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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
- 87
- 88
- 89
88.Returning to School
Warning: a little bit of a graphic description of the evils of morning sickness.

And more super sugary fluffy goodness.

Oh, and a lemon.

No-one knew it at the time, of course, but the weekend of Blaise and Angelique’s wedding turned out to be something of a watershed moment. Perhaps the most immediate evidence of this was the actions of Ivan Smetana, and their effects on two schools.
As the two visiting Durmstrang students had been invited to spend the weekend in France as well as attending the wedding, there had been no need for Ivan Smetana to perform chaperone duties; indeed, with the obvious rapport that had built amongst the Eighth Year students, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was surplus to requirements anyway. He had discussed this with the Charms Professor and the Headmistress. MacGonagall had readily agreed that he was welcome to do as he pleased over the weekend; Flitwick said he was quite happy to take on pastoral responsibility for the students, which he regarded himself as having anyway, and that, provided the Durmstrang Institute didn’t mind, there was no need for a representative specifically for the two gentlemen.
On the Saturday of the wedding, Smetana had travelled by portkey to the Durmstrang Institute itself, and asked for an interview with the Headmaster. This was granted promptly; Zoltan Koblens, the current Headmaster of Durmstrang and Karkaroff’s former deputy, was very interested in promoting ties with Hogwarts now that both Dumbledore – whom he had cordially detested – and Voldemort were out of the picture, so anything Smetana had to discuss with him was likely to be interesting.
In fact, the interview proved rather more interesting than he had thought. And certainly a lot longer; they talked for nearly four hours. Surprisingly, only the first half hour of that time was spent discussing their posts; once Karkaroff showed Koblens exactly who he was, the latter seemed to almost collapse with relief at the thought that he could hand back the Headmastership. That had brought a smile to Karkaroff’s lips; he had always thought that the man made an excellent Deputy but hopeless Head, and he was glad the man agreed with him. It helped, of course, that he hadn’t actually resigned from the Institute, and, being presumed dead, had never actually been formally fired from it; so technically, he was still Headmaster, and that seemed to sit very well with Zoltan.
The rest of the time was spent deciding exactly what changes would be made to the school, and how the Visiting programme with Hogwarts might be extended; together with careful consideration of exactly how to play the revelation that Karkaroff was back. In the end, it got around to dinner time; and Koblens suggested that the simplest expedient might be the best and they both went down to dinner together.
Behind the High Table at the Durmstrang Institute’s Great Hall there is a ceremonial robing room that the Masters use to adjust their robes before entering the Hall. Quite commonly, the Headmaster will wait in there until all the students are present, then walk to his place. At this point, the students and staff all stand as a mark of respect, and the Headmaster then sits and says a German phrase which translates roughly as ‘pray, be seated and be fed’; the assembled company generally fall in with this suggestion with alacrity, resuming the conversations they were having before they were interrupted. Today, however, it was Karkaroff who walked in, Karkaroff who sat down, and Karkaroff who said the phrase; instead of the usual taking of places, the entire company stood open-mouthed.
Karkaroff looked up at them.
“What?” he said in German, “I’m back!”
At this, the older students snapped out of their stupor. This was so much the old Headmaster that all doubt was removed in their minds, and they began to clap, haltingly at first, and then with enthusiasm. The applause was taken up by the whole room, including the entire staff.
When it finished, Karkaroff stood up and gestured to everyone to sit down.
“Thank you, everyone,” he said when the noise died down. “I am back; but things will not be as before. Deputy Headmaster Koblens and I have had long discussions about improving the school, and announcements will be made in due course. For now, I will say only that while I was away, I learnt some different ways of teaching and learning. The old arrogance that we know so well will be tempered from now on. We will no longer turn a blind eye to bullying as we have so often before; the weak deserve to be protected as much as the strong.
“But this is enough serious business for the evening. Eat!” he finished, throwing his arm up in a splendid gesture. A veritable feast appeared on the tables immediately, and for the next half hour there were no sounds but those of contented eating.
