Chapter Fourteen: Getting Things Back to Normal

After making sure that the students were all in Poppy's very capable hands, Dumbledore and Fawkes went down to see about the Death Eaters.

They were all still sprawled where they had fallen. Dumbledore checked all of their bonds, took a deep breath, and pulled a quill and parchment from the pocket of his robes.

"I guess I might as well get this over with," he said, scribbling a note. "Let's take this to the owlery."

After securing the letter to the leg of a school owl, Dumbledore and Fawkes went to Dumbledore's levitated the unconscious Death Eaters up to his office, reminded forcefully of the episode involving the children of many of these individuals just a few months ago.

"Maybe I should lay low until the Ministry Officials are gone. You're going to have enough questions to deal with as it is," Fawkes murmured quietly.

"I suppose," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. He didn't want to let Fawkes out of his sight so soon after getting him back, but he knew he was right. There would be too many questions.

Fawkes sensed his partner's reluctance and smiled gently. "It will probably be safest if I wait somewhere else. Your quarters, perhaps?"

Dumbledore smiled back. "All right, if you must. I'll meet you there as soon as possible."

"I'll be waiting," he whispered back as he slipped out the door.

Dumbledore didn't have to wait long before someone pounded on his door. Barely waiting for Dumbledore to say "Come in," Cornelius Fudge burst into the office, hat clenched in his hands, looking white as a sheet and trailing nearly all of the Ministry's Auror department behind him.

"What the bloody h—the Entrance Hall—destroyed! Warded—dozens of wards—how?" the Minister spluttered, making very little sense.

"I do not know, Cornelius. That would be a good thing to ask them," Dumbledore said, waving a hand at the unconscious Death Eaters. Noticing the pile of bodies for the first time, Fudge jumped a foot, looking even paler than before.

"Death Eaters!"

"Well, yes. That was what I said in my letter."

"I know, but... it's just that... Are they dead?"

The Aurors went around removing the Death Eaters' masks one by one and checking their vital signs. "They're all alive," Kingsley Shacklebolt rumbled.

Fudge stared at the revealed faces in horror. "Lucius Malfoy... Crabbe... Goyle... but I thought..." The Aurors ignored their Minister's stammering and fastened anti-apparation handcuffs on all of the Death Eaters.

"Ready?" Shacklebolt asked the others.

"Oh, make sure you ask them if they were working under Voldemort's orders or by themselves, please," Dumbledore said suddenly. They nodded to him and all of the Aurors, with the Death Eaters in tow, traveled by floo back to the Ministry, leaving Dumbledore alone with Fudge.

"Of course they were working under You-Know-Who's orders. A question like that is a waste of Veritaserum," Fudge said haughtily.

"Actually, I think that it is more likely that they were working alone in hopes of winning Voldemort's approval. It does not make since that he would send them alone. It would make him look like a coward, and he hates that more than anything else—except for death, of course."

"Hmph," Fudge said, looking unconvinced. "Well, I suppose I better oversee the questioning. Was anyone killed here?"

"No, no one was killed."

"Which students were involved?"

"Who said that any of the students were involved?" Dumbledore asked innocently.

"Come now, Albus," Fudge said, looking irritable. "Can you really expect me to believe that Potter had nothing to do with this?"

"Yes, in fact I can," Dumbledore said calmly, wishing for one extremely irrational moment that he had the comforting weight of a bird on his shoulder.

Fudge looked at him with something close to a sneer. "Fine. We'll talk about this later." Dumbledore said nothing and, after a moment of silence, Fudge turned on his heel and walked out.

It took only one full day of Draco being coddled by Madam Pomfrey for him to start going completely insane.

"I told you so," Harry pointed out smugly, sitting comfortably on the foot of Draco's infirmary bed.

"Please can't you do something? Look, I'm close to begging. My dignity is beginning to leak out my ears."

"I thought you wanted to be treated like an invalid."

"I did, foolish, whiny boy that I was. But that was twenty-four hours ago. Now I'm much wiser and more mature. I have seen the error of my ways. Please."

