A/N: A fic about Slytherin!Harry coming out to Molly.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) - Travel & Tourism: Task #2 - Paris - Write about a beautiful moment between two people.

School: Hogwarts

Year: 7

Theme: Slytherin!Harry

Prompts: [character] Ron Weasley, [object] teacup

Word Count: 1614

Harry's never felt so nervous in his entire life. Even when he sat under the Sorting Hat and it screeched, "Slytherin!" instead of Gryffindor, like he wanted, he still didn't feel like this, like his breath is trapped inside of his chest, like he has lost all control over his physical body.

His hands tremble, and he digs his nails into his palms to try to stop them from shaking. He has to tell Ron. It has to be now, before he leaves the Weasleys' home to go back to school after Christmas.

He's sitting in front of the fireplace now, cross-legged, watching the flames crackle before his eyes. He has to rub his glasses every now and then, just to clear the glass of ashes. It's his fourth year spending Christmas with the Weasleys, and his fifth year just getting to know them, and already they're a true family to him. Forget Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon—Mrs. and Mr. Weasley are his real parents.

Which is why telling Ron is so hard. If everything goes wrong (and it could easily go wrong), then this entire soft, warm life that he's created for himself within the Weasley family will all go away. If he loses this safety that he has with the Weasleys… He might as well be dead.

Harry takes off his glasses and grounds his palms into his eyes. Why couldn't he just be born normal, like everyone else? Why couldn't he be straight, like every other kid he knew? Whose great idea was this, anyway, for him to end up like this: an orphaned, Slytherin, gay kid? He doesn't know who he's even talking to: God, Merlin, Jesus, whoever… He just wishes he was normal. He can't help it; his face is wet now, salty tears smeared across his face. He's hiccuping now, trying to control himself, but he can't stop the horrible wave of emotion that's bursting through his skin.

Harry discovered very quickly that the Wizarding world treated homosexuality with more revulsion than Muggle-magical relations. The supremacy of purebloods was rooted in the idea that more magical offspring could be produced from two pureblood parents instead of other combinations of magical and Muggle parents. So, homosexuality went against the very roots of Wizarding society: of procreation and the survival of magical genes. There was heavy retaliation against homosexuality, even at Hogwarts. He can remember specific instances of violence against both open and closeted students in just his five years at the school. The most recent incident, just last September, was so bad that the girl had to leave the school. Harry spent that evening in the toilet, heaving up whatever he'd eaten for supper, sick to his stomach.

There's a hand on his back, a voice in his ear, and the safe smell of apple pastries: "Harry, shhh…" Mrs. Weasley. He's never done this before (the mother-son thing), but it seems to come naturally. He turns into her and hugs her like a lifeline, sobbing like his life depends on it. He's never cried like this before, either. Crying, according to the Dursleys, is something to be ashamed of, a sign of weakness. A sign that he is an emotional, weak, pitied, mess, just like his parents.

But as Mrs. Weasley hugs him back, Harry is overwhelmed by this newfound feeling: comfort. It's raw and new and strange, but it's wonderful. It's nothing like Uncle Vernon's annoyed groans or Aunt Petunia's sympathetic stares. This is… It's so unfamiliar to Harry that it makes him cry harder once he realizes what it is. This is love. Love, unconditional love, the kind of love that he should have received from his aunt and uncle since he was young.

When he finally calms down, Mrs. Weasley summons a cup of steaming tea from the other room and pushes it into his hands. It's a little too hot, but Harry presses his palms against it nonetheless, letting the heat take him away from his anxious, squirming mind. "Harry?" she says after a while, pulling away from him. "You want to tell me what that was about?" She's kneeling beside him, staring at him as if trying to read his expression.

Harry does what he usually does when he's uncomfortable: he shrugs, pretending he didn't just cry his heart out in front of her. He knows if he starts talking, it'll all come spilling out at once.

Mrs. Weasley lets out a sigh—not exasperated or irritated, but just to calm herself. "Harry," she repeats, and this time she places a hand on his shoulder. "You're a son to me." It's not a question or a suggestion; it's a statement, a declaration of motherhood. "I love you no matter what: black or white, pureblood or not, Gryffindor or Slytherin…" It's true. Even though Harry and Ron ended up in different Hogwarts houses, their friendship remained strong, and Mrs. Weasley's love for him never faltered. "...gay or straight…. No matter what, I'll always love you."

Gay or straight, he thinks, the words echoing in his head. No matter what, I'll always love you. He looks up at her, stunned. "Re-really?" He hates the way his voice wavers, but that hate slips away as soon as the red-haired woman nods, smiling.

"Is that it?" Mrs. Weasley asks, squeezing his shoulder in comfort. "Are you gay?"

Hearing the words makes it so much more real and tangible in his mind, and he meets her eyes, terrified. He clasps his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking again. He can't say anything; this moment stole his voice away.

He nods. At first, it's an involuntary, miniscule jerk, so small she probably didn't notice. Then, he nods again, bravery blending with fear, head going up and down like a broken bobblehead. "I-I—" He can't say it. He can barely even summon up the courage to open his mouth. He tightens his fingers around each other, digging his nails into his soft skin.

He doesn't even realize he's doing it until Mrs. Weasley's calloused are pulling his hands apart and grasping firmly. "Harry, look at me."

Harry's heart is pounding so loudly in his chest that he can scarcely hear her. Still, he manages to meet her eyes, his breath caught in his chest.

"I meant what I said," she says, smiling. "I love you no matter what. I'm so proud of you, Harry, for telling me this. I know this has to be so scary for you, especially with everything that's been happening."

He nods mutely.

"Does anyone else know? Ron, Hermione…" Harry shook his head; there's a lump in his throat the size of a hippogriff, and he swallows painfully and shakes his head. "...Draco?" She gives him a knowing look.

Harry's eyes widen; he nearly drops the teacup. "I…" How in Merlin's name does she know? "No, I… I…"

"Harry, you don't have to hide from me," she reminds him. "I've spent a few good years on this Earth, love. I know what love looks like when I see it. You think I never heard when you and Draco would sneak out of bed to go up to the attic?"

Harry flushes deeply. He spent the last five years sleeping in a bed next to Draco, taking classes with him, and eating meals with him. If anyone finds out… "You can't tell anyone, Mrs. Weasley, you can't."

Her amused smile fades a little. "I know. My brother was like you, did you know? He and his husband spent a lot of time under attack by the Daily Prophet. One day, he came home from work so broken and bloody I thought for sure he would leave us." She shakes her head. "But despite all the bad things that happened to him and his family, Harry, he was happy. He got to marry the man he loved, and after the First Wizarding War, we got to bury them next to each other, where they belonged." She grips Harry's hands tightly. "It's going to be difficult, don't forget it. There will be days where you wish you were just ordinary, when you wish that you'd been made straight, like the rest of them, but you're going to be okay."

Harry's vision blurred with tears. "You think?"

She nods and hugs him again. "You'll be just fine, love."

Harry wants to freeze this moment, just like this, in Mrs. Weasley's motherly embrace. He's never had someone love him like this, and he wants to remember it forever. Wait, he thinks. He does have other people who love him like this, maybe… He knows he'll always have Draco, but Ron? Hermione? He gulps down more tea; it tastes like home. He knows what he has to do. "Do y'know…if Ron…"

She smiles at him, and Harry's shocked to find tears shining in her gaze. "I raised my boy right, Harry. He'll welcome you with open arms, I know he will."

So Harry thanks Mrs. Weasley, drinks the last of his tea, and creeps back upstairs to the room he shares with Ron and Draco over the Christmas vacation. He wakes Draco up first, by shaking his leg until his bleary eyes open. "I wanna tell him," he whispers, jerking his head at Ron. "I told Mrs. Weasley, she knew about us…"

Harry's never seen Draco nervous like this; he bites his lip and nods carefully. "Let's do it," he says. "Are you ready?"

Harry nods, kisses Draco's cheek, and then interlaces his fingers with his. "Ready as I'll ever be." Then he pokes Ron in the chest until he lets out an annoyed yelp.

Needless to say, it goes quite well.

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