see, not immediately, "it's quite a concern for us. If there was some sort of … spell, or hypnotism, or mind control, or something, people are going to get upset about it. And we Malfoys may bear the brunt of it."
"Nonsense," Molly said. "If we are indeed free of something that was stopping us making up our own minds, then we can do so now. And the Weasleys are going to stand by you, and we'll fight off anyone who even so much as says a bad word about you. There may have been coercion; I don't know. But I know that your Draco is one of the best things to happen to our Harry in a long time. With children coming along, he has a real family now, with you, with us. Nothing else matters."
And then, a second astonishment for the afternoon, Molly Weasley had to lend her handkerchief to Narcissa Malfoy; but perhaps their hostess could be excused. The blonde had not expected to break down in tears, after all.

There was, Minerva mused, no such thing as a private conversation at Hogwarts, especially if the people involved are sitting in the Great Hall. Sitting at her place on the staff table, she watched as the rumours began to spread. You could practically see their progress, as if they were ripples on a pond; two or three students would huddle together, then break apart and speak to those beside them, and so the story would continue on out. She was quite sure that within half an hour, if not less, the gist of Ginny and Luna's conversation would have spread throughout the entire student body.
Of course, she did not know what they had been talking about; but she had some idea. There had been some sort of event last night; she had woken just after midnight, feeling that something had changed, and had consulted the paintings in her office. They had all, quite predictably, been useless. Even Albus, who seemed even as a painting to always know more than he could possibly, had told her, quite simply, that he did not know what it was.
"Though I would suggest that, as in my day, most strange events can be traced back in one way or another to one particular student," he had said, with his customary twinkle. It had not helped. She had guessed that Harry Potter was involved all by herself; the question was, how?

During the day, the tale grew wildly in the telling, and along the way it bifurcated into two quite separate rumours.
Sad to relate, there were still those who had it in for Harry; especially some of the fourth and fifth year Slytherins. They seemed to feel that by not returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year, he had deserted them; and the Slytherin Common Room was full of little knots of people bad-mouthing him.
It took the tiny first-year Alice Abertomom to respond to this.
"What is wrong with you people?" she shouted at them, shaking in rage. "Harry Potter gave his life for the Wizarding world! Is that not enough for you? What else do you want!"
Some of the fourth years started sneering about the 'ickle first year'; but they were silenced pretty effectively by the Prefects, who sent Stinging Hexes at them.
"She has a point," Damon Gosforth, the Seventh Year prefect, insisted. "Let's face it, you're jealous of him. He got fame, and fortune, and Draco Malfoy—" here half the girls swooned, some pretending, some very much for real – "and you didn't. But then, he fought in the war. What did you do? I saw plenty of you cowering in the corners. Now you get freedom, and as a House we seem to have come out alright, even though we were thought of as the Dark Lord's recruiting ground. So, suck it up Princesses."
Much of the anger abated after this little speech; the appeal to the fact that they were reaping rewards from Potter's sacrifice very much appealed to the Slytherin mindset.
But one particularly pugnacious fourth-year piped up.
"That's all very well," Dennis Flint, Marcus's cousin, "but Potter's just a Johnny-come-lately. I read that he was brought up by Muggles, and came back into the magical world seven years ago with a head full of the garbage Muggles teach. How can you lot accept him being given all the glory and fame when he knows so little about our world?"
Damon sighed. He knew perfectly well that Dennis had a huge chip on his shoulder from the treatment his cousin had received; the boy had hero-worshipped Marcus, and what was obvious to everyone who'd known him at Hogwarts was never likely to enter Dennis's head: bluntly, that Marcus Flint was a nasty, spiteful, unintelligent piece of work. Coupled to that, it seemed, alas, that Severus Snape's grousing about the 'spoilt brat' was alive and well.
"Look Dennis," he said, pulling on reserves of patience he didn't know he had, "can't you see that that makes his sacrifice the greater? He could have gone back to the Muggle world and just ignored us. He didn't."
"Yeah, but Professor Snape said …"
"Professor Snape was a spy and a Death Eater!" Damon snapped. "You can't rely on what he said always being his opinion. He had to maintain a front at all times. And also, he's dead. Let's get on with the business of living, shall we. And stop talking shit about Potter. At least don't do it outside this room. He's still the great Hero of the Wizarding World and we can't be seen bad-mouthing him. It's just not the Slytherin thing to do."
While this didn't entirely appease everyone, the mood had calmed enough that people settled down back to their classes and work. Gosforth was glad of that; he could have said more, for Professor Snape had taken him aside at one point in April and explained how things really were, and the Prefect had more than a sneaking suspicion that the former Potions master and Headmaster might now repudiate the statements he had made that the students had just alluded to. But giving away information when you didn't have to was just not what a Slytherin did. Of course, he knew they were not all convinced; they wouldn't be the House of the Snakes if they weren't envious of his power, wealth and position, thinking it should have been their success, not his. But he felt sure they would all toe the line, and that's what really mattered now.
But perhaps Gosforth was counting his dragons before they hatched. The Slytherin third-, fourth- and fifth- year students who had classes with Ravenclaws found ready listeners amongst the eagles; the latter were generally afraid of who Potter was and what he might become. By lunchtime, the rumour noised abroad was to the effect that 'Loony' Lovegood said that Harry had somehow bewitched the whole Magical world. That he was well on the way to being the next Dark Lord, controlling people by some formerly unknown form of mind magic.

