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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
- 86
- 87
- 88
87. Returning to France
Friday 13 November
Pomona Sprout had never had an apprentice before, so didn’t really know what the form expected of her. But, as befit the Head of Hufflepuff House, she did not let that stop her in the least; she treated Neville exactly the same as she had for most of the last seven years: that is to say, she let him get on with pretty much anything he wanted, making sure he was well plied with tea and encouragement.
As a result, he spent almost all of the daylight hours in the greenhouses, and when he wasn’t there, more often than not he could be found in the library, reading every book he could get his hands on that had anything to do with botany. It had gotten so bad that the portly Professor now made a point of pulling him out of the library every Friday night and sending him back to Diagon Alley.
“You are a married man,” she reminded him each time. “Your husband needs you much more than the books do. They’ll still be there on Monday.”
Now, the chubby, small, squib-like boy of yesteryear was long gone; but Neville was still rather in awe of the Herbology mistress, despite now being half her height again; so he would immediately pack up his books and disappear with a flurry of apologies.
It gladdened Pomona’s heart. The boy was quite the loveliest student she had ever met, she thought. George was lucky to have him. Mind you, from what Neville told her, the Weasley twin knew it, too; and he was often sending little gifts and notes to his husband. Some of the notes Neville shared with her; but some … well, he shared only his blushes. But that was enough. If Neville didn’t want to tell her, she didn’t need to know.
As a result of the most recent admonition, Neville had Flooed home to find the twins in the middle of a rather large party, at the centre of which was a rather inebriated Blaise Zabini. Not good. Blaise and alcohol … that was asking for trouble. He raised an eyebrow at his husband, the ‘what’s going on?’ being asked without words.
“Stag night,” George told him.
Of course. “But … drunk?” he asked. “Blaise? Not good.”
“’S all right,” Fred assured him. “Elf champagne.”
“Draco told us // it makes him a happy drunk.”
And indeed, Blaise did look quite happy; though at the moment he was doing an impression of a … donkey? Lion? It was impossible to tell.
True to Neville’s luck, the moment Blaise saw him, he yelled out, “’ello Nevvie! Guess what I’m being?”
Neville snorted. He’d never been called ‘Nevvie’ in his life. He was so going to rib Blaise for that in the morning.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Drunk?”
Blaise laughed uproariously at this. “Tha’s right,” he replied, looking mildly astonished. “So I am!”
There was a round of laughter and Neville looked around to see who was there. Pansy, Theo, Greg Goyle … now there was a surprise, he hadn’t heard of the boy being in England since he’d gone off to Durmstrang mid-year … and a few other Ravenclaw and Slytherin students including, to his delight, Luna Lovegood, who was standing with Ginny Weasley and Robin Banks. By their body language, the last two had been roped in by Luna; they did not look that comfortable amongst the Slytherins, but that was hardly surprising. He nodded to them, and Robin waved at him, but seemed content to stay where he was.
Neville turned to the twins.
“No Draco?” he asked, surprised that the best man wasn’t there.
“No,” Fred replied, “Blaise told him no party // so he didn’t organize one; // and he was so obviously missing his little Harrykins that we didn’t have the heart to rope him along.”
Neville smirked at the pet name for the Destroyer of Voldemort. Harry would probably love it. But that wasn’t going to stop Neville making capital out of it.
“You two are horrid,” he replied. “Poor Draco and Harry. Leave them alone. You know Draco was in the Infirmary during the week?”
The twins immediately looked serious – a stunning effect as they did it together in perfect synchronicity. “What for?” they asked.
“Dunno,” Neville replied. “Nothing’s been said.”
As they were talking, Ginny had made her way over to greet him; and hearing the subject of the discussion, joined in.
“Ooh!” she said. “Hermione told me about this. Seems that Harry went and visited him, too.”
“What?” Neville asked, looking shocked. He lived in the Castle full-time; how was it that he was the last to hear this news?
“Yeah, flying visit from what Ron told her. Apparently he was attacked in a training exercise and the Haussmann Shield appeared; when it went, Harry was gone too, only to return at breakfast time the next morning.”
“Phew,” George said. “So, what’s that about?”
“Hermione wouldn’t tell me any more,” Ginny admitted, “but I’m sure she knows more.”
Fred looked at his twin.
“You don’t think?” he asked.
“I do think,” he replied.
