(no subject)
Title: The Wizarding World
Author: poor_choices
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Deals with transsexualism and transphobia (no violence). If you would like to know more about the characters and circumstances before you read, you can highlight here: Hermione is male; Ron is not understanding.
Word Count: 1000.
Summary: I'm a wizard, and there it was, like everything that hadn't felt right before, sliding into place.
Notes: This is a pretty new thing to write for me! I was looking through prompts at queer_fest and got to thinking about being trans in Harry Potter, and wanted to give this a try.
Disclaimer: Lies and untruths.
i.
When you got the Hogwarts letter, you thought that was the answer. I'm a wizard, and there it was, like everything that hadn't felt right before sliding into place. Like the end of a good book, when suddenly all the plot points come together, and everything becomes clear.
You'd never fit in at school. You were smart, all the teachers said, but not very good at paying attention. Your schoolwork didn't engage you. You were capable, but you didn't apply yourself. Smaller words, for a smaller child, but the familiar complaints. You're such a bright girl, why don't you try harder?
You didn't play well with others. You preferred to read, stories about far-off worlds and heroes.
If you preferred to be the hero to the damsel, you didn't think much of it. The damsel never had much to do. She wouldn't have been exciting.
It was different, once you found out you were a wizard. Of course you didn't get along with the other children; they weren't like you. Of course you didn't care about your boring school, you knew deep down you were destined for wizard school.
You ate up your books then, learned everything you could, became an expert on everything that was Hogwarts. Because this was who you were.
A wizard.
You finally made sense.
ii.
Witches ride on brooms, have warty noses and black cats and green skin and melt under water.
Naturally, you didn't want to think of yourself as one.
iii.
Ron, unsurprisingly, doesn't get it.
"So--you still like blokes," he says, slowly.
"Ron," Harry says, low. Almost a warning, but Ron won't notice. Harry's giving him a little too much credit.
"I mean, what's the point? You're a girl, you like men. Why make it more difficult?"
"It's not about that, Ron," says Harry, before you can.
"What do you know about it?"
"You're a Weasley," you say, cutting off Harry this time. You're too tired to be angry with him. You're always getting angry with him, because you always think he can be brought around. This time, you're not sure. "You've always fit in. Do you have any idea what it's like to feel like you're not right?"
"Of course you're right!" says Ron. "You're Hermione! You're the rightest person I know."
"Well, maybe you don't know me very well," you snap, unable to help it.
Ron looks like you've burned him, horrified and just a bit hurt. As if this, of all things, should be about his pain. "Hermione," he says, softly, "I love you."
It isn't the first time he's said it, and you're glad. What a way that would be to end an argument.
"Yes," you say, all business. "Well, I hope you love Harold too."
"Harold?" says Ron, as if your new name is the worst part of this. "Really? Harold?"
You don't exactly smile. "Well, Harry. For short."
iv.
It takes a while to realize what you have isn't what you want, when there are evil wizards to be fought and a world to be saved. You never much liked your body, but no one did at that age; you thought it was just that you weren't pretty. Not like the other girls. Your teeth were too big and your hair was too bushy, and you thought it would make you happy if someone just liked you. The Yule Ball was an experiment of sorts, but it taught you the wrong things.
You liked having boys looking at you, liked the turned heads, the recognition, and it was a long time before you had a minute to breathe, to realize you didn't have to be a girl to like boys.
v.
"He'll come around," says Harry. "He just--"
"He's straight, for one," you say, smiling a little. Harry takes it as a sign he can sit down next to you. "And I'm not a girl."
Harry rubs his hands on the knees of his trousers. He's taller than you expected him to be, skinnier than he should be. You're going to be built differently, you realize suddenly. Not quite right, for a boy.
He doesn't say that you're still a girl, that you don't have to be a boy. It makes you ache with happiness.
"So," he says, softly. "Harry. I'm flattered." His smile lets you know he isn't teasing. Not in the bad way, at least.
"When I was young, I tried to make my parents call me Harry." You look down at your own legs; you're wearing trousers, sneakers. The same as Harry. "Long before I ever knew you, of course. They told me they could call me Hermy. I pretended it was short for Herman."
"Herman's worse than Harold," Harry says.
"I wonder if Ron would agree." You squeeze your hands into fists and release, slowly. "I do love him."
"I know."
"But I can't."
"I know."
You look at him, curious. "You've gotten much wiser, you know."
"I don't have that many people who really love me, Harry," he replies, and he says it so casually, as if you're already changed. As if you're already yourself. "I can't sacrifice any more." He pauses, shocked. "Why are you crying?"
vi.
Being Harry for the first time was a revelation. Not being Harry, yourself, but taking the polyjuice, taking your best friend's body, feeling comfortable in a way you never had before. You couldn't think about it at the time, but later, once the bodies had been buried and the world turned aright again, Fleur asked you, giggling a little, if you hadn't thought it was strange.
And you hadn't, not like you should have.
It felt like your own body.
vii.
It's easy, for wizards. Easier. No surgery, no psychological evaluation. Not for Hermione Granger, the hero. Just the flick of a wand and it's done.
I'm a wizard, you think, and your hair is still bushy, even if your teeth are better.
