Changing Minds in Hard Times

Several minutes later, Draco was sitting in a chair in the main room, still wearing the towel around his waist, and surrounded by several Order members and Harry Potter. They were arguing about whether or not Draco was a death eater or not, and also about whether or not every word that came out of his mouth was a lie.

Draco huffed, looked around the room, and finally settled for crossing his arms and scowling. It was obvious he didn’t have the dark mark. Here he sat, wearing only a towel. His arms, and most of the rest of his body, for that matter, were clearly visible.

“Malfoy, why don’t you have the dark mark?” Hermione asked. Finally someone was addressing him, not acting like he was just a piece of furniture to be discussed and poked at.

“Because, as I have said before, the prophecy warns against it.”

“But why, Malfoy?”

“Because I already have a Master’s mark. It’s just not Voldemort’s.”

At those words, everyone in the room burst into speculation. Draco felt several eyes traveling his body. He tried his best to hold still, looking uninterested and uncaring.

“Where is this mark?” Harry asked, almost as if he dreaded to know the answer. Clearly, if Draco was sitting there practically naked, and there were no glamours or shielding charms on him – since Moody had insisted on checking him for them – the mark could only be in the space of skin covered by the towel the blond man wore.

“It’s on my lower back.” Draco replied, watching Harry for any reaction. To his credit, the other man didn’t twitch, though he did look distinctly uncomfortable.

“Can you show us, Malfoy?” asked Hermione.

Draco nodded and stood up, turning around to present his back to the group. He lowered the towel slightly, revealing both the small almost inch sized mark, and the curved top of his round, firm ass.

Harry almost didn’t know what to look at. The small mark, or the area slightly lower. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was more drawn to the skin below the mark then the mark itself. He shifted uncomfortably, hoping nobody noticed the slight bulge in his muggle jeans, or the trouble he was having focusing on the matter at hand.

The mark was red and gold. Two proudly standing golden lions propped up the shield, which was divided into four sections, the top left and bottom right of which were red, while the top right and bottom left were golden yellow. On top sat an almost metallic golden crown, on which perched a practically shimmering white stag.

Ron leaned in, seeming to forget whose ass it was he was so close to. “I know what that that is!” he spoke excitedly, “That’s the Potter crest! Harry…do you know what that means?”

Harry just looked confused.

“It means,” Hermione interrupted, “that Draco belongs to you, Harry. You are his master.”

Harry jerked his gaze away from Hermione, looking embarrassed and a little more then disagreeable. “No way! There is no way that I am Draco’s master! I mean, we hate each other! And I don’t want a thing to do with him!”

Draco had turned to face them again when Harry began his outburst. “Oh really now,” he smirked, obviously eyeing Harry’s crotch. “I couldn’t tell.”

Harry glared at him. Then he turned to stalk out of the room, but was met with the rest of the Order, standing there staring at him.

“Harry, I think you owe it to Draco, and yourself, to listen to what he has to say about this prophecy.” Tonks said, placing her hand on the brunettes' shoulder. “Besides, if it can help us in any way, we need to know.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. But I want the rest of you out before I will hear a word of it.”

The rest of the Order looked disappointed, but slowly filed out.

Finally, Hermione left and shut the door behind her, leaving the brunette and the blond alone in the room.

Draco moved away from the chair and climbed onto the bed, hardly caring that Harry could probably see his ass when the towel moved. Harry swallowed and then followed Draco, but stopped at the end of the bed. He sat himself on the edge, and looked away again.

The blond sighed. “Potter, if we are going to have any sort of relationship, even if it is just the business sort, you have to be able to look at me.”

“That would be easier if you were wearing pants, Malfoy.”

“Oh, would it? Don’t you think you could see my ass just as well through a pair of muggle jeans?”

“I don’t WANT to see your ass, Malfoy.” He tried to sound certain, but he blushed and faded out at the end of his statement, which he knew made his real feelings show.

“Well, if you happen to have some clothes laying around here that you would rather I wear, I will be happy to put them on for you, Harry.”

Harry stopped, and glared at the blond again. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“What? You don’t want me to use your name?”

“I will always be Potter to you, Malfoy. That will never change.”

“Perhaps.” Draco replied, smiling enigmatically. “Perhaps not.”