Unable to hold it in anymore, Harry burst out laughing. "I suppose I could do something." He pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket and dangled it tantalizingly in front of Draco's nose.

"You little... blast-ended skrewt," Draco said, fishing for an appropriate insult and failing miserably. "You were planning on getting me out of here all along."

"Maybe," Harry said with a sly smile.

"And you still made me beg? That was very cruel of you."

"I know," Harry sighed with fake regret. "I am a terrible boyfriend. I suppose you don't want to go with me after all." He began to stuff the cloak back into his pocket.

Draco grabbed it out of his hands. "That's okay; I have a very charitable nature. See, I forgive you already. Besides, I'm sure you can make it up to me somehow."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Just put the cloak on. I want to get back to your room."

The two boys barely got Draco's door closed before Harry pulled Draco forcibly against him and began kissing him ravenously.

"God, it feels like it's been forever," Draco moaned as Harry pulled his shirt over his head and pushed him onto the bed.

Then, before Draco even saw him lift his wand, silky black ropes suddenly appeared and snaked themselves around Draco's wrists, tying his arms securely above his head.

"What the hell?" Draco yelped, tugging at his bonds.

"Well," Harry said slowly, green eyes sparkling with mischief and lust, "you are technically supposed to be bedridden still. And I know you. You'll want to be too... active. So this is my way of assuring that you won't be able to flail around at all."

"Oh, god," Draco said breathily as Harry licked a hot trail up his chest. He arched into his touch and felt the slippery tug of the ropes. "Oh, god." Harry's fingers found the button of Draco's trousers and slowly pulled down the zipper. Draco lifted his hips to speed the process up, but once his pants and his boxers were off, Harry still only looked and didn't touch. Draco arched his hips to him in a silent appeal before whispering in a strangled voice, "Please. Oh, please."

Harry grinned evilly and ran his fingertips lightly along the inside of Draco's thigh, enjoying the sound of his quickened breathing. Then he leaned over and licked hungrily along the same path, taking care not to touch anything else.

After what seemed like forever to Draco, Harry decided to take pity on him. He sat up, then leaned over again and slid his hot mouth over Draco's hard, painfully aroused cock. Draco yelled out as Harry took the entire length of him in his mouth, then pulled slowly back, before sucking greedily on the tip. Then he went all the way down again, until his lips grazed Draco's base, making sure that he was good and wet. Then he used his hands as well as his mouth, his palms caressing the thick bottom half while his tongue flickered over Draco's head.

Draco's panting, whimpering, and moaning grew more and more hoarse, until he exploded, repeating a mantra of "Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh god." Harry's lips curved as he felt Draco's heat flow into him, until Draco sagged, completely spent. Swallowing and licking his lips, Harry slid his wand out of his pocket, and with a wave Draco was released. Harry stretched himself out next to his boneless boyfriend and wrapped his arms around Draco's back, enjoying the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Oh, god," Draco whispered again as he began to regain some mental coherence.

"Is that all you can say?" Harry teased.

Draco seemed to consider the question. "Yeah. I think that about covers it," he finally admitted. Harry grinned, pleased with himself, and snuggled deeper into Draco. The blond turned and gave him an arrogant look. "You do realize that as soon as I regain the ability to move, I'm going to get you back for that, right?"

"I was counting on it."

Several sweaty hours later, Harry brushed Draco's pale hair off his forehead and sighed. "I should probably return you to the infirmary before Pomfrey throws a fit," he said reluctantly, smiling as Draco pouted appealingly. Playfully nipping at his boyfriend's stuck-out bottom lip, Harry got shakily to his feet and began tugging on his clothes.

"Do I have to?" Draco whined.

"Yes," Harry said firmly, tossing Draco's boxers at him, where they landed with magnificent precision on Draco's head. "That's a good look for you," Harry told him, laughing. Draco sniffed haughtily and removed the offending article of clothing.

"I should probably take a shower first," he said, looking down at his sweaty, sticky body. "I can't really go back to Pomfrey looking like this."

"Hmm. Me too," Harry admitted.

