Harry Potter and the TERF Wars

The three of them sat on the floor of the girls bathroom. They had just entered it moments ago, with total disregard for any rules prohibiting boys from entering and stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book says it should ... once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves."

"Now what?" Ron whispered.

"We separate it into three glasses and add the hairs."

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the first glass.

Harry dropped Goyle's hair into the middle glass and Ron put Crabbe's into the last one. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe's a dark, murky brown.

"Hang on," said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. "We'd better not all drink them in here ... Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit. And Millicent Bulstrode's no pixie."

"Good thinking," said Ron, unlocking the door. "We'll take separate stalls."

"Ready," came Ron's and Hermione's voices.

"One - two - three -"

Pinching his nose, Harry drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live snakes - doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick - then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes - next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax - and to his great surprise, his hands began to shrink and his fingers narrowed, the nails became a perfect elliptical shape - his waist shrunk in sharply squeezing his insides together as his chest swelled and a prickling on the back of the neck shocked him as, reaching his hand around to the back of his neck in horror to feel long sleek hair. No, he thought to himself, this couldn't be happening. Something had gone terribly wrong with the potion.

"Hermione!" He called out and immediately clapped his hand over his mouth as the high pitched feminine voice stunned him.

"Harry? Is that you?" called out another particularly girly voice from the stall beside him.

Harry unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror. A Slytherin girl called Daphne Greengrass he had seen in Potions class stared back at him out of bright and frightened eyes. Harry scratched his ear. So did the Slytherin girl. She was, undeniably, very pretty. Harry swivelled to examine his profile but abruptly stopped when Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. Or more specifically, Harry stared at Tracey Davis, the Slytherin girl who was always hanging around Pansy Parkinson.

"This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding. "You didn't tell us this potion turns you into girls Hermione," he continued. He and Harry exchanged wicked glances.

"Oh erm… what? Oh dear I think I must have gotten the hairs all muddled up!" she exclaimed in a strained voice.

"This is crazy," said Ron running his hands all over his body and blushing furiously as he explored uncharted territory.

"We'd better get going," said Harry, tightening the watch that hung loosely over Daphne's slender wrist. "We've still got to find out where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to follow. . ."

Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, "You don't know how bizarre it is to see you looking like a cute girl." He banged on Hermione's door. "C'mon, we need to go -"

A high-pitched voice answered him.

"I - I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me."

"Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you -"

"No - really - I don't think I'll come. You two hurry up, you're wasting time."

Harry looked at Ron, bewildered.

"Hermione, are you okay?" said Harry through the door.

"Fine - I'm fine - go on -"

Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty minutes had already passed.

"We'll meet you back here, all right?" he said.

Harry and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked that the coast was clear, and set off. It took Harry a few corridors to get used to walking as Daphne with his hips swinging gently with every step. He tried not to swing his arms so much and femininely play with Daphne's soft and sweet smelling hair. They went down the marble staircase. All they needed now was a Slytherin that they could follow to the Slytherin common room, but there was nobody around.

"Any ideas?" muttered Harry.

"The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there," said Ron, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons. The words had barely left his mouth when a tall and lanky boy emerged from the entrance. "Excuse me," said Ron, hurrying up to him.

"Hi there ladies," said the boy. "What can I help you with?" he said frantically trying to flatten his hair. Harry and Ron exchanged a confused look.

"We've forgotten the way to our common room."

"Oh," said the boy looking slightly disappointed. "The Slytherin common room is down that staircase I think."

Harry and Ron hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, their footsteps pattering gently on the floor, feeling that this was going a lot better than they had anticipated. The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches to see how much time they had left. After a quarter of an hour, just when they were getting desperate, they heard a sudden movement ahead.

"Ha!" said Ron excitedly. "There's one of them now!"

The figure was emerging from a side room. As they hurried nearer, however, their hearts sank. It wasn't a Slytherin, it was Percy.

"What're you doing down here?" said Ron in surprise. Percy looked affronted.

"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business. It's Davis, isn't it?"

"Wh - oh, yeah," said Ron.

"Well, get off to your dormitories," said Percy sternly. "It's not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days."

"You are," Ron pointed out.

"I," said Percy, drawing himself up, "am a prefect and an older boy. Nothing's about to attack me. You defenseless girls should be more alert."

A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry and Ron. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward them, and for the first time in his life, Harry was pleased to see him.