But for the rest of the night, no-one could discover what it was that the two thought.
-#-
Saturday 14 November
Neville woke up at seven o’clock the next morning to find that he was the first awake. He disentangled himself from a sleeping George and, after tending to the morning necessities, went in search of tea and breakfast. There being no-one else up, he took it upon himself to cook; fortunately his gran had insisted that, pure-blood or not, a man wasn’t a man if he couldn’t rustle up something to eat, and Neville prided himself on the breakfasts he could cook. From what they said, the twins liked them, too; certainly they had no trouble getting outside them, but then that was a general thing with Weasleys and food, so perhaps he shouldn’t put too much store by it.
He did a quick head count. Fred and Angelina were there, George and himself of course, and, on a transfigured couch, a snoring Theo and a – there was no other word for it – snorting Pansy. He made a mental note not to blurt that out. Ever. Pansy still scared him a little. It was nice to see them again though; he had been very concerned about Theo’s arm, and had been happy to hear that it was responding well to the warmer climate, though it didn’t seem too good last night. Still, perhaps it was only a temporary thing.
It didn’t take long before the smell of bacon was permeating the twins’ flat, and the noises of people waking to the day began to make themselves heard.
“Mmm,” a voice said behind him, “smells heavenly!”
He turned and smiled at Pansy. Things had changed since those days at Hogwarts when she’d wanted to hand Harry over, he mused. He smiled at her.
“Tea?”
“Please,” she answered, taking a seat, then asked, rather quietly, “what were you thinking about?”
Neville eyed her for a moment, and decided he wasn’t going to lie, or even sweeten the truth.
“Actually,” he replied, “I was thinking about the War.”
“And me in the Great Hall, saying we should give Harry up,” she said, sadly.
It was not a question, so Neville just nodded, and handed her a mug of tea.
She smiled at him.
“Thanks,” she said. “For the tea. And for not holding a grudge.”
“It’s the past,” Neville said with a shrug as he brought his own mug over to the table, breakfast now being cooked and waiting ready under a warming charm. “Let’s leave it there.”
At this point a rather bleary-eyed Theodore Nott stumbled into the room.
“Morning, Theo,” Neville said cheerily and then took a good look at the man. Theo was rubbing his right arm, quite obviously in a lot of pain.
“Here,” he said, jumping up and helping the man to a seat. “I’ll get you a pain reliever,” he continued. “Or should we go straight to St Mungo’s?”
Theo shook his head. “It’s just the usual flare-up I get here from time to time. They won’t be able to do anything. Trouble is, neither will I, much. Cheers,” he said, as Neville handed him the pain reliever he’d fetched, together with a large mug of tea to wash it down.
“Trouble?” George’s voice asked from the doorway.
“Arm,” Neville replied.
“Oh. Mungo’s?”
“After breakfast, I think,” Neville said, clearly having no trouble understanding the rather telegraphic conversation. Pansy, not so lucky, caught the sense of the last remark, at least, and nodded her agreement; her husband might make light of it in public but she knew the arm still bothered him more than he was prepared to admit.
-#-
Breakfast was a much more restrained affair at Malfoy Manor. Lucius and Narcissa ate early; they were going to their chateau in the Loire valley, having decided it was convenient for the Delacour mansion where the wedding was being held. Of course, this was something of an illusion; the Floo network now worked perfectly well between the two countries, so they could just as easily have stayed at home. But Narcissa welcomed the opportunity to spend some time elsewhere; and Lucius welcomed anything that made his wife happy.
Narcissa put down her copy of the Daily Prophet and sighed.
“Just what are they playing at?” she asked, more to herself than by way of conversation; but Lucius looked up and answered her anyway.
“The Ministry?” he enquired.
“Yes. Can’t they leave things alone?”
Lucius chuckled. “History says no,” he rejoined. “No, I think this is Arthur Weasley’s pet project again.”
Narcissa looked at him, a little stymied by this. “In what way?” she asked.
“Oh, you must have realized that he paired people up with the Muggle version of the careers they love best – Draco’s love for potions took him to the Muggle equivalent, the pharmaceutical industry; Weasley wanted to be an Auror, so he researched the Police, and so on.”
“Intriguing,” Narcissa replied. “And what did our Raven get?”
“The judiciary,” Lucius said. “Especially given the Potter Code and all that, I think it’s clear where Shacklebolt and Doge are trying to steer him.”