The other main rumour, popular with Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, painted Harry as the victim, being controlled by some external force. The Gryffindors, spotting a chance to attack their historic rivals, said it was the Slytherins: Harry had allied himself with the Malfoys, the argument went, and they were, in fact, controlling him. The Hufflepuffs were not so sure; to them, Harry and Draco's marriage was the stuff of true romance, and they did not want to think of it as some power-game. So they blamed Voldemort, or some Death Eaters who had not been caught yet. The fact that no such Death Eaters were known did not deter them in the least; as Gabriel Tate pointed out, if someone was powerful enough to control Harry, they were powerful enough to stay hidden from the Auror department.
It was just before dinnertime that the two camps met together near the library to compare notes, and the two rumours came together again in an apocalyptic third vision: that Harry was possessed by the spirit of Voldemort, who was lulling people into a false sense of security while secretly preparing for another strike. After all, apparently the man had come back from the dead twice already – once when he inhabited the body of the unfortunate Professor Quirinus Quirrell, and once when he was resurrected after the Tri-Wizard Tournament – so why not a third time?

Lucius returned to the Manor at about four o'clock, to find the ladies still busy in the green drawing room. He looked in on them, and was astonished at the sight: by the looks of it, Narcissa, his cool, calm, imperturbable wife, had been crying.
"Cissy?" he asked gently as soon as he saw her. "Are you alright?"
"Lucius!" she said, and he was equally surprised and glad to hear a note of delight in her voice. Glad because his wife was pleased to see him; surprised because it seemed that the cold Malfoy mask had not so much broken as shattered. She patted the seat beside her, and he obediently sat down next to her.
He looked around a little apprehensively; but the other ladies simply smiled at him.
"Perhaps we should explain," Andromeda said, and proceeded to tell him what had transpired during the afternoon.
"Most interesting," he said once the explanation was given. "For my part, I have been discussing the same issue with the Minister and Mr –" here Molly glared at him, and he corrected himself, "— and Arthur. I may say, Molly, that he took the same line that you have; and I'm–" he looked at Narcissa, who nodded her agreement, "—we're very grateful. And now, please forgive me for intruding; I shall leave you be."
"Meaning you want to go and see if the library can tell you anything," Andromeda said drily.
"When did you learn to read me so well?" Lucius asked.
"I have eyes," Andromeda replied; but they were sparkling and Lucius could not take offense.