"Hi Ma-Draco," he said giggling and twirling his hair between his fingers. Malfoy looked pleasantly surprised to be receiving Daphne's attention.

"Oh hi girls," he said in his most drawling and snobbish voice. "Do you know where Pansy is? I've been looking for her I want to show her something really funny."

"I think she was going to meet us in the common room," said Harry, seizing the opportunity before Ron had a chance to open his mouth.

Malfoy looked elated before gazing witheringly at Percy.

"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" he sneered. Percy looked outraged.

"You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!" Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. Harry almost said something apologetic to Percy but caught himself just in time. He and Ron hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, "That Peter Weasley -"

"Percy," Ron corrected him automatically.

"Whatever," said Malfoy. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed." He gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry and Ron exchanged excited looks. Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"What's the new password again?" he said to Harry.

"Er -" said Harry.

"Oh, yeah -pure-blood!" said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and Harry and Ron followed him. The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.

"So when's Pansy meeting us?" Malfoy asked, jumping into an uncomfortable-looking leather sofa. He fidgeted nervously and ran his fingers through his gel-slicked hair.

"Soon, I think," said Ron as Harry inspected his watch.

"Hmmph," replied Draco grumpily, reaching for a copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry glanced at Ron. They had to find a way to bring up the attacks and loosen Malfoy's tongue before the potion wore off. Harry absent-mindly wondered if there was a way of strengthening the potion so that he could stay in Daphne's body for a while longer… But this thought was abruptly interrupted as Malfoy began to comment on the attacks himself.

"You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. 190 "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "'Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?"'

He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron. "What's the matter with you two?"

"Oh, haha, it's just that Harry Potter is kind of cute don't you think?" giggled Harry nudging Ron sharply in the ribs who eventually began to giggle himself.

Malfoy scowled and shook his head.

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly. "He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir!" Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling them it was him - but then "I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."

Ron's jaw dropped but fortunately Tracey Davis seemed to be the ditsy type and Malfoy didn't notice, and Harry, thinking fast, said, "You must have some idea who's behind it all ... you're so smart Draco".

Malfoy looked impressed but sighed. "I wish I did," he began. "Do you think Pansy would go on a date with me if she thought I was the heir of Slytherin?"

Ron made a non-commital noise and shrugged Tracey's slender shoulders.

"Well you're her best friends aren't you?" demanded Malfoy narrowing his eyes.

Harry glanced at his watch. Time was running out and they'd already got as much out of Malfoy as they would. "We can go and find her for you if you like," he said.

"Yeah alright," said Malfoy going back to the Daily Prophet, seemingly already bored of the conversation.

Harry and Ron bolted up the stairs and out of the Slytherin common room and continued to run all the way until they reached the girls bathroom. Harry could slowly feel his body growing taller and his watch was now tightly clamped over his widening wrist. A feeling deep down inside Harry stirred … as feet lengthened and Daphne's perfectly oval fingernails transformed into his own dirty ones he felt a surge of disgust for his body. It didn't feel like he was returning to the comfort of his own body but found himself realising that he had felt quite at home as Daphne Greengrass, perhaps even too comfortable…

"Well that wasn't a complete waste of time," Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. No, thought Harry to himself, certainly not. "At least we know that it's not Malfoy behind the attacks." Harry checked his face in the cracked mirror. A scruffy boy stared back at him but somehow it was hard for Harry to recognise this boy as himself. He put his glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione's stall.

"Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you -"

"Go away!" Hermione squeaked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"What's the matter?" said Ron. "You must be back to normal by now, we are."

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Harry had never seen her looking so happy. "Ooooooh, wait till you see," she said. "It's awful-" They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.

"What's up?" said Ron uncertainly. "Have you still got Millicent's nose or something?"

Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair. "It was a c-cat hair!" she howled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!"

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions ..."

That night Harry lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts raced around his mind like startled rabbits, jumping to-and-fro. Thoughts about Daphne and her female body. The way that people looked at him when he was a girl. A different way. A nice way. And thoughts about himself as Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. He had never questioned it before but now that he had experienced life for a brief moment as a girl, he felt that he couldn't go back. The experience had changed him, for better or worse.

"Harry," he heard a small voice whisper from the adjacent bed. Harry sat up and turned his bedside lamp on. "What is it Ron?" he answered.

"You know how we spent today as girls…." Ron whispered so low that Harry struggled to hear. "I kind of liked that," he said.