“And what do you think?” she enquired.
Lucius paused. This needed some care. Narcissa loved their second son as fiercely as their first; if she felt that the Ministry was hounding Harry, she would not hesitate to hoe into them. And in the present climate, with people so exercised about the strange events of the last few days, that was the last thing they needed.
“I think,” he replied, “that Harry isn’t going to do anything he doesn’t want to. Look at what happened with Auror training.”
“True,” he wife conceded. “You said you spoke to Hermione Weasley yesterday? What did she want?”
And with that, conversation over the table turned easily to the discussion Lucius had had with Hermione. It was rather a good thing that they had not managed to discuss it over dinner the day before, due to having been dragged out to the dinner with the Ministry senior officials and Hogwarts professors; for Narcissa was rather pleased to learn that Hermione wanted to talk about the events of May the first. Here, at last, was a potential explanation for the enchantment and its lifting, one that did not involve spell or potion, which fitted the circumstances very well. It was, she agreed, going to be a most interesting conversation.
By the time they had finished their breakfast, it was nine o’clock. They Flooed to the French chateau where, due to the time difference, it was already ten o’clock. To their surprise, the chateau was empty apart from its staff; this was odd as Harry and Draco were supposed to meet them here at ten o’clock before Draco went off to help Blaise.
Narcissa called for a house elf.
“Have the Potter-Malfoys arrived?” she enquired.
“No, mistress,” the small creature replied. “Zetty is not knowing where they is.”
“Never mind,” Narcissa replied a little abstractedly. She was quite surprised they had not already come and gone; Draco was Blaise’s best man, after all, and should have been there looking after him. She picked up some Floo powder and put a call in to The Lodge.
“Yes Mistress Narcissa?” Tiny’s voice answered her once she had got through. “How can Tiny bees helping you?”
“Are Draco and Harry still there?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, mistress,” Tiny replied. “They is being not able to be disturbed.”
“Ah,” said Narcissa, realizing what must have happened. Well, they were young, and Draco was newly pregnant, and they had been kept apart for days; some allowances could be made. But one must still do one’s duty.
“Please remind Draco that he has responsibilities towards Mr Zabini, and let them know I expect them here for morning tea at eleven o’clock – ten o’clock British time.”
“Yes, Mistress!” Tiny answered enthusiastically, her little head bobbing up and down in the fireplace. The rapid motion, and the green tinge, made Narcissa feel a little queasy, so she was happy to finish the call and wander off to make sure her wardrobe for the afternoon was up to the meticulous standard she required.
It was just before eleven that the Floo chime went off, announcing incoming visitors; Narcissa smirked to herself as she made her way back to the reception room, where she found her Dragon being force-fed a potion by his over-attentive husband.
“I’m all right, Harry!” Draco said, sounding somewhat exasperated. “I don’t need an anti-nausea potion!”
“Borage had you brew them for a reason,” Harry insisted.
“Harry’s right, you know,” Narcissa said, and they both turned to her sharply, not having heard her come in. She smiled knowingly at them and continued, “much better to take them every time. Otherwise, you’ll find you suddenly react, at the most inopportune moment. Trust me, Dragon, I learned it the hard way with you.”
“Fine,” Draco said, snatching the phial from Harry. He could see he wasn’t going to win this one, so he might as well not bother fighting. And, to be entirely honest, he did feel a little twinge of nausea; not that he was about to let anyone know that. The way Harry was being, he’d find himself tucked up in bed in two seconds flat ‘just in case’.
As he drank the potion, Narcissa’s smile broadened a little.
“Now!” she announced. “To the parlor for morning tea!”
-#-
Robin Banks was worried.
He was supposed to be attending the Zabini – Delacour wedding purely socially, as Ginny’s guest; she and Luna having been invited due to the rather surprising friendship that seemed to have developed between Blaise and the two of them. But his father’s letter had rather changed that.
He read over it again. It explained that Banks senior would also be attending the wedding; well, that was no surprise: his father was both a personal friend and a professional colleague of Auguste Delacour, after all. And of course, as a senior ministry official, he was entitled to an Auror detail. At first, Robin had suspected his father wanted him to be part of that detail, but it was, if anything, worse than that. Skimming, he reached the important bit: ‘disturbing reports …’, ‘underground activity’, and then the request: ‘I’d appreciate it if you could just be an extra pair of eyes and ears, especially given your knowledge of the Thillin girl’.
