Snow fell thick and fast outside the kitchen window, which was frosted at the edges like a glazed pastry. The sound of carolers echoed beyond the glass, ghostly voices tossed about by the wind. Harry gripped a warm mug of hot chocolate. He sipped from it, but the liquid turned to dust in his mouth, and he spat it out.
"Well?"
Harry turned from the view. The inside of the Burrow was draped in tinsel, wreaths, and ribbons strung with bells. A fairy flew around the lavishly decorated tree glimmering in the living room. Before him, a young man with a freckled face and a shock of red hair sat at the kitchen table, his arms folded expectantly. A cup of tea sat by his elbow.
For a moment, Harry thought it was George. But both of his ears were perfectly intact.
The hot chocolate stuck in Harry's throat. "Fred?"
Fred chuckled and gave a few slow claps. "Oh, well done, Harry. You were so close! It's actually pronounced Forge."
"You're dead." He hadn't meant to say it so bluntly, but the shock of seeing Fred had made Harry's brain short-circuit.
"Yeah, I am." Fred's grin faded for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "Watch this, Harry." He dipped a hand into his tea - his flesh passed right through the cup. Furrowing his brow in concentration, Fred scooped the liquid right out, and it didn't trickle through his fingers. He tossed the tea from hand to hand, wincing slightly from the heat. "Neat trick, huh?"
"Are you really here?"
Fred let the tea drop back into his cup with a splash. "That depends on your perspective, I suppose. Do I seem real to you?"
His cheeks were slightly flushed with warmth. His crooked grin seemed authentic, identical to the smile he wore in life. Harry stepped closer to him, reaching out. Fred took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Harry felt a pulse, thrumming in his palm.
"Yes," Harry replied, and Fred let go.
"There's your answer."
"Why…" Harry cleared his throat and sat down across from him. "Why are you here?"
"I've got something for you." Fred patted his pockets, and Harry realized he was wearing Muggle jeans and one of Mrs. Weasley's sweaters, this one pure white with a gold F. "Ah, here we go." He unfolded a crinkly page of parchment.
"Who's it from?"
Fred's eyes, the precise shade of brown as Ginny's, pierced through Harry. "Your mum."
Lily. Harry listened closely to the voices from the snow - perhaps one of them belonged to her. He could imagine her, scarcely three years older than he was, green eyes crinkling with a warm smile.
Fred slid the parchment over. With trembling hands, Harry took it.
Dearest Harry,
I can't even begin to say how proud your father and I am of you. From the moment I held you in my arms, I knew you'd do wonderful things and make a difference in the world. And you've exceeded our expectations by far.
But I never anticipated what a kind-hearted person you would turn out to be. We've been with you, watching your progress with your friends and schoolwork at Hogwarts, with Draco Malfoy. I admit James was not thrilled when he found out you'd befriended Lucius's son! He came around eventually; he and I recognized that you're good for Draco, and he's good for you, even if you haven't realized it yet.
It takes an immense strength to forgive those who have wronged you, Harry. I'm sure you know this, so I have some advice for you - talk to Hermione and Ron. They miss you just as much as you miss them. You don't owe them friendship, but they'd like a chance to explain themselves before you make a decision. You'll need your friends' strength as well as your own in the coming days.
Lastly, a reminder: you cannot choose you who love; you can only choose to hide it or love authentically. James and I are immensely proud of you for choosing the latter. Of course, we want you to be happy, but we also want you to be yourself. Life is not worth living in the shadows. Please remember, though, that with that choice comes hardship. The hate against those who love differently isn't as strong now as when we were kids, but it's there. You've seen it, I'm sure. Be brave, Harry.
All my love,
Mum
Tears flowed silently down Harry's cheeks, falling like rain onto the tabletop. He didn't move to stop them, only held on to the words, the ink that Lily Potter had traced.
Harry opened his mouth to speak, then gasped with the effort of trying not to sob. He stared at the page through his tears, beholding Lily's neat scrawl, the looped g's, the tiny dots of her i's. A part of him knew this must be impossible. His mother was long dead; she couldn't write letters. Yet another part of him felt with unwavering certainty that her hand had moved across this page, had drafted a message, a warning, and an expression of love for her only living child. He wished he could bring it with him.
"Can I see her?" Harry pleaded, looking up at Fred. "My mum? My dad? Remus, Sirius, anyone?"
Fred shook his head. "Sorry, mate. I don't control that. They're too far over the other side."
"What about you?"
Fred smiled sadly. "I'm waiting for someone."
A rumble of thunder shook the house. Fred's cup began to tip, twirled slowly in a circle, then fell onto the table. Tea spread across the tabletop, dripping onto the floor.
Fred gazed out the window as if looking at someone in the snow. "I have to go."
"Wait…" Harry stood from his stool, which promptly fell over as the house continued to tremble. "Will I see you again?"
"Oh, I'm sure we'll meet at some point," Fred assured him. "It was nice to see you, Harry."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the house abruptly crumbled, and his vision went dark.
• • •
[Reader's Warning: The following scene contains multiple uncensored expletives, including unacceptable and highly offensive anti-gay slurs.]
Much had changed in three weeks. That was the hazy reflection drifting through Harry's mind when he flopped upon his bed, his head aching, and his muscles tense. He didn't remember falling asleep.
When he woke, the dream lingered in his mind like dew after a rainstorm. He lay still for a few minutes, processing, debating whether it could have been real or not. It felt real. But perhaps it was only his subconscious consoling him.
Draco's bed lay empty, the sheets immaculately made, the pillows perfectly arranged. Harry wondered if he actually plumped them up before leaving in the morning. He wouldn't be surprised.
Eight chimes reverberated from above, signaling the start of dinner. In the silence of Draco's absence, Harry wavered in the doorway, unsure whether to go or not. He didn't know whether Draco needed a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, or several feet of space, void of eye contact. In the end, curiosity for what would happen next got the best of Harry, and he left for dinner, passing through the near-empty Slytherin dungeon.
A lot changed in three weeks, Harry thought as he stood at the entrance to the dining hall. Before, he would head immediately for the Gryffindor table to join Hermione, Ron, and Draco, to participate in a fragile, but real friendship. Back when he'd kept his secrets.
Harry spotted Draco at the Slytherin table, surprisingly. And even more shocking was Henrietta, who sat across from him. They seemed civil with each other but weren't talking much. Further down, Pansy glared daggers at them. Harry decided to sit at the end of the Hufflepuff table, where no one would bother him. From farther away, Erin, Ollie, and Owen glanced at him questioningly, but Padma picked at her food and notice him. Gavin was nowhere to be seen.
Harry filled his plate, determined to pretend everything was normal, that his and Draco's secret hadn't been leaked to the biggest gossip in school. His back to the Slytherin table, he didn't detect their glances between him and Draco, peppered with smirks. He didn't notice as a few of them walked over to their Ravenclaw friends, whispering something in their ears.
The news spread like wildfire, and it wasn't long before Harry heard someone say, "Malfoy's a poof?"
Fork freezing over a barely eaten pile of mashed potatoes. Green eyes widening. He turned to the voice.
Some Gryffindor nearby, hardly fourteen, added, "Y'know, that makes a lot of sense, actually. He always seems like he's got something up his arse." The friends around him laughed.
Harry stood from the bench, angry, then immediately regretted it - eyes were on him too, as mouths muttered and grinned, faces morphing into amusement and disgust both. "Potter and Malfoy? That's not something you see every day." "Merlin, that's gross. If I was a faggot, I think I'd kill myself." "Wonder who buggers who?" "Reckon they've shagged at school?" "Ergh, don't even suggest that!"
Voices pressed in from all sides. Harry felt dizzy, sick. He couldn't even bear to meet Draco's gaze from across the hall, to signal to everyone watching him that yes, the rumors were true, they were dating, but they cared about each other deeply, and no, it wasn't some sort of weird Death Eater fetish or an illness of the heart, they were two people who loved each other, who just happened to be boys.
Harry didn't say any of this. He stepped over the bench and strode away, knowing that his billowing robes drew even more attention, knowing that sniggers and stares followed him all the way down…
Instinct led him to the seventh-floor corridor, near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The hallway was empty, save for a pale Slytherin pacing, muttering under his breath.
"Draco." Harry's lungs filled with a panicked kind of relief. Draco didn't look up. He ran two hands through his hair, staring at the floor. "Draco, are you all right?"
"No." He shook his head, whispering. "No, no, no, I'm not all right, of course, I'm not all right, didn't you hear them? Didn't you hear them, Potter?" He looked up, silver eyes hollowed with shame.
Be brave, Harry.
"Yes. Yes, I did. But we can't care about what they think," Harry told him, reaching to take his hand. "It'll kill us."
Draco, startled, let Harry take his hand for a moment. Then he pulled away. "Not everyone can be as careless as you."
Harry blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You just said it yourself," Draco shot back. "We shouldn't care about what they think. But I do, Potter, because unlike you, I care about my reputation."
"But…you said," Harry began, stung, "You wouldn't care if people found out."
"Maybe I wouldn't have," Draco replied. He pointed down the corridor, indicating the vicious crowd of students they had just left. "But not like this. This…this is all wrong. These rumors could follow us out of school, you know."
"Whatever happens," Harry promised, "We'll get through it together." He held out his hand once more.
Draco stared at it, teetering on the edge of a decision. Then he shook his head, wrung his hands. "I…I can't. This is too much." He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall - too late, Harry realized what he was doing.
The Room of Requirement, its enhanced magic starving for company, moved to let Draco through. A door didn't appear, but the wall bubbled, edges reaching out to embrace him, rapidly sucking him into the chamber.
"Wait!" Harry reached out, his desperate hands touching fabric, but it soon gave way to cold, hard stone. His fingers scrabbled at it, skin scraping against the roughness. Then he stopped, breathing heavily, and took a step back.
I want to see where Draco Malfoy has gone. Harry chanted in his mind, briskly walking back and forth across the entrance. He cracked an eyelid. Nothing. His heart sank; he thought Draco was done shutting him out.
Footsteps echoing at the end of the corridor made Harry turn. The two people he least expected to see ran towards him. One of them carried an armful of books, face streaked with tears. The other looked furious.
Harry regarded them coldly, adopting his boyfriend's method of wearing an uninterested mask, while his heart wrenched in his chest. "What are you lot doing here?"