It was a thoughtful group of students who went to bed that night. Clearly, the future was going to be a stranger place than they had expected; but the general feeling was positive. Headmaster Karkaroff had always been held in high regard, after all.

Sunday 15 November
Draco woke up far too early for a Sunday morning.
He propped himself up on one elbow, and watched his husband sleep on, oblivious. After, Robin Banks’s bombshell about Harry quitting the Aurors, Draco found himself in two minds as he watched the even rhythm of Harry’s breathing. One part of him found it just too cute for words and wanted to snuggle up with Harry and hold him close and not let go, celebrating how much more they could be together now that Harry didn’t have to go to the Ministry any more. The other part wanted to shake his husband awake and ask him just exactly what he thought he was doing, giving up Auror training without even discussing it with him.
In the end, though, it was a different faction of his mind that won out: the faction that said ‘I have to go pee RIGHT NOW!’. Had he been in an observant frame of mind, he might have felt rather chuffed at just how fast he could leap out of bed, and rather amazed that Harry could sleep through him doing so.
It was only when he got to the ensuite that he realised there was another thing he really should have remembered before jumping out of bed quite so energetically. For the last few days, he had been taking anti-nausea potions, but last night, with the emotional rollercoaster of Blaise and Angelique’s wedding, Theo’s arm, and learning about Harry quitting the Aurors, he had clean forgotten to do so. And his stomach was making it very clear that this was a bad oversight. A very bad oversight indeed.

Harry woke to find the sun streaming onto his bed. He turned over, hunting blindly for Draco; but it seemed his bed was empty. He sat up groggily and snatched his glasses from the bedside table. He put them on and blinked. The room was entirely too bright, he decided. And just where was his husband?
A noise came from the ensuite and all at once it was all too clear just where Draco was, and what he was doing. Harry leapt from the bed and ran to find his husband, as he had guessed, sitting on the floor, bent over the toilet bowl, throwing up. He quickly wet a flannel and went over to the man, carefully pulling his hair back from his face so it didn’t get messed up, and rubbed his neck and forehead with the flannel.
After a few minutes, Draco’s retching seemed to be subsiding, and Harry called for a house-elf.
“Yes, Master Harry,” the small creature answered when she arrived. “How can Zetty be helping the young masters?”
Harry snorted, just managing to make it sound like a cough. By not letting Hermione hear you talking like that, for one thing, he thought; but he knew by now that the poor thing couldn’t help it. It was how house-elves thought; to them, it was an honour that he asked for things, not a position of slavery.
“Could you please fetch some soda water with elderflower for Draco?” he asked.
The small creature’s eyes went very wide and round, and Harry could see she was near tears.
“Master Harry is so kind,” she whispered. “Zetty will be right back.”
As she popped away, Harry pulled his husband into his arms and wiped his mouth with the flannel.
“All done?” he asked.
“Mmm – yeah,” Draco replied somewhat incoherently as he rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry finished cleaning him, lifted him up, and carried him to bed, where he found the cordial he had requested waiting for them on the bedside table. He held the glass to Draco’s lips and he drank greedily, then snuggled into Harry’s warm embrace.
Harry chuckled.
“OK, back to sleep, I get it,” he said. But Draco didn’t hear; he was already asleep.

“Awake at last, Potter,” he heard from across the room.
This wasn’t good. Draco only called him ‘Potter’ like that when he wanted to make a point of some sort. By the sound of it, he was sitting in one of the pair of armchairs by the window. And he was pissed off.
“Draco?” he asked. “What’s up?”
“We need to talk,” his husband replied. He looked over to see that, despite it being Sunday, the day he liked to lounge in bed as long as possible, Draco was fully dressed, even though, despite their earlier adventures, it was not yet nine o’clock.
“Sure,” he agreed. “But I need to do a couple of things first.”
Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, Harry sat in the other armchair across from Draco.
“I guess,” he said, “we kind of need to talk about the future. I, um, came to some decisions after the Auror camp.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. From what Robin had hinted, he had expected that Harry would prevaricate, and they would have an argument; had he misjudged the situation so badly?
“I see,” he said, impassively. “And you didn’t mention this before because …”
“Well, because, when would I have, really,” Harry replied. “We didn’t see each other on Friday, and then yesterday was Blaise’s day and you were busy helping him, and I really didn’t want to sit you down for a heart-to-heart in the middle of that.”
“I see,” Draco said, and the iciness that had been in his voice was definitely wavering. He looked at Harry and all at once Harry recognised the expression: his husband was nervous. “So, you weren’t trying to hide anything from me?”
Harry was astonished. Was this really what had got Draco all worked up?
“No, Dragon, of course not,” he replied. And then he worked it out. “Someone told you, didn’t they?”
Draco looked at him like a unicorn startled by a late-night Lumos. He seemed to have gone from nervous to frightened; instead of a verbal answer, he simply nodded.
“And so you were worried that this was all about keeping secrets,” he said with a sigh. He walked over to his husband and, ignoring his slight protests, picked him up, sat in the chair, and cuddled him on his lap.
“No secrets, Dragon,” he said reassuringly. “Of course I was going to tell you about it. Of course we’re going to talk about it, and decide where we go from here, and what we’re going to do. Together.”
By now, Draco had started shuddering and sobbing.
“Do we need to get you to a healer?” Harry asked, beginning to wonder if perhaps there was something seriously wrong with his husband and their children.
Draco shook his head and held his husband’s hands tight as he managed to bring his emotions back under control.
“I’m sorry,” he said, once he had calmed down. “It’s just … “ Here Draco took a deep breath, then continued, “Robin said that you were giving up being in the Aurors, and I got angry because you hadn’t talked to me about it. You’ve wanted to be an Auror throughout Hogwarts, and I felt you were just giving up your dream because of me. I’m sorry.”
Harry rocked Draco gently in his arms.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Dragon,” he said softly. “You were worried and concerned, I get that; and we can talk it out and deal with it. Only, do you think we could lie down? This chair isn’t so good for my back.”
Draco got up, giving him a weak smile, and they made their way back to bed. He called Zetty, asking for tea and toast, and that they not be disturbed for a while.
“Now,” Harry said, “it’s Robin who’s been talking out of turn, is it?”
Draco flushed bright red. “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Oh, I think you should,” Harry said. “But I think we’ve done the apologies. We were both at fault, and forgiven?”
It was both a statement and a question, and Draco nodded his agreement.
“Good,” Harry said. “And as for Robin, I’ll chat with him later,” he continued, in a voice that bode no good for the Auror.
Draco chuckled. “So,” he asked, a little diffidently, “you’re giving up what you always wanted?”
“What I was always pushed into,” Harry corrected. “The last couple of weeks have convinced me that the reality is not what I had envisaged at all. I was still trying to live other people’s dreams for me.”
Draco sat up on his elbow and eyed his husband with a serious expression on his face.
“So, you’re not really giving up your dream, my Raven?”
“No,” Harry replied strongly. And then he paused. There was something else behind this, he was sure of it. And then it hit him what it must be.
“And I’m definitely not going to want you to give up yours, Dragon. You’re going to be a Potions Master extraordinaire, and I’ll do everything I can to help you, to keep the four of us happy and safe.”
As he said ‘four’, Harry rubbed his hands over Draco’s little bump. Draco smiled and placed his hands over his husband's, rubbing along with him. He knew, all the time, that the babies were there; but there were definitely times when it seemed more real than others; and Harry saying that definitely made this one of those times. And it gave him a warm feeling that Harry really was thinking about him and the babies as much as himself.
“Yeah, being an Auror might not be that safe,” he said, a touch flippantly.
Harry laughed and nuzzled his husband, giving him a quick kiss, before putting his own serious face on.
