December 1996
The news of Harry's sexuality crept through the school like a poisonous fog; no one was heard talking about it, but somehow everyone seemed to know. Nothing was spoken aloud until Malfoy, of all people, decided the temptation was too much to bear and decided to call Harry out on the rumour in the main courtyard during morning break.
Harry's reply: "Sorry, Malfoy, you're just not my type," and the accompanying, patronising pat on the cheek was all it took for rumour to become fact, and for Gryffindor, once again, to claim one over on their rival house. He was tempted to stay at school during the Christmas period, just to prove that he had nothing to run or hide from, but he'd be staying alone and didn't want that. So he accepted Molly's offer of a place to stay for the holidays and returned to The Burrow on the train with Ron.
When he learned that Charlie was going to be back too he almost regretted his decision. He came down with a stomach bug so severe it caused him to disappear most mealtimes to Ron's room alone, only to eat like a horse only a few hours later.
During the day it was harder to hide but Harry had always liked being outside. The frostbitten yard was welcoming when he was wrapped up in a scarf and hat and coat, providing the chance for some peace and quiet within the normally hectic Weasley household. Although Harry repeatedly told Ron and Hermione that he was okay, that he didn't need their help or want their sympathy, it seemed like the eldest Weasley brother saw through his protestations.
"You can always talk to me, you know that," Bill said after cornering Harry feeding the chickens. "But the best person would really be Charlie. He won't mind me telling you – he's gay too."
Harry's head jerked up in shock. "He's… what?"
"He's not, you know, flamboyant about it or anything." Bill shrugged. "He told mum and dad a few years ago now. I know he won't mind if you want advice or anything."
Harry nodded, still feeding the chickens with short, jerky motions that now looked very forced. The red on his cheeks spread down his neck, and with raised eyebrows, Bill interpreted his reaction.
"Ahh. Okay."
"Don't tell him," Harry begged, unable to meet Bill's eyes. "Please."
"I won't," Bill promised. "It's your business, Harry."
After a very brotherly slap on the shoulder, Bill left Harry alone with his thoughts.