Featuring trans Scorpius Malfoy because fuck J.K Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter.

Some of this was based on my experiences as a trans guy.

She doesn't think she's a girl. It starts when she's eight, and someone calls her "ma'am" and it sounds foreign. Ma'am. It echoes in her head, but she pushes it away. It seems strange to her, but she was born this way. What else could she be?

She's never liked her name. It's too feminine, too fancy. It doesn't feel like her. She keeps it because her mother gave it to her, and even though now she is gone, she feels like she should honour her – even just in a name.

"Lyra!"

It sounds weird. It comes off her tongue feeling alien. But it's her. People don't change their names, she knows. So she represses the feeling, and answers to it anyway.

"Lyra!"

"Coming, dad."

When she's eleven she goes to Madam Malkin's. Her dad introduces her as his daughter, long blonde hair and Malfoy grey eyes. She smiles and steps up on the stool when the witch hurries over, measuring tape in hand. It unfurls itself in the air and takes her height, then wraps itself around her breasts. Her father takes her hand and presses his lips to her forehead.

"I can't believe you're leaving me already. Little Lyra."

She forces herself to smile at the name. She's eerily aware of how prominent her breasts are – despite how small they are – as the witch scribbles down their measurement. The tape moves to her arms.

When it's done, she thanks Madam Malkin and gestures her goodbye.

"Come on, Lyra," her father says. His eyes rest on her, gentle and warm. She takes his hand.

The name still sounds weird.

Water splashes over her shoulders and runs down her body. Lyra traces all the parts she doesn't like with her hands, lathering them with soap. Her breasts; her widening thighs; the thinness of her waist, a forming hourglass; her flabby arms. She runs her hands over them again and again – they don't feel right. They'd never felt right since they'd started forming. They shouldn't be there, she thinks. It doesn't seem like her body. Who she should be. It feels so unnatural, so foreign, and she wants to itch all the parts that don't fit until they're torn and bleeding. But instead she sinks to the cold floor tilings and cries.

She. She. She.

She.

It's like people are screaming at her.

Why does it feel like this?

Lyra. Lyra. Lyra.

Why can't she feel normal?

This is all wrong.

Ma'am. Ma'am. Ma'am.

She pushes it away.

Lyra Astoria Malfoy meets Albus Severus Potter on the train to Hogwarts, and they're sorted into Slytherin together. She's glad she has a friend. Maybe now everything else will go away.

It gets worse. She enters further into puberty. Fat gathers on her thighs, her breasts grow. She still can't figure out why she doesn't like it. All the other girls seem to be complaining their breasts aren't bigger, celebrating when they finally get their periods. She doesn't want them there at all.

Two years pass, and then suddenly they're in third year. She still doesn't like her name, or her body, and she starts to realise that this isn't how you're supposed to feel. Most people don't feel like this.

She tells Albus she's going to the library to study. She goes to Rose Granger-Weasley instead – Albus's cousin, a girl supposedly very bright – and meets her under a tree outside.

"Lyra!" Rose calls out when she approaches.

She lowers herself down next to her.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Lyra opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. A minute passes, and Rose smiles encouragingly.

"I—uh—I don't like my name."

Rose raises an eyebrow. Lyra blushes.

"I mean—I don't like my name. I don't like being referred to as a girl. Or how feminine my body is. Or—or wearing girl clothes, or—or—or—"

Rose covers Lyra's hands with hers. "Hey. It's okay. It's okay. Slow down."

She breathes in deeply and swallows through the tight feeling in her throat. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Take a moment."

Her breathing slows after a bit. She blinks back the tears gathering in her eyes. Rose squeezes her hand.

"You say you don't like being referred to as a girl. How does that make you feel?"

"Just—stressed, or sad, or anxious, or—it just—it doesn't feel right. I don't feel like a girl."

Rose is quiet for a minute. "Malfoy ... do you know what being transgender is?"

Transgender. The word sounds weird. She shakes her head.

"Sex and gender are two different things," the redhead starts hesitantly. "Being female sex doesn't necessarily mean you're a girl. Often it does, but sometimes—sometimes it doesn't."

Lyra frowns.

"Transgender people are people who don't identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Like you—you were assigned female at birth, but have you considered ... have you considered that maybe you might be male?"

Male. Male. Male. The word rebounds in her – his? – head.