"You know," Draco mused, a dangerous glint in his silver eyes, "it will take an awfully long time for both of us to take separate showers. Maybe there is a way we can... expedite... the process."

Harry raised an eyebrow and grinned roguishly, all his resolve melting away. "Like showering together?"

"That's exactly what I had in mind."

Several wet, steamy hours later, Harry and Draco were finally dressed and decent. Well, somewhat decent.

"Hey, on the way to the infirmary, I want to show you the Entrance Hall. You haven't seen it since that night, have you?" Harry said, grabbing Draco's hand.

When Harry led him into the Entrance Hall, Draco couldn't believe his eyes. Someone could walk in and never know that an epic battle took place there. It looked exactly as it had a week ago—except for one thing. On one of the central pillars supporting the high roof was a bronze plaque decorated by an engraving of a phoenix with widespread wings. Draco looked questioningly at Harry.

"Dumbledore has been telling everyone that Fawkes was killed in the fight," he explained. "The students all think that it is a sad memorial. Only our little group knows that it commemorates a miracle." Draco, who had met the real Fawkes soon after waking up in the infirmary, nodded his understanding. "I'm not sure what Dumbledore did with the skunks and squirrels and such," Harry added, half to himself.

"The what?" Draco asked, looking at Harry as if he was concerned for his mental stability. Harry flushed. He had left most of that part out.

"Never mind."

"What skunks?" Draco persisted.

Harry sighed and glowered. "When I was—in the words of Hermione—throwing a magical temper-tantrum... strange things happened."

"Oh." Draco wisely decided to leave it at that.

After returning Draco to his infirmary bed and enduring the enraged lectures of Madam Pomfrey, Harry felt exhausted. They had gotten some good news, though: the nurse was officially releasing Draco tomorrow. Life could go back to somewhat normal.

Letting his weary feet lead him and his thoughts wander, Harry was surprised to find himself back at Draco's dorm. After a second thought, he realized that he didn't want to be anywhere else. Draco's room was more of a home to him now than the Gryffindor dorm. He whispered the password into the woodwork and closed it behind him with a feeling of relief. Turning around to collapse on the huge bed, Harry's only thought was "Now I can get some sleep."

Or not.

There was already someone on the bed. A certain silver-bearded, bespectacled, know-it-all headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry greeted with a nod, too tired to even really feel surprised, and intensely glad that Draco had been persnickety enough to insist on casting cleansing charms on the bed linens before returning to the infirmary.

"Good evening, Harry," the headmaster said cheerfully.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking you how you knew I'd be sleeping here? I didn't even know I'd be sleeping here until just a second ago."

The old wizard simply smiled at him. "I talked to Mr. Shacklebolt today, Harry."

"Did they learn anything interesting?" Harry asked, his curiosity peaked despite himself.

"Yes. As I suspected, the Death Eaters were working on their own, with no orders from Voldemort."

Harry sensed that this was somehow important, but his brain wasn't functioning quite clearly. "What does that mean for us?" he finally asked, giving up.

"It means that a good majority of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters are now in Azkaban. Also, as Voldemort is most likely furious with them, I doubt there will be any jailbreaks."

"So Voldemort doesn't have any minions to lean on now, huh? Do you think that will cause him to make his move sooner or postpone it until he has more followers?"

"There is no way to be sure, Harry, but my best guess is that he will come soon. This mess has probably embarrassed him a great deal, and he will want both revenge and the chance to prove that he is not as incompetent as his followers."

Harry sighed. "All right. I'll keep my eyes out for trouble."

"Good," Dumbledore said, standing. "Sleep well, Harry."

"You too, sir," Harry said, trying to stifle a yawn.

Dumbledore began to walk past Harry to the door, then paused and rested a weathered hand on Harry's shoulder. "Thank you," he said suddenly, tears swimming abruptly in his blue eyes.

Harry looked at him, startled. "For what?"

The headmaster shook his head, for once at a loss for words, and Harry understood. He covered Dumbledore's hand with his own and smiled.

"I'm glad you got him back," he told him sincerely.

"Yes," Dumbledore managed to say. "And this time, I plan on keeping him."