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“Mum?” James stands in the doorway of his mother’s room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She smiles, replying, “Of course, James. Come here.” She pats the space next to her, and James sits down beside Euphemia.
He clears his throat. “Well, I’ve been needing to say something. I’m… I’m bisexual. Like, David Bowie. Both.” He says, looking down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.
Euphemia smiles. “Oh, darling, come here.” She wraps him in a hug, kissing the top of his head.
James pulls back. “..And I’m dating someone. A boy.” He clarifies, searching Effie’s face for a sign of disapproval.
“Oh? Who is it? Does he make you happy?” She asks, smiling sweetly and eyes full of love.
James gulps. “He does. He makes me really happy.”
“That’s all I need. If he makes you happy, I approve.” Euphemia smiles again, Amber eyes warm and comforting.
“…It’s, uh… It’s Regulus.”
Euphemia responds, “Tell him he’s welcome here, okay? If he needs, we’ll take him in, too.”
All she can think of when she goes to bed that night, though, is ice-gray eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, in silky black hair curled in voluminous curls around her shoulders, and in secrets shared in hushed whispers. All she can remember is whispered praise, that sharp edge of hers dulling around Euphemia, and her desolate look when she was engaged.
She loves Fleamont, but she can’t forget Walburga.
——
Draco’s been visiting Regulus’ portrait lately, a cousin of his mother’s. She keeps his portrait in secret room in Malfoy Manor that he found a way into while wandering one day.
“Regulus?”
“Yes, Draco? It’s nice to see you again.” Regulus always looks.. sad, and far too young. It looks as if he’s around his age, seventeen. He’d have thought his portrait was updated into adulthood, but he hasn’t asked anyone.
“I think I’ve been in love with someone for four years.”
“You think? Why haven’t you realized that yet, if I may ask?” Regulus replies, and Draco sinks to the floor, back resting on the wall.
In a small voice he admits, “It’s a boy.”
“Oh, Draco.” Regulus sighs, but he doesn’t sound disapproving. “Listen, who you love is no one’s business but your own. Please don’t let this shithole of a family control how you feel. I’ve never liked girls, either, and I’ve caught your aunts— and your mother—snogging girls too many times to count. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, no matter how we act like it.”
“…Really?” Draco hates this. Hates how pathetic he sounds, hates how he can’t get the sound of his voice out of his head.
“Yes.” Regulus says firmly. “Who is it?”
Draco pauses. “..Harry.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“..Harry Potter?”
Suddenly, Regulus’ world shatters, even if only part of his essence is encapsulated in his portrait.
All he can remember is talking of Greek myths— Achilles and Patroclus, Orpheus and Eurydice, Apollo and Hyacinthus. All he can think of is bronze skin, amber eyes, unkempt hair, and red, round glasses that are always slightly askew.
Memories of moonlight nights and golden-coated sunsets fill Regulus’ mind, and he remembers his Patronus is a stag. How he mourns the love of his life, James Potter.
He wonders how James is doing.
—-
The door to Draco’s study creaks open. “Dad?”
Draco looks up, seeing Scorpius in the doorway. “Yes?” He asks, Scorpius coming in.
“I.. have something to tell you.” He gulps.
Draco calmly replies, “What is it, Scorpius? I won’t be mad.”
“I..I’m gay. And I’m dating someone. A boy,” He blurts out, and stands there, tense.
Draco’s gaze softens. “Don’t worry, Scorpius. I love you just as you are.” He stands up, wrapping his son in an embrace.
“…Really?” He asks, sounding so small it makes Draco want to cry.
“Really.” He assures.
Scorpius pulls back, pausing. “It’s Albus.”
Albus Potter, son of the boy who lived.
More like the boy who left. The boy he loved.
But Draco can’t dwell on that now, he has a son to tend to. He’ll cry about the fact that the love of his life is married to a woman, about the fact that their Patronuses match, and that Harry wields Draco’s wand later. Or maybe never. That’s probably for the best, anyways.