But you're a wizard, and you finally make sense.
Author: poor_choices
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Deals with transsexualism and transphobia (no violence). If you would like to know more about the characters and circumstances before you read, you can highlight here: Hermione is male; Ron is not understanding.
Word Count: 1000.
Summary: I'm a wizard, and there it was, like everything that hadn't felt right before, sliding into place.
Notes: This is a pretty new thing to write for me! I was looking through prompts at queer_fest and got to thinking about being trans in Harry Potter, and wanted to give this a try.
Disclaimer: Lies and untruths.
i.
When you got the Hogwarts letter, you thought that was the answer. I'm a wizard, and there it was, like everything that hadn't felt right before sliding into place. Like the end of a good book, when suddenly all the plot points come together, and everything becomes clear.
You'd never fit in at school. You were smart, all the teachers said, but not very good at paying attention. Your schoolwork didn't engage you. You were capable, but you didn't apply yourself. Smaller words, for a smaller child, but the familiar complaints. You're such a bright girl, why don't you try harder?
You didn't play well with others. You preferred to read, stories about far-off worlds and heroes.
If you preferred to be the hero to the damsel, you didn't think much of it. The damsel never had much to do. She wouldn't have been exciting.
It was different, once you found out you were a wizard. Of course you didn't get along with the other children; they weren't like you. Of course you didn't care about your boring school, you knew deep down you were destined for wizard school.
You ate up your books then, learned everything you could, became an expert on everything that was Hogwarts. Because this was who you were.
A wizard.
You finally made sense.
ii.
Witches ride on brooms, have warty noses and black cats and green skin and melt under water.
Naturally, you didn't want to think of yourself as one.
iii.
Ron, unsurprisingly, doesn't get it.
"So--you still like blokes," he says, slowly.
"Ron," Harry says, low. Almost a warning, but Ron won't notice. Harry's giving him a little too much credit.
"I mean, what's the point? You're a girl, you like men. Why make it more difficult?"
"It's not about that, Ron," says Harry, before you can.
"What do you know about it?"
"You're a Weasley," you say, cutting off Harry this time. You're too tired to be angry with him. You're always getting angry with him, because you always think he can be brought around. This time, you're not sure. "You've always fit in. Do you have any idea what it's like to feel like you're not right?"
"Of course you're right!" says Ron. "You're Hermione! You're the rightest person I know."
"Well, maybe you don't know me very well," you snap, unable to help it.
Ron looks like you've burned him, horrified and just a bit hurt. As if this, of all things, should be about his pain. "Hermione," he says, softly, "I love you."
It isn't the first time he's said it, and you're glad. What a way that would be to end an argument.
"Yes," you say, all business. "Well, I hope you love Harold too."
"Harold?" says Ron, as if your new name is the worst part of this. "Really? Harold?"
You don't exactly smile. "Well, Harry. For short."
iv.
It takes a while to realize what you have isn't what you want, when there are evil wizards to be fought and a world to be saved. You never much liked your body, but no one did at that age; you thought it was just that you weren't pretty. Not like the other girls. Your teeth were too big and your hair was too bushy, and you thought it would make you happy if someone just liked you. The Yule Ball was an experiment of sorts, but it taught you the wrong things.
You liked having boys looking at you, liked the turned heads, the recognition, and it was a long time before you had a minute to breathe, to realize you didn't have to be a girl to like boys.
v.
"He'll come around," says Harry. "He just--"
"He's straight, for one," you say, smiling a little. Harry takes it as a sign he can sit down next to you. "And I'm not a girl."
Harry rubs his hands on the knees of his trousers. He's taller than you expected him to be, skinnier than he should be. You're going to be built differently, you realize suddenly. Not quite right, for a boy.
He doesn't say that you're still a girl, that you don't have to be a boy. It makes you ache with happiness.
"So," he says, softly. "Harry. I'm flattered." His smile lets you know he isn't teasing. Not in the bad way, at least.
"When I was young, I tried to make my parents call me Harry." You look down at your own legs; you're wearing trousers, sneakers. The same as Harry. "Long before I ever knew you, of course. They told me they could call me Hermy. I pretended it was short for Herman."
"Herman's worse than Harold," Harry says.
"I wonder if Ron would agree." You squeeze your hands into fists and release, slowly. "I do love him."
"I know."
"But I can't."
"I know."
You look at him, curious. "You've gotten much wiser, you know."
"I don't have that many people who really love me, Harry," he replies, and he says it so casually, as if you're already changed. As if you're already yourself. "I can't sacrifice any more." He pauses, shocked. "Why are you crying?"
vi.
Being Harry for the first time was a revelation. Not being Harry, yourself, but taking the polyjuice, taking your best friend's body, feeling comfortable in a way you never had before. You couldn't think about it at the time, but later, once the bodies had been buried and the world turned aright again, Fleur asked you, giggling a little, if you hadn't thought it was strange.
And you hadn't, not like you should have.
It felt like your own body.
vii.
It's easy, for wizards. Easier. No surgery, no psychological evaluation. Not for Hermione Granger, the hero. Just the flick of a wand and it's done.
I'm a wizard, you think, and your hair is still bushy, even if your teeth are better.
But you're a wizard, and you finally make sense.