Rose turns to face her. "I can help you do some research. There's quite a few books in the library. There's also a lot of witches and wizards that are transgender. I'm not saying you are, I'm just ... maybe it's something you should think about."

She thinks about it. She goes to the library and takes out five different books on the topic, and stays up late reading, learning, considering. She learns about the different types of dysphoria, and binding, and name-changing, and hormone replacement therapy. She learns about the different pronouns, and gender-affirmation surgeries, and packing. And she learns about trans girls, too, and non-binary people. She thinks about whether she wants to change her pronouns, or her name, or if she thinks she's actually a boy, like Rose said—and after a month, she thinks: yes. She thinks she is.

She sends a thank you note to Rose, and then goes to Al.

"I don't think I'm a girl."

Al looks up from his chess game and blinks. "What?"

"I don't think I'm a girl," Lyra repeats, twisting a the snake ring around her middle finger. "I think—I think I'm a boy."

He sets down the pawn he was holding. "Uh—so—what does that mean?"

Lyra breathes in deeply. "Transgender: people who don't identify with the gender they were assigned at birth."

"Okay..." Al responds hesitantly. "So you're a boy?"

She glances down. "I—I think so. Is that ... is that okay?"

Albus smiles and pulls her into a crushing hug. "Of course! You're still my best friend. Um, I might not understand everything but—I'll try my best."

Lyra smiles, the nerves in her stomach dying down and being replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief instead. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you—"

"God, don't cry on me. I like this sweater."

She wipes her eyes to find tears brimming at the edges. "Sorry."

"So, uh," he pauses. "Is there another name you want me to call you?"

She bites her lip. "Could you ... could just call me Malfoy for now? I'm still thinking. And he/him pronouns? Please?"

Al embraces the blond again. "Alright, Malfoy." He snickers.

She —he hits him over the head.

They get Dominique Weasley to cut Malfoy's hair when he brings it up. They figure that with a Fleur for a mother, she would likely have some beauty knowledge or training.

"Cool," she says, when they explain. "Uh, sit in that chair over there." She grabs a comb, some scissors, and a few other supplies. "I'm non binary, so I kinda know what it's like."

Malfoy smiles tightly, nerves twisting around in his stomach. "Yeah."

"So," Dominique starts, turning his head to face straight towards a mirror. "What are we thinking, Malfoy?"

He bites his lip. "You know that style where it's kinda shaved at the side and then longer on top?" He twists his ring around.

Dominique makes a face, then nods and reaches for her scissors. "Say goodbye to your hair, Malfoy."

His hair, they find, is actually curly when short, and Albus cannot stop laughing.

"Oh my god," he says. "Your father is going to be horrified."

Malfoy swings a hand over his head. "Shut up."

Dominique rolls her eyes. "Good?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Thanks, Dom."

"Voldemort."

"No."

"Lucas."

"No."

"Bitchboy."

"No!" He laughs. "I am not naming myself Bitchboy, Albus."

Albus pouts. "Why not?"

He rolls his eyes.

It's been four days since he cut his hair short. It's two am, and they're going through names in the common room.

"I want a constellation name," Malfoy says, flipping through an astrology textbook. "It's a Malfoy tradition. I do want my name changed, but it feels wrong to break that tradition."

"Alright."

Silence falls. "Ara?" Al suggests.

Malfoy shakes his head. "Cepheus, maybe?"

"Bro—you have bad taste in names."

"Fuck off. Dad was gonna name me Cassiopeia."

Al raises his eyebrows and shifts over to see the textbook. "Scratch that, maybe your family just has bad taste in names."

Malfoy flips a page.

"Hey." Albus stops his hand on a name. "What about Scorpius?"

The blond goes quiet for a moment. "Scorpius."

"Scorpius?"

"We could try that," he says hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he responds, more definitely now. "Let's try that."

"Are you gonna tell your dad?"

Scorpius lays his head on Al's shoulder. The green glow of the common room suddenly seems overbearing."I feel like I should, but..."

"Yeah," he responds. "But your dad's okay, isn't he? And if it doesn't go well you can always stay at mine. My parents love you."

"I know. It's just—this is a big thing, y'know? I wish it wasn't, but—you hear all these stories about what happens when people come out to their family and it's—it's horrible. I know logically my dad wouldn't, but ..."

"Take your time, Scorp. But you're gonna have to tell him eventually."

Scorpius closes his eyes. "Yeah." He opens them again. "I know."

