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Being out into the world is scary enough when you've just finished school and have no idea what to do with yourself.
When you're a gay pureblood heir it is downright terrifying.
Luckily Draco was no longer the Malfoy heir. Lucius had made it abundantly clear when he cast Draco out of the house in disgrace over being "an abomination, a mark of ignominy on the Malfoy good name" and in no uncertain terms "no son of his".
Funnily enough that didn't make the world outside any more welcoming.
At eighteen Draco Malfoy was out;
out of the closet, out of the house, out in the world with no home, no job and no family to speak of, with only the not inconsistent but ultimately limited resources of his personal Gringotts’ vault at his disposal.
The first week was spent on Blaise's couch feeling empty and daunted by the prospect of figuring his life out. He spent most of his time trying to accept the fact that his father never really loved him as more than an extension of himself, and now that he has revealed himself defective, the only acceptable course of action was to throw him away and forget he ever existed.
Blaise allowed him seven days to lick his wounds and crumble under the grief, after that it was list making time.
A list of goals for the short term, a list of steps to achieve them, a list of essentials, a list of prospective apartments to rent.
Lists made the world more manageable, even the muggle one, but didn't make the pain go away, or the shame, or the image of his father's face that lingered behind his eyelids.
Three months later Draco was still lacking a job stable enough to afford him the luxury of his own apartment but he'd gained the confidence to venture into muggle London on his own without feeling terrified some muggle contraption was going to kill him. He'd also gained the confidence to go out to gay bars, muggle ones, drink and dance the night away.
Surrounded by so many people like him it was easier to ignore the voice of his father echoing in his head calling him a mistake and a freak of nature.
Drag queens were a great invention; they were the muggle equivalent of a patronus charm: Protective forces built up by pure unadulterated positive thoughts.
June brought on a stifling heat but Draco braved the inclement weather to join the multicolored chaotic sea of people marching through the streets of London.
As he stepped out, wrapped in a rainbow flag that was both a cape and a security blanket, for the first time in months Draco felt a tentative flicker of hope ignite deep in his chest. Maybe this could work out after all. Maybe he didn't need his father to love him after all, he could be his own man, breathing in the sticky heat of the summer in London and feeling the exhilaration of having no expectations thrust upon him, lost in a crowd of strangers celebrating love.
He marched and sang out of key, danced and cheered for the people on floats until his cheeks hurt from smiling too much and too hard, and the colors on his face ran down his neck with sweat.
And then he saw them.
Somehow he'd ended up marching right behind the LGBT parents group and just a few feet ahead of him were two men probably in their late thirties walking hand in hand. One of them had a baby strapped to his chest, the back of his shirt reading "a father's job is to support", but it was the other one that made Draco's breath catch in his throat. He was wearing a tank top that showed off his arms and shoulders, black with white block lettering "free hugs from a dad".
He watched a girl approach him and exchange a few words before getting engulfed in what looked like an extremely satisfying hug. When the man turned a little and lifted the girl slightly off the ground Draco got a glimpse of his face and his budding idea to go ask for the same crumbled.
Sirius Black was handing out free hugs to rejected kids at a pride parade, marching next to professor Lupin. Former professor, thanks to Lucius' effort. After all he'd done it wasn't his place to approach any of them with requests. He was about to turn away when a voice called him.
"Hey kid!" He froze and turned back around, an apology already on the tip of his tongue.
"I don't bite unless you ask very nicely." Black smiled at him, bright and wide, opening his arms and beckoning him closer. Draco was aching to launch himself at the man but he looked over his shoulder to professor Lupin who gave him the tiniest of nods, a hand covering their child's head. He needed nothing more to take the few stumbling steps towards his uncle, falling into solid arms. He buried his face into his chest, gripping the back of his tank top so tight he feared ripping it. Sirius tucked his chin over his head, squeezing him tight as Draco exhaled shakily.
"I'm so proud of you, kid,” he murmured. Draco sobbed at that, his lungs squeezing painfully as the words washed over him, far too easy to sink into and let go of everything.
"Shh, it's ok, Draco, you're free now." There were soft lips pressed against his temple and strong hands rubbing his back as he cried in relief, leaving rainbow streaks on Sirius' tank top.
He eventually managed to compose himself enough to pull back, but Sirius didn't let go of him; he held his hand until the end of the parade, and didn't stop for the days, months and years that followed that day.
A father's job is to support.
Lucius Malfoy may have given the genetic material to allow his mother to birth him, but he wasn't fit to do a father's job.
It was Sirius Black -better yet Sirius Lupin ever since he and the professor got married- who offered Draco a house to live in, a family with whom to spend the holidays, endless (occasionally unsolicited) advice whenever he needed it, and a little brother to dote on, cherish and protect.
It was Sirius Lupin who held him steady and walked him down the isle when it was his turn to shed a name full of hatred and cold rejection and take on one borne of love, patience and acceptance.