“The truth is, really don’t want to be some kind of hit wizard, Draco. I guess, really, the thing I want most is what I have with you, and Mum and Dad, and the Weasleys, and Andromeda and Teddy: a family that I belong to. And a society that is working together to be whole, not splintering into factions over – well, it was blood status, but it could be anything else. Magical power, for example. I don’t want a society where anyone is seen as special in a way that excludes others. I want a world we can all live in, and belong to, and feel part of, and make up a whole.”
Draco hugged his husband very tight.
“My love,” he said softly, “you really are too good to be true.”

Sunday morning saw Igor Karkaroff walking into Gringotts, his Ivan Smetana glamour nowhere to be seen. He examined the Sword of Gryffindor in the centre of the banking lobby. It affected him far more than he had thought it would. If there could be such a rapprochement between Goblins and Wizards that the priceless heirloom could be returned here, then maybe there really was hope that everything could be undone and he could return to Wizarding society without hiding any more. As he gazed on the sword, he suddenly knew for certain what he had only thought before: that this was what he desperately wanted – an end to skulking around and playing a part. He wanted to be himself again.
He stood patiently in line, rather pleased that everyone seemed to ignore him; at least until he was called to a teller. He walked up to the ugly creature sitting on its high stool – Nagrik, if the name on the block of wood on the counter was correct – and found beady eyes staring at him intently.
“We were told you were dead,” the goblin said without preamble.
“You were told wrong,” he replied with no more ceremony.
The goblin pursed his lips, then jumped down from his stool and ran off. He stopped at the double doors at the far end of the lobby and turned back to Karkaroff.
“Well, come on,” he said curtly. “We haven’t got all day.”
“Very well,” Karkaroff said with a put-upon sigh; but inwardly he was smirking. He had managed to fluster a goblin; that didn’t happen every day.

Fred and George were rather surprised when the Malfoy owl landed on the breakfast table and proffered an elaborate-looking scroll at them. It was so unexpected that they seemed to be frozen in place, and it fell to Neville to actually relieve the owl of its burden and offer it a piece of bacon. The owl took the offering a little gingerly, rather in the manner of a master accepting a gift from a servant, dipped its head at Neville, and then flew off.
“Blimey!” Fred said. “Even their owls have got that supercilious thing down pat!”
George smirked, then turned to his husband.
“Come on, Neville,” he said. “What does it say?”
“Ooh!” said Angelina as she walked out of the bathroom, tying her bathrobe up. “That looks posh!” she said, taking a seat while Fred poured her a cup of tea.
“Not another wedding invitation? Or perhaps a birth announcement or something?” Fred speculated.
“Actually,” Neville replied, “it doesn’t really say. It’s an invitation to afternoon tea, but there’s no reason given.”
Just then the Floo flared. It was Ginny.
“Hello!” she said brightly. “The strangest thing just happened.”
“What’s that, Gin?” Fred asked.
“Robin and I have received an invitation to afternoon tea at the Malfoys’ chateau in France.”
“Oh I say,” George said, affecting an upper-class accent. “How spiffing for you. I do hope you have a nice new frock to wear?”
Ginny let out an ‘eep!’, then realised her leg was being pulled.
“George Weasley!” she said in the stern tone that she seemed to have inherited from her mother.
“It’s alright, Gin,” Neville cut in, sensing a family row brewing between the two rather feisty Weasleys and wanting none of it. “I’ll sort him out. And we’ve been invited too.”
“Really?” Ginny said, her face pensive. “I wonder what they’re up to… Well!" she continued after a slight pause. “I must go and check my frocks. I’ll look out a nice one for you, too, George. Bye!”
And, before her brother could react, the call was ended.
Neville turned back to the twins to see Fred shaking in silent mirth and George with an unreadable expression on his face.
“You’ll sort me out, will you?” he asked calmly; and then his voice changed as he asked, “Promise?”
