Changing Minds in Hard Times

Minutes later, Draco was pressed up against the pillar like support of the bed post on the left side of the bed, groaning as Harry attacked his neck with kisses and hickeys. He had thought that he would have to be the one to do everything on this night, but it seemed that once you got Harry started, he was perfectly capable of finishing the act himself. But Draco had no complaints. To have Harry, the man he had hoped to save himself for, finally touching him and wanting him, despite everything he had done – everything he had had to do to stay alive for those few years since he had been away – was a relief. And damned if Draco wasn’t going to let himself enjoy it.



Harry moved to push Draco from his current position, onto the bed where he could easily climb on top of the blond and place him just where he wanted him. Draco refused. If Harry ever wanted to be with him, he had to learn that one never disrespected the Malfoy hair. And to lay on any bed with long wet hair, was asking for tangles and misshapen hairstyles, come morning. And Draco told Harry as much.



The brunette smirked, and ran his hands through the still smooth, though slightly wavy blond hair, surprising Draco with a momentary demonstration of the wandless magic techniques he had learned since they had last seen each other. In this instance, it was a drying spell.



Draco stared at Harry in awe as he ran a hand over his now dry, and still perfect, hair. The last time he had seen someone try a wandless drying spell on their hair, the smell of burned hair lingered in the Slytherin bathroom for over a week. He had never seen anyone manage it so quickly either. Wandless spells usually took time and concentration, but Harry hadn’t made it seem like it was a big thing for him.



Harry grinned at Draco’s awestruck expression and leaned in to kiss him, and then pushed him back onto the bed. Draco didn’t bother to argue now. Harry was surely the most powerful wizard he had ever met, if that minor spell had any indication on his power level. Surely it was Harry he was meant for. Everything in the prophecy pointed to that idea, though the Dark Lord had still insisted that there were other ways to interpret it – namely that he himself could be the wizard that Draco should willingly give himself to on that night.



He gathered his hair up and twisted it just so, to keep the majority of it from tangling or getting pulled during their lovemaking, and allowed Harry to climb on top of him. He lay there, waiting to see what the other man’s next move would be. Moments went by, and still nothing happened.



Draco looked up into Harry’s face, and met his eyes. They stared back at him, an expression of love and excitement seemingly glued on the mans’ face. Draco smiled up at Harry, suddenly feeling as if a weight left him. He remembered, the last time he had been in a similar position to this. But then it had been a death eater holding him down on the bed, smiling evilly and sadistically down at him. Draco shivered at the memory, and sighed with relief as Harry rolled of him to the side, and encircled the blond with his arms.



“Draco, I know you’ve been hurt before. Are you sure this is what you want?”



“Yes Harry, more then anything. This is what I want.” Draco managed a weak smile, hoping Harry didn’t take it as Draco just telling him what he wanted to hear.



Harry sighed. “We’ll take this slow, ok? It’s only…” He cast a quick Tempus, and found it was nearing five p.m. “It’s almost five. We can’t even create this weapon…our child, until midnight hits, if what Snape told you is right. And then we have an hour to do what needs to be done. Let’s take our time.”



Draco nodded, grateful that Harry wasn’t demanding like the death eaters. None of them suggested taking their time to fuck the blond sex-toy, and none but two, that Draco could remember, had ever bothered using lube.



But Draco couldn’t help feeling slightly resentful towards the death eaters. It was their fault he was nervous now. It was their fault he had flashbacks to the times he had been forced to do those things. He should be able to willingly give over his body to Harry, without feeling this panic that settled into his body and mind from the idea of being dominated.



Harry surprisingly felt nothing against Draco for stopping the sex before it had really started. He had thought he might be at least a little annoyed, like he had been when Ginny used to play mind games with him. She would get him all hot and ready, aching for sex, and then she would shy away, bursting into tears and wanting to hear how much Harry loved her.



The problem was, Harry didn’t love her. Not like she wanted. He felt lust for her at one time, and if she had been willing, he would have been willing to have sex with her. But now, he felt nothing for her but slight contempt. Not because she wouldn’t put out, but because she had spent over five years trying to haul him in as her potential husband, only because she wanted the power and prestige of being Harry Potter’s wife.



And if the rumors had any truth to them, which Harry was sure they did, Ginny had no problem with putting out frequently for any other guy she deemed worthy. He had even walked in on her once, as she bounced on the cock of some Order member. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, talk to her again about any sort of relationship between them after that. He had no problems with the Order member Ginny had taken up with at that time, though. He knew that if that man was stupid enough to get involved with a whore, and not to use protection – which he knew they hadn’t, there had been no glow of a protection spell, and Ginny always claimed that all condoms gave her rashes and birth control made her sick – it would be his own problem to deal with when the little witch stood before him, claiming he was the father of her unborn baby.



It took Harry several moments to pull himself out of his thoughts, and when he did, he realized that Draco had fallen asleep and was now plastered to his body, seeking the warmth and comfort he could find there. Harry didn’t mind at all. He waved his hand and suddenly both he and Draco were under the covers, feeling soft silk sheets against their bare skin.



The blond barely stirred from his sleep at that act of magic. His eyes flickered open, caught on Harry’s eyes, and slowly closed again. He was comfortable enough with Harry to finally sleep, trusting he would wake up unharmed.



Harry watched Draco’s face for a while, smiling softly whenever the blond made some movement in his sleep that the brunette found endearing. He would have waited forever for the blond to be comfortable enough to make love with him, without feeling fear. But now, the prophecy didn’t leave any room for that. It was either tonight, or nothing. And Harry could no longer risk losing this war. Or losing Draco.