It was just before five when Lucius Floo-called Hermione, catching her just before she was due to leave work.
"What can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?" she asked crisply, taking care to avoid direct eye contact.
"So formal?" he replied, his tone slightly hurt. "I had hoped, Mrs Weasley, that we were becoming friends."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"Yes, you're right," she said. "I'm sorry. It's just that I spoke to Ginny this morning, and she brought up all the memories of what happened during the War and just after, including when Bellatrix attacked me in your Manor; and then somehow I forgot all about that in the excitement of seeing your library. How could I do that, Lucius?" she asked, looking him in the eye for the first time.
"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.
Hermione sat back on her haunches. That was the question, wasn't it? It was all very well getting upset that she had been pushed into things. She could rail about something overriding her free will, but she could hardly talk, given what she had done to her parents. The simple fact was that she did not regret it. How could she? Now that neither of them was being threatened by a sociopathic Dark Lord, she had to admit that she had found a kindred spirit in the Malfoy Lord.
"No, I can't," she said eventually. "We are friends, at least, I hope we are. Maybe something pushed us together; but I can't say it's a bad thing, in the end."
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "The end justifies the means?" he asked teasingly.
"NO!" Hermione shouted back, and Lucius smirked. Their camaraderie was back on track.

Half an hour later, the Floo call over, Lucius sat back pensively. Hermione had left the office and gone home, but not before she had told him of the fruits of an hour in the Ministry library. It had not been much. There didn't seem to be anything out there that could account for what they saw: mass hypnosis charms existed, but they didn't wear off all at once like this had. There were spells to confuse or confound, to be sure; but the power required to apply them was unimaginable.
His head hurt just thinking about it. They had nothing, really; his research in his own library only confirmed Hermione's. He sat back with a pre-dinner glass of sherry. It made a pretty puzzle; and so far, it didn't seem to be impinging on their lives. They'd have to wait and see what the future held, of course; but early indications were that they would be all right. Especially given the entirely unexpected, but most welcome, statements from both Mr and Mrs—from both Molly and Arthur.

By the end of the day, when they returned to their campsite, Ron was really worried. Harry had been tight-lipped about the whole thing, and Ron knew very well that this was the worst possible response; Harry would bottle it up and keep it all in, but sooner or later he would either explode in anger or spend days depressed like he had had Grimmauld Place after Lucius had talked to him at the trial. As neither outcome was appealing, he decided that he had to say something; but what?
Fortunately, the problem was taken out of their hands when, as the trainees sat down to dinner, Adam Johnson piped up.
"So, Potter," he said with a sneer, "I see you lasted the whole day today."
Harry looked at him with fire in his eyes. But before he could say anything, Auror Godwin spoke up.
"That's quite enough, Mr Johnson," he said sharply.
"I was only congratulating Mr Potter on lasting the whole day," Johnson replied silkily, managing to keep a straight face, unlike Petrus Jufeus, sitting next to his friend, was barely containing his mirth.
"Thank you," Harry said sarcastically. "But honestly, I have no trouble lasting the day, if people don't mount cowardly attacks on me."
Jufeus sprang to his feet, his wand out. "You take that back!" he snarled.
Harry looked him up and down coolly. "I see," he said. "You can dish it out, but not take it."
"Gnaah!" Petrus shouted unintelligibly, raising his wand to hex Potter. Before he could get any words out, his wand flew out of his grasp and was caught by Auror Tachygloss.
"Mr Jufeus," the Auror said, glowering at the errant young man, his voice cold as ice, "whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, outside of controlled environments, I will not allow any trainee to fire curses at a fellow trainee. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, sir," the other replied, his head bowed. What is going on? Jufeus thought to himself. He's supposed to be on our side!
"Good. And just to make sure the message has been heard, you can leave the table now. Your wand will be returned in the morning."
With that the trainee, his cheeks burning red, nodded and stalked away.
Harry turned to Emmet Tachygloss. "Thank you, sir," he said.
"That's quite alright," the other replied. "Mr Jufeus has a very low opinion of you; that's his business, of course, but one thing we do want to teach all of you," he said, looking around the table, "is that in the Auror Corps, you look after one another, regardless of your opinions of one another. You are going to be under fire in the wild; having one another's backs and trusting one another to keep you safe will be the difference between life and death."
With that, the Auror, seeing that they had all finished eating, got them to get on with the business of cleaning up and getting ready for bed.

