Predictably, the fight between the Aurors and the queers led to a Wizengamot hearing. It was scheduled only days after the events, which was an astronomical speed for the bureaucrats. The wrinkly pricks must really be eager to punish the queers, as Annalise put it.
Fortunately for everyone involved, there was no press during the hearing. Harry wondered if Kingsley was to thank for that: after all, even if Harry wasn't personally charged with anything, the story had the potential to generate good sales. And as Harry avoided journalists like the plague, they latched onto any information that let them speculate about his personal life. None of this leaking was kind of a miracle.
As promised, Harry decided to pay the fines for everyone from the Barrel who was charged with public disruption. The resulting amount would have been too expensive for a regular person; but Harry wasn't poor to begin with, and after receiving his part of reparations, coupled with working non-stop for several years without really spending on anything but food and the occasional drinks with friends, he wasn't bothered.
"I was about to say that you are paying the straight tax, but then I remembered you're with Draco now," Ruth said when they arrived at the Atrium of the Ministry, right after the hearing. Harry chuckled.
"Well. I'm still getting used to the fact myself, to be fair."
"To be clear, this," Ruth gestured at what seemed to be everything about Harry, "is not the development I was expecting from you."
"You thought I'd be an Auror until the end of my days?"
"Um, honestly, I didn't think about you too much. You were not my top priority, sorry."
"I'm not offended. I don't think I was my top priority either."
Ruth tilted her head, brows furrowed.
"Now, this is just sad. Do you want to hang out for a bit?"
Harry smiled and shook his head.
"No, I'm fine, thanks. I think I'd better head to the Treasury department and see how to arrange a transfer from Gringotts."
"Rich people language. Have fun."
She slapped him on the shoulder a bit too hard and headed for the Floo departure point; Harry stared in the same direction for several seconds, wondering if she was still mad at him, then turned around, determined to find the people who were supposed to take his money.
The most efficient service in any bureaucracy is usually the one that collects fines, and the Ministry of Magic was no exception. Harry arrived at the Treasury department at 10:08, and by 10:20 everything was sorted out. Frankly impressed and not knowing what to do with his time until noon–he was supposed to meet Draco–he decided to drop by Kingsley's office and thank him for keeping the press out of it.
He failed to find the stairs and subjected himself to another uncomfortable trip in the elevator, which at least had the merit of being really fast. Several minutes later, he walked into the secretary's office and was a little surprised not to find Janice at her usual spot behind the desk. All of her parchments were sitting in neat piles as opposed to the usual mayhem, so she probably had a day off, he thought. Merlin knows she deserves to have one once in a while. The door to Kingsley's office was opaque as always, but not completely shut, so Harry could hear faint voices; someone must have come in to have a quick word. He was about to sit down and wait for his turn when he thought he heard his name. Curiosity took the best of him, and he froze in the spot in an attempt to understand what the conversation was about.
"...is being ridiculous," said no other voice than Head Auror Bennet's. "I have no idea why he is defending the fags."
"They are his new pets," a condescending voice responded, and, to Harry's surprise, it was definitely Kingsley. "He'll find a new hobby when we outlaw them."
Outlaw them?!
"We should get it done, and quickly," Bennet answered. "Idiot that he is, you can't deny that he has public influence. If he starts babbling about it…"
"He won't. I'm telling you, he'll get over it, especially if we guide him in the right direction. In the meantime, could your boys do some digging and find any connections of these people to Death Eaters? That's an argument he'll listen to."
"Do you need actual facts or–"
"Merlin no. Any allegations will do. The boy's traumatised, he'll believe anything if it comes from the right person."
As silently as he could, Harry turned his back to Kingsley's office and left. He'd heard enough.
In the days following the hearing, Harry came up with a plan.
First, he took over the paperwork on child abuse Mark was about to file, and did it all in his own name. 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter's residence, was listed on every one of the official documents as the temporary living situation for all the kids involved. While collecting the paperwork, Harry went further than necessary: he had the families sign statements that they didn't oppose the kid's temporary living situation; and in case things went south, Harry also kept the memories of every encounter with the parents, in which, unfortunately, the homophobia was blatant.
Some families resisted. Irvin's father, for instance, refused point-blank to sign any kind of statement.
"I would be more than happy if you accepted Irvin back in your home," Harry had replied calmly, "I am a firm believer that you will be able to sort this out, as a family."