Scratch being worried; his blood was running cold. Eva Thillin had, after all, outsmarted them all, and escaped from under their very noses. The girl was dangerous; if she was targeting the wedding, as his father seemed to think she might be, they would need a lot more than just an extra pair of eyes.
“All right, love?” Ginny asked, coming into the room.
He turned and smiled at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
“Yes, thanks,” he answered distractedly, then seemed to come to a decision. “Gin, do you know where I might find Harry?”
-#-
Morning tea turned out to be somewhat larger than Narcissa had expected. Robin had Floo-called just as they were about to go in, and naturally she had insisted that he come through; so as well as the two Malfoys and the two Malfoy-Potters, she presided over a table with Robin Banks, Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood, who apparently had been visiting the other two and was also invited to the wedding.
It was a charming event; everyone was on their best behaviour, and much looking forward to the wedding. At half-past eleven, Draco rose to his feet and apologized that he really should go and see to Blaise. His mother waved him off, and wondered aloud whether the others might like a stroll in the grounds.
“Ah,” Robin said, “I was hoping I might have a little word with Harry and Lucius. If it’s not too much trouble.”
It wasn’t; in a very few minutes the gentlemen had repaired to Lucius’s study while the three ladies had availed themselves of the garden.
“How can we help you, Mr Banks?” Lucius asked, wondering just what the resourceful Auror could want now.
“Well,” Robin replied, a little shamefacedly, “it could all be a hippogriff’s nest, but I received an owl from my father this morning. It seems that there’s a rumour from the French underworld that Gaston Gaspard might want to try something this weekend, possibly even at the wedding.”
“I don’t follow,” Harry said. “Who is he, and what could he want?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Banks,” Lucius said, in the tone that really meant ‘correct me if you don’t mind dying a slow, painful death’, “but I understand that Monsieur Gaspard is a big figure in Marseille, and it is believed that he took in one Eva Thillin.”
Robin nodded, and Harry took in a sharp breath.
“Is there anything concrete?” Lucius asked.
“No,” Robin admitted. “I just hoped that maybe if we all kept our eyes open, we could forestall anything that eventuates.”
“Which would be good, except that we have no clue what might happen,” Lucius replied drily.
Robin looked rather chastened at this. “Sorry,” he began, but Lucius cut him off.
“Not at all, Mr Banks. You have alerted us to a possible problem, and that is all to the good. Did your father say anything else?”
Robin pulled the letter out of his pocket and walked them through it. They had been discussing the various possibilities and likelihoods for about twenty minutes, when their conference was interrupted by the arrival of a slightly hysterical Zetty.
“Please Master Lord Harry Potter Dragon-rider Goblin-friend!” she exclaimed. “Master Draco is being Flooing for you! You is being needed at Zabini Manor! It is being a nemergency!”
“Oh dear,” Harry said.
-#-
Draco arrived at Zabini Manor to find that things had reached the controlled panic stage. Blaise seemed to have gone to pieces a bit; his normally calm demeanor had given way to irritability. Draco had seen this before; this was Blaise after a big night out, and he could only assume that the twins had taken the groom out for an impromptu stag night without him. He would have words with them about this later. For the moment he leapt into action, calling a house-elf for a sobriety potion, helping Blaise to find his cufflinks, taking the ring off him before he could lose that too, and generally soothing worried brows as best he could.
Things were not helped when, about twenty minutes later, a party of people Flooed in from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Theo and Pansy were with them, but Blaise and Draco took one look at Theo and knew that things were not good.
“Your arm?” Blaise asked.
“Not good,” Theo replied with a wince of pain. “St Mungo’s staff told me to take things very easy.”
“Right,” Blaise said; the immediate crisis of a groomsman who wouldn’t be able to perform his duties seemed to galvanize him into action. “Draco, can you get hold of Po—of Harry?”
“Yes, I suppose so, why?” the blond replied.
“He’s just been promoted to emergency groomsman,” Blaise replied.
-#-
Over lunch, Blaise explained to Harry exactly what was needed. Of course, he accepted at once, though worried that he wouldn’t know what to do; but it didn’t take long for them to explain things, especially since, for the ceremony at least, his participation was pretty much limited to standing next to Draco and being supportive in any way required.
Draco was delighted that Harry was there; after all, there were still over two hours before they were going to Floo to the Delacour mansion, and Blaise was going to be feeling every single minute of that time …
-#-
The Delacours had set aside a large space as a reception room for all their guests to Floo into. As they arrived, they were offered champagne and canapés by their hostess and her nieces; clearly this was not going to be a formal, stuffy pure-blood function as would probably have happened in England, Narcissa mused as she surveyed the scene. All the guests seemed to be quite relaxed and openly enjoying the event.
She looked again. Perhaps not everyone was relaxed, she realized …
-#-
The party of Beauxbatons girls looked up as Madame Honoree Delacour bore down on them.
“Now, ladies,” she said brightly, “please do circulate a little; we can’t have you intimidating our other guests by the mass of your group, can we?”
The girls laughed. They were quite used to being chided for such things; Beauxbatons placed a lot of store in correct behaviour at social events. So it was quite automatic for them to scan the guests to see who to go and greet.
“Oh look, Philippe!” Danielle Thibault exclaimed to her boyfriend as she spotted one particular guest. “One of the English professors is here! I must go and say hello quickly. You won’t mind?”
And, not giving him time to reply, she raced off.
In fact, Philippe Paquin did mind. There was one particular Professor from the British school she had been at that he had been warned about. It would be just his luck that his girlfriend was reconnecting with the rather well-connected Auror. He discreetly cast a listening charm; but as he did so, another couple wandered into the line between them and it appeared that they had a privacy charm activated, for Philippe’s charm failed.
Robin Banks was delighted to see Danielle Thibault again, though more than a little surprised at the eagerness with which she came up to him.
“Monsieur Banks!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, and reaching up to kiss his cheek. As she did so, he naturally inclined his head to her, so she was able to whisper in his ear without being seen.
“Philippe, my boyfriend, ‘e must not ‘ear us,” she hissed.
A little surprised, Robin quickly threw up a privacy charm, taking advantage of the Malfoys, who had just wandered between him and the young man who had to be the aforementioned Philippe.
“We are safe,” he replied. “What is it?”
“Philippe thinks I am a fool,” Danielle replied hotly, “but it is he who knows nothing. He is working for that awful man Eva Thillin is with.”
“With Gaston Gaspard?” he asked, and Danielle nodded. “How can you be sure?”
“Pah,” she replied, “I am sure. We have had some sessions with our own Securité Magique – the French Auror corps – and I ‘ave used their methods. Philippe, ‘e is reporting on us. I think ‘e is supposed to get to ‘Arry.”
Robin smiled, taking care to make it look a pleasant smile. Philippe couldn’t hear them, but he could still see.
“He’ll find that rather hard,” he said, ‘especially now we know’, he thought to himself. He cancelled the privacy charm as Lucius and Narcissa moved away.
“It’s very kind of you to ask after me, Mademoiselle Thibault,” he said smoothly, “but you must not let me steal all your time. Will you introduce me to your boyfriend later?”
“Of course. And zank you,” Danielle said, taking the hint and moving away back to Philippe.
-#-
Paquin was feeling more than a little desperate. He was supposed to take out Potter before the ceremony, and had been given a very powerful potion to do it with. The problem was that Potter wasn’t here. By rights, he should have come with the Malfoys, who, he discovered, had been the couple with the privacy charm. He decided he really did need to know what was going on; so when Lucius went to get some champagne for his wife, he moved across to her.
“It is Madame Malfoy, I believe?”
“Yes indeed,” Narcissa replied. “And you are …”
“Oh please, forgive me, I am Philippe Paquin, I am ‘ere with Danielle Thibault. And Madame, may I say I ‘ave ‘eard of your beauty, but the reports do not do you justice.”
Narcissa smiled. But in truth she was a little concerned. She was quite used to such pleasantries and knew the man was being insincere; but the name ‘Thibault’, that rang some sort of bell.
“Monsieur, you flatter me,” she said, pretty much automatically.
“Non, non!” the Frenchman replied. “And I ‘ear you are to be congratulated for having the famous ‘Arry Potter in your family? Is ‘e ‘ere today as well? I should so like to meet ‘im.”
“Ah,” she replied, and all at once she remembered exactly who Danielle – and more to the point, Marie – Thibault was. The boy was pumping her, and rather clumsy about it. She wondered exactly where he fitted into the French establishment – Paquin was not a name she knew; and she was careful to keep abreast of such things, it had been very much her duty to do so throughout her marriage.
