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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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Notes:

"Elijah … will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers; or else I will come and strike the land with a curse."
Malachi 4:6
WARNINGS: This chapter is a bit non-linear in order to introduce a new character.There is a reference to a graphic death scene.

Andreas Nott blended into the South African landscape as though he had been born there. Tall, lean, blond and tanned, he found he was accepted as 'one of us' everywhere he went. And, truth to tell, he adored it. The famous to the point of legendary South African hospitality had proved to be entirely real; after eight years, he was beginning to feel that, like the trees he loved, he had put down roots.
He felt a true sense of belonging here. A sense he had never had back in the land of his birth. No, in England, he had been shunned and reviled. For Andreas was a Squib. His family had been given the final confirmation one dark and stormy October evening; the four-year old had found himself on the doorstep of an orphanage that very night. It had not taken him long to realise how his world worked: rejected by his family, he had never been picked by anyone else, and had left the orphanage at sixteen, a bitter youth hell-bent on revenge against his family.
But it isn't that easy; how can a Squib wreak vengeance against wizards? Even when he tracked them down, which took him five years, he still couldn't enter his family's properties: the wards had been crafted well, and there was no-one to help him. In desperation, he had sought out the Wizarding World, having heard rumours of a community somewhere in London; but even when he found Diagon Alley, there was still no-one to help. Everyone was caught up in some kind of war, which surprised him greatly, as there was no news about it at all in what he was now calling the 'Muggle' world.
So he had retreated back into the Muggle world and started to make a life for himself. He married one of the other former orphans, and settled back to enjoy life. A son came along a couple of years later, and he had begun to believe that perhaps his life might actually be worth living.
And then his son turned two, and all hell had broken loose.
For it turned out that his son, his lovely Adam, was a Wizard. On his second birthday, he had managed to use accidental magic to levitate a piece of birthday cake to him. While Andreas was very proud, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end to think of what his family might do if they ever found out …
It was a bitter blow that it had taken him five years to find his family, but it took them less than a day to find him. Most people at the birthday party seemed not to have noticed, or to have assumed they were just imagining things; but, unknown to Andreas and Candace, one mother was a witch, who happened to mention the incident to her husband, who happened to mention it to his friend Godfrey Nott …
He still remembered the day as though it were yesterday. The knock on the door had come soon after dawn, and, followed by a very inquisitive Adam, he opened up, still bleary-eyed, to find his parents standing on the doorstep. His mother, that vicious, cold-hearted bitch, had demanded he hand over the child. 'The child.' Her very words. She did not even know his name, and yet she arrogantly stood there and demanded him, all because Adam had magic and Andreas did not.
When he refused, she had simply placed Andreas in a full body-bind. And then his beloved Candace, who had intuited that all was not well, raced in and, screaming, had clasped Adam to her bosom and declared that they would take Adam over her dead body. His mother had been only too pleased to oblige, stunning her and then ripping the terrified, sobbing boy from her arms before cutting her throat with a severing charm.
It had taken two hours for the body-bind to wear off; two hours standing there, staring at Candace's lifeless body. As soon as he was free, he packed up everything he valued and left, taking the next flight for Johannesburg. It wasn't until half-way through the flight that it hit him just how stupid he had been: of course the police would find the body, and no doubt there would be a welcoming committee to meet him in South Africa, just ready to extradite him back to the United Kingdom.
He still remembered that fateful meeting with the Customs official when he landed at Jan Smuts International Airport, as it had been called then. As he feared, he had been called aside into a private office. He fully expected the police to be there ready to cuff him; he was shocked when instead the official sat next to him and offered him a cup of coffee, and his open hand.
"Hi," he'd said with a broad grin. "I'm Dirk Coetzee. Tell me what you're running away from."
It had been the beginning of a wonderful and lasting friendship. It turned out that Dirk wasn't there to arrest him at all. He was a Muggle-born wizard; it seemed that many magical people entered South Africa, and Dirk had got himself a job in Customs mainly to intercept them and guide them into one of the burgeoning magical communities. So of course the man was quite expert at spotting Magicals, including, it seemed, squibs.
When Andreas told him the story what was now the previous day's events, Dirk's face had darkened with rage.
"Bastards!" he had said, softly, too softly, the voice of a man just holding himself together.
Andreas had been shocked. He'd imagined being arrested and locked up, then extradited back to the United Kingdom; it had never crossed his mind that anyone would simply accept his story.
"You believe me?" he said.
"We hear stories like this from your country too often to doubt that you are telling the truth," Dirk had replied, and the acceptance and friendship just grew from there. Two weeks later, he found himself part of a small magical community just outside Capetown, with his own house, and a job at a local plant nursery, run by Dirk's father. The latter had rather surprised him; he'd been an office worker in England. But here, he discovered, he could be whatever he wanted, and he had found he had something of a gift with plants.
He'd been in the job for six months when the boss pulled him aside.
"Andy," he'd asked, "are you happy here?"
"Absolutely, Mr Coetzee!"
"Good to hear!" the warm-hearted man exclaimed. "I have to say, I don't know how you do it; I've watched you over the last few months moving the potted trees around, changing the fertilizers, doing all sorts of things. I didn't understand it; but I go by results. Your trees are doing better than any I've ever seen. Keep it up."
And that had been his one-and-only formal review. Old man Coetzee didn't go for formality very much; if you were doing something wrong, he'd soon tell you, and if he didn't, that meant he was happy. Andreas looked back on the experience quite fondly. He'd even gotten a pay rise out of it.
And he was still here, working for the same firm – now a major supplier of trees world-wide – and still enjoying the country very much. The only fly in the ointment was the memories that surfaced from time to time. Especially, of Candace. Somehow he had felt closer to her then than ever before. Something had happened; from that point on, he seemed drawn to where things were wrong. He couldn't explain it; but he knew when a tree needed to be rotated a bit, or have a particular branch lopped; and he knew when people particularly needed a kind word or a telling off, and gave both freely. All his friends commented on how empathetic he was, and, apart from the memories, it had made for a happy life.
He just tried not to think about Candace and Adam. He tried. Perhaps, one day, he would manage it.
ooOOoo
Vernon Dursley didn't get much sleep these days. Not that anybody forced him to get up; he had just slipped into an easy rhythm of cleaning during the day and walking the floors at night. The orphanage didn't mind; it saved them a security guard wage, he supposed.
Sometimes on these nocturnal walks he would come across something interesting – a child trying to sneak into the kitchens was the most common thing. He always made a bit of a noise if he heard them, and they managed to scurry away before he caught them at it. This suited him just fine; exactly what he would have done with them if he'd caught them was unclear, and in truth he'd rather not find out. He'd have to tell the Director, of course, but that was not without its risks. He was given a grudging measure of respect by the children now; he would sooner not lose it by being seen as what they called a 'dibber-dobber'.
But tonight had been one of the strangest events yet. He'd been passing the ten-year-olds' dormitory when he heard one of the boys speaking out loud. He popped his head in to see the young lad was sound asleep, but clearly in the grip of a bad dream. As he watched, the boy sat bolt upright.
"No!" he screamed. "No! You can't take me! I won't go!"
"Who's trying to take you?" Vernon asked softly.
The boy wimpered. "No, grandmother, don't hurt me. I'll be good, Grandmother Messalina!"
And with that, the boy fell down, fast asleep.
Vernon's face twisted. As far as he knew, Tony had no known family. No-one in the orphanage did; wizarding children seemed to be treasured, in his observation.
What to do? He hardly had enough evidence to bring to the Director, he decided; it's not like he actually wanted to talk to the man. No, he'd just have to wait and see if he could find out any more.
ooOOoo
Andreas's little world had been rather shaken up when Theodore and Pansy Nott arrived. At Dirk's suggestion, he hadn't ever told anyone his real name, choosing to use his son's name as a surname instead and styling himself Andreas Adams. This had turned out to be a very good idea; he had now met a couple of other Notts in the community, but fortunately there had been no suspicion about any family resemblance or anything – it helped that he took after his mother's family more than his father's in looks. Also, the Notts who had come to South Africa were not near relations of his father, so he felt no particular need to let them know who he really was.
