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Until he was eleven, Harry had a pretty good idea of who he was. He didn’t like it much, there were things he could change, but everything felt somewhat normal. So he was small and scrawny with messy hair his aunt hated, with parents who died in a car crash before he could remember, and a bunch of strange things happening every once in a while. Okay, that part is a bit odd, but it’s manageable, and the being good at maths and hiding from Dudley evened it all out.
And then he turned eleven, a half giant knocked down a door on an island in the middle of the sea, and everything Harry thought he knew changed.
So now he adds The Boy Who Lived to his monikers. It’s a huge title, one that has been known for years and years, the magical world coveting his ability to defeat the darkest wizard of all time and live to tell -- well, not the tale. He doesn’t remember the tale -- but he’s alive and he’s at Hogwarts and he’s a wizard and it all feels a bit overwhelming.
He makes friends for life, friends he doesn’t know yet will follow him to the ends of the earth and back, and he makes the Quidditch team, slotting into this sport that is played high in the sky and makes him feel almost as invincible as everyone seems to think he is.
Things aren’t great, not completely, but they’re a lot better than they once were, now he knows his parents died a hero’s death, now that he has left the Dursleys, now that he knows a bit more about who he is.
.
Everything gets shaken up a little again when he’s thirteen. No, not because of Sirius Black and his murderous hunger for Harry. That’s not the main part of this story because Harry is thirteen and every single emotion that passes through him feels a million times more powerful than at any other age as he struggles through puberty as the golden child of the wizarding world.
But golden children with magical scars can embarrass themselves in front of girls they fancy just as much as anyone else. Harry catches sight of Cho Chang, his rival Seeker, and when his stomach tightens and his mouth goes dry, he knows that it has nothing to do with the game they’re about to play. Harry’s not naive, he knows that this is the age where hormones take over all rational thought and everyone is controlled by their bodies’ desires but he’s been a bit busy, okay? And yes, he is the target of an escaped mass murderer but we’ve got to fit these sexual awakenings in somewhere.
Cho is smart and funny and not afraid to play to her strengths of making Harry splutter and fumble when she blocks him, smiling coyly and darting off, leaving Harry stunned and the Gryffindors in the crowd screaming at him to focus on the Snitch. He won’t dare look in Oliver’s direction when the same thing happens minutes later and Cho actually gets a headstart on the Snitch.
.
Hormones are messy but oh, if only he knew what was coming.
.
Fourth year rolls around and Ron and Hermione’s bickering kicks it up a notch, something Harry shamefully doesn’t miss during those few awful weeks Ron doesn’t believe him about the goblet. Sure he has this thing for Cho but that doesn't stop him functioning as a human being doing his very best not to completely give up.
And then he realises that he doesn’t like just Cho, that he’s been noticing more and more people, his emotions flipping into overdrive, and that, and here’s the big bit -- that some of these people are boys.
Maybe it’s because he’s already had to accept so many things about his life that he didn’t know until recently but this is just another one so he takes a few days to think it over, reflects on the past couple of years, and realises that no, gay doesn’t fit, and straight definitely doesn’t, but he thinks he likes bi.
In amongst the four champions, the dragon, Ron not speaking to him, half the school hating him, and being worried sick about Sirius, this whole sexual identity re-evaluation is actually a refreshing change of pace and one that he rolls with somewhat easily.
He almost tells Hermione a couple of times over the next fortnight, when they spend long nights saying accio over and over again and the words climb Harry’s throat whenever there’s a silence. But he pulls back, knows that they have enough to be focusing on at the moment, because as supportive as Harry knows Hermione will be she’s going to want to talk about it and he doesn’t have that sort of time at the moment, not when he’s facing a dragon in T-minus thirty-six hours.
Instead he brings it up around the setting of the Yule Ball, when the school has gone mad with dates and love and Harry wishes he could face the Horntail again rather than have to ask someone.
He brings it up when he’s asked Cho and been let down gently and Ron has had his humiliation with Fleur. He brings it up because Ron is moaning about not finding a date and how Hermione is clearly lying about having one and Harry says, all forced casual, fooling no one, “Terry Boot wouldn’t be a bad date.”
Ron wrinkles his nose. “Terry Boot?”
“Ravenclaw. Tall. Dark hair.”
“I suppose. Bit out of the blue, though, mate.” Ron pulls out of his Fleur reverie to look at Harry curiously. “What made you think of him?”
And Harry shrugs, concentrates on his Herbology essay until he knows he can’t do anything less than look Ron in the eye. “Just been thinking about him,” he says, still that voice, but a little less now, lowering his guard.
“Oh,” which isn’t a bad oh . Neutral. “I get it,” and Ron holds Harry’s eye contact, gives him a smile, and Harry’s breath whooshes out of him. “You should ask him then. Terry Boot.”
Which is a very good and gentle way of telling Harry that the last few minutes have ended safely but if Harry has learned anything about himself over the past three and a half years it’s that if the attention isn’t from Quidditch then he doesn’t want it and, as progressive as Hogwarts may be, he doesn’t know if he wants to make an even bigger entrance than he will be at this bloody ball.
He asks Parvati who grins and says yes, roping Padma along for Ron, and the night goes -- well let’s just say it goes fine , all things considered, but Parvati definitely can’t be blamed so it doesn’t feel like the worst choice Harry has ever made.
.
No, if we get dark for a minute, the worst choice Harry has ever made is making Cedric take the Triwizard Cup with him in the middle of the maze and falling back out with his dead body and the story that no one will believe.
