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*

Graduating as Head Boy meant a lot of praise. So well-accomplished for a young lad and a Hufflepuff.

Lad.

Teddy scoffs to himself, flopping back onto his childhood mattress. The bedroom ceiling plastered in spiderwebs. Teddy's jet-black hair surfaces a bit of flaming, vibrant red. He doesn't miss Hogwarts. The ordinary and everyday familiarity of routine, sure. An office job at the Ministry of Magic pays well. He just wants… something more out of it.

To be recognized.

He tried explaining to Harry Potter about his feelings. Not about being a child of a werewolf and Metamorphmagi… but about being neither a lad or any type of gender. Andromeda Tonks did her best to understand this, despite the rude questions and frequently misgendering him by referring to Teddy as her grandson instead of grandchild. Harry Potter only smiled and shrugged. Ginny Weasley-Potter listened to Teddy's awkward, shaky ramble and tutted with concern, encouraging her children to listen too.

People come in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Teddy happens to many all at once.

Lily and Albus nodded with huge, round eyes, clinging on their mother's word and blabbing out.

James, well… he's James.

Teddy never heard him make any comment — none at all — about Teddy's impromptu reveal. He only yanked on Teddy's fleecy, butter-yellow sleeve and asked if he wanted to prank the old next-door neighbor with a new spell James was working on.

Victoire Weasley, despite all of her sweet, lovely kisses, couldn't wrap her head around Teddy being agender.

That broke his heart.

Who he was wasn't real to the girl Teddy was dating.

She cried and cried, accusing Teddy of making fun of her, and somehow — James overheard in the garden. He fumed at his older cousin, accusing her of being ignorant and hateful, and Teddy wanted to calm both of them down, and instead watched a sulking, red-eyed Victoire march back into the house.

That's one of the few times he saw James so angry, cupping Teddy's face and pulling him to him, insisting there's nothing wrong with Teddy. James's fingers smelled faintly like soap and spice and Ginny's icing-topped biscuits. Teddy's hair went as bright pink as his own face, and he quietly stammered something against the press of James's chapped lips to his.

To this day, Teddy doesn't remember what it was. Could have been James's own name.

In his heart, he knew James was gonna be put in Gryffindor. Teddy just hoped somehow James would be around him more often in their teenage years. Like during the long, hot summers as children when they would play Quiddich and enchant Lily's toys to play-fight each other.

When they laid out on blankets to gaze at the stars — one of their hands would raise, forming a half-heart above them. And then they would complete the heart, squinting their eyes and memorizing the dark, cloudless skies through their tiny, fleshy gap. It became their secret. A simple, effortless hand-gesture done while alone together. Leaving the dinner table, saying goodnight or hello.

At first, Teddy hears the door swing open. "I'm alright, Nan," he says dully.

In a frenzied blur of sandy brown locks and blue eyes, James runs and leaps on the old, creaky cot, landing right on Teddy's stomach and pressing his half-heart fingers to Teddy's own, gleefully peering down on the other man. "Yeh—" Teddy's eyes widen, and his hair creeps back into a shade of turquoise blue, "—and I'm Draco Malfoy, mate," James retorts.

"James—"

Teddy's mouth gets pushed down by the softness and heat of James's lowering kiss. Those lips parting on him, and Teddy feels James sucking devoutly on his upper lip before chuckling and opening up the kiss further. Merlin, he's missed this. All of the joy and agitation threatening to cascade from him.

"Shh," James urges him still, whispering and unbuttoning Teddy's slacks. Too skittish. Both of James's hands reaching in, flattening over Teddy's growing erection. "You don't want Dad to hear. Trust me."

No, he really doesn't want to explain to his godfather — the famous Golden Boy, Harry Potter himself — why his oldest son noses and breathes in sharply against dark turquoise blue pubic hair, licking wetly and slowly over the massive length of Teddy's prick.

"Shite, oh shite," James pants, grinding his hips down over him, Teddy's hands clutching his naked arse, "ohh, I want—"

He steadies the other man by the waist, listening to the impact of skin and Teddy has to keep himself from moaning, awestruck by the sight of James's red-flushed, euphoric gaze, the look of their pricks oozing and sliding between their abdomens.

"—want you to, aah, fuck me—"

The instant Teddy climaxes, biting on his fist, his prick shoving up and releasing hot cum onto James and himself, is when Harry Potter strolls in, yelling for his son. The pleasant expression drains from him, replacing with confusion and mortification. Teddy doesn't know what else to do but cower, frantically tossing a blanket over his head while James and Harry argue vehemently.

He would rather be recognized for anything else. Thankfully, Harry promises to keep it between the three of them.

(And his wife — if Harry learns anything new, Ginny knows well within an hour.)

*