She took care to make her reply a little more discreet than it might have been otherwise. “Mr Potter is indeed my son-in-law,” she replied, “and a friend of both the bride and groom; he will be here soon enough. I regret that that probably won’t be before the ceremony; perhaps I could introduce you at the reception?”
“Zank you,” Philippe smiled, “that would be lovely. Oh, please excuse me, I see Danielle is alone and I must not be remiss in my duty to her.”
With that, the boy scuttled away. Narcissa snorted quietly to herself. Danielle had been alone the whole time; he had left because Lucius was coming back.
“Who was that?” her husband asked as he handed her a champagne flute.
“An ambitious young man who is over-anxious to meet Harry,” she replied.
“Ah,” Lucius replied. “I wonder if that is related to Mr Banks’s problem.”
He looked across to Robin, who gave him a very telling little nod. Narcissa did not miss the exchange; clearly there was something going on that she didn’t know about. Well, she trusted her husband to tell her if she needed to know anything. In the meantime, she would make damn sure that Philippe Paquin did not get anywhere near Harry Malfoy-Potter.
-#-
Eva Thillin was nervous. Their spy had not contacted them, and she simply didn’t believe that they would get anywhere unless Potter really was out of action. She had seen the man at close range and, simply put, she didn’t want to go anywhere near him. Unlike Gaston, she regarded Corner’s attack on him as a lucky fluke, not an indication that Potter was fallible. Hang it all, he should have been dead as a result; the coin should have set his body on fire, not completely fail.
She didn’t bother mentioning these misgivings to Gaston; he would simply tell her that the spy wouldn’t necessarily be able to get back to them anyway; that it wasn’t part of the plan; and they were strong enough to deal with Potter if they had to. No, their leader only had eyes for the prize: he was going to strike a blow at the heart of French appeasement, to show the Ministère de la Magie that they were a force to be reckoned with, and, if all went well, kill both Delacour and Banks, which would set this disgusting Anglo-French accord that was happening back a hundred years.
Eva had groaned when he had said all that at the pep-talk back at Marseille. What was it with French revolutionaries and their ridiculous flowery idealism? Still, she had willingly joined him; her fate was tied to his, so she really didn’t have much choice.
-#-
The guests had been asked to take their seats, and there was still no sign of Potter. Philippe accompanied Marie and Danielle Thibault into the ballroom, where the wedding was to be held, and at once realized why he had not seen Potter before: at the front of the room, standing in a line, were the groom, a white-blond who must be Draco Malfoy, and a boy who just had to be Potter on the end.
“Ooh la la!” Danielle exclaimed. “It seems Monsieur Nott must be indisposed. He was to be the other groomsman,” she explained to Philippe before he could even draw breath to ask, “but he has a bad arm. It must have flared up, I suppose. What a pity. Shall we sit here?”
Philippe looked at the seat she proposed. It was somewhat towards the back, on Angelique’s side – as befitted a school friend of the bride, he supposed. He plastered on a smile.
“That will do fine,” he said. “Let’s let the older folk have a better view,” he simpered, and be in the line of fire when the balloon goes up, he thought. For there was nothing for it now: the others would attack, come Hell or high water, so he really could only try to stay out of the way.
Madame Maxime, who was evidently presiding, entered the room and strode to the front. The strains of Treulich geführt rang out, and the whole congregation rose and looked to the back as Angelique Delacour entered on her father’s arm, followed by her two cousins.
It had begun.
-#-
French history is replete with failed attempts at insurgency of one type or another, of people fighting for ‘the cause’, and, as often as not, dying for it. One could put the Battle of Waterloo in that particular category; a rather spectacular and very visible failure, involving three armies and the death of many men. Or the student riots immortalized in Les Miserables, where young men died for a cause they believed to be truly noble.
The events of the fourteenth of November were entirely at the other end of the spectrum. They were never going to be on the same scale of course; Gaston had a total of eight soldiers in his raiding party as he was not expecting any real resistance. But more importantly, he wasn’t expecting Potter to be awake; Paquin’s potion should have had him sleeping soundly by half-way through the proceedings.
He was also expecting the element of surprise. So when he entered the ballroom under cover of a Notice-me-not charm, he was quite shocked to see Harry Potter, not sleeping but very much awake, and not watching the wedding oblivious to danger but clearly very watchful.