But when it came to Theo, things were a bit different. He had no quarrel with that part of the family. Quite the opposite: he remembered Theo's grandfather quite well; the man had been kind to him, given him sweets and such, and, much more importantly, had argued with his parents when he was suspected of being a squib and even offered to take care of him. So he had slowly sussed out Theo over a few weeks.
Eventually, at one of the braais that they were always having, he pulled together his courage and sat next to his distant cousin.
"Tell me," he asked, "have you ever heard of a wizarding couple called Godfrey and Messalina Nott?"
Theo's eyes darkened at once. "Yes," he said, with venom in his voice.
"Not, I think, friends of yours?"
Theo gave an ugly grin.
"Er, no," Theo replied. "I've met them a few times at family gatherings. They're horrible people. My grandfather hated his cousin Godfrey with a passion."
"I see," Andreas said, looking thoughtful. "Was there a particular reason for that?"
"There was a son," Theo replied. "In fact, I think he might have been called Andreas too. But he was a squib, and they chucked him out."
Theo said this with such disdain that there was no doubting his feeling on the matter.
"And then, to top it off, I heard that he had a son who is magical – so his grandparents went and took him off his parents."
"What?" Andreas ejaculated, managing to have just the right look of astonishment and distaste on his face. "You don't say!"
"Yes," Theo replied. "Despicable." And then the epiphany happened to Theo, and his eyes went wide. "Hang on," he said. "How long did you say you've been here?"
"Just over eight years," Andreas replied, well aware of where Theo was going.
"And you're a squib called Andreas?" Theo said, giving him a hard stare.
The real question hardly needed to be asked.
"Yes," Andreas replied, in answer to both questions. "Yes, I was once Andreas Nott, and Messalina is my mother, and she killed my wife, my beautiful Candace, and stole away my beautiful little boy."
"Oh Merlin!" Theo exclaimed. And then he thought for a bit. Andreas waited patiently; it was a bit of a bomb-shell, he supposed. But Theo's eventual response was a big shock.
"You know what?" he said. "It's never occurred to me before, but I've met your parents. But I've never met your son. What was his name?"
"Adam," Andreas replied mechanically. "But how can you not have met him? Didn't he live with them?"
"Not that I heard," Theo replied. "Given how awful they are, I wouldn't be surprised if they'd parked him in an orphanage somewhere."
Andreas's face went red with anger. He had to agree; he certainly wouldn't put it past his hag of a mother to take his child away, just so he couldn't have him, but then sling him in an orphanage rather than go to the bother of looking after him herself. At the same time, he became rather apprehensive: what would this poor child think if he found him, having been apparently abandoned by his family for so long?
Theo looked at him wide-eyed. What could he say? He'd just found a new relative and a fractured family. In that moment, the thing that flashed through his mind was the incredible kindness that he had been shown by Harry Potter, and he knew there was really only one thing to do.
"I'll help you find him," he said simply.
Andreas looked at him and nodded in shock. Very much to his surprise, it seemed that not all of his family was so bitterly prejudiced against squibs. He didn't say anything; the lump in his throat wouldn't let him.
ooOOoo
"Tony!" the teacher said to him sharply. "Just what is wrong with you these days?"
"Sorry, miss," the ten-year-old replied. "I'm just tired."
"Well," she said primly, "perhaps you'd better have a nap."
"'M not a baby," the boy replied.
The teacher did not say anything; she simply looked at him sternly. It took twenty seconds or so; but eventually the boy got the message, and left for his room. On his way there, he passed the caretaker, but paid him no mind. The man never bothered them, so they'd decided to leave him alone as well.
Tony might have been oblivious; but Vernon was becoming concerned. The boy was obviously so tired he was about ready to drop where he stood; so the caretaker followed him to the dormitory, just to make sure he got there safely.
It wasn't till he reached his room that Tony realised he was being followed. He turned around to see who it was.
Oh, he thought. The smelly old caretaker. Brilliant.
"What do you want?" he asked belligerently.
Vernon blinked. "Just making sure you're all right," he replied softly.
"Yeah?" the boy said. "Well, I'm not, am I?"
