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The sound of the crowd was loud, their screams more prominent with each closeup of Potter, and Draco knew who the fan favourite was. It never changed, no matter how many years had passed. As he looked toward the reserve players, he knew they wouldn’t be needed, not when Potter had that look in his eye, the one that had been in every single one of their games as kids.
They would win.
Bickering could be heard but Draco drowned it out, he didn’t have to look to know that it was the useless coach he had inherited when he bought the Tornados. When the season was over, he’d hire someone who actually knew how to run a Quidditch team.
“Excuse me!”
Politeness in a Quidditch game was hard to come by, and that alone was the only reason Draco looked around curiously. A small tug on his trousers had him peering down into wide brown eyes as a child no more than ten or eleven stared at him. Something was clutched in the child’s hands, and it looked like a copy of the Quibbler, but he wasn’t sure.
“You’re Mister Malfoy, right?”
“Yes, and you are?”
“My name is Conor, and you own Mister Potter, right?”
Draco couldn’t help but laugh as he shook his head. “No, I own the team, and Potter is on the team, but I don’t own him.”
Conor frowned as his shoulders slumped. “Oh. I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”
“I might be able to,” he offered, not liking how defeated Conor appeared. It reminded him too much of when Teddy became upset.
“I want to meet him.”
Oh.
“Potter doesn’t do fan greetings unless they are the sanctioned ones. I’m pretty sure we still have tickets for sale somewhere.”
“But I don’t want to meet Quidditch Potter, I’m not here as a fan of that.” Conor stomped his foot on the ground for emphasis.
“I don’t even like Quidditch, it makes no sense, it’s tiring, and my mum says it’s a chore to clean my robes after. Not to mention the way everyone acts like it’s interesting during the season but never talks about it after.”
Draco’s lips twitched as Conor worked himself into a full-blown rant.
“You are aware that you are at a Quidditch game right now, aren’t you?”
A huff was his response and Draco admired the tenacity.
“It’s the only way I can get close to talk to him. Mister Potter doesn’t accept fan mail, he has no interviews set up, and there are no other chances other than games.”
Typically, Draco would have called for security if a fan persisted so hard, Conor wasn’t the first child to want to speak to one of the athletes, but he had never come across someone who wasn’t a fan of Quidditch looking for a player.
“Are you a fan of his in general? Pre-Quidditch career?”
“No, not really.” The tone was hesitant and so was the slight grimace sent Draco’s way. “My mum says Mister Potter saved the world, and I like that, the world should be alive.”
Draco smiled despite himself at how earnest he was, even in his stance.
“Then why do you want to talk to him?”
The magazine in Conor’s hands crumpled as he clutched it tighter, and his eyes blinked rapidly before he extended his hands towards Draco.
With the magazine in hand, Draco looked down and recognized the headline. It had been printed years ago, well before Conor’s time.
“Bisexuality: Our Voices Matter,” Draco whispered as a fresh out of Hogwarts Potter waved on the cover photo.
When he looked down and took in the teary gaze it all clicked.
“I just want to thank him,” Conor whispered, voice cracking as he wiped his eyes. “I didn’t understand until I read this. I was so confused, and I still am, but I’m not afraid. And that’s because of Mister Potter.”
Draco’s eyes stung, and he knelt down until they were eye level. “You were very brave coming here.”
“I don’t feel brave.” More tears came out and Draco reached out to wipe them. “I didn’t understand everything Mister Potter said, and my mom tried to help but she’s not like me, she doesn’t get it.”
The screams of the crowd grew louder, and the sheer volume let him know that the Tornados had won, not that there had been any doubt of that. He glanced towards the pitch and smiled as his team did a victory lap.
“Tell you what, kid,” he began, eyes still on the players, one in particular. “When Potter gets off the field, I’ll have him make time for you.”
“Oh, thank you!” That was the only warning Draco had before small arms were wrapped around his neck and the full weight of another body nearly knocked him over.
“Do you think he’ll be upset?” It was whispered into his ear and Draco held on tighter in response. “My mum said it’s all a spectrum and that things can change. I don’t understand that, I don’t even know if Mister Potter still likes boys. I don’t want to offend him.”
“I promise that he won’t be upset.”
“Really?” A heavy sniff and the pressure of a nose on Draco’s shoulder had him grimacing.
“Really.” Draco leaned back until he could stare at his face. He unsheathed his wand to make Conor more presentable.
“And I can also promise you that he still likes boys.”
Conor’s eyes narrowed, and the suspicion was preferred over the tears. “Really?”
“Really.”
“How do you know?”
Draco smiled softly as he glanced towards the pitch again to see Harry walking towards them.
“I married him.”
A loud gasp drew his attention, and he laughed at the awe on Conor’s face.
“I didn’t know that.” The frown directed towards the Quibbler still in Draco’s hands made him laugh.
“This is quite old, older than you. A lot happened since this came out.”
Hands pulled Draco up from his kneeling position and he let himself be pulled into a hug from behind.
“We won! I didn’t think we’d have as big of a lead as we did, you know that Barnes can’t feint for shit but—”
Draco tuned Harry out as his eyes were on Conor, watching as that awe melted into wonder. He didn’t have to ask if Conor knew anyone who he could talk to about his sexuality, it was obvious that there was no one.
“Oh,” Harry paused mid-sentence to peer over Draco’s shoulder. “Who do we have here?”
“I—” Conor bit his lip and Draco took that as his cue to step out Harry’s embrace. When Conor looked away from Harry, Draco knew he’d need help.
“It’s okay, remember what we talked about?”
Conor nodded as he plucked the Quibbler from Draco’s hands and stepped forward.
“My name is Conor, and I like boys and girls.”
Harry’s mouth parted as he looked down at the magazine in Conor’s hands.
“I don’t know a lot,” Conor continued as his brows furrowed and his face screwed up into a tight expression that Draco assumed meant he might cry. “I get confused over some of the words and it doesn’t all make sense, but this magazine says you are bisexual and if you can like boys and girls then that means I can too.”
When Harry pulled Conor into a hug and began to talk lowly, Draco knew he wasn’t needed anymore. With one last look over his shoulder, he was struck with a sense of Déjà vu, back to a time when it was him giving a pep talk to someone over their sexuality, back to a time when he was the one comforting them.
Back to a time when Harry wanted to come out and didn’t know how.
Conor was in good hands and Draco was proud that he had been brave enough to come to the game. It was the same bravery that Harry had when the article first came out. A lot of things had changed over the years, but that message hadn’t, that message stayed the same—stayed just as important.
Our voices matter.