And another thing worked against the Frenchman. Harry was standing next to Draco. He saw straight through the charm, as he was expecting something of the sort, and grasped his husband’s hand. Instantly, a shimmering shield seemed to encompass the entire congregation, who for the most part seemed quite oblivious of it.
Gaspard stood transfixed, his mouth open. In front of him, huge swirls of almost transparent green and silver pulsed with energy, with thin lines of red light weaving them together. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and for a moment it made him quite forget why he was there. Then he awoke to himself with a snarl. It was lovely, yes, but it looked flimsy; he didn’t think it would stop a kneazle, much less one of his spells.
He cast a powerful confundus charm, intending to reduce the crowd before him to panic before they went in for the kill. His spell hit the shield … and was completely absorbed.
“Zut!” he swore to himself. It was clear that his stealth attack was doomed from the beginning. No, they were expected; his carefully-made plan had gone awry before it had really started. “This must be that Haussmann shield!”
“Yes indeed,” Eva replied with a sigh, all of her misgivings returning tenfold. Potter was bad news, pure and simple. She dropped her head in fearful resignation; she knew there was nothing to be done now.
And these were the only words that were spoken in the battle. For, while the attackers had been distracted by the shield, a group of French Aurors had snuck up behind them; and the next thing any of the Marseille gang knew was waking up in a cell in Paris.
They never saw freedom again.
-#-
Draco heaved a sigh of relief. Blaise was married. The wedding had gone off splendidly. Harry had been perfect as a groomsman; he’d managed to dance with Gabrielle Delacour, as tradition demanded, and not step on her feet, as politeness demanded. Draco suspected this was more down to her skill at dancing than his, but right now he was just happy that things had gone so well. Harry had even looked after Theo, going so far as to make sure the photographer took some pictures of the Slytherin in the groomsman role, which he didn’t really deserve. But, Draco mused, his husband was generous like that.
The reception had been delightful; the food, of course, was magnificent; the speeches were in the main a touch long, but they had all survived and now the formal business was over and there was nothing left but to enjoy themselves.
He found, wonder of wonders, a vacant chair next to his husband, and sat down.
“Champagne, m’sieur?” a waiter asked.
Draco began to refuse, but the man insisted, handing him a glass from the middle of the tray. “I think that will serve, sir?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Draco took a sniff. He knew that scent well, and smiled at the man.
“Thank you,” he said, and the waiter left tactfully.
Draco turned to his husband.
“It was you, wasn’t it.”
Harry looked at him for a second before he realized what was going on.
“The elderflower?” he asked. “Yep.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
He reached over and stroked Draco’s hair, and they enjoyed a moment of silence together.
“That man who was with Danielle Thibault seems to have vanished,” Harry said at last.
“He was part of the gang,” a voice said at his elbow, and he turned to find that Robin Banks had joined them.
“Ah, so your fears were not groundless after all,” Harry said with a smile.
Robin laughed. “No. But the whole thing was a non-event, really.”
“What was?” Draco asked, wondering just what he’d missed.
Harry explained about the conversation that he and Lucius had had with Robin back at the Malfoy chateau, and that he had seen the gang come in during the wedding.
“So that’s why you grabbed my hand. I did wonder,” Draco replied. “And the Shield appeared?”
Harry nodded.
“Wow,” Draco said, then admitted a little sheepishly, “I didn’t really notice.”
“Good,” Harry said. “You were there to look after Blaise. That was the important thing.”
Draco looked like he was going to protest; but Harry found a rather effective way to silence him.
“Hm hm,” another voice coughed as the kiss was threatening to become more intimate than was entirely appropriate, and Harry turned to see Lucius Malfoy looking both a little shocked and rather amused. “That’s enough of that, I think. Raven, I wonder if Hermione and I could have a word?”
Lucius waved in the direction of a table across the room a little, where Hermione was sitting by herself.
“Of course,” Harry replied. “Please excuse me,” he said to Draco and Robin, and rose and followed Lucius over to Hermione.
Robin watched them go.
“That man is an absolute godsend,” he remarked.
“I’m not about to disagree,” Draco said drily. “I just wish he’d slow down a bit. But he won’t. He’ll jump straight back into training on Monday.”
Robin looked surprised. “Has he not discussed that with you yet?”
Draco stared at him. “Discussed what?”
“He’s resigning from the Aurors.”
Draco let out a long breath.