"Pardon?" Vernon asked
"I'm not supposed to be here," the boy went on, and Vernon could see he was slipping into his own little world. "I've got a family. They left me here. They –"
Here Tony stopped, shaking, and Vernon wondered if it was sorrow or rage; then he started up again, "the woman, she took me from my parents-" and now it was clear that there were memories coming flooding back – "she killed my mum and took me from my dad and left me here."
The last word came out in a whisper; for as he had been speaking, Tony's iron I-am-a-boy-and-will-not-cry resolve had been breaking down and, as he reached the end of his speech, it broke completely, and he gave himself over to howls of sorrow as big, fat, hot tears ran down his face.
For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Vernon felt real compassion for another human being. It was a very strange feeling, and he was not sure what to do about it. He wanted to help someone, not because they might do him a favour later, or because he liked them, or to show how big he was, but simply because they needed it.
It was all foreign to him, but somehow he managed to sit next to the sobbing boy, who threw his arms around him and held on tightly.
They were still there half an hour later when Johann Ries, the orphanage's Director, came looking for the caretaker. He stood at the door and watched, open-mouthed, at the tableau before him: the arrogant, prejudiced, selfish man giving comfort to the distressed boy.
He turned away silently, heading for the boy's classroom to see if he could find out what the matter might be. As for Dursley, he thought, perhaps there is hope even yet.
ooOOoo
Theo was at a bit of a loss. He'd promised his distant cousin to help him; but he didn't know quite what to do. Gathering that Andreas didn't want the family to cotton on to who he really was, he made discreet enquiries; but most of the British magicals who had come to South Africa had done so to break with England altogether, so didn't want to know about what was happening back there.
He sighed. The only other thing he could think of doing without arousing any suspicion was to keep a sharp eye on the papers. And if the others thought he was a bit eccentric for having a subscription to the Daily Prophet, that was their problem.
Which is how, at the end of November, he came across an article about Lucius Malfoy's plans for integrating squibs. The moment he saw it, the answer to his problem was obvious: what sort of Slytherin was he, to have such excellent contacts and to have failed to use them. He should have written to the Malfoys ages ago. If anyone could help, they could; and, with Harry in the family, he was pretty sure they would, too. In fact, he rather felt that the whole article reeked of the effect that the Debt was having on Lucius; there was surely no way the arrogant patrician of yesteryear would be militating for squibs. But hey, if it did a good turn for Theo, and Andreas, he wasn't going to knock it.
He took out quill and parchment, and began to write.
ooOOoo
For the next week, Vernon watched. The boy, he learned, was called Tony. Tony Adams. But somehow he doubted that would be his real name; for Vernon did not doubt for a minute that Tony had been telling the truth. He had a family here, someone had stolen him from it, and dumped him here.
For the first time in his life, it struck Vernon just what it must have been like for Harry Potter.
For the first time in his life, he began to realise just how big an arse he had been.
For the first time in his life, he sat on his bed and cried tears of remorse.
And while Vernon watched, so did Johann Ries. The Director was well aware of what was happening to his caretaker; and, truth to tell, he was pleased.
Vernon was so distraught he took to the corridors muttering to himself about the poor boy. It was while he was doing this that it came to him. The answer, really, was obvious. It's just that he couldn't do it.
He couldn't ask Harry Potter for help.
Could he?
When he got back to his room that night, he was astonished to find, in his Spartan room, empty of all non-essentials, paper and pen waiting for him. It was as if the Fates themselves were prompting him.
ooOOoo
Tuesday 1 December
Breakfast at Malfoy Manor had been very cheery; Narcissa had received an owl from Neville Longbottom which detailed the best suppliers, and prices, of the things she needed for her Yule celebration. Much to her delight, it transpired that there was a firm in South Africa that could supply everything they needed at quite reasonable prices. Not that the price really mattered to her; she would probably have paid whatever was asked to give Harry a special celebration, after all. But her Slytherin heart rejoiced to know that they were doing a good deed and getting a good deal all at the same time.
Lucius was just pleased that his wife was happy; always a good start to the day. After breakfast he repaired to his study, where, as always, his own correspondence had been delivered. He was rather surprised, given the conversation over the breakfast table, to find the top letter came from South Africa, and wondered if perhaps Neville had given the firm Narcissa was talking about their address. He discovered, on opening it, that it was not so; even more intriguing, the letter was from Theodore Nott. Why, he asked himself, was Draco's friend writing to him? His curiosity piqued, he read avidly.