Neville let out an ‘eep!’ of his own and beat a hasty retreat back to his bedroom.
George smirked. Neville clearly hadn’t thought this through; after all, he shared the bedroom with George. And what better place to sort things out, the way George had in mind?
“I suspect Neville and I will occupied until lunchtime,” he said lasciviously before gathering up some of their more adult prank items and joining his husband in the bedroom.
“Ah,” Fred said, with an entirely bogus sigh in his voice. “Young love!”
“Indeed,” Angelina said rather drily. “Any idea where I might find me some of that?”
“Ah, my lady,” Fred replied with a wink, “I am at your disposal.”
Half an hour later, Neville found himself blindfolded, naked, and tied to the bed, being tickled with a feather that sent little sparks through his skin every time it touched. The lack of sight seemed to have his other senses working overtime; he was feeling everything so much more when he couldn’t see where the feather would touch next.
“George!” he begged. “Stop it!”
“Oh, come on love,” came the reply, “I can tell you don’t really mean it. This,” and here he took hold of Neville’s very hard erection, “is telling me just how much you’re truly enjoying it.”
“George,” Neville whined, “how am I going to ‘sort you out’ if I can’t touch you?”
In answer, the redhead spelled them both naked, except for the cuffs that Neville was wearing. As he did so, the blindfold came off and Neville was greeted by the sight of his husband kneeling astride him, his pupils wide-blown with lust and a very smug smirk on his face. The redhead whispered a quick lubricating charm and inched himself slowly down onto Neville’s hard member, groaning in pleasure as he did.
Neville couldn‘t believe how good it felt – here he was, practically unable to move, longing to reach up and touch his husband, but forced to lie back and enjoy it. It was obvious that his husband was enjoying it as much as he was; he would have loved to help out by stroking George’s very aroused cock, but the binds made that impossible, so he just lay back and enjoyed the view. As George lifted up again, Neville took advantage of the slight freedom he now had to push up with his pelvis, which had George letting out a loud, and very satisfying moan.
“Ohh Neville!” he screamed as he pushed down again and again, the sheer pleasure of his husband inside him quickly sending him into sheer bliss. As he climaxed, his muscles milked Neville of his orgasm too, and the two of them collapsed in ecstasy. Fortunately, George had the presence of mind to spell away the bindings before they fell into a deep, sated sleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

In the end, Harry and Draco surfaced just before lunchtime. They found Lucius and Narcissa sitting in the conservatory on the south-facing side of the chateau. The area clearly got a lot of winter sun, and was well-sheltered; for, despite the sharp November weather, it was actually quite warm. The sun, Harry thought, and some very good heating charms, I suspect. It was still hard for him, even after all these years in the Wizarding world, to remember just how much could be achieved with magic; but then, perhaps, ten formative years spent without it might be expected to take a while to overcome.
“Harry, Draco, good morning,” Narcissa greeted them pleasantly, then, seeing Harry’s face, stopped. “Harry dear, are you all right?”
“What?” Harry said as he sat down with his in-laws. “I mean, sorry, yes, I’m fine, I was just thinking a bit too much…”
“About?” Lucius prodded.
“Oh,” Harry said with a self-deprecating laugh, “magic, actually. About how warm it is in here, and then of course there are heating charms. It often takes me a while to remember I can do it, because for so long I wasn’t aware I could.”
Lucius sighed. He felt the Debt pulling at him; this must be affecting Harry more than he was saying. But he’d done all he could about it. He looked over at his son, to find Draco already looking at him with a rather knowing expression on his face.
“It’s all right, guys,” Harry said.
“There are heating charms, but also some mulled wine. Would you like some?”
“I don’t know,” Harry replied, “I’ve never tried it before.”
“Well,” Narcissa said, her voice bright but just a touch brittle as she ladled some wine from a punchbowl into a goblet for him, “now would be a good time to try.”