“No, he hasn’t mentioned it.”
“Oh,” Robin said, realizing that perhaps he had spoken out of turn. “Well, no doubt he wanted to wait until tomorrow.”
“That’s probably it,” Draco agreed; but they both knew that neither of them really believed it …
-#-
True to form, Hermione was well into her explanation of what they had learnt during the week before Harry had properly sat down.
“Whoa!” he said. “Slowly, Hermione! So, there’s something about a lifted enchantment, and Luna thinks it has something to do with what?”
Lucius looked at him with an expression that Harry had never seen on his face before.
“Are you not aware of this enchantment?”
“No,” Harry replied blankly. “Should I be?”
“It makes sense,” Hermione remarked. “If it is due to Harry, I mean. He wouldn’t know, in that case.”
“Yes, I see,” Lucius replied. “So, Harry, Luna thinks it has something to do with what you did after the Battle of Hogwarts. When you broke the binding on Draco’s and my magic, and caused the Debt.”
Harry winced, and Lucius erupted into apology.
“Sorry, that was careless of me. Not your fault, I understand that. But can you remember what you said?”
“Hmm,” Harry said, closing his eyes and casting his mind back to that rather fateful day. “I remember … there wasn’t a spell as such, I just had the Elder wand and then …”
He stopped, but Lucius could guess why.
“It was the stone as well, wasn’t it?” he said softly.
Harry’s eyes opened wide and he stared at his father-in-law.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t know, I guessed,” Lucius admitted. “I saw you pocketing something afterward, and that was the only thing I could think of that made any sense.”
“Hang on,” Hermione said, “you had your cloak with you at the time, didn’t you?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said, a little wearily. “Do you think there was something to the story of the Hallows after all? That I was the Master of Death? Anyway,” he said, dismissing the speculation with a wave of his hand, “not important. I didn’t cast a spell, I was just angry that Voldemort had done this to Draco and I couldn’t think what to do, I just mumbled words out loud.”
“What words?” Lucius asked, and Harry could easily hear that the man’s patience was being sorely tried. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember. As he did so, he had a weird flashback to that day in May, and he could see the words floating in the air in front of him.
"Life … Wholeness ... Connection ... Belonging …" he said, then sat back and opened his eyes.
“Any ideas?”
But, if Hermione did have any, they were forestalled as Madame Maxime’s voice boomed out that it was time to proceed outside to watch the fireworks.
-#-
When they got outside, Draco hugged his husband close. Oh, they needed to talk, and he would have some sharp words about keeping secrets, but now it was Blaise’s celebration day, and he wasn’t going to ruin that.
“Are they Weasley fireworks?” Harry asked.
“Of course,” Draco answered. “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes have become the people to go to for fireworks. And I happen to know that Neville is making quite a name for himself designing them.”
“Really?” Harry asked. “That’s wonderful!”
Further conversation was rendered impossible as the noise of exploding powder filled the air. The display was indeed wonderful, with plenty of starbursts and rockets; and then things quietened down just a little and people started chatting again.
Big mistake.
With a huge ‘BANG!’ a green firework erupted, then seemed to twist and turn. Before their very eyes, it became recognizably a long, thin serpent, winding around in the air. As this happened, another loud bang heralded the arrival of a white starburst which formed itself into the shape of a Veela.
Harry laughed. “Of course!” he said. “The Slytherin and the Veela!”
But that was not the end of Neville’s inventiveness. The two colours, white and green, came together; the green swirled around and all of a sudden there were two snakes, and the white became a winged staff that the snakes twisted around; the Caduceus, the symbol of healers in both the Muggle and Magical worlds.
“The Caduceus symbol!” Auguste Delacour boomed out. “In honour of Blaise’s becoming a healer! Just brilliant!”
And it was.
With that, the night was all but over; the bride and groom departed and Draco and Harry, relieved of all duties, Flooed back to the Malfoy chateau where it was not long before they were in bed.
Harry fell asleep straight away; Draco took a little longer. He was still running on adrenalin, and needed time to settle down after all the events of the day. He cast his mind back to the calm at the end of the reception. He had to admit he was truly impressed by the magnificent fireworks of the night. He fell asleep hoping that there weren't going to be fireworks of a different sort tomorrow …

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
See http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/56042-review-replies-for-returning-to-sanity/ for review replies. Not that I got round to writing any, sorry!
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Returning to Sanity