Dear Mr Malfoy, Theo wrote,
Please forgive a letter out of the blue, but I read Sunday's article in the Daily Prophet, and wonder if there might be a matter here that would bear investigation.
"What a beginning!" Lucius said to himself. "Bear investigation, indeed. What you mean, Mr Nott, is that you want something from me, but don't want to be seen to ask for it."
He read on to discover exactly how correct he was: Theodore, it was clear, was going to ask him a favour, but managed to couch it so it made it sound like Nott himself was doing the favour. An old, and good ploy; just a shame that he saw through it at once. But as he finished the letter, he decided that, on balance, his correspondent was quite right; the story of Andreas Adams, né Nott, was definitely worth investigating. He remembered Messalina Nott quite well from pure-blood social events. She was an absolute tartar, and her husband Godfrey was just as bad; so much so that he had made a point of never inviting them to anything at Malfoy Manor.
"Were you talking to me, my dear?" a voice asked from the doorway, and he gave an involuntary gasp as he looked up in surprise to see Narcissa there.
"Oh, sorry, my dear, you startled me," he said. "No, I was just talking to myself; I have received an interesting letter from young Mr Nott."
"Indeed?" Narcissa replied, arching her eyebrow. "Draco's friend Theo, you mean?"
Lucius nodded.
"May I see?" she asked.
By way of reply, Lucius simply proffered the letter, and she walked into the room and took it from him, sitting down in one of the armchairs next to the desk as she did so. She took a minute or so to read the letter, then laid it down on the desk, a puzzled look on her face.
"Adams?" she said, clearly trying to remember something. "I think that might have been … Mappy!" she called, and the house elf appeared at once.
"How can Mappy be helping Mistress Narcissa?" he asked eagerly.
"Please fetch me the letter I received from Neville Longbottom from my desk," she replied crisply, and the words were scarcely out of her mouth before the elf had popped away and returned, holding the required item. He handed it over, bowed low, and disappeared, while Narcissa scanned the letter.
"Yes, here it is," she said. "I thought as much. Mr Longbottom has been doing business with a plant nursery in South Africa, and particularly recommends plants grown by a Mr Andreas Adams."
"Ah," Lucius remarked. "That does make things easier."
"How?" Narcissa asked.
"Well, you could always insist on dealing with Mr Adams in person. And have him come here…"
Narcissa grinned. This was like old times; a throw-back to the first days of their marriage, when they would happily scheme plots with each other. She enjoyed it very much indeed.
"I shall write directly," she replied, and left for her study.
Lucius smiled, and turned to the next letter. This again was unusual; it was paper, not parchment, and written, he was pretty sure, using a Muggle biro rather than a quill. For, in one of those moments that gives co-incidence a bad name, Vernon Dursley's letter was the next on the pile.
His eyebrows climbed high up his face as he read. It was very unexpected that Vernon would write to him; astonishing that the man would write on someone else's behalf; and then, finally, the boy in question…
Tony Adams? Andreas Adams? That couldn't be co-incidence. No, it had to be the same sort of thinking working twice – exactly what you would expect if Messalina Nott chose a new name for her grandson, while her son chose his own. Both, unconsciously, using the same idea. Even Tony as a first name, he realised, was rather telling: 'Nott' backwards made 'Tton' which easily became 'Tony' if you were hunting for a name.
No, with a mounting excitement in his breast, he was sure of it. He had, in one hand, the father, now seeking for any news of his son; and in the other, the son, unknowing that his father was out there, but, if Vernon was telling the truth, desperate for him. And surely there was no reason for Vernon Dursley to lie.
The way forward was clear. He would indeed do a favour for Mr Nott; the fact that, at the same time, it would become clear to the Wizarding World in general that Lucius Malfoy meant what he said, and was prepared to back up his words with action, well, that was just a little bonus. He puffed up his chest as with great pleasure he imagined the self-deprecating speeches he would have to make in the future.
He took up his quill, and began a letter to Johann Ries.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Notes:

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