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Of course Mum did not tell me until I was much older, that she was disappointed to have another boy. That she hoped with everything in her that she could get just one girl, just one, to throw into the mix with the half a dozen boys. I mean, can you blame her, what are the odds of six boys in a row? And soon to be… well seven kids with penises in a row.
Of course she knew she would love me despite whatever gender I was, and she’s always one to keep her promises.
…
Even though Mum and Dad insist I was much too young for me to remember it properly, how could I forget the first time I began to discover who I really am?
I mean, obviously I was different from the rest of their sons, I gravitated equally to dolls as to toy cars. Not that Mum complained, a kid wanting a stereotypically girl toy was the least of her concerns with Fred and George running amuck, desperate for attention.
But the first time I corrected someone, was when George told me, “don’t be such a girl.” As if that’s such a bad thing, something to be ashamed of.
And obviously I retorted, “well I am a girl.” I’m still proud of little me for sticking it to the man.
George’s eyes became comically large, quite fitting for a jokester like him, “no,” he corrected, or rather tried to, “you're a boy just like me.”
I stomped my foot at him, “no!” I insisted, “I. Am. A. Girl .” Now that is when Mum stepped in. I swear she has some spell on us to know when we are fