Don't let the Muggles get you down!

Try and come to London,

Ron

P.S. Percy's Head Boy. He got the letter last week.

"Er. I must ask," Harry voices the question at the Muggle trans group's meetup, scratching his cheek and feeling the day-old stubble there. His voice resonates from the tall ceiling of the hall: it is gruff and deep, unmistakably a man's voice now, and it's still a surprise how much it's changed and how fast it has made a difference in people's perception of him. It has allowed Harry to slip into easy comfort with every stranger he meets, trusting their initial reactions to align with the comfortable limits of his mind. But other things, like lingering doubt, like unanswered questions, are not so comfortable, nor are they easy to entrust to a group of strangers. Still, Harry owes it to himself to try. "Has anyone ever... doubted themselves, as they transitioned. 'Cause I have. A whole lot." He feels like he's confessing a colossal failure. He's prepared for the flabbergasted stares, for doubt, to be cast out of this group forever if it comes to it, since he's not real, not one of them. "Is that bad of me?"

I'm taking up time from the real problems. The people who deserve support. What have I done? Waltzed into one of their doctor's offices and took up resources and medicine, took someone's place in the long queue, without being absolutely certain, without even getting vetted by a psychiatrist first. No better than a common thief. They'd be right to condemn him. He's nothing but a fraud.

Besides him, Zoe smiles and he sees her hand rise upward. "Who hasn't here questioned themselves every day? I still am." Harry looks up from his own clenched hands. Not a single person's hand in a circle of over a dozen remains unraised. "I also regret not sticking to a diet. Or not asking that gorgeous sweet thing at the pub for her number the other day. Who knows how my life would turn out then! Honestly, it's all too human to worry."

"Oh," Harry says. Maybe it's all OK. A feeling dawns, sparkling-bright and easy, like opening a door to a long-lost home, the kind of home you are proud to enter, and it's Christmas and a birthday party all at once inside. Wow. Perhaps I am not an impostor among this lot. Maybe I am one of them!

Looking at the blokes around the room is a confusing experience. The first time seeing Hadrian, for example, zapped Harry into a mind-blowing realization that any slightly-shorter man on the street could have at one point gone through the same dilemma of staring in the mirror and seeing a girl stare back, wishing to be invisible in crowded loos. It gives Harry hope that given enough time, he'll be just another bloke in the crowd.

He stays for the biscuits and tea afterwards. Hadrian, a bearded redhead with a pair of bright blue gauges in his ears, hands him a tin. "Do you, um, maybe wanna go out sometime? For a pint. Or if it's a glass of merlot, you're after..."

Harry shakes his head. "Thanks. I can't. I've got a man waiting for me at home."

"He isn't here then," Hadrian says, elbowing Harry. "Hmm... Takes one of us to show you a really good time, just sayin'."

Harry snorts. "Doesn't matter. Won't be him." Harry thinks of Severus and lights up, in an easy smile. He always did wear his heart on his sleeve.

Hadrian, who recognises a lost cause, backs off. "Suit yourself," he says. "What's his name?"

"Severus," Harry says, with the same easy smile. It fits on his lips like no other.

"Oy, and I thought I was obsessed with the Romans." Hadrian whistles. "Parents, man! Well, if he's ever interested in changing it on his ID, I have all the steps written out from last year."

Harry snorts around a mouthful, biscuit crumbs spraying, picturing Severus arguing with the Muggle authorities over a piece of plastic instead of simply applying a charm to it. "I think he's good. Real good. It suits him, a lot actually."

"Sounds like a catch," says Hadrian with an exaggerated wink and then claps Harry on the shoulder. "Go on, get home then. Best of luck, you two lovebirds."

Harry washes the biscuit down with the rest of his tea and does just that. Time to go home.

He apparates to Spinner's End from the nearest empty alley, crosses the cobbled street toward the familiar doorway, and presses his hand against the locked wooden door with the peeling paint. At Harry's touch, something inside the door clicks and slots into place, begins the sequence of undoing multiple magical locks and latches. And then, at last, the door swings open.

"Severus, m' home!"

Severus is seated by the fireplace, and there's a slight smirk on his face, as if he has something to show Harry. It's all very suspicious. Harry squints at him. "What is it? Have I got something on my face?"

"Take a look at this." With the light snap of Severus' fingers, the Evening Prophet floats off the newspaper stack and opens, with a rustle, to a particular page. He's wary of papers these days, but Severus surely won't steer him wrong, so Harry steps up to it, peering at the small blurb of an article.

Dressed according to latest wizarding world fashion, Auror Harry Potter, who recently announced that he is planning to step down from his current role at the MLE at the end of the month...

Harry blinks and rereads once more: he was... his role... Just a couple of short words in greying newsprint that catches his attention and he cannot look away. He. HE! They finally listened! Wow. At last!

"Thought you might like to see this," Severus murmurs, watching Harry as Harry grins, going over the rest of the article and then, on a whim, lunges himself at Severus and throws his arms around the man. With a sudden oomph, Severus catches Harry and slides his hands into the back pockets of Harry's jeans, steadying Harry on his lap. Harry's knees are braced on both sides of Severus' hips. He runs his hands through Severus' black hair, pushing it out of the way before leaning in for a proper kiss.

With a final rustle, the newspaper settles on the floor behind Harry, as he distracts Severus enough to break his concentration on the levitation spell.

Harry considers that a victory.