Draco was exhausted. The brewing was easy enough, to be sure; but it needed a good deal of concentration, and he found standing up for most of the day was very tiring indeed. Couple that with the theory he had to study as well, and it made for a long and taxing day, even if you weren't pregnant.
He walked into the Great Hall and made his way to the Eighth Year table where he had been taking his meals. He was quite unprepared for the commotion that happened the moment he got to his seat.
"There he is!" a voice cried out from the Slytherin table. Draco looked over to see Dennis Flint standing up, his wand out. He wondered who the boy could mean; then suddenly realised with a sinking feeling that the wand was pointing straight at him.
"Traitor!" the fourth-year called out. "Sold out to that fame-whore Potter! Stupefy!"
The stunning spell sped towards Draco but was stopped in its tracks by a shield that had been cast from the Ravenclaw table. He looked around to see that Michael Corner was standing up, his concentration maintaining the Protego that he had cast just in time. Draco smiled; it seemed that Corner really had learnt from his previous mistakes. Good.
But there was no time to cogitate on this turn of events; for someone else had jumped up from the Ravenclaw table and was clearly about to enter the fray. Draco found himself being pulled down to his seat and surrounded by his fellow Eighth Years; for good measure, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan cast shield charms of their own, the whole table under a shimmering protective barrier. They were just in time as a cutting curse hit their shield and dissipated.
"What's going on?" Draco demanded breathlessly.
"It's been evil all day," Seamus replied. "All sorts of rumours going around: apparently you're controlling Harry, or Gabriel Tate, the student who sent that curse, must think so. Or he's the instigator and you've sold out to him. Or the great grand-daddy rumour we've only just heard, that Harry is being possessed by Voldemort."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Draco could not help but laugh.
"Can't they see how absurd that is?" he asked. "Harry is no-one's puppet; I saw him this morning, and there was definitely no Voldemort. Anyway, we saw him in a map the Goblins have; he's in a place called the Sphere of Intangible Absence, and there's no way to come back from there."
"You have seen a map of the Spheres?" another voice asked, and Draco looked over to see that it was Anders Anderssen who had joined in the conversation. The Durmstrang student was usually loathe to talk at all, especially to the Gryffindors or Draco; he must be really interested then.
"Yes," he replied. "You know about them?"
"Oh yes," Anders replied. "Our old Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, he was very interested in them, so we all got to know about them. But you have seen a map! He would be so jealous!"
It took Draco all he had not to smirk at this. Clearly, 'Ivan Smetana' had not revealed to anyone else that he was in fact Karkaroff; Draco wondered how long he could keep the pretense up. Not, of course, that Hogwarts had a particularly good record for spotting frauds: no-one had noticed that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort, or that Lockhart was a fraud, or Lupin a werewolf, or Moody Bartemius Crouch Junior polyjuiced … No, evidently you could fool people a lot. Granted, they'd all seen through Umbridge in a heart-beat, but that hadn't done them any good.
"You can put your shields down now!" the Headmistress's voice rang out, interrupting Draco's little reverie. He looked up; the shields did come down to reveal the Headmistress standing at the staff table, her face radiating fury like Draco had never seen before, while Slughorn and Flitwick were tearing strips off their respective house-members.
McGonagall cast a Sonorus charm and began to speak.
"Students," she said, in a calm quiet voice that somehow conveyed her anger more effectively than yelling would have done, "this is despicable. Mr Malfoy is a fellow student, and to attack him at any time is unacceptable. To it in broad daylight, in the middle of the Great Hall, with everyone watching, is suicidally stupid. I can assure the two students that have cast curses just now that the remainder of their stay at Hogwarts will not be pleasant, should they be lucky enough not to be expelled. And all the scurrilous rumours about Mr Potter being evil, or controlled by Death Eaters, or possessed by Voldemort, can stop now. It's all nonsense. And that's quite enough on the subject; please return to your dinners."
Once she had finished, the two Professors frog-marched their errant charges out, presumably to await unpleasant interviews with the Headmistress. She, however, made her way to the Eighth Year table.
"Mr Malfoy," she said to him, and there was no mistaking the kindness in her voice, "I apologise to you for the events of this evening."
"Not your fault," Draco replied, standing up out of deference to the headmistress. "Thank you for your words; and," he continued, turning to Dean and Seamus, "thank you for looking after me."
"Course," Seamus replied.
"We've heard the rumours," Dean added. "We knew they were shite. Harry's just not like that."
"Quite so," the Headmistress said, evidently choosing to ignore the minor swearing from her student. "I do hope you will enjoy your dinner, Mr Malfoy."
"Thank you, ma'am," Draco replied, resuming his seat as McGonagall turned and left the Hall. But he didn't, much; he was still rather nervous about having been attacked. Though the support he received from the Eighth Years was encouraging; even Ivanov, who he was sure was jealous that Draco had an apprenticeship with Borage, no less, went out of his way to be polite.

Harry and Ron sat at a small fire in front of their tent.
"Sorry about today, mate," Ron said in an attempt to draw his friend out.
Harry looked at him and smiled. "Yeah," he replied. "Me too."
A little while later, Harry said, "I wonder how Draco's doing."
Ron, having no clue, said simply "mmm," in the way one does to encourage conversation.
"I don't like to think of him, alone and pregnant in the Castle," Harry continued.
"Pregnant?" Ron said, explosively.
"Shh!" Harry hissed.
"Sorry," Ron whispered. "But… pregnant? Really?"
Harry smiled. "Yeah. Twins"
Ron let out a low whistle.
"Wow. No wonder you got pulled back to the Castle."
Harry laughed. Anyone else would have plied him with questions and demanded to know how he'd done it; but this was Ron all over, just being exactly the friend he needed right now.
He sighed.
"I'm wondering if it's really worth it," he confessed.
"Auror training?" Ron asked.
"Yeah," Harry said. "It's clear that we know more than the instructors do; and I'm never going to live down the 'Boy-who-Lived' crap."
"What do you really want?" Ron asked.
"Dunno," Harry replied.
"Might want to think about it," Ron suggested. "Tomorrow. Time for bed now."
Harry nodded in agreement and kicked over the fire. But he did not sleep well that night.

When Draco returned to the room in Dumbledore Tower, he found that Harry had not taken his trunk with him. On impulse, just before getting into bed, he pulled out one of Harry's shirts, holding it close to him; it smelled of Harry, and he found it reassuring as he snuggled down. He was soon asleep.
A red glow suffused the room as the form of a red man became clearly visible. He looked over the sleeping lad and smiled. Things could have gone better, to be sure; he could easily sense that Draco had received quite a shock at the dinner table. But the pregnancy was still progressing well, and the worry would cease soon enough. On the whole, it could have been a whole lot worse.
He sat still for a while, watching over Malfoy. He was not yet fully corporeal; he was still, for the moment, bound to this existence. He needed Potter's magic to fix that. But it would come soon enough.
He was not strong enough to stay for long; soon he vanished again. Draco stirred in his sleep; unconsciously, he reached out for Harry, and found only the shirt. But, for the moment, that was enough.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Grateful thanks as always to the wonderful Bicky Monster for helpful suggestions.

See http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/56042-review-replies-for-returning-to-sanity/ for review replies.
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Returning to Sanity