Rose Granger-Weasley gets him a binder the Christmas after starting fourth year. He's at home when it arrives, so he tells his dad he needs to go the bathroom, runs to his room, and slips it on—with or without him getting stuck in it a few times first.

It fits perfectly. He turns sideways to the mirror, then to the front, then sideways again, running his hands over his chest. He's read so much about binding; don't sleep in it, don't exercise in it, don't wear for more than eight to ten hours at a time. And now he has one. He has one. His chest is basically flat, and it's mesmerising.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hands trembling as he slips an AC/DC shirt over his black hoodie—Albus had introduced him to the band, and now they were his favourite. He plays with the holes in his blue jeans, swallowing.

And then he pulls himself up, pushes back his hair, and takes a deep breath, the nerves settling at the pit of his stomach.

He finds his father reading in front of the fire. He looks peaceful; he has a few greying hairs on the top of his head and a pair of glasses pushed up on his nose. He's wearing a pair of black jeans and a sweater, and his hands delicately flip a page.

Scorpius twists his snake ring and clenches his fists once, twice, then steps through the doorway and makes his presence known.

"Hey, dad," his voice cracks.

His father looks up and smiles. "Hey, Lyra," he responds, placing a ribbon in his book and closing it. "Are you okay?"

He forces back a flinch at the name. At this point it's only his family who uses that name for him. "Yeah. Actually, could I—could I talk to you about something?"

Draco frowns. "Of course, Ly." He places the book down and gestures to a spot next to him on the lounge. Scorpius joins him hesitantly.

"Um, okay," he starts. He hates how his voice shakes. It's now, he thinks. Now. It's happening now. He wishes Al was here. "Okay. Okay. How much do you know—how much do you know..." he rubs his forehead. "Fuck."

His dad takes his hand. "It's okay, Ly. You can talk to me about anything."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he mutters. His hands have started shaking again. Silence falls. Draco squeezes his daughter'sson's hand.

He breathes in and moves his hand away, then tries again: "what do you know about—about transgender people?"

A look of slight understanding and wariness curtains his dad's face. "I know ... some stuff," he answers slowly. "Not much."

Scorpius bites his lip, swallowing. He pulls at his sleeves. "Okay, well, uh, I've been thinking for a really long time now that—that—"

"Are you thinking you're trans, Lyra?"

He nodes. "I know—I know this is a big thing, and I'm not expecting you to be great at first but I just wanted to tell you because it's really affecting me and—and—"

"It's okay, Ly," his dad says. "Tell me what you've been thinking about. I don't know much, but I'll try my best, and I'll always love you, okay? Whatever you need, whatever you think you need, I'll be there, okay?"

Scorpius exhales shakily. "Yeah. Yeah. Thank you. What about—what about grandfather—"

Draco is quiet. "Leave grandfather to me," he answers eventually. "The Malfoy family has a lot of dodgy univalves I tried to unlearn after the war, but your grandfather ... just leave him to me."

"Thank you," his son says softly.

The older Malfoy pulls him into a hug. It's warm, and his father smells like burnt wood and books—and he feels safe. He stays there for a few minutes, Draco's hand running up and forth along his back before he pulls away.

"Tell me what you've thinking."

"Okay, um, I'm—I'm a boy, and I've been going by Scorpius, and I use he/him pronouns, and I want to go on testosterone one day, and ... and I'm your son."

Silence, and he rubs his hands together awkwardly as he waits.

"Okay, Scorpius. We can do that. I don't know about testosterone yet, but if that's still something you want in a few years we can try that, okay?"

Scorpius looks up. "You're not mad?"

Draco smiles gently. "I'm not mad. I thought you were going to be a great witch when you grew up, but if I got a wizard instead, then that's okay too, and you're going to be the best wizard I know. It doesn't matter to me if I got a son or a daughter—you're still my kid either way, and I love you, Ly—Scorpius."

A choked laugh escapes his throat. "Thank you, dad. That means—that means a lot."

Draco pulls his son into him and ruffles his hair. "I'd only be mad if you decided you wanted to marry a Weasley. Then we might have some problems."

Scorpius laughs for real this time. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that says Albus is a Potter.

Ugh in retrospect this seems and sounds really rushed but I got bored during class and can't be bothered doing more so :/ i kinda liked it tho,, it was fun to write even if the end result wasn't that good