Hi, and welcome to my first Drarry fanfic! I have to warn you, though, there will be some:

-swearing/cussing

-lgbtq+ themes (of course, why must I state this?)

-family death

-maybe smut, if I gain an affinity for it ;)

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ

I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. All rights go to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter One:Just a Beginner

"Dab the brush, Harry. Clouds shouldn't look so harsh," his mother spoke softly from behind him.

The high grass tickled his semi-bare legs, the light breeze going by and messing with his messy, dark hair. The boy pushed his glasses up on his face with the back of his hand before he heeded his mother's warning, dabbing the brush lightly against the canvas. His green eyes squinted in concentration, flickering up to the sky and back to his painting, tongue sticking out slightly as he struggled to get each detail just right.

His mother, Lily, must've noticed, because she said, "You don't have to get every detail just right, Harry. You're just a beginner."

Still, little Harry wanted everything to be perfect, despite being only seven. He wanted to be just like his parents when he grew up, like every child.

The breeze turned into a quick, harsh burst of wind, causing Harry's brush to slide across the canvas, accidentally elongating the cloud. An arm reached out to hold the easel in place so it wouldn't blow and topple over the two of them.

A sad whine came from Harry when he saw his masterpiece was ruined. He looked back at his redheaded mother with watery eyes, dropping his paintbrush in sadness.

"Hey, it's okay, baby," she comforted, wrapping her arms around him, giving a squeeze. "All artists start out rough at first. Don't feel sad."

Still, Harry didn't feel better at his obvious botch.

"Hey, I have a surprise for you," his mother said with a smile. "Come pack up your things, okay?"

Curious, Harry helped close the bottles of paint as his mom gathered the easel, canvas, and paint brushes. The last thing Harry plucked off the ground was his palette, and he was off, walking behind his mother, wondering what the surprise was. Another easel? More tools? Food? Maybe they were going out for ice cream.

They climbed a hill, and a picnic was set up, complete with a plaid red and white blanket and a woven basket. Harry's face lit up as he hurried forward and sat his supplies down on the grass beside the setup. He plopped down, his mother soon joining him shortly after setting the things she carried down. They talked over a lunch of sandwiches, pudding, apple juice, and pastries Harry enjoyed greatly. Harry spoke about school, his two friends, Ron and Hermione, coloring and drawing at home, and their pet bird, Hedwig.

It was when it fell quiet when Harry asked something that made the redhead tense up.

"Did Dad like painting too?"

He looked up at her with green eyes that replicated her own almost exactly. Besides them, he looked just like his father, her late husband. She forced herself to relax and cupped Harry's chin.

"He wasn't much of a painter himself, no," she finally responded. "But he did enjoy my paintings, all of my art. And I'm sure he would have absolutely loved yours as well."

Lily had always dreaded telling Harry that his father was dead, and would always dance around the topic, not wanting to outright lie. But, she wasn't sure for better or for worse, he came home one day from school, he had said,
style="font-family: 'Georgia-BoldItalic'; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-size: 16.00pt""Dad is dead, isn't he?" Lily had froze in washing her dishes, and turned towards her son, who stood in front of her sister, Petunia Evans. She wore the same worried, confused expression as Lily, as if she didn't know where Harry got this information.

"Honey, what makes you think that?" She asked, frying her hands on a hand towel and motioning for the raven-haired boy to come to her.

"Some kids at school were talking about it," Harry said, pushing his glasses on his face. "One boy said that his mother was on a business trip, but his uncle told him that she was dead, that's why she never came home."

The two sisters exchanged glances. At only age five, he was too young to know about death. Lily seriously thought about switching schools as she bent down to his height.

"Harry, honey...there's something we need to talk about..."

Ever since then, Lily tried all she could to prevent anymore dampening of Harry's mood. It was way too sad to explain death to a child and she didn't want anymore instances like that. Still, Harry would ask questions about his father occasionally, a solemn expression taking place on his face.

"How did he die?"

"A car crash."

"What was his name?"

"Your middle name. James."

"What did he look like?"

"Just like you."

Lily focused back on her son's face, smiling softly. "He would be so proud of you, Harry. No matter what you do, he would be proud."

She meant every single word, too.

—

Those words hung around Harry as he grew up into a more mature person. As a teenager, he didn't think he had much for his father to be proud of, as he wasn't making the smartest decisions. He still painted, for he couldn't go a day without adding even a touch to an existing work. But in addition to that, he began dating. It wasn't any committing dating, either. For some reason, he couldn't find a spark with any girl he's dated, kissed, or fucked. It was driving him mad, making it feel like something was wrong with him. Maybe something was wrong with him.

He couldn't tell his mother, though. She talked to him about how she couldn't wait for him to find a nice girl to settle down with one day, and give her a grandchild or two. How would she feel if she knew that her son was having no connection with any of the girls he saw?

So, he went to his godfather about the situation, as he was the second person he trusted the most, after his mother.

"Still sporting your father's look, I see," Sirius pointed out with a smile as he walked through the door. "What brings you here, Harry?"

There was a moment of hesitation as Harry sat in a couch, sinking in almost immediately. He took in the second coat hanging in the coat hanger at the doorway, recognizing it almost immediately, as it wasn't Sirius'. Somehow, he always managed to visit Sirius while Remus was there, someone he considered an uncle.

"I just had a few questions," Harry said.

Sirius sat beside him, seeming to be perfectly fine with anything his godson was wondering about. Harry knew the man wouldn't judge about anything, nor did he discriminate against anybody, despite coming from a very conservative family. Sirius was the "bad apple" that did more good than harm. Harry remembers being told that the Potters and Blacks were loosely related, meaning technically Sirius and him were blood-related, though it didn't matter. Blood-related or not, Harry still trusted him with anything.

The man leaned back in the couch comfortably. "Be my guest."

"Do I hear...oh, it is Harry!"

A man taller than both Harry and Sirius stood at the entrance of the kitchen, holding a platter with a kettle, a sugar bowl, milk, and two tea cups. He smiled at the teenager as he sat the platter down, then gave him a hug. For some unknown reason, Harry preferred the hugs he got from his godfather and uncle than from the girls he dated. Maybe it was because he was more familiar with them, but he liked how they weren't entirely soft. Sirius was more muscular, while Remus was a tad bit too bony, but Harry knew that the shorter man scolded the taller whenever he didn't eat, which made Harry unconsciously smile.

"I'll get another cup," Remus smiled, going back into the kitchen.

"Is it alright if he stays?" Sirius asked in a low voice.

Harry nodded almost immediately. He knew whatever he said to Sirius would somehow make its way back to Remus as well. Might as well save the extra talking on Sirius' part.

"Are you sure? Because I can send him off to get some butter or something—"

"Really," Harry interrupted with a laugh, "it's fine. I-I want his opinion as well. On the matter."

Sirius' gaze lasted longer than normal before they went to the brunette, who carried an extra tea cup and sat it down on the table. He watched Remus pour the hot tea into the cups for a moment, as if mesmerized with how graceful he was, which always made Harry wonder. How was Remus so graceful? It was easy for Harry himself to knock over something incidentally. And when he didn't, his limbs shook in concentration.

"What's the matter?" Sirius finally asked, focusing his gaze on his godson.

Suddenly, Harry was speechless. He knew he had a problem, but he didn't know how to word it or go about it. Remus wasn't the type to judge either, but he wondered how he could say what was on his mind without it being confusing to both of them. He began to stutter softly, face heating up before he took the cup that was handed to him, made exactly how he liked, with some milk and three sugars. After a regenerating sip of tea, he had enough confidence to blurt out his thoughts.

"Why am I not attracted to girls?"

The two men stopped what they were doing—Sirius was sipping his own tea, while Remus poured milk in his own—and exchanged glances. No, more like a full-on conversation with just their eyes. Harry still never could translate what they were discussing, and he felt like he never will.

Finally, Sirius turned back with him, an unconvincing smile hidden by his mustache and beard. "Ah...girls, puberty, dating. You've hit that age."

That didn't answer his question, but Harry nodded anyways.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, setting the milk down. "Uh, how long have you been..."

He trailed off, apparently unable to say what was on his mind. Thankfully, Sirius was there to finish it.

"How long have you been involved with girls?"

Harry thought back to the first girl he's ever taken an interest in, which was a girl named Parvati. She was very pretty, and had liked Harry for a while, but he just didn't feel a connection.

"Maybe a year or so," Harry shrugged.

"Already? My boy's becoming a ladies man!"

Remus gave Sirius an apprehending look, which caused the grin to drop into a more serious (ha) expression, which almost made Harry laugh. The oldest male cleared his throat before turning back to the youngest.

"That's not what I meant," Sirius said. "It's just...how many have you dated? One? Two? Because one or two girlfriends aren't enough to tell if you—"

"Twelve."

Sirius raised his eyebrows while Remus choked on his drink. The shorter gave him a few pats on the back before chuckling and focusing back on his godson.

"Now, that's not a lot."

"'Not a lot'?" Remus sputtered across from them.

"Yeah, that's like one a month. That's my little heartbreaker—"

"Sirius!"

"What?" Sirius chuckled. "He's only taking after the greatest heartbreaker there ever was! Tell me, did they beg for you to take them back? Were they on their knees?"

"Sirius, that's enough."

Remus has stood and took the spot to Harry's left, making him sandwiched between the two men, which he didn't mind, as the couch was big enough for even an extra person. He shot Sirius a glare before continuing to speak.

"Do not listen to your godfather, as he doesn't know the difference between right and wrong. Look, I know you're experimenting and all, but don't do it on unsuspecting girls. You'll only hurt them."

"I've apologized," Harry said, hoping that would help justify that he didn't mean to use girls like test subjects.

"That's good, but you can't do it anymore. At least ask them for consent so they'll expect for the relationship to not last. Now, you think you're not attracted to girls?"

Harry shook his head. He explained the lack of connection, the lack of interest, lack of spark he felt with every girl he's been with. How whenever he kissed them, it was mediocre, nothing spectacular. Whenever he saw them, he never had butterflies like he was supposed to. How he couldn't imagine a future with none of them, and he never had the balls to let them meet his mother because he knew they weren't going to last more than a month.

"That's easy," Sirius blurted when Harry was done. "Harry, you're g—"

"Sirius," Remus firmly said. Then, "Harry, you're still young. You're only fifteen! You have your whole life to find yourself, figure out who you are. Have you...have you felt any feeling for anybody else?"

Harry shook his head. Although, with some famous male athletes, he couldn't help but feel some sort of warmth in his groin after seeing them shirtless, dripping with sweat. But he didn't dare tell this to either man, as he wouldn't be able to deal with the embarrassment.

"He might be asexual, Remus," Sirius said. "Or aromantic—"

"Sirius, would you shut up?"

"Asexual?" Harry questioned, curiosity washing over his features. He's never heard of the word before, so he wasn't sure what it meant. Same with 'aromantic'.

"Don't mind him, Harry. Anyways, as I was saying, don't dwell on this. You'll figure out your preferences when you're older, more mature. You're just a teenager at the moment, and I know the idea of dating sounds fun, but it's not that big of a deal. Trust me. It took me all of my high school years to figure out what I wanted."

Harry didn't miss the glance towards Sirius Remus established, the sparkle in his eye, the warmth, the...admiration. That was when Harry knew something was up with the two men. They didn't act like any other guys, flexing and showing off their masculinity. They were almost...feminine. In a way. Maybe they've been around his mother too much.

Sirius had smiled a bit, drinking some of his tea to occupy himself. Although, Harry could have sworn he saw his cheeks tint a rosy pink color.

"But—"

"Don't let your mother's wishes of having a grandchild be the reason you're in a relationship," Remus said. "You have feelings too. Having a child is just the cherry on top."

Harry nodded. He really did want to have a child in the future, but how if he couldn't find one girl he was attracted to? Last time he checked, he needed a girl to have children with. He can't just spontaneously pull a baby out of thin air.

Sirius spoke up again, but Remus couldn't interrupt him this time. "Harry, you're probably gay."

A silence fell between the three of them. Remus was glaring at Sirius, Sirius was watching Harry intently, and Harry stared into his cup of tea. He wanted to react, but he had no idea how to. What the heck was 'gay'?

"Harry," Remus began, sighing. "Harry, don't listen to Sirius. Just because you aren't attracted to girls right now does not mean—"

"What's gay?"

Remus' mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to spit something out. Luckily—or maybe unluckily—Sirius piped up again.

"You are. You're gay, Harry."

That still explained nothing. Did 'gay' mean undesirable or something?

"I...I don't know what that means," Harry sheepishly admitted, looking up at his godfather.

"Holy fuck, Lily," Sirius groaned.

"Language," Remus warned, still obviously furious. For what reason, Harry didn't know.

"She's protects you from too much. It means you like guys, Harry."

It didn't get through Harry's thick skull, as he still haven't a clue what that's supposed to mean. He liked Ron as a friend. Was that it?

"You like dudes, guys, the same sex, fucking cocks! You don't like ladies!"

The simple explanation sunk in, and Harry's mouth fell open in confusion. Harry wasn't gay. He wasn't gay at all. He couldn't be. Right?

"He doesn't understand, Sirius." Remus rubbed his face with a hand, groaning.

"Kiss a guy, you might like it," Sirius smiled.

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Trust me, it's a lot better than you think!"

"For fuck's sake, Sirius."

Harry didn't know whether to be shocked at Remus cussing or the fact that Sirius admitted that he's kissed guys. Did that mean Sirius was gay? Harry wanted to ask him, but how could he without being upfront about it? It seemed rude to ask, as it was a personal question. He decided against it.

"I..."

What could Harry say? He was confused. He didn't like guys. He liked girls, and how...how...

He couldn't think of a reason why he liked girls. None of them gained him any amount of pleasure, frankly. They were all the same, too soft, too needy, too clingy. There was something about them that annoyed him a bit. How they flipped their hair and batted their eyelashes, as if that was supposed to get them anything they wanted. Harry didn't like that one bit.

"Don't you think he should know, Remus?" Sirius asked.

Remus gave another sigh. "Sirius, you've already cause enough trouble."

"Trouble? I'm just trying to save him time! Best he know what he likes now so he can focus on what he truly wants!"

"Why are you his godfather?"

"Because I'm obviously so great at it!"

"You're awful, Sirius. Just...plain...awful."

Harry left Sirius' house more confused about himself than ever.