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After his summer of being kept in the dark, of no news and empty owls and Dementors in Little Whinging, Harry’s temper is up to here when they go back to Hogwarts only to find that half the school thinks he’s insane and the person he’s relying on won’t look at him.
Ron and Hermione help, they do, but the facts are these: they weren’t in the graveyard, they didn’t have their arm torn open to fuel the resurrection of a dark lord, they didn’t watch their dead parents come out of their wands, carry out their classmate’s dying wish. But they try, they really do, and Harry closes his eyes and counts to ten and counts his stars that if he loses his head with them at least it doesn’t end with his skin being scratched apart and his apology written in blood.
But through the fog of grief and frustration as his world seems to crack apart piece by piece, from his roommates to his classes to Quidditch , Harry finds himself thrumming with an energy he doesn’t know what to do with.
So, for once, he acts like a normal fifteen year old boy and lets his body do the thinking, see where it takes him. Without Quidditch he needs some way to blow off steam, to distract him from the dreams every single night, and so when he accidentally runs into Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein not long after their Hog’s Head meeting, he remembers all his thoughts about Terry from last year and realises all those thoughts still stand.
Terry seems to be thinking something similar by the way he looks at Anthony, tilts his head so Anthony gets the hint and leaves.
It’s now that they’re alone that Harry realises he’s never really spoken to Terry, aside from occasional partnering up in Astronomy or instruction in the DA. But, and this is based purely on face to face contact, Terry never seems to have had a problem with Harry which he’s realising is becoming rarer than he ever expected.
“So,” Terry says, shoving his hands in his pockets and starting to walk along the corridor. “Any idea when the next meeting is?”
“Dunno,” Harry replies, suddenly wary that Terry is only talking to him to get insider info. “Possibly Thursday, depending on other Houses’ Quidditch practice.”
“You’re a good teacher, Harry. When you started with Expelliarmus I thought it was going to be too basic but,” and now he glances at him, gives him a once over that would be disgustingly cliche if Harry wasn’t trying hard not to do the same, “you surprised me.”
“I surprise a lot of people,” Harry says. “You’ve been improving.”
Which he regrets as soon as he says because, “That’s a backhanded compliment if I’ve heard one,” Terry says, but he’s laughing and Harry lets himself do the same.
They walk through the corridors to the seventh floor where Harry has a vague sense the Ravenclaw tower is, and they talk about the DA, about Umbridge, about Quidditch and their classmates and Harry barely notices the time passing.
So once they’ve been stood chatting for a while, Harry’s mind the furthest from everything else, it’s a shock when they hear Prefects patrolling and they look at their watches. They say their quick goodbyes and then Harry is throwing the cloak over him and racing through the halls, thinking there’s worse ways to break curfew.
.
Like he said, Terry is never someone he ever talked to much but now he seems to run into him everywhere. He doesn’t have a lot of time for people these days, if that’s not obvious, but he doesn’t mind it much when he bumps into Terry and Anthony coming out of the Great Hall, or when Anthony and Michael partner up at DA meetings and Terry needs a partner.
He’s funny, see. Funny like he gets Harry’s new gallows humour, his quick dry wit. He has family involved in this growing war, like so many people, so he can sympathise, he can relate, but he’s also just far enough removed for them to be able to talk about other things.
.
It ticks into December and Harry is still filled with that desperate, unsettling energy. He manages to bite back his temper with Umbridge, an achievement that feels redundant now that Angelina’s rage is no longer directed at him, and he’s keeping up with his homework now that he doesn’t have practice or detentions, but the dreams are still coming, half the school still doesn’t believe him, and he’s tired .
A brief respite is the last DA meeting before Christmas where Cho asks him to wait behind and his mind gallops into overdrive, a culmination of three years of daydreams and dreams climaxing in a wet kiss that has his head spinning and his hands sweating.
Cho talks about Cedric and how brave they are and how much she loves the DA and Harry leans in and kisses her again, now that he’s had a taste for it.
It’s gentle and it’s sad and yet Harry clings to it throughout the nightmare of the Christmas holidays where he fears he is a snake and he is possessed and he wishes time could rewind to that night where Cho kissed him and the hole inside of him shrunk.
.
But despite the way he has felt about Cho since he was thirteen, despite the things they have in common, because of the things they are all too similar in, things come to an end with a gentle bump, through neithers fault. Maybe if Harry had asked Cho to the ball first they could be living a different life but that’s not what happened. This is not their time.
.
Hermione makes noises about the importance of relationships, twitching her essay long letter to Krum away from prying eyes. Harry blinks back at her when she states so matter-of-factly that she and Ron are there for everything but there are some things they can’t be provide, some very human instincts, and then Harry can’t look her in the eye because this is basically his sister telling him to take this pent-up energy and find someone to let loose with.
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“Can I have a word, Harry?” Terry asks at the end of a DA meeting when almost everyone has left. “It’s important.”
So Harry tells Ron and Hermione he’ll meet them later and hangs around until the room is empty bar him and Terry, finding it all eerily similar to the time Cho asked the same and look where that lead them.
“Is it something to do with the hexes from tonight?”
“You think I’d risk curfew for that?” Terry says. “That’s class time. No, I noticed you’ve been tense lately. Even more than before.”
At this point in the year, with Umbridge, with the dreams, now with Snape peering into his brain, Harry really can’t deny it, so he makes a non-committal noise. “I’ve got a lot on my plate if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Of course you do. You’re the bloody Boy Who Lived, you’re being crucified by Fudge and Umbridge, no wonder you look like you’re going to shatter.”
Harry bristles, tries not to get too defensive. “This is all very interesting, but where are you going with this?”
Terry steps closer. Harry’s gaze drops to where Terry’s sleeves have been rolled up, the bracelets stacked on one wrist. “You need to have a positive outlet for all that energy, now that you can’t throw yourself into Quidditch. Look,” and now he picks up Harry’s hand, “you’re shaking,” but Harry thinks that’s for a whole other reason because --
“Can I do something?” Terry says quietly, getting closer, and Harry nods, goes to ask what, when Terry is kissing him and Harry falls into it immediately. His heart is beating too quickly, his mind won’t slow down, but he curls a hand in Terry’s hoodie and focuses everything on the way Terry’s mouth feels, on the way his body is reacting, and he feels more free, less tight, then he can remember, which is absurd because he is frantic and he’s yearning for more and more.
He backs away, breathing hard, closing his eyes to Terry’s lazy smile.
“Well?” Terry asks.
“Do you want a performance review?” Harry replies, leaning back against the wall and opening one eye.
Terry steps closer. His hand fits on Harry’s neck. “A bit of feedback would be nice.
“E,” Harry sighs, “Always room for improvement,” and it all feels very blase considering Terry’s hand on his chest can probably feel how wildly his heart is beating.
Terry laughs. “I’ll show you room for improvement,” and then he ducks his head, kisses Harry again, and Harry goes along with it, relishing that joy building up inside of him, his emotions out of control and overwhelming in a rare positive burst.
.
“So what did Terry want?” Hermione is curious to know when Harry makes his way back the common room, his tie askew and his mouth bending into an uncontrollable grin, the sight of which causes a couple of third years to stare. “You’ve been talking to him a lot lately.”
Harry scrubs a hand through his hair, throws himself onto a chair, and does his best to focus on Ron and Hermione’s essays in front of him. “Yeah, well --”
And now Ron sniggers, causing Hermione to whip her head to him. “Sounds like they’ve progressed past talking, Hermione.”
“What do you -- oh!”
Harry forces himself to meet her gaze, watches as she combs him over now she knows what to look for. She zeroes in on the way Harry’s shirt is untucked and that messy tie was always going to be giveaway, especially when paired with the hint of a bruise on his neck.
“Harry!”
“What?”
“Well you look,” she pauses, and it’s always a novelty watching Hermione try and find the words. “You look happy,” and the way she says it says how much of a rarity it is
So he shrugs, lets her have it. He knows she worries about him. “It just sort of happened.”
“I thought you liked Cho?”
Harry’s not really up for analysing his past relationships, but, again, he’s in a good mood. “I did. But after, you know, that night, nothing else really happened and I like her but it’s a bit messy, isn’t it?”
“Wet, you said,” Ron pipes up, tipping Harry a wink and laughing again.
But Hermione takes the other approach. “No, I see what you mean. Cho’s a nice girl but she’s probably not the best person to get involved with. Terry on the other hand, is very removed, doesn’t know as much. He’s attractive too --”
“Okay, if we’re done analysing my taste in people,” Harry cuts in before Hermione can start a list of pros and cons.
She apologises, turns back to her essay, before returning a minute later. “We are happy for you, though, aren’t we, Ron?”
“‘Mione, Harry knows that,” Ron protests, but he turns to Harry and nods. “Terry’s decent. And if he’s not crying all over you that’s got to be an improvement.”
.
Given everything that has happened to him, Harry likes to think he’s very grounded in reality, aside from a few of those Cho fantasies, and a number of other ones we won’t go into. He knows that this is his life, that these are his burdens to bear, but every now and then he plays a cruel little game where he has two living parents, a couple of siblings, and he’s free to do as he chooses with whomever he likes, nothing bigger on his mind than what’s for dinner, what to get Ron for his birthday, and who might win the league.
And, not to overstate Terry’s importance, not to use him as a complete escape, but after a couple of weeks of broom cupboard escapades and not so subtle late nights after DA meetings, Harry feels like he is living for those hours when he has nothing more to focus on than the boy in front of him and the stories from his life, what his mates think about Hogsmeade, the league -- you know, everything not dark and gloomy.
So, you see, he gets lulled into a bit of a false sense of security here.
.
Because nothing can be kept a secret, a random third year walks in on Harry and Terry being reckless in an empty classroom and he escapes with his life cradled in his hands and a piece of gossip big enough to blow Rita Skeeter’s mind if she was still in the business.
But Rita is locked in a jar so the news spreads in traditional school fashion, whispered behind hands, called across classrooms, sent in tiny flying memos across classrooms when teachers aren’t looking.
Harry sits on a table, Terry standing between his legs, and they watch their secret bounce and fly out of the door.
“So where do we go from here?” Terry asks, fingers playing with the hem of Harry’s shirt.
Which is distracting and plays into the fuck it mood Harry has been adopting recently. Like he’s said since the start, his sexuality is something he’s adapted to relatively easily, and if it stops people calling him a liar and a headcase, he’s not going to shy away and deny it.
.
Hermione is the one who phrases a theory that has Harry speechless.
“This could be a good thing, Harry,” she says, rushes to assure him that being outed this way is of course awful, “but if you open up a bit, if people see more about you than your role in this awful war, it might change their perspective.”
“You’re saying people are more likely to believe me if I talk about snogging Terry than if I told them about Cho?” Harry checks, incredulous. “None of this is any of their business."
And Hermione nods, for once appeased, because this realm is out of her textbook knowledge and she knows she can’t push it. This is what leads Harry to make the decision to go with it -- she might be right.
“Okay,” he sighs, ignoring the look Ron gives him. “I’ll be the bi poster boy. Merlin knows I’m doing enough anyway --” Hermione opens her mouth. “No, I know you didn’t push me into this, ‘Mione, don’t worry.” He clenches his fist, smirks. “I’m not supposed to tell lies, right?”
.
He checks with Terry because he’s polite and he doesn’t want Terry to suddenly get bombarded with questions; this isn’t what they signed up for when he offered Harry an outlet and Harry grabbed it with both hands.
“Harry Potter, the boy who shagged.”
“Stop that,” Harry says, fumbling with the buttons of Terry’s shirt. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“Bit late for that, babe.”
And who is this boy? This fifteen year old with a scar on his head and a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know the half of yet? The one laughing into the neck of a classmate, all of his energy at the moment going into making Terry feel the best he can, the one who has found a way to live past sheer survival?
.
So they make as small yet strong statement as they can under the current circumstances. Umbridge doesn’t seem to understand she’s trying to control a school made up of teenagers and, war or not, they’re going to try and sneak away together and giggle about who fancies who as much as any Muggle school.
Their small statement consists of this: not denying the rumour, being seen talking to each other, and that’s it. That’s how Harry Potter comes out to Hogwarts. Not with a giant rainbow flag and a speech, but with a quiet sense of normality, that just because everything around them is fucked up, this is something that doesn’t need be tainted, look, you try it.
.
People don’t believe it at first. How can this boy at war with the ministry, with the dark lord, who walks around with his fists clenched, his temper constantly at breaking point, be in a relationship? How can he drop his barriers for more than two minutes, to allow someone to see him at his most intimate? It’s no secret that he’s even been sparring with Ron and Hermione, the two that round out the Golden Trio, but here is Terry Boot, a virtually unknown Ravenclaw, who is privy to Harry Potter when he’s at his most vulnerable.
And anyway, did Harry not have a thing for Cho Chang? Is it Ravenclaws he likes?
So yes, it’s fair to say that when the rumour mill starts ticking, not everyone is immediately on board.
.
It turns out Hermione is right. Maybe it’s because this is something a small amount of people can relate to in their otherwise mysterious hero. No, they haven’t survived the Killing Curse and no, they haven’t killed a basilisk or fought a hundred Dementors, but they have had feelings for boys and girls.
What follows is much like The Quibbler aftermath.
To get around Umbridge and her fucking decrees, people who support and identify with Harry start declaring that they love gobstones. It sends Umbridge into a spiral, trying to identify why a previously non-threatening game has become the talk of the school and how she struggles to find a way to shut it down.
“Mate, they could’ve picked something a bit cooler,” Ron groans for him. “Like chess.”
“Because chess is the epitome of cool,” Ginny says as she joins them. Harry’s noticed more and more this confident Ginny, miles away from first year, who has built herself up, because, as she reminded Harry over Christmas, she’s been through a hell of a lot. But here she is, sprawled on an armchair, no blush to be seen as she tells Harry she’s doing a good thing.
It’s as she’s getting up she calls over her shoulder, “I love gobstones too, you know. Or chess. Whatever you want to call it. I’m bi,” she ends with bluntly and then she leaves with Ron speechless and Harry with a grin that comes from inspiring people to open up about things that aren’t dark magic possession and the fears of their loved ones.
.
Ginny is the crest of a small wave of brave students following their most famous peer and stepping out of the broom closet, so to speak.
Students work rainbows into their everyday life by way of charms that flicker their various quills, ties, bags, bright colours before fading when Umbridge or Filch gets too close.
There have been many times where Harry has been the centre of the school’s attention, the topic of their gossip, of their fear, of their awe, but this one feels the one he is most comfortable with, amazingly, considering they’re dissecting who he’s attracted to.
.
Ginny finds him in the library with Easter eggs and the answer to all of Harry’s problems. She says she’ll talk to Fred and George about a distraction big enough to pull Umbridge from her office, cool as you please, and then she ducks her head, breaks a piece of chocolate into smaller and smaller chunks as she searches for the next words. Harry leaves her to it, focuses on his Transfiguration essay, and looks up only when he hears her clear her throat slightly. He’s been so used to the bold Ginny, the Ginny who has stood up for herself and those younger than her when those few scathing comments arise, that to see her lost for words is almost disconcerting.
“How long have you known?” she asks, voice quiet.
“Twelve?” Harry replies, remembers when his dreams weren’t locked corridors and mysterious doors and instead were filled with half the Quidditch team. “You?”
“About the same,” Ginny says. Then she does yet another brave thing -- Harry is losing count. “I know it must be weird for you. To hear me say I wanted to marry you from when I was old enough to understand your story, but I did. And then I came here and after that first year, I realised that yes, you’re great, but you’re not the only great one. In fact, sometimes girls are even better.”
“A blow to my ego,” Harry smiles. “Have you told your family?”
“Not yet. Obviously Ron, Fred, and George know but we mainly operate on a what happens at Hogwarts stays at Hogwarts system.”
“Hermione has been telling me a bit about wizards’ views on sexuality and Terry has looked it up but I can’t seem to see anything.”
Ginny shrugs. “It’s not a huge deal. For all they care about blood purity and continuing the pureblood line, this isn’t something they take huge issue with. It’s more a personal thing.”
Harry crumples a piece of his parchment in his hand, watches it slowly unfurl. “How do you feel about it?”
“With so much else going on, it seems funny to have so much focus on who you want to shag, doesn’t it?” Which is exactly what Harry has been thinking. “After Tom. This felt like something I could own, something I could take control of. It’s a part of me he’ll never know about.”
Harry opens his mouth to reply, to empathise, to tentatively step into the common ground he has with Ginny and Ginny alone, but before he can say anything Madam Pince rounds the corner, catches sight of their chocolate, and they barely make it out with their heads.
.
Harry sits beside Terry at the Ravenclaw table one morning for breakfast and whispers erupt around the Great Hall.
“It’s like they don’t have more important things to be talking about,” Anthony says through a mouthful of toast.
“I am important, Ant,” Terry says. “I’m dating our tragic hero.”
“You’re a bit flippant, are you not?” Padma chimes in.
Harry shakes his head. “I’m used to it. I’m the most exciting thing he’s ever done,” ignoring the elbow to the ribs.
.
“How sweet,” Snape drawls following a memory of a third year boy coming up to Harry and telling him that he’s been brave enough to tell his friends he likes boys.
“That’s private,” Harry snaps, the warmness of the memory fizzling into anger.
“None of this is private to the Dark Lord, Potter,” Snape reminds him. “He’ll take whatever he wants from you if you don’t start realising how serious this is and closing your mind.”
But Harry can’t see why one part of his life can’t be untainted.
.
“Now you’re going out with a Ravenclaw you could find out their tactics,” Ron says excitedly.
“Quidditch was about the only thing Cho and I talked about that wasn’t Cedric,” Harry points out. “And she kept all her secrets.”
“But she’s a player,” Ron explains. “Terry’s just a bystander. He could’ve picked up all sorts.”
“Terry’s a bit like Hermione,” Harry says, tilting his head towards her and frowning. “I don’t think he’s that into it.”
“Well what the hell do you talk about?”
Hermione looks up at this, interested in the answer.
To be honest it was bloody hard in the beginning. Harry’s mind always wanders to Quidditch at some point, but now he’s been banned it’s a bit of a sore point and it’s not like him and Terry don’t have other things to talk about. The DA is usually a topic of conversation, Terry being a Ravenclaw means he’s always eager to learn and he’ll offer whatever background reading he’s done on that week’s spell. But it’s not all school. They talk about what they might do after Hogwarts, skating away from the Hippogriff in the room, as well as their friends, Skiving Snackboxes, and, well they spent a lot of time together doing things other than talking.
Ron picks up on the tail-end of Harry’s thought, smirks.
“We talk about lots of stuff,” Harry says lamely.
“Of course you do,” and the smirk gets bigger.
“If you don’t mind me saying, Harry,” Hermione says, hesitant. “You don’t seem quite as angry all the time.”
“Well he wouldn’t be, would he? If he’s --” and Ron breaks off, sniggering, at Hermione’s look.
“I’m not sure if this is the healthiest way to deal with it,” Harry admits, something that’s been sitting with him for a while now.
“It sounds like it is, for you,” Hermione disagrees. “Being with Terry means you’re not thinking about all the pressure you’re under, it means you’re getting your energy out in a healthier way than, and please don’t hate me for this, than your explosive anger. Your anger is completely justified and you’re able to process it how you need to but don’t you feel a bit better? I know that people still don’t believe you, that you hate these Occlumency lessons, but you are a little happier, aren’t you?”
And Harry can’t argue with any of it. He’s still having his nightmares, still has constant headaches, still can’t get Dumbledore to look him in the eye, but, as usual, Hermione is right. He has something new to focus on. Something untainted. And the weight on his shoulders feels marginally lighter.
.
“Someone asked me what it was like to kiss you,” Terry says conversationally, late one night in an alcove off a sixth floor corridor. “They crowded around me and asked if I felt invincible because we exchanged,” and now he winces, forms quotation marks, “saliva.”
Harry laughs loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. “What did you say?”
“That I was strong enough on my own and that Harry Potter really is ordinary when you get to know him.”
“Cheers.”
“In fact,” Terry says, slipping his hand under Harry’s shirt, his hands hot on his skin. He leans in to mouth at Harry’s neck, smudging kisses along his jawline. “I said he’s quite boring really, once you get past the whole saviour thing.”
“You should go into PR,” Harry murmurs, tilting his head to kiss Terry, his laughter fallen out of his throat, all his thoughts focused on pulling Terry apart until he’s trembling and soft.
.
Things with Terry come to fizzling stop when Harry crash lands into the Department of Mysteries and his world falls apart yet again. Terry doesn’t contribute to this, of course, doesn’t know it’s happened until it’s splashed all over the school and Harry can’t leave the hospital wing, for once not because he’s the one injured.
But Harry sits with Dumbledore and he learns about his fate for once and for all and for the next fortnight all he can hear is neither can live while the other survives neither can live while the other survives neither can live while the other survives and this is something he can’t tune out with childhood stories and a lot of kissing.
“You know where I am, Harry,” Terry says when Harry stutters out his half-explanation, leaving more gaps than anything else. “I always knew it wasn’t going to last but that didn’t make it not fun.” He drops a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezes, and manages a small smile. “You’re never boring, Potter.”
“I’m glad I kept you entertained,” hidden among which is thanks, you’ve done more than you know this year because Harry is emotionally fatigued and he can’t talk any more about feelings without breaking something and he doesn’t want to break Terry.
.
Over the summer Harry spends a long time lying on his bed regretting every decision that led up to Sirius’s death, leaves the Dursleys after a delightfully short time, meets Horace Slughorn, passes some OWLs, plays a lot of Quidditch, and spends a lot more time with Ginny Weasley.
They play Quidditch against Ron and Hermione, they have a very similar sense of humour, they’ve both gone through earth-shatteringly huge near death experiences, and they both became more open about their sexuality.
Harry doesn’t want to get ahead of himself but he’s sitting counting the ways Ginny is a great person and he sounds like the biggest sop but it’s her birthday and she’s glowing.
Family events are always a crowded affair at The Burrow, especially with half the Order popping in to say happy birthday, dropping presents into Ginny’s lap that have her smiling and smiling and Harry wonders how the hell this happened so fast. Is he not supposed to go through a trial period, where he starts to view Ginny as more than Ron’s sister, as a woman in her own right -- but hey, listen, he’s already done all of that.
Harry escapes from the crowd later in the night, nodding to Ron and Hermione who are chatting with Tonks and George.
He stands with his head tilted back to the sky and breathes out.
He counts to ten in his head before Ginny finds him.
“You lasted longer than I expected,” Ginny tells him, voice quiet in the growing dusk. “I don’t know how you do it -- be centre of attention all the time.”
He goes to shrug, say it something you get used to, but that’s a lie, and she knows it. “It’s your birthday. Don’t let me ruin it.”
Ginny snorts. “As if you would ruin it,” and that’s dancing along lines that Harry wants to hear but she’s with Dean and he’s Ron’s best friend and he’s having this conversation with himself way too early. “But, if you don’t mind me saying, you didn’t seem to mind drawing a bit of attention to yourself last year.”
“Didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Harry retorts, wonders if it bites.
And Ginny concedes. “That’s true. But you could have played it down, denied it, even if people wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Not that it was anyone’s business but having them talk about me in a way that wasn’t connected to Voldemort or Cedric or my big lying gob wasn’t so bad,” and then he looks at her and grins so she doesn’t think he’s taking it out on her. “It wasn’t something bad to deny. And you saw what happened --”
“The Boy Who Lived - Bi Role Model. Merlin, do your titles never end?” Ginny teases, a brief pause hanging in the air because they have The Chosen One now, one that she scoffs off as a lie and one that weighs Harry down at night.
Harry rolls his eyes. “People keep saying how brave I am. As though telling the truth about who I might be attracted to is more than the graveyard.”
Ginny steps closer, puts her hand in his. “It might seem absurd when you put it like that but to some people it is. You’re brave in many ways, Harry, everyone has always known that and everyone always will, but this bravery about being open with your personal life and putting yourself up as an example is a whole different type of bravery that isn’t any less.”
“You sound like Dumbledore,” he mumbles but his skin is hot and he hopes his hand isn’t clammy when he squeezes hers. “You’re brave too. You did the exact same as me.”
“I think saying the exact same is a bit of an exaggeration,” Ginny says. “But you’re right. I’m brave too.”
"Happy birthday, Gin."
.
Over the summer Harry and Ginny spend more time together. The two of them have emerged at the forefront of the small movement Hogwarts is going through and they have plans for next year. Small, tentative plans, plans that can’t detract from the bigger picture, but this is important too, they want to make people safe, in every which way.
At the centre of their talks is an idea about a meeting place, about a club, but Harry finds he can talk to her about anything and everything, the conversation pinging from Quidditch to family to school to the Ministry and everything in between. He learns her favourite colour is purple, she hates any kind of potato, her favourite brothers are Bill and Ron, and that being at the Ministry terrified her but she wants to do whatever she can to make a difference, amongst an abundance of other facts that Harry commits to memory in a way he has never applied to his schoolwork.
“I’ve barely seen you this summer, mate,” Ron groans, dropping into his bed in the last week of August. “I’m much more interesting than Ginny.”
Which burns shame throughout Harry because he’s been viewing Ginny as a person, as a friend, and almost forgetting that she’s Ron’s sister and the minefield that comes with. So he says, “Sorry. We’ve got kind of carried away with this whole thing.”
Ron rises onto his elbow, watching Harry from his bed. “I know me and Hermione aren’t as close to it as you two but we’d like to help, if we can.”
Because be it following him through trap doors, through the Forbidden Forest, standing by his side when the rest of the school won’t, Harry knows he shouldn’t have expected anything less from them.
.
If last year was a game of who believes him and who thinks he’s a nutter, this year everyone seems to get too close, always smiling, always saying hello, some of them winking, which, when they’re in second year, is not what Harry wants to be dealing with.
“You never get the right balance, do you, Harry?” Seamus comments on their second day when a third year has actually asked for his autograph. “They hate you or they love you.”
“Fame is a double-ended sword, Seamus,” Harry says solemnly, pulling out one of Lockhart’s favourite phrases. “I’ll do something to fuck it up soon enough.”
“Nah, your big coming out will tide them over for a while yet,” Seamus promises, and it’s now that Harry notices that Seamus is blushing slightly and when he looks a bit closer he can see that Seamus and Dean are holding hands. “You strike so much inspiration in our hearts, Harry,” Seamus sighs, placing a hand on his chest and swooning. “Dean and I just couldn’t keep to ourselves once Harry Potter announced it was okay to be gay,” and he’s over the top and he’s exaggerating but he’s beaming and Dean turns away from his conversation with Parvati to roll his eyes at Harry but kiss Seamus on the cheek.
“I’m really happy for you,” Harry says, raising his pumpkin juice in a salute, “but just so you know, Neville thinks you two have been together since at least third year.”
“Seamus hasn’t exactly been subtle,” Dean agrees.
“Oi!”
“I’m just agreeing with Harry.”
“Harry didn’t specifically say me.”
“All I’m saying is, I’m very happy for you both. Ginny and I have been talking about possibly starting a club or something.”
“Quidditch Captain, DA leader, LGBT club founder - you’re quite the extracurricular student,” Seamus says.
“Got to fill my time somehow, haven’t I? Got nothing else to do.”
.
When Harry broaches the topic of arranging an informal meeting with other students who might be in the same boat as him, Hermione predictably spirals it out of his control.
“Oh, Harry, you could make badges!” Hermione gasps. “With Umbridge gone you don’t have to worry about her decrees --”
“I’m not making badges, Hermione,” Harry says firmly because as accepting as most people have been, he’s not going to go around wearing a badge. Malfoy might be quieter than usual this year but he’s not blind.
“If you let Malfoy dictate how you’re going to express yourself,” because Hermione is quite good at reading his mind very occasionally. He really doesn’t know how she didn’t do better at Divination. “Then what’s this all been about.”
“Well it definitely hasn’t been about Malfoy,” Harry points out. “Why do you want to talk about him now when I’ve been shut down every time I talk about how suspicious he is?”
“I’ll wear one of your badges if you shut up about Malfoy,” Ron offers.
.
Harry knows that by being their Chosen One, by being their force that ended the first war, that he already brings Hogwarts students a fair bit of hope and light, but in this castle, this self-contained society outwith the wider war, people need something lighter to focus on, a bit of gossip to stop them all spiralling into despair.
.
So, by following on from their conversations over the summer, Harry and Ginny start putting the word out about a meeting. Hermione’s right, with Umbridge gone they can be a bit more open about it, but it’s still not something they’re screaming from the Astronomy Tower. They spread it through their circle, watch it fan out, and those who need them find them.
.
It’s strange how similar this initial meeting in an empty Transfiguration classroom feels to that first trail of the DA in the Hog’s Head last year. Obviously the stakes are different, the feelings are more personal, the general mood is happier, but still they look to Harry for guidance, far from the first person to come out at Hogwarts, but, as with most things, with him it’s a much bigger deal.
As self-accepting and open with himself as he’s been, Harry finds it much harder to stand in front of forty people and talk about his sexuality. Instead he looks to Ginny at his side who steps up, introduces herself, cracks a couple of jokes, and breaks any lingering tensions.
“We’re all here to be ourselves,” she tells them. “We want this to be somewhere you can open, not worrying about what your friends or your family might think. We know Hogwarts as a whole is great, no one is going to hurt you for being who you are, but we also understand that there are things you might want to share with people who are like you.”
“I want to make it clear that I’m not a leader,” Harry says now, stepping forward, his nerves dropping away when Ginny looks at him. “I know that many of you have been out long before me, that this isn’t a competition, that I’m no expert. But, I don’t know if you this,” he scrubs a hand through his hair, smiles ruefully, “but I’m sort of well known and whatever I say tends to make a big splash.”
“Yeah you’re always drawing attention to yourself, Harry,” Terry calls from the back.
They still talk, not as much as before, but whenever he bumps into him, Harry finds it’s not awkward, except for when he can’t stop himself looking at Terry’s mouth and thinking about all the things to do and then he coughs and then it’s awkward because Terry knows what he’s thinking about.
“I tried the quiet life and it wasn’t for me,” Harry replies, grinning. “Anyway, enough about me. Like Ginny said, this is for you. Make it what you want to be.”
The rest of the meeting is spent making tentative introductions, finding out people’s stories. There are people from all four Houses, from all years, and it feels as inclusive and as open as they imagined.
.
He and Ginny go to Slughorn’s party together. They go as friends, of course, but they slide looks to each other, they dance, and Harry feels like he’s living someone else’s life as Ginny helps him sidestep the various introductions Slughorn thrusts on him and instead they snigger on the sidelines, chatting shit about McLaggen, about Snape, and pointing out all the rainbows they can count.
.
“You and Ginny have been spending a lot of time together,” Hermione says, the question feeling like a pounce when Harry collapses onto the couch after a long Quidditch practice in which he made Ginny cry with laughter, an achievement he chalks up beside fighting a hundred Dementors at once.
The way she phrases it feels like deja vu and Harry takes a second to marvel at how different his life feels since last time they had this conversation. The stakes are higher, his role solidified right in the centre, Sirius is gone, but he no longer feels so alone.
“We’ve been planning the LGBT meetings,” Harry says, casual as you please, yawning into his hand and not even thinking about the Potions essay due in a few days.
“And that’s all you talk about is it?” Hermione pries.
“Yes,” Harry nods. “All we talk about is being bi.” He breaks into a smile, one that Hermione reluctantly mirrors. “No, that’s not all we talk about, ‘Mione. Would you like a run down of everything we’ve said?”
“You know I’m interested in your love life --”
“Hey, watch it,” and now Harry shifts, looks over his shoulder to see Ron climbing through the portrait hole. “Stop that,” he says now, pointing at Hermione’s smirk. “It’s not like that.” When she asks what is is like, he’s lost for words. “Oh, shut up,” he groans, flopping his head back and closing his eyes to Hermione’s laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Harry was just talking about who he fancies now,” Hermione stage whispers, uncharastically gleeful as Harry keeps his eyes closed, focuses on not giving anything away.
“Who is it then, Harry?” Ron asks, judging the situation and proceeding with caution. “It’s not Zabini, is it?”
Harry cranes his neck, looks at Ron upside down. “Why is that the first person you said?”
“Always hear people talk about how fit he is,” Ron mutters. “Is it Neville? No, ‘Mione, there’s nothing wrong with Neville. Is it Demelza? Anthony? That might be a bit awkward considering he’s Terry’s best mate. Tell me then. Do I know them? Hermione, why are you still laughing?”
.
On the other side of this, Harry is diving into memories to learn as much as possible about Voldemort and the steps he has taken to avoid death. He meets with Dumbledore, this huge mantel on his shoulders, and he feels exhausted. He has Malfoy sneaking around, being much less outspoken than usual, suspicion burning in his chest. He has the Minister on his back about being a government poster boy. He has to adjust to the knowledge that there are parts of Voldemort’s soul scattered across the country. There are attacks splashed across the papers every morning, the sky swirling grey with mist borne from misery and pain, and yet something within Harry glows when more and more people turn up to their meetings, when they stand up, introduce themselves, talk about how they feel, who they’ve told. It’s hard to think about much else when a kid comes up to you and tells you you made them brave enough to see that they’re not alone.
.
Harry kisses Ginny in a room full of celebrating Gryffindors. The monster in his chest roars on its hind-legs, and he has never felt more calm than when they pull back and walk out of the common room together. This feels right. This is exactly where he is supposed to be.
.
“I can’t help but think we could’ve been doing this a long time ago,” Ginny comments, kissing Harry’s nose. She settles into his lap, her arms draped around his neck as he sits against a tree, secluded and sunlit.
“Nothing was stopping you from taking the first step.”
Ginny looks at him. “Harry, I’ve fancied you for years. I’ve been used to waiting. There was no way I was chancing what we’ve had this year.”
“I’m sorry that I took so long,” he says. Now that he’s kissed her once he finds he can’t seem to leave more than two minutes between each one. Her mouth tastes sweet when he leans in, the remnants of Butterbeer clinging to her. “After the last couple of years, getting to know you much better, I didn’t want to risk anything either.”
“For being so brave both of us are stupid,” Ginny sighs. She’s still in her Quidditch robes which means she’s entirely too covered up for Harry’s thoughts at the moment. But they have time for that. For now they kiss, slowly, easily, learning the last parts about each other.
.
Like he said, the school likes a bit of gossip and when the news that Harry Potter is going out with Ginny Weasley spreads to all four houses it’s as if everything ceases to exist outside of this new relationship.
“Four Dementor attacks in a week and all Romilda Vane wants to know is if you’ve got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest,” Ginny sighs, head resting on Harry’s legs. Harry cards a hand through her hair, thumb soft on her cheek so he feels her smile in her retort to Ron.
“You two are disgusting,” Ron declares, arms folded.
“I don’t know how you didn’t see this coming, Ron,” Hermione says. “They’ve been joined at the hip all year.”
“I thought it was a solidarity thing.” He gestures at them. “I didn’t know they were in love .”
“Did no one tell you, Ron?” Ginny asks innocently. “If bi people don’t pair up within a year of coming out their skin gets charmed into a rainbow and you’re stuck that way forever.”
Ron throws up his hands. “Please don’t make fun of me with all your in jokes.”
“We don’t need in jokes to make fun of you,” Ginny laughs. “Right, Harry?”
“Please don’t make me choose sides,” Harry begs, chewing at his lip to stop himself laughing at the indignance on Ron’s face. “It is true, though, Ron. Once I broke up with Terry I was on a ticking clock. My arms had started to turn blue by the time I kissed Ginny,” which makes Ginny throw back her head and laugh.
.
“I thought you said you were bi,” someone says.
“That’s what bi means,” and he holds back on the idiot because he’s educating and also he’s in a very good mood.
“Does Terry know?” someone else asks because gossip moves fast but sometimes it gets stuck.
“I don’t think Terry minds,” Ginny answers for him. “Now scram, I need to kiss my very handsome boyfriend --” and then she laughs in Harry’s mouth at the way the boys groan and dart off. “We’re their inspirations, Harry,” she murmurs. “We’ve got to set a good example.”
“Groping me in the corridors isn’t exactly inspiring,” Harry replies, ducking to kiss her again, not exactly fighting the groping.
“A lot of people would disagree. For many people, feeling up your arse is their goal in life.”
“I do what I can to keep people happy.”
“You keep me happy. Are you happy?”
“More than I’ve ever been,” and for how much Harry has shared about himself over the past two years, the parts of himself he has opened up about, has shared in the hopes of being a role model, this is one of the most raw admissions he has made. He trusts Ginny with everything but to hand her his happiness, to give her his heart, is simultaneously the easiest and the most terrifying thing he has done.
He knows that Ginny gets this from the steady gaze, from the slow smile that spreads across her face. She leans on her tiptoes, kissing him with everything, and it feels like something much bigger than happiness has passed between them.
“As supportive as I am of your relationship, this is not the place for it, Miss Weasley, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall says on her way past.
.
With Dumbledore dead and a steady lack of ambition sitting in his chest, Harry sits on a spindly chair by the lake and listens to a man no one knows droning on about all the wrong parts of Dumbledore’s life.
With Dumbledore dead Harry’s axis feels wobbly. He is exhausted from the dropping of his mentors, each leaving him with more questions, more things he has missed.
With Dumbledore dead he has no one left to stand behind. This is it now.
And so he puts his arm around Ginny’s shoulder, holds her to him, and tells her he’ll meet her in the common room in a bit, he has to have a word with an impatient looking Scrimgeour.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, kisses her quickly, leaves her in the care of Ron and Hermione, and crosses the grass to tell the Minister that nothing has changed, that his trust for Dumbledore hasn’t ceased to exist with his death.
He finds Ginny later, curled up in a chair in the common room. He sits, pulls her into his lap, and rests his head on hers. He still can’t tell her most of what is taking up his brain, of what he is going to have to leave to do, but he can hold her, can steady himself alongside of her. There have been so many things he has had to give up, that have been taken from him, but, selfish and dangerous as it is, he can’t let her go just now. She’s one of the bravest people he knows. They’ll make it.