Of course, this was bullshit. Harry didn't believe one second that it would be better for Irvin to go back to his parents' house, where he'd probably be bullied back into the closet. But, at the same time, Harry had spent enough time in Kingley's dull meetings to know that if he didn't offer parents this option, he would quickly find himself in trouble. So when parents, like Irvin's father, indignantly replied that they wouldn't allow him back "as long as he continues to bring disgrace upon the family", Harry thanked them for their time, and once home, sealed the memory in a shatter proof vial in case anyone accused him of kidnapping kids.
These conversations were far from fun: more often than not, people speculated about Harry's sex life, told him that he was tarnishing his legacy as the Chosen One, that his parents were probably turning in their graves, ashamed of him… the list went on.
On one of these days, Harry came back home earlier than usual. Draco, eyebrows up, watched him trip as he stepped out of the fireplace and mutter, "Fucking stupid bricks!" under his breath.
"That went well," Draco offered observantly.
"It went perfectly fine," Harry fell in one of the armchairs and fumbled through his pockets in search of a vial. Draco waited until the silvery string was sealed in the tiny bottle.
"I haven't heard you swear since there are kids here."
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, thinking half about Corry's parents and their flowery insults, half about how Draco managed to notice the smallest details.
"Sorry, I… don't have the energy to talk about it."
"You don't have to. Do you want me to feed the flock?"
Harry shot him a grateful look.
"Please?"
Draco smiled and got up.
"How can I say no when you ask so nicely."
Harry's lips curled in an involuntary smile. Funny, but since he started this whole orphanage thing, the house became the place where he was able to recharge. Suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude, he got out of his seat and caught up with Draco as he was entering the kitchen.
"Hey," Harry called softly, and, when Draco turned to face him, enveloped him in a hug. He heard Draco sigh somewhere near his ear.
"These bastards really fuck you up every time, huh," he said, burying his fingers in Harry's hair.
"Fuck them."
"Only if you participate."
Harry snorted and let go of Draco, who looked at him with a crooked smile.
"These were the last ones, fortunately, no more idiot parents to face for at least some time," Harry said. "Let's get on with the food, shall we?"
Draco leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on Harry's lips.
"If we don't, we'll be the dinner," he said, turning around and opening the cupboard with the food. "Did we all eat so much when we were teenagers? I have a very vivid memory of your skinny arse."
Harry let out a loud laugh.
"Wow, not nice."
"Fortunately, you've grown some muscles since."
"Will you shut it," Harry hissed, eyeing the corridor. Draco's half-sexual jokes–always when the kids weren't too close, but not too far either–have been a running gag between the two of them for some time now. "There are children in this house, for Merlin's sake, and we are trying to get custody."
Draco chuckled softly and waved his wand at the ingredients he'd fished out of the cupboard. The flour, milk and butter floated graciously into a large bowl and started mixing.
"Custody is a big word. We're trying not to get sued."
Harry leaned on the counter next to Draco.
"By the way. They are coming tomorrow."
Draco froze and met Harry's gaze.
"Skeeter?"
"Fuck no. Not in a million years would I trust her with such information. Lee Turner and Sebastian Walter from The Prophet are coming, though."
Draco's shoulders dropped in relief, and he went back to cutting vegetables for the pie.
"When she finds out she missed out on this one, she will be pissed," he smiled in dark satisfaction. "The Unbreakable Vow is still the plan, right?"
"Do you have another idea as to how to get them to keep it a secret while I negotiate with Kingsley?"
"I don't. I'm actually pretty impressed by how rational you are about this whole thing," Draco cast Harry a meaningful look. "Weasley and Granger still coming?"
"Of course they are. We have to be a united front. If it's just me, they will be able to brush it off as Harry Potter is acting crazy again. If we're together, that's a different story."
"Is Weasley not afraid to lose his job?"
"There's nothing illegal about what we're doing."
"You know what I mean."
Harry sighed and stuck his hands into his pockets.
"I know. I think he chooses to support me. I don't know what I've done to deserve such friends."
Draco stopped chopping for a second.
"Oh, come on. They're just as crazy as you are. You three have always had a thrill for danger."
Harry snorted.
"You know what I like about you?"
"My massive di–"
Harry whacked him on the shoulder, and Draco giggled so contagiously that Harry couldn't help but join him.
"I do, but can we please leave this kind of talk for your place?" he whispered in a few moments.
