#gayrepresentation

The war had ended three years ago.

Draco still wasn't entirely sure what to do with that.

For most of his life, survival had been simple.

Follow orders.

Keep his head down.

Endure.

Now there was no war.

No Dark Lord.

No impossible choice waiting around the corner.

Just life.

Ordinary life.

Draco found he wasn't particularly good at it.

Malfoy Manor certainly wasn't helping.

The house was too large.

Too quiet.

Too full of memories.

His mother spent more and more time traveling.

Italy.

France.

Spain.

Anywhere except England.

Anywhere except here.

Draco couldn't blame her.

The Manor was haunted.

Not by ghosts.

By memories.

Sometimes that felt worse.

The Floo flared bright green.

Draco smiled despite himself.

Only one person entered his home without warning anymore.

"You're late, Potter."

Harry stumbled out carrying two paper bags and looking exhausted.

"The Ministry is attempting to murder me."

"Again?"

"Again."

Draco accepted one of the bags.

Chinese takeaway.

His favorite.

"You spoil me."

"I know."

Harry dropped into the sofa opposite him.

For a moment neither spoke.

Comfortable silence.

An odd thing.

Three years ago Draco would have laughed if someone suggested he and Harry Potter would spend Friday evenings eating takeaway in Malfoy Manor.

Now it happened almost weekly.

Life was strange.

The Floo flared again.

Draco blinked.

Harry groaned.

"Oh no."

A small figure exploded from the fireplace.

"UNCLE DRACO!"

Three-year-old Jasmine Potter-Weasley launched herself directly at him.

Draco barely saved the takeaway.

The child attached herself to his side like a particularly determined barnacle.

Behind her came her twin.

Syria.

Syria looked around the room.

Spotted Draco's bookshelf.

And immediately headed toward it.

Draco felt absurdly pleased.

Reasonable child.

The final person stepped from the Floo with considerably more dignity.

Helena Potter-Weasley.

Twenty-two years old.

Blind.

Widowed.

Stubborn enough to make Harry seem reasonable.

"Hello, Draco."

"Helena."

She smiled.

"You sound disappointed."

"You brought the gremlins."

"We prefer children."

"I don't."

Jasmine gasped.

"You love us."

Draco sighed.

Unfortunately.

He did.

The twins had inherited far too much of Fred Weasley.

Which meant chaos followed them everywhere.

Helena settled into an armchair.

Harry immediately handed her tea.

She accepted it without needing to ask.

The practiced ease of family.

The sort of thing Draco noticed more and more these days.

Harry and Helena had survived the war together.

Had survived losing Jasmine Potter.

Had survived losing Fred.

Together they'd rebuilt what remained of their family.

And somehow Draco had become part of it.

Not officially.

Nobody had said anything.

But every Sunday dinner there was a seat for him.

Every holiday included an invitation.

Every birthday owl included his name.

Slowly.

Patiently.

Without asking permission.

They had made room for him.

Which was terrifying.

Because Draco had spent years convinced he didn't deserve that.

Jasmine climbed into his lap.

Draco didn't even pretend to object.

"Read to me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

The child looked entirely unbothered.

She opened a book and handed it to him.

Draco took it automatically.

Across the room Harry laughed.

The traitor.

The evening passed comfortably.

Dinner.

Stories.

Syria reading.

Jasmine climbing furniture she absolutely should not have been climbing.

Helena threatening consequences.

Harry pretending not to laugh.

Family.

The thought hit Draco unexpectedly.

Family.

Not his family.

Not really.

And yet—

The Floo had become brighter because of them.

The Manor warmer.

The silence less oppressive.

When the twins were finally asleep upstairs in guest rooms they had claimed as their own months ago, Helena disappeared to check on them.

Leaving Draco and Harry alone.

The room felt different immediately.

Quieter.

Softer.

Harry stared into his tea.

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Harry sighed.

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You've been making that face for an hour."

"What face?"

"The one that means you're thinking."

Harry laughed.

Then immediately looked nervous.

Draco hated that.

Harry Potter facing Dark Lords?

Fine.

Harry Potter nervous?

Never a good sign.

"Harry."

"Right."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Took a breath.

Then another.

Draco's stomach dropped.

"Oh no."

"Draco—"

"Oh absolutely not."

"I haven't said anything yet."

"You don't need to."

Harry smiled.

The bastard.

Then his smile faded.

"Move in with us."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Draco stared.

Harry stared back.

Neither moved.

Finally—

"What?"

"Move into Potter Manor."

Draco laughed.

A short, startled sound.

Because surely not.

Surely Harry Potter had not just asked him that.

Harry remained entirely serious.

"Oh, Merlin."

"That's about what Helena said."

"Helena knows?"

"Helena helped."

Of course she did.

Draco stood.

Crossed to the nearest window.

Outside stretched the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

Dark.

Empty.

Silent.

Harry joined him.

Not touching.

Just there.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"I don't want you here alone."

The words landed harder than they should have.

Because that wasn't fair.

Draco wasn't alone.

Was he?

He had acquaintances.

Colleagues.

Friends.

Harry.

Helena.

The girls.

A family that wasn't his and yet somehow had become his anyway.

Harry's voice softened.

"When Jasmine has a nightmare she asks for you."

Draco looked away.

"When Syria finds a book she loves, she wants to tell you."

The silence stretched.

"When Helena is worried, she comes to you."

Draco swallowed.

"And when I have a bad day..." Harry continued quietly. "You're the person I want to see."

Draco closed his eyes.

Because that was the problem.

The terrible, wonderful problem.