"Yeah, I kind of liked that too," replied Harry, turning his lamp off and laying back down in bed where he fell into a deep but restless sleep.

Bright, harsh light flooded in the windows of the hospital wing. This would be Harry's fifth appointment with the special Healer who had come all the way from St Mungo's to discuss gender transitioning to Harry and Ron. It had been almost a year since that fateful day when Harry, Ron and Hermione had taken the Polyjuice potion to try to interrogate Malfoy about if he was the heir of Slytherin. Eventually it had turned out to be Ginny, but of course that was another story…

"You should choose a new name for yourself to begin your transition," said the kindly Healer, now directly addressing her.

"Harriet," was her immediate reply. It was close enough to her old name yet also distinctly feminine. To Harriet it didn't feel like some kind of reversal, but more of a progression into becoming the person she really wanted to be. The Healer noted her new name onto an official-looking roll of parchment.

"Finally, the last thing you will need before Madam Pompfrey can begin administering the hormone replacement serum to you is permission from your legal guardian as you are still underage," continued the Healer. Harriet's heart sank. There was no way the Dursley's would support her. She remembered the very deep shade of purple that Uncle Vernon's face had taken when she had first brought it up with them.

"Is there no other way that Miss Potter can receive the serum," asked Professor McGonagall to the Healer, fully aware of Harriet's difficult situation.

"I'm afraid not," was the Healer's regretful reply. "It is directly governed by the Ministry of Magic and to administer a serum to a minor without parental consent is strictly illegal. We could end up in Azkaban."

McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and the Healer all turned to face Harriet. She hung her head in shame.

Harriet waited impatiently in her room for the Dursley's to leave. In just a few minutes she would be picked up by the Order of the Phoenix and taken to Grimmauld Place where Sirius could sign her form to begin taking the hormone replacement serum. She paced nervously and bit her nails, a habit that she couldn't shake. Her trunk was packed and Hedwig was chirping grumpily, chafing at the bit to finally be let out of her cage.

She heard Uncle Vernon thundering up the stairs and sat nervously on the edge of her bed.

"You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away," he said, pointing his sausage-like finger at her threateningly.

"Okay."

"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."

"Right."

"You are not to steal food from the fridge."

"Okay."

"I am going to lock your door."

"You do that."

Uncle Vernon glared at Harriet, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Harriet heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later she heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive. She let out a sigh of relief.

The empty house creaked around her. The pipes gurgled. Harriet lay there in a kind of stupor, thinking of nothing, filled with anticipation. And then, quite distinctly, she heard a crash in the kitchen below.

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a completely unfamiliar woman's voice.
"Lumos." A wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light that seeped under the crack in Harriet's door. Harriet blinked.

"Alohomora," grunted a gruff voice and the lock clicked open.

The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at her, some craning their heads for a better look. Remus Lupin stood nearest to her. Behind him was Alastair Moody, only this time it was the real one. The unknown voice must have belonged to a young witch with a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Harriet!" she said, winking at her.

"Harriet, what form does your Patronus take?" said Lupin.

"A stag," said Harriet nervously.

"That's her, Mad-Eye," said Lupin. Harriet descended the stairs, very conscious of everybody still staring at her, stowing her wand into the back pocket of her jeans as she came. She could hardly believe this was real. In just a few days she would return to Hogwarts and finally after all the years begin her life in the way she wanted.

"Everything ready Harriet?" asked Lupin, glancing at the polished grandfather clock.

"Um yeah almost, I just need to get my broom out from under my bed," she replied excitedly.

"I'll come and help you," said the unfamiliar witch brightly who introduced herself as Nymphadora Tonks. Harriet got down onto the floor and strained her arm, grasping the stirrup of the broom and tugging it. Tonks grabbed the other end and they pulled it out together. As Harriet dusted her broom and removed some stray spiders which had made their webs in the tail. Tonks paused at her open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"You know, I don't think purple's really my colour," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair.

"D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"

"Er —" said Harriet, looking up from a rather nasty looking spider.

"Yeah, it does," said Tonks decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she were struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

"How did you do that?" said Harriet, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. "It means I can change my appearance at will," she added, spotting Harriet's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."

"I'm jealous," said Harriet quietly.

"Yeah, I bet," replied Tonks sympathetically placing a hand on Harriet's shoulder.