"Sure. Sorry, sir." Draco said and winked in the most suggestive way.
"Oh my God," Harry uttered, rolling his eyes and trying not to smile. "What I was trying to say, you horny fuck, is that you never bullshit me, and I appreciate that."
"What happened to the no swear policy? Is there a double standard here I'm not aware of?"
"No. I'm done, promise."
"Okay."
"Okay."
They stared at each other, smiling. There was a warm feeling spreading in Harry's chest, and he was thoroughly enjoying it, even if it scared him a little. Without breaking eye contact, Draco cast a Sonorus on himself and bellowed:
"Dinnertime!"
As usual, after a second of silence, there came the sound of multiple doors opening and thuds of hurried steps on the old wooden staircase. Impulsively, Harry grabbed Draco by the neck and French-kissed him, letting go just before Dave and Colin sprinted into the kitchen, like they have never been fed before. Draco steadied himself against Harry's shoulder and swallowed.
"You nasty—"
"Language," Harry grinned shamelessly. "Let's eat, everybody!"
It was raining heavily when the journalists arrived the next morning. Harry opened the door and cast an umbrella charm over the porch.
"Thanks for coming. You realise I have to check that you don't have company?"
The tall one, Lee Turner, nodded.
"Go ahead."
Harry raised his wand and whispered, "Revelio." Nothing happened. Harry stepped aside and let them in.
"Whatever this is, Mr. Potter, why us?" the other reporter, Sebastian Walter, asked.
"You were both at The Prophet for at least ten years, right?"
"Correct," Turner said.
"And during all this time, I don't remember you writing anything about me losing my marbles," Harry motioned them towards the living room. "I suppose this makes you trustworthy for what I'm about to tell you."
In the living room, Hermione and Ron were waiting. When they entered, Hermione was pacing nervously. Harry cleared his throat.
"So, gentlemen. I do trust you more than other journalists, but considering what we're about to tell you, trust isn't enough. Please have a seat so I can explain."
It didn't escape Harry's notice that Turner clenched something under his robes—probably his wand. Hermione noticed it too.
"Mr. Turner, we are not going to harm you," she said. "You don't have to accept whatever we are to offer now. If you listen to Harry and decide you aren't interested, we will not be offended."
"Get on with it, then," Walter said with an irritated sigh.
Harry glanced at Ron, who nodded briefly, then turned to the journalists.
"All right, here's why I asked you to come. We," he gestured at Ron and Hermione, "have come across some very questionable practices of the Ministry, harmful practices. We tried to deal with it the official way, but so far it has led nowhere, and we thought that maybe involving the press would be the leverage we need. However, our goal is to change the, um, thing the Ministry is doing wrong, not just to throw them under the bus."
"And," Hermione added, "it is a sensitive matter. We need people who can keep an open mind and be sure they can handle uncomfortable truths about the wizarding society. Do you think you can do this?"
Turner and Walter exchanged glances.
"Well," Walter said, "I am in a room full of war heroes who for some reason don't trust the Ministry's war heroes. It's intriguing enough as it is. The least I can do is listen to what you have to say."
"Seconded," Turner muttered.
Harry nodded.
"All right, here's the deal. We'll have both of you vow to keep the whole thing a secret for a week. This will give me time—and leverage—to get the Ministry to act differently. If they do, they'll look better in the story; if they don't, you will write about it anyway in a week's time."
Turner finally let go of his wand and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"We're talking about the Unbreakable Vow, aren't we?" he asked.
Harry shrugged.
"One can understand why I'd have trust issues when it comes to the press. But if you don't want to-"
"That's fine with me," Walter answered before Harry could finish.
"Mr. Turner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Turner looked Harry in the eyes.
"I don't think it would be smart of me to pass on an opportunity like this one," he finally answered.
Harry turned to Hermione.
"Let's do this."
Two hours later, as Harry was seeing them out, Turner shook his hand. The way he looked at Harry gradually changed during their meeting, going from neutral and cautious to appalled and shocked to full of compassion and outrage. Harry could tell they didn't expect to hear about the Barrel, the Auror raids, trans people, and Harry's own coming out. But he could also tell they believed him in the end. Of course they did; he showed them the memories of both fights at the bar, of the hearings in Wizengamot, and of Kingsley's conversation with Bennet that he'd overheard. He introduced them to Draco, for fuck's sake. No one would go to such lengths just for a prank.