He wanted that too.

He wanted Sunday dinners.

He wanted tea with Helena.

He wanted Jasmine climbing into his lap with a book.

He wanted Syria quietly reading nearby.

He wanted Harry.

Always Harry.

The future terrified him.

But losing this terrified him more.

Harry stepped closer.

"Come home."

Draco laughed softly.

Not because it was funny.

Because after everything—

After the war.

After the Manor.

After all the years spent believing he would always be an outsider—

Harry Potter was offering him a home.

Not pity.

Not forgiveness.

A home.

Behind them came Helena's voice from the doorway.

"You know you've practically lived with us for six months already."

Draco turned.

Helena smiled.

Far too smug.

"We already converted the east bedroom."

"You what?"

"The girls picked the wallpaper."

"Oh dear Merlin."

"They chose dragons."

"Of course they did."

Harry was laughing now.

Helena looked delighted.

Draco looked between them.

Then toward the staircase where two little girls slept.

Toward Harry.

Toward the life waiting for him.

And finally—

Finally—

He smiled.

"When exactly did all of you decide this was happening?"

Harry's face lit up.

Helena grinned.

And somewhere upstairs Jasmine shouted in her sleep:

"UNCLE DRACO SAID YES!"

The entire house burst into laughter.

And for the first time in years, Draco realized he wasn't afraid of the future.

Charlie Weasley came out on a Thursday.

By Friday evening he was drunk in Diagon Alley.

This was not part of the plan.

To be fair, Charlie had not actually had a plan.

Just hope.

And hope had turned out to be considerably less reliable than expected.

The conversation had not been terrible.

That was the problem.

If Molly had yelled?

Charlie could have been angry.

If Arthur had thrown him out?

Charlie could have hated him.

Instead there had only been silence.

Questions.

Confusion.

Disappointment nobody wanted to call disappointment.

And somehow that hurt more.

So Charlie drank.

Then he drank some more.

Then he made several excellent decisions.

Unfortunately all of them were terrible.

Which was how Jasmine Potter found him.

Jasmine had left Flourish and Blotts with two bags of books, one sleeping six-year-old Helena balanced on her hip, and approximately zero desire to interact with other humans.

She had plans.

The plans involved tea.

A blanket.

And pretending the rest of the world did not exist.

Then she noticed a man crying behind a rubbish bin.

Jasmine stopped walking.

"...well."

Helena lifted her head from Jasmine's shoulder.

"Muma?"

"There's a man behind that bin."

A pause.

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"Are we checking?"

Jasmine looked toward the alley.

The man was definitely crying.

Definitely drunk.

And definitely having the worst day of his life.

"Unfortunately yes."

Helena sighed dramatically.

"You're adopting another one."

Jasmine pointed a finger.

"I have never adopted anyone."

Helena snorted.

"Muma."

"One time."

"Harry."

"That doesn't count."

"Auntie Andi."

"That also doesn't count."

Harry's voice drifted from beside them.

"You literally brought Auntie Andi home."

"I did not."

"You did."

"You are six."

"I know."

Jasmine looked toward the heavens.

Betrayed by children.

Again.

The man behind the bin started crying harder.

Jasmine sighed.

"Stay here."

She approached carefully.

The stranger looked up.

Red hair.

Dragon keeper robes.

Freckles.

A truly impressive amount of misery.

"Oh."

The stranger blinked.

"...hello."

Jasmine stared.

"You seem upset."

The man laughed.

Then immediately started crying again.

"Right."

Definitely the worst day of his life.

Jasmine sat beside him.

Because apparently that was the sort of thing she did now.

"My name is Jasmine."

The stranger stared.

"You just sat down."

"Yes."

"You don't know me."

"No."

"You don't know why I'm crying."

"No."

Another pause.

"That seems unsafe."

Jasmine considered.

"Probably."

The stranger laughed despite himself.

Small victory.

"My name is Charlie."

"Hello Charlie."

Charlie looked down at his hands.

For a long moment neither spoke.

The city moved around them.

People passing.

Shops closing.

Life continuing.

Then Charlie whispered:

"I think my parents are disappointed in me."

Jasmine's heart broke instantly.

Not because she knew Charlie.

Not because she understood the situation.

But because she recognized that tone.

The one people used when they were trying very hard not to fall apart.

"Do you want to tell me why?"

Charlie laughed bitterly.

"I told them I'm gay and nonbinary."

Silence.

Then:

"Oh."

Charlie groaned.

"No more 'oh.'"

Jasmine blinked.

"What?"

"Everyone keeps saying 'oh.'"

She thought about that.

"Fair."

Charlie laughed.

Actually laughed.

Progress.

Jasmine bumped his shoulder.

"For what it's worth."

Charlie looked over.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay or nonbinary."

The words came easily.

Naturally.

Like saying the sky was blue.

Or fire was hot.

Or Sirius Black was an idiot.

Charlie stared.

Then his eyes filled again.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You said that way too confidently."

Jasmine barked out a laugh.

"My first girlfriend would be furious if I didn't."

Charlie blinked.

"Your what?"

"My first girlfriend."

"You had a girlfriend?"

Jasmine looked offended.

"Charlie."

"What?"

"I'm pansexual."

The dragon keeper stared.

Then laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

For the first time all day it sounded genuine.

By the end of the evening Charlie was still sad.

Still hurt.

Still confused.

But he was no longer alone.

Sometimes healing didn't start with family.

Sometimes it didn't start with old friends.

Sometimes it started with a stranger sitting beside you in an alley and refusing to leave.