"Can you learn how to be a Metamorphmagus?" Harriet asked her, straightening up, completely forgetting her broom and the spiders which had begun crawling down her clothes.

"Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made," she said regretfully.

"Oh". Harriet felt stupid for asking. For a second she had hoped that if she could learn this skill then she wouldn't have to worry about having the forms signed and going to the hospital wing and all the looks she got from other students in the castle. Tonks hugged her and they left Harriet's bedroom, closing the door behind them with a definite sense of purpose.

As soon as she entered the Grimmauld Place townhouse, Harriet was tightly embraced by her godfather Sirius. "Let's sign that paperwork shall we?" he said, leading Harriet into his grimy house.

Harriet felt elated to be back in the Great Hall, with its starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Harriet noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as she passed; she gritted her teeth and tried to act as though she neither noticed nor cared.

She sat down next to Ronda, who had already transitioned years earlier, having gotten permission from Mrs Weasley, and Hermione.

"Who's that?" asked Ronda once Harriet was seated. She had gestured to a woman at the staff table. She looked, Harriet thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and she saw a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

"No idea," said Harriet.

After the sorting, Harriet, Ronda and Hermione tucked heartily into the hot freshly baked roast meals that magically appeared on the tables. When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. Harriet was feeling pleasantly drowsy now. Her four-poster bed was waiting somewhere above, wonderfully warm and soft. . . . "Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. "First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too." (Harriet, Ronda, and Hermione exchanged smirks.)

Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —" He broke off, looking inquiringly at the new staff member. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then the new professor said, "Hem, hem," and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at the new professor as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Headmaster," the toad-like lady simpered, "for those kind words of welcome. My name is Dolores Umbridge".

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish and again, Harriet felt a powerful rush of dislike that she could not explain to herself; all she knew was that she loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. Professor Umbridge gave another little throatclearing cough ("Hem, hem") and continued: "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!" Harriet glanced around. None of the faces she could see looked happy; on the contrary, they all looked rather taken aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!" Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins. Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again ("Hem, hem"), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. Professor McGonagall's dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Harriet distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little "Hem, hem" and went on with her speech. "Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation . . ."

Harriet found her attentiveness ebbing, as though her brain was slipping in and out of tune. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put their heads together, whispering and giggling. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Cho Chang was chatting animatedly with her friends. A few seats along from Cho, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again. Meanwhile at the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillan was one of the few still staring at Professor Umbridge, but he was glassy-eyed and Harriet was sure he was only pretending to listen in an attempt to live up to the new prefect's badge gleaming on his chest.

Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harriet had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have plowed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste. "...because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. It is important that we do not allow our children, the children of the future, to be swayed down a dangerous path. It is important that we do not allow so called activists to bully and silence those who seek to speak the truth."

She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harriet noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he said, bowing to her. "Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held . . ."

"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," said Hermione in a low voice.

"You're not telling me you enjoyed it?" Ronda said quietly, turning a glazed face upon Hermione. "That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

"I said illuminating, not enjoyable," said Hermione. "It explained a lot."

"Did it?" said Harriet in surprise. "Sounded like a load of waffle to me."

"There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle," said Hermione grimly.

"Was there?" said Ronda blankly.

"How about 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged'? How about 'it is important that we do not allow so called activists to bully and silence those who seek to speak the truth'?" retorted Hermione.

"Well, what does that mean?" said Ronda impatiently.

"I'll tell you what it means," said Hermione ominously. "It means that Umbridge doesn't agree with you two. You should look out for yourselves and be careful not to do anything to provoke her." Harriet gulped and met Ronda's eyes with a look of horror.

Harriet walked with heart in her mouth to the hospital wing clutching her signed consent form in a sweaty palm. "Are you ready Harriet?" asked Madam Pomfrey, reaching out her hand to take the form.

"Yes," replied a nervous and excited Harriet. "How long will it take to work?"

"Fortunately due to its magic properties the serum will only take roughly twelve hours to work. I can administer it now and by tomorrow morning you will have completed your transition," answered Madam Pomfrey ticking off a checklist.

Harriet yawned. It was rather late and she had been feeling tired during the feast. Madam Pomfrey handed her the serum. "Drink up," she advised.

Harriet drank from the flask. Unlike the Polyjuice potion it tasted sweet and sticky, a bit like honey. She lay down in her bed and fell into a calm and deep sleep.

Harriet awoke late the next morning. She rolled over and immediately noticed that she felt… different.

"Oh you're awake," said Madam Pomfrey, handing her a mirror. Harriet nervously gazed in and saw a young, feminine face gaze back. Her face. Tears welled in her green eyes.

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harriet was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad. The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said when finally the whole class had sat down. A few people mumbled "Good afternoon," in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please." Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harriet shoved her wand back inside her bag and pulled out quill, ink, and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

The New Face of the Dark Arts

Harriet heard Hermione take a sharp intake of breath from beside her.

"It is clear to me that your past teaching in this subject has been very disruptive and also very… lacking. It is time that we confronted one of the biggest issues facing the wizarding world today - the power of so-called "Progressive" propaganda. Please open your copy of the Eunuch Witch by Geraldine Green which I have placed on your desks."

Harriet begrudgingly opened her book with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she knew what this was going to be about. Hermione had not even opened her book but rather had her hand raised in the air.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" Professor Umbridge asked Hermione

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small, pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "And your name is — ?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "You are creating a learning environment that is potentially disrespectful and at worst, unsafe, for certain pupils."

There was a short silence. "Certain pupils?" asked Umbridge in feigned ignorance.

"Do you have a problem with transgender people?" blurted out Harriet angrily.

"I respect every trans person's right to live any way that feels authentic and comfortable to them. I'd march with you if you were discriminated against on the basis of being trans. At the same time, my life has been shaped by being female. I do not believe it's hateful to say so. That will be enough from you, Mister Harry Potter." She replied viciously.

Hermione and Ronda gasped. Dean Thomas had raised his hand.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"It's extremely rude to misgender and deadname a trans person professor. I suggest that you refer to her with her name, Miss Harriet Potter."

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "I know and love trans people, but erasing the concept of sex removes the ability of many to meaningfully discuss their lives. It isn't hate to speak the truth."

"So you're a TERF?" said Rhonda, her voice laden with disgust.

"Detention for both you and Mr Potter. Five o'clock tomorrow evening in my office," replied Umbridge icily. "'Feminazi', 'TERF', 'bitch', 'muggle'. Times change. Woman-hate is eternal."

At five to five Harriet and Ronda bade Hermione good-bye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When they knocked on the door she said, "Come in," in a sugary voice. They entered cautiously, looking around. Harriet had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of its owner. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment. Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harriet stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again. "Good evening, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

Harriet felt a pang at being misgendered but ignored it and looked around. She had not noticed Umbridge at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her. "Evening," Harriet said stiffly. Ronda was silent.

"Well, sit down," Umbridge said, pointing toward a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. Two pieces of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for them. They sat in the chairs awkwardly. Evidently they would be writing lines.

Ronda bent down and extracted her quill from her bag. "Oh no no no," wailed Umbridge annoyingly. "I have some special quills for you two to use." She handed them each a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.

"I want you to write 'I am a boy,' " she told them softly. Harriet felt her blood boil.

"No," said Ronda simply.

"You will do as I say," snarled Umbridge menacingly.

"How many times?" Harriet asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness, hoping that they could get out of there as soon as possible..

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down, and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harriet raised the sharp black quill and then realized what was missing.

"You haven't given us any ink," she said.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Harriet placed the point of the quill on the paper and with a flood of emotions simmering beneath her calm veneer wrote: I am a boy.

She let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harriet's right hand, cut into her skin as though traced there by a scalpel — yet even as she stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

Ronda screamed. "Professor-"

She was watching them, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. "Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harriet quietly. She knew that for their own safety it was better to just comply and leave as soon as possible.

She looked back at the parchment, placed the quill upon it once more, wrote I am a boy, and felt the searing pain on the back of her hand for a second time; once again the words had been cut into her skin, once again they healed over seconds later. And on it went. Again and again Harriet and Ronda wrote the words on the parchment in what they soon came to realize was not ink, but their own blood. And again and again the words were cut into the back of Harriet's hand, healed, and then reappeared the next time she set quill to parchment. Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harriet did not ask when they would be allowed to stop. She did not even check her watch. She knew Umbridge was watching her for signs of weakness and she was not going to show any, not even if she had to sit here all night, cutting open her own hand with this quill. . . .

"Come here," she said, after what seemed hours. They stood up. Harriet's hand was stinging painfully. When she looked down at it she saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw. "Hands," the fat witch said. Ronda and Harriet extended their right hands.