Harry sipped the drink cautiously; it was hot and sweet and spicy, and he found he really liked it, so took a couple of large mouthfuls.
“Mmm, this is really good, thanks,” he said.
“Indeed,” Draco replied with a grin, “but do be careful: the alcohol tends to get you if you drink too much at once.”
“OK,” Harry said, moderating from the gulps he had just been taking. “Um, did you enjoy the wedding, Narcissa?”
“Oh yes, I did, very much,” Narcissa replied. The change of subject might have been very unsubtle, but that did not make it unwelcome. “The Weasley boys seem to do miracles with their fireworks, don’t they?”
“I heard,” Draco chimed in, “that the design was actually by Neville Longbottom.”
“Is he still a Longbottom?” Harry wondered. “Or did they hyphenate?”
“Yes he is, and no they didn’t,” Draco replied crisply. Harry wasn’t surprised that he knew; it was exactly the sort of detail that was critically important to a pure-blood.
“Hmm,” Lucius said. “I wonder why he used the Caduceus then.”
“The what?” Harry asked. “Oh, was that the winged stick thing with the snakes?”
Draco giggled. “Yes, Harry,” he replied. “The symbol of Hermes, the messenger of the Gods. And often mistaken for the Staff of Asclepius, which has only one snake but no wings, and is the symbol of healing.”
“I’ve never heard of that. Is this the kind of thing pure-bloods learn?” Harry asked, a trifle defensively.
“Well, I suppose so,” Lucius replied. “We do tend to drill our children in Latin and Greek, and discuss the cultures that those languages belong to. Which is why I should have thought that Mr Longbottom, being a pure-blood, would have been well-acquainted with the difference.”
“Perhaps you could ask him this afternoon,” Narcissa commented.
Harry very nearly spluttered out the wine he was drinking at this remark.
“This afternoon?” he asked. “What’s happening this afternoon?”
“Well,” Draco drawled, “mother suggested we might have a little get-together of our friends and make a small announcement.”
“Oh,” Harry said, and then, after a beat, “what announcement?”
“Exactly why I’m not drinking wine,” Draco replied.

The elderly goblin in the room Karkaroff was lead into flinched when he saw him.
“Ah, Grornik,” Karkaroff said as he saw him, “still here I see, and as obnoxious as ever by your scowl.”
“It really is you, isn’t it,” the goblin replied resignedly as Nagrik beat a hasty retreat out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
“Did you miss me?” Karkaroff asked with a smirk.
“No,” the goblin said bluntly. “Mr Karkaroff, in light of certain … reports … we received, we have taken actions deemed appropriate at the time; we will require an indemnity from you before proceeding.”
So saying, the goblin held out a piece of parchment to him. Karkaroff took it and read it carefully.
“So, basically, you want me to sign away my rights to sue you for actions that you might have taken once it was announced that I was dead?” he asked in a conversational tone.
Senior Account Manager Grornik nodded.
“Quill?” he asked, and he was handed one. He made to sign; but before the quill touched the parchment, it burst into crimson flames.
Grornik blanched. He recognised those flames and the one charm that produced just that shade. Karkaroff grinned. An evil, predatory grin, that quite matched the worst that the goblins could do.
“It would appear that the Fair Dealing charm doesn’t accept your terms,” he said. “Looks like we’re just going to have to trust one another, after all.”
“Wh- What … “ the goblin stammered out, “what do you want?”
Karkaroff’s face became serious.
“Have no fear,” he said. “I have taken up Headmastership of Durmstrang again; as such, I wish to be on good terms will all of the Magical world. Including the Goblins of Gringotts. I wish to check my accounts, confirm that all is in order, and then …”
“Yes?” the goblin asked, his breathing noticeably calmer after this speech, though he was still worried about what the man might pull out. But, whatever he might have expected, the answer he got still floored him.
“Then I would like to have a chat with Mr William Weasley.”

Despite its large size, the formal drawing room was one of the most exquisite rooms of Malfoy chateau. This was largely due to the lovely antique furniture and the amazing paintings on the walls and ceiling. Its grandeur was famous throughout wizarding Europe. But Narcissa had somehow managed to make it sublime simply by the choice of tablecloths and china. The room was set out with several small tables, which somehow managed to give it an intimate feeling, despite being quite large by drawing-room standards.
Practically everyone who had been at the wedding the previous day, barring of course Blaise and Angelique, had been invited to this special afternoon tea. Practically everyone wondered just what their hosts were up to, and, curiosity piqued, had turned up. And practically all the guests had been rendered speechless on entry. But now, with the generous provision of alcohol and the gentle politeness of the Malfoys and Malfoy-Potters, there was a general hubbub of happy chatter.
The Zabinis and Delacours arrived together, in a group that included both Ambassador Banks and his wife, and Robin and Ginny. The Auror was not at all surprised that Harry made a beeline for the group; he was a good friend, after all. It was a little more surprising when Harry asked if he could have a private word.
“What’s that about?” Ginny asked Draco as Robin and Harry disappeared into a quiet corner.
“Ah,” Draco said with a mischievous smirk. “I think Robin is going to learn a few things about not speaking out of turn.”
And indeed it was a rather apologetic and red-faced Auror Banks who returned to the group.
“My son? Is all well?” Viridis Banks asked.
In answer, Robin turned to Draco.
“I apologise for words spoken out of turn,” he said.
“No lasting harm done,” Draco said, and grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray, handing it to Robin while unostentatiously taking a sparkling apple juice for himself. “Drink?”
Harry grinned. This was what friendship was supposed to be like: sure, people did things that perhaps they shouldn’t; but they apologised for them, and were forgiven. He smiled at Ambassador Banks, who lifted his glass in salute.
It was perhaps ten minutes later, while Harry was chatting with Auguste Delacour, that Neville, Angelina and the twins arrived; seeing his friend reminded him of a question he had.
“Hey Neville,” he called out, “question for you.”
Neville walked over to them.
“Fire away,” he said.
“Your fireworks were brilliant, mate; but I learned today that the symbol of medicine is the Staff of Asclepius, with only one snake and no wings. So how come you used the Caduceus?”
Auguste almost choked on his wine as he heard this question. He looked hard at Harry.
“Surely it eez obvious?” he said.
“Sorry, Monsieur Delacour,” Neville said quickly, before Harry could take umbrage, “but Harry was brought up by Muggles so there’s lots he doesn’t know about Pureblood customs.”
“Of course,” the diplomat replied. “Forgive me, Harry. You see, the Caduceus is the staff of Hermes, the Messenger of the Gods; but wizards have long used it as a symbol of the joyous messages that come when a little baby is announced. So what Neville was saying, perhaps, is that he hopes we will soon hear such messages?”
Neville smirked. “That’s about it. And, of course, Veela have wings, while Blaise is studying medicine, so it seemed to work for both of those.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Do you think you could conjure the design for us?”
“Sure,” Neville said, and waved his wand. A swirl of light came out of the end of it, splitting into three; two twirled around the other and it was not long before the Caduceus symbol was in the air in front of them.
“Ooh!” George Weasley said as he saw it. “Is someone pregnant?”
Lucius stood up, recognising a brilliant cue when he saw one. “Thank you all for coming,” he began, and the talking ceased. Lucius might not be quite so scary now as he had been during the war, but he still commanded respect. “I’m glad you’re all enjoying yourselves, and I promise there will be no speeches, just an announcement, which I see has been foreshadowed a little.”
“So tell us, Lucius,” Fred Weasley piped up. “Are you pregnant then?”
Not that much respect then, it seemed. This remark generated a ripple of laughter through the room until Draco stood up.
“No, he isn’t,” the blond said calmly. “I am.”
If you get it just right, there is a moment when you touch a lighted match to parchment that nothing seems to happen; then it erupts into flames. There was a similar effect here: there was a stunned silence in the room for nearly a full minute as people looked at Draco to see that he was, in fact, deadly serious.
