Changing Minds in Hard Times

Harry sat in the round Gryffindor common room near the fireplace in a large, squishy, red armchair. He was leaning forward with his head in his hands, trying to think of any reason he could use to explain to himself why he had just done that.



First he told everyone in the room – practically all the active Order members – that he wanted nothing to do with Draco. Then he made a fool of himself by demanding nobody touch the blond like that ever again. And THEN he had stood outside the door, watching while Draco touched himself in ways Harry should have never seen, AND he enjoyed it. More then that, he had wanked off to his own internal vision of the blond.



What would it be like, he asked himself, if he could be in the same room with Draco without feeling any fear or embarrassment? What would it be like to be able to stand naked before the blond, and to take in the view of that pale, firm body, gloriously naked and unashamed? Could Harry ever let himself go, even that much? To admit to himself that he wanted the Slytherin man. Oh hell. He couldn’t deny that.



If being in the vicinity of Draco made him hard, there was no way to deny that he wanted Draco. If every night his dreams turned into fantasies of touch, smell, and sound – all involving the blond Slytherin – it was no use.



He shook his head, as if to clear it, and moved to stand up. He turned, caught a glimpse of black against the stone and found Hermione perched a few steps up on the girls’ staircase. He caught her eye, and looked away. The look on her face clearly stated that she knew what he was thinking about.



“Harry, there is nothing to be ashamed about for being gay. People all around the world are gay. I know, you think people won’t accept it. The Boy-Who-Lived, their chosen Savior. But Harry, haven’t you thought that maybe this was meant to be? I mean, the prophecy that Malfoy was talking about…I asked one of our contacts in the Order to search the prophecies the Ministry has collected…and it was there, Harry. Malfoy wasn’t lying. And anyways, who cares what people think. You can change their minds Harry. You always find a way to do that.” She seemed to finish, waited a few moments, before standing, sighing, and turning to go up the stairs, her hands catching on the doorway.



“Harry, it’s your choice, and it’s your life. If you want Malfoy, you can have him. I’m sure he wouldn’t object. You know you’ll always have your friends. Don’t be afraid to find someone who’s just a bit more.”



By the time Harry had assimilated what Hermione had said, she was gone. And even if he had anything else to say about the topic, he couldn’t follow her to continue the conversation. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to climb the staircase, like several other boys had, and risk the quick and painful trip down the slide that had formerly been the stairs.



Now, filled with indecision, Harry sat back down in the chair, and resumed his former position. He didn’t doubt that Hermione was right. Hermione was always right. If he wanted Draco – which he did – and if he had the guts to say so – which he wasn’t sure of yet – he could have what he wanted.



A relationship with someone who didn’t base their love for him on the actions he had committed from necessity, luck, and chance. Ginny had started her crush on him when she realized she had a chance with a hero. Every time he succeeded past another struggle, she idolized him more. Not for who he was, because she had never spent any real time learning who he was. She wanted Harry Potter the Hero. She didn’t want Harry Potter the man.



But Draco, Draco wanted Harry Potter the man. He didn’t care that Harry was a Wizarding hero. He didn’t even seem to care about the prophecy, although he had made it clear that he believed what his mother had told him when she said he had to find Harry and help him. Oddly enough, Harry even had begun to trust the formerly untrustworthy Slytherin.



Harry felt his stomach grumble and heard its loud noise of displeasure. It was reminding him that he had forgotten to eat lately. People brought him food, and he looked at it, wanted it even. But he couldn’t spare a moment of thought to eat. Then he realized that nobody had said a word to him about feeding Draco. And that led him to an idea.



---X---



Draco was lying on the bed, stark naked, as usual, staring up at the ceiling of the room he had been put in. Wanking only took up so much time, and around this time of day it wasn’t irregular for someone to check in on him. All it had taken was his cousin walking in on him spread-eagle on the bed in mid-orgasm, calling Harry’s name, to remind him that this wasn’t a pleasure holiday, and he should remember to be presentable when people might be expected.



The witch’s face turned almost the same color as her insanely pink hair before she turned and marched out of the room, tight lipped and adamant in refusing to tell anyone what she had seen. Of course, the rumors on just what she could have seen were now circulating.



Draco felt little embarrassment. Slytherins didn’t care what body parts other people saw. They didn’t care what other people thought, either. What he did care about, was possibly dowsing the tiny spark of understanding between himself and Harry.



He propped himself up on his elbows as he heard a noise at the door. Someone seemed to be fumbling for the doorknob, and having a bit of a problem with that. Then voices went back and forth outside the door, and the door was finally opened. Harry stepped in, holding a tray complete with two full plates, tea, and various other tasty things. He smiled at the man who had opened the door – one of Draco’s two guards – and moved out of the doors path so the man could shut it.



Once they were alone, Harry made his way carefully to the table that was set up near the blazing fireplace, and set down the tray. He then began the process of busying himself with setting out the food and such. When he was done, he sat, looked over the food, then over where Draco was still watching him from his propped up position on the bed.



“Um…I thought you would be hungry, and I hadn’t eaten yet, so I thought we could eat together.”



Draco’s left eyebrow rose up, and he seemed to consider the man at the table before he casually got up, in all his nude glory, and walked towards Harry.



Harry coughed, trying to avoid looking at the blonds’ nakedness, and then cleared his throat. “Mind putting on some pants, at least?”



Draco leaned toward the empty chair, settling his elbows on its backing and facing Harry. He looked coolly at the other man, as if waiting for his cue.



For Harry, the silence seemed to ring. He glanced up at the blonds’ face, then down again at his plate. “Erm…Malfoy?” He glanced up. The other man was still there, calmly assessing him. Suddenly, Harry knew what the man wanted. A concession, of sorts.



He sighed. “Fine. Draco it is.”



The blond smiled. It practically lit the room.