"I concede I didn't see any of this coming, Mr. Potter," Turner said. "I must admit that it challenges some of the opinions I had on… queer people myself."
"You sure ruffled some of my feathers," Walter said, frowning and casting a water-repelling spell on his cloak. "But I think we both agree that if Harry Potter is gay, it's high time we reconsider the way we treat these people as a society."
Turner nodded vigorously.
"The way some Aurors think they'll get away with anything… It's disgusting."
Walter smirked.
"If The Prophet doesn't make this front page, I'm printing it in Witch Weekly."
Harry felt the colour fading from his face. Not the gossip magazine.
"Don't worry, Mr. Potter, The Prophet isn't dependent on the Ministry anymore. They will publish the story," Turner reassured him. "But Sebastian has a point here about Witch Weekly; if you get the women to take your side, you've won half of the battle. I'd schedule an interview if I were you."
"I'll consider it," Harry answered faintly. "You'll forgive me if it's not going to be my priority."
Walter chuckled.
"Good luck, Mr. Potter. Let us know if there's any development with the Ministry."
"I will."
Harry closed the door behind them and went back to the living room, where he hugged both Ron and Hermione at the same time.
"Thanks for being here," he whispered.
Ron squeezed his shoulder.
"I don't say this often, mate, 'cause it's a bit redundant, but… That was really brave of you. I'm not sure I could have exposed myself like that if I were you."
"You could compliment me if you don't want to repeat yourself," Draco said, running down the stairs and joining them. "Don't you think I was brave too?"
Ron pulled a face.
"Very brave of you, Malfoy. Are you happy?"
"I am, thank you," Draco grinned and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Thanks for being here, though. It means a lot."
Harry pulled him closer and kissed him. "Thank you for accepting this."
"No worries," Draco smiled and kissed back. Ron rolled his eyes, grabbed Hermione and showered her in ironic kisses, prompting her to giggle as she struggled away from him.
"No, let me kiss you more! There's a spot on your left cheek I haven't covered yet!" he protested. "Nothing can stand in the way of my love!"
Draco, who was trying to ignore Ron's attempts to make fun of them, finally broke and started laughing.
"Okay, okay, we got the hint," Harry said, unsticking himself from Draco and unsuccessfully trying to suppress his own laughter. Ron let go of Hermione, who immediately intertwined their fingers, beaming. Harry watched Ron's hand casually slide over the scar on Hermione's forearm, the one Bellatrix left there, and thought that despite everything they've been through, they were pretty lucky after all.
To say Kingsley was furious when Harry, Ron and Hermione cornered him in his own office would be an understatement.
"Are you blackmailing me?" he whispered, red in the face.
"Not really. This is more of a heads up," Harry replied casually. "The information is out. You have several days to do damage control, and in my opinion, the best way to go about it would be to do something about the Auror problem, and quickly."
"This is only reasonable," Hermione chimed in. "Your image is at stake here. An anti-discrimination bill would be very much welcome right now."
"You can't be serious. You know how long these things take—"
"Better be less than a week," Harry interrupted. "Listen, Kingsley. I have been to an awful lot of your damned Ministry events. Don't try to persuade me it's all about procedure, because it isn't. It's all about priorities. It's time to do a 180 on your anti-queer stance."
"I didn't expect such a low blow from you, Harry. Selling me out to the press—"
"Yeah, well. I was very disappointed."
Kingsley exhaled slowly.
"What do you want?"
"A bill that prohibits discrimination and violence against gay and trans people. Clinical trials of the trans potion at St Mungo's. And you will sign this," Harry produced a thick parchment roll and put it in front of Kingsley.
"What's this?"
"An authorization to create a shelter for queer minors. I have proof of poor treatment by parents. Don't worry, I will abide by all the requirements the Department of underage magic can think of; I just want to give these kids a chance to have a terror-free childhood."
Kingsley skimmed the document.
"I'll have to consult the Head of the Department first."
"All right."
"You're putting me in an impossible position, Harry."
Harry knew what he was talking about. Only four months were left before the next election, which meant that whatever impact this ordeal made, it would reflect on Kingsley's chances to keep his position. Tough luck, Harry thought to himself.
"You're smart. I'm sure you'll make the right decision."
"No need to get all sarcastic."
"I'm not. I actually hope this is our first and last disagreement."
Kingsley eyed Harry suspiciously. Harry wondered if he'd played his cards right.
"Expect my owl tomorrow."