“PREGNANT?” Neville exclaimed when he recovered from the shock announcement. “But … how? When?”
Draco smirked at him. “Well, Neville,” he said calmly, “I’m sure you’re aware of just what activities lead to pregnancy.”
The room erupted into laughter again while Neville blushed bright red as the memories of just exactly what he had George had been up to that morning came back with a vengeance. He looked around the room to see if anyone could give a more sensible answer, but no-one seemed to be offering any other explanation. He looked at his host and hostess, but each of them gave a shake of the head. His gaze eventually settled on Hermione; but it seemed that, for once, even the bushy-haired brunette was stumped. She shook her head, looking pained, almost mournful, that she couldn’t answer.
“As for when,” Draco continued, “on our wedding night, apparently. So the due date is late June or early July. If, that is, it happens like a normal pregnancy.”
“How could anything you two do be normal?” Fred asked.
Harry laughed. “There’s just one other thing to add,” he said. “I don’t know if it makes us more abnormal or not; but we’re having twins…”
After this, the room descended into chaos as all of their friends seemed to want to hug them and kiss them and generally make a fuss of them.
It took many minutes before the noise died down to the point where people could actually talk to each other; but as soon as he could, Neville grabbed Hermione and sat down with her, Ron taking a seat next to his wife. It didn’t surprise either of them that Harry and Draco sat with them; even in this gathering, the close friends were sticking together.
“Are you seriously telling me you have no idea how this happened?” he asked.
And as he asked it suddenly struck Hermione that what he was really asking was for hope for him and George to become parents, and as she realised that her insides melted with love for the poor boy.
“I’m sorry, Neville,” she said simply, “but we have no clue. Unless Harry and Draco are hiding something from us?”
Draco, sitting opposite, thought back to their wedding night.
“There was a voice…” he began, then stopped.
“You never told me this,” Harry complained.
“Well, it was kind of freaky…”
“Well, duh,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.
“Second year,” Hermione hissed at Draco, and suddenly the memory of how Harry had heard the Basilisk that lived in the Chamber of Secrets, and his face went scarlet with embarrassment at his gaffe. Of course his husband would understand hearing voices!
“Right,” he said, getting himself resolutely under control. “I watched you with Teddy and Miriam during the reception, and was thinking what a brilliant father you’d make and how I wished I could give you children. And then this voice said, ‘Would you really, if you could?’
“And the funny thing is, I was sure I’d heard it before. It felt, I don’t know, …”
“Trustworthy?” Harry said, and Draco looked at him, and knew at once that Harry must have heard the same voice at some point too.
“Yeah,” Draco replied. “And I thought that of course I would; and he said ‘You have to say it.’. So I did.”
“You said you wanted to have his children?” Ron asked.
Draco blushed.
“Actually, I said I'd do anything for him. Anything at all," he admitted. “And then there was a red light, and I fell asleep.”
“Wow,” Hermione said, and you could almost see the cogs turning in her head.
“Yeah,” George, who had come to stand behind his husband while they were talking. “Looks like we need to get us a red nightlight.”
The group dissolved into laughter. But two of them weren’t laughing; Harry saw the gleam in Hermione’s eyes and knew there would be follow-up questions. Lots and lots of them.
But he wasn’t laughing either. He gathered his husband into his arms, put his head on his shoulder and quietly began to cry. Draco, understanding what was going on, gently patted him and whispered words of comfort into his ear.
How could he laugh? His husband had just publically declared that he would do anything for him. And it was humbling, and stirring, and fucking amazing.
It took ‘life’ and ‘wholeness’ and ‘connectedness’ and ‘belonging’ to a whole new level. For the little boy who had never been wanted, whose relatives had scarcely ever done anything for him, and never if they could help it, it gave a whole new lease of life to a tired and jaded word.
It meant that Draco loved him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
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