Harriet repressed a shudder as the TERF touched her with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.

"It looks like I'm starting to make an impression on you isn't it? You may go now."

Harriet and Ronda ran back to the Gryffindor dormitory. Hermione was waiting for them.

"So, how'd it go?" she asked. They showed her their hands.

"That's barbaric! We have to go to McGonagall about this," exclaimed Hermione, thoroughly disgusted.

"I don't know if we should cause trouble Hermione, you know with all the stress Dumbledore seems to be under," said Harriet flatly.

Hermione scowled.

"I've been reading," Hermione began, slamming some dusty library books onto the Gryffindor table at breakfast the next morning. Rhonda rolled her eyes. "The Ministry of Magic has these old laws on teaching standards that have to be upheld at Hogwarts. There's one in particular here that states that a teacher may not violate the dignity of a student."

"I wish we'd known about this years ago," moaned Ronda. "We could have got Snape locked away."

"We have to tell Professor McGonagall about this. Umbridge could face criminal charges for how she has treated you," exclaimed Hermione passionately.

She wolfed down her toast and marched off toward the teacher's table. Ronda shrugged at Harriet and they followed behind. Hermione approached Professor McGonagall with steely resolve.

"Professor I was wondering how one might acquire a lawyer," began Hermione.

"A lawyer? Heaven forbid Hermione why might you require such a thing?" inquired McGonagall in an alarmed tone. Hermione was very conscious of the fact that Umbridge had finished her conversation with Professor Flitwick and was leaning towards them, her pudgy eyes wide. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Harriet and Ronda would like to press charges against Professor Umbridge for violating the Equality Act."

A hushed silence fell over the staff table. All attention was drawn to the three girls. McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Since Professor Umbridge is a well respected member of the Ministry of Magic, I'm afraid that you would be hard pressed to find a witch or wizard or non-binary POM (person of magic) willing to represent you," she advised sternly.

"Fine," huffed Hermione. "I will represent them."

"But I have not violated the Equality Act," squawked Umbridge, her voice losing its usual sickly sweet tone.

"The Wizengamot will decide that," retorted Hermione.

Hermione, dressed in her best robes, led Harriet and Rhonda down the dark corridor. The Ministry of Magic had a cold interior aesthetic, with highly polished tiles on all floors, walls and ceilings. Harriet could see her pale reflection staring back at her from a hundred different angles. Hermione paused before the door that led to the courtroom.

"Now," she said, facing Ronda and Harriet, "don't speak unless either I or one of the interrogators address you. And don't lose your tempers."

Ronda gulped and they both nodded. Hermione opened the door and led them into a large amphitheatre. The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harriet an ominous silence fell.

"Take your seats," ordered a disembodied voice and Harriet and Rhonda sat in the centre of the room. Harriet looked to her left and saw Umbridge wearing her most lurid outfit yet. Her floral pink dress was smothered by a fluffy pink blazer with embroidered cats. A frustrated looking wizard stood next to her rifling through his paperwork.

Feeling rather sick Harriet looked up at the people seated at the bench above. There were about fifty of them, all, as far as she could see, wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver W on the lefthand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at her, some with very austere expressions, others with looks of frank curiosity. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short gray hair sat in the centre; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. Harriet assumed she was to be the judge.

"Very well," said the woman. "The accused being present — finally — let us begin. Are you ready?" she called down to both Hermione and Umbridge's lawyer who both nodded sagely.

"Criminal trial of the twelfth of August," said the judge in a ringing voice, and a scribe began taking notes at once, "into alleged offenses committed under the Equality Act by Dolores Johanne Umbridge. Judge is Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The charges against the accused are as follows: that she did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of her actions, vilify, disrespect and insult her students Harriet Jamie Potter and Ronda Belinda Weasley in violation of the Equality Act. I call upon the defense to answer to these accusations."

The frustrated wizard stood up clumsily. "My client has spent much of the last three years reading books, blogs and scientific papers by trans people, medics and gender specialists. She is simply concerned about the erasure of the concept of sex by trans activists that will also erase same-sex attraction and the lived reality of women globally-" but he was cut off by a red-faced Umbridge. "Shut up!" she commanded, barging him out of the way.

"As many women have said before me, 'woman' is not a costume. 'Woman' is not an idea in a man's head. 'Woman' is not a pink brain, a liking for Jimmy Choos or any of the other sexist ideas now somehow touted as progressive," she said before she paused to take a breath.

