Chapter 4

The Potion

Hermione had an idea. A crazy idea. Maybe even a stupid idea. But it was an idea. And by God did she intend to act on this idea.

So, while Ron and Harry had been of trying to get hair from Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Hermione had gone and found hair off of Pansy Parkinson.

It wasn't like she hadn't needed to do it anyway, the hair she'd gotten from Millicent had been entirely the wrong colour, and Hermione was not about to risk it belonging to some random animal.

Then, once in the bathroom, as she had placed the hairs in the flasks of Polyjuice Potion, while Ron and Harry weren't looking, she quickly swapped hers and Harry's.

The hour being stuck in a boy's body would be worth it, she figured, if she was right. And Hermione was confident that she was.

Of course, it didn't work out that way.

"What the hell, Hermione?" Harry asked her, whispering, but Hermione could hear the strain in her voice. "Did you switch those on purpose? I told you, I can't be like you!"

"And why can't you, Harry?"

Harry nervously ran a hand through his (her) hair. "I just can't."

"Anyone can be, Harry. It's entirely up to-"

"My uncle would kill me," Harry muttered, so quiet, Hermione was barely sure she had heard her (and Hermione was confident on this being the correct pronoun) correctly.

"Then don't go back to them."

Harry looked stunned. As if that had never occurred to her. "But… isn't that… illegal?"

Hermione glared at her. "Hang the law. Killing you would be illegal too. And laws are never and have never been the end all be all of morality. Some places have laws against homosexuality too. There's nothing wrong with being gay."

Harry shrugged. "My uncle thinks different."

"And do you agree with him?"

Harry shook her head. "No."

Hermione sighed. "Look… tell me one thing. When you see yourself, in that mirror. When you see that girl version of you… how do you feel? Please, be honest."

Harry dropped her head in her heads. "Do I have to?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. You don't even have to tell me. You just… you should be able to tell yourself that."

Harry couldn't get to sleep that night. He couldn't stop thinking about the events of that day. Sure, whatever Malfoy had said was worth thinking about, but Harry found he couldn't bring his mind around to that.

No, what he was thinking about now was… not exactly about what it was like, being in the body of a girl.

What her thoughts were stuck on was what it was like changing back.

Changing back, quite honestly, had sucked.

It was like she had been dropped back into a vat of boiling oil she only just realized she had been sitting in for her entire life, save for the past hour.

And it hurt.

After wandering past a tapestry depicting some crazy guy trying to teach trolls to dance, for what he felt like was the third time that night, he spotted a door he had never seen before.

Curious, he pulled it open, walking inside.

Within, he found a nearly empty room, save for one, single item.

Not you again, he thought. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to see her. That alternate she so desperately wanted to be real.

She looked a bit taller than she had the last time, all those months ago. Her hair was put up in a ponytail, and Harry genuinely thought she looked much better with Harry's glasses than Harry ever had. Hell, even the scar on her forehead looked somewhat… prettier.

I want to be her. Harry did a double take. He wanted to be this girl.

No.

She wanted to be this girl.

She was this girl, but not quite right yet.

Hermione would know what to do.

Oh Merlin, Hermione.

She sunk down to the floor.

Hermione had been right the whole time. And Harry (no, Harry wasn't right) had been too stubborn.

I should tell Hermione right now.

It was the middle of the night.

I need someone to know.

It was the middle of the night.

She'd understand.

She ran a hand through her hair. Her reflection copied her action.

But when the real Harry's (Hazel's? She remembered that she liked that name) hand ran out of hair, the reflection's continued, brushing some of her hair over her shoulder.

Hazel blinked the tears out of her eyes. She hated how short her hair was.

But now, she needed to talk to Hermione.

Hazel stopped at the base of the stairs.

She knew it was ridiculous, being nervous about this. She had already gone up them once before. She could again. Hermione could.

Hermione was like her.

Whatever happened, she would not be alone.

She stepped on the first stair. And then the next. And the next. And so on until she reached the landing next to the first-year dorms. Then she continued. Up to the second landing. The second-year dorms. She gently pushed the door open. Thankfully, it didn't creak.

She examined the room. She easily spotted Hermione's back sitting on the ground leaning against one of the beds. She could see that the curtains were open, and Hermione was lying in the bed, sleeping.

Before her nerves overcame her, she walked over as quietly as she could, and nudged her sleeping friend.

Hermione stirred but did not wake.

Hazel nudged her again.

This time, Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She glanced around, confused.

Hazel slipped the hood of her cloak off her head, and Hermione's eyes focused on her.

"Harry?"

Hazel winced. Now that she knew just how wrong it was, the name stung.

"Not exactly."

Hermione looked confused, before she smiled, giving Hazel a knowing look. "I was right."

Hazel sighed. "Yeah… yeah, you were."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Hazel shrugged. "Yes. And who else could I even talk about this with?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm the only other trans person you know."

Hazel nodded. "Yes." She sat at the foot of the bed as Hermione sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

"So… first thing's first. Name?"

Hazel smiled. "Hazel."

Hermione smiled back. "That's a very pretty name, Hazel."

Hazel blushed. "I don't know where I got it from. All I know is that suddenly at some point last year, I started thinking about that name… once almost signed a test with that name."

"Oh, you are sooo trans."

Hazel smiled. "It seems obvious, looking back."

Hermione nodded. "It often can. I didn't have all that much to look back on since I came out when I was 7, but there were still some signs."

Hazel sighed. "You know, I think I did used to know. Like know know. When I was younger. My uncle just punished me for it until I stopped and forgot."

Hermione scowled. "I meant it, you know. When I said I don't think you should go back there. They sound horrible."

"They are, but… I dunno, what if someone tried to force me back?"

"Then we make sure there isn't an option for you to stay at all."

"How?"

"I'll ask my mum. She'd know what to do."

"Does she need to get involved?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm just a kid. She's an adult. People listen to adults. They should listen to kids, but they don't."

"So, I won't have to go back to them?"

Hermione shook her head. "I refuse to let anyone send you back to those awful people, Hazel."