Hermione seized her opportunity. "Trans people often use metaphorical language to describe feelings that are difficult to put into words, at least that's how Harriet and Ronda understand the language of being trapped in the wrong body and terms like male and female brains," she began in a loud and clear voice. "As for the gender stereotypes like presenting in such a meticulously feminine way, if one person calls either of my clients sir it will ruin their day, so they are desperately throwing glitter spaghetti at the wall in hopes the light catches some glimmer of womanhood. No trans woman thinks that femininity and womanhood are the same. Rather, they're using a cultural language of feminine signifiers to prompt others to see them for what they are."

Susan Bones peered down at Hermione and opened her mouth to speak but Umbridge interjected.

"I've read all the arguments about femaleness not residing in the sexed body, and the assertions that biological women don't have common experiences, and I find them, too, deeply misogynistic and regressive. It's also clear that one of the objectives of denying the importance of sex is to erode what some seem to see as the cruelly segregationist idea of women having their own biological realities. Biological women have faced decades of oppression and men can't just try to claim that they are a woman without having experienced that!" She ranted TERFly.

"Well," began Hermione hotly, "Like, what do you think trans women's experience in the world is? You think men treat them as their equal? You think street harassers are gonna treat them with dignity and respect because they have a Y chromosome? Come on, people, use your heads. When you have Geraldine Green calling trans women it, what do you think the guy on the steps of the liquor store is gonna say? When a trans woman doesn't pass, it's not like society simply treats her like a man. No, she gets treated as monster gender, pronouns 'it' and 'spit'. Once they start passing as a woman, it's really a step up, even though women get treated badly, because it's still better to be a she than an it."

"Moreover, the 'inclusive' language that calls female people 'menstruators' and 'people with vulvas' strikes many women as dehumanising and demeaning!" roared Umbridge, now thoroughly red in the face.

"In fact, medical language that assumes that everyone with a uterus is a woman erases trans men and non-binary people who menstruate and get pregnant. So saying pregnant women in this context erases them, whereas saying pregnant people includes them and cis women and doesn't erase anyone. No one is asking that you stop referring to yourself as a woman. Institutional medical language is designed to be inclusive and therefore impersonal. No one is proposing that we stop calling individual women pregnant women or expectant mothers." Hermione answered cooly.

"It's not hate to speak the truth," roared Umbridge. "MEN CANNOT CHANGE INTO WOMEN. I do not have to call these children she or her. It is my FREEDOM OF SPEECH."

Hermione paused and looked at Susan Bones. "I would like to call upon Harriet and Ronda to explain their experiences of being misgendered," she requested. Judge Bones nodded. Harriet stood up shakily. She was sure that her voice would quiver and her teeth would chatter but when she spoke, she spoke with the confidence of a proud woman.

"If I were to be 100% honest, it feels downright horrible. It's degrading, being misgendered on purpose," she said.

"Yeah," agreed Ronda, finding her courage, "when it happens, I get a little twinge, and have an almost reflex action to correct them. There are people who have known me for a long time who still slip up now and then. That, I can tolerate, but people who know me and deliberately plow right in through with he/him/his, and continue to dead-name me, it pisses me off."

"We are not asking for you to change your entire ideology, Professor," concluded Hermione. "All we are asking for is that you treat your students with respect and dignity."

Susan Bones banged her gavel loudly and a hushed silence fell upon the courtroom. All eyes were on the judge.

"I conclude from the totality of the evidence, that Umbridge is absolutist in her view of sex and it is a core component of her belief that she will refer to a person by the sex she considered appropriate even if it violates their dignity and/or creates an intimidating, hostile, degrading, humiliating or offensive environment. The approach is not worthy of respect in a democratic society. Umbridge is not entitled to ignore the legal rights of a person who has transitioned from male to female or vice versa and I acknowledge the enormous pain that can be caused by misgendering a person. Therefore it is my judgement that Umbridge be removed from her role as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harriet, Rhonda and Hermione embraced each other warmly. Professor McGonagall, who was spectating from the back of the courtroom began to clap a bit too enthusiastically, earning some displeased glances from members of the Wizengamot. Even Snape who was seated beside her had a sly smirk of satisfaction on his face. The trio returned to Hogwarts and happily completed their school year with Professor Lupin taking over Umbridge's old job. All was well.

Thanks to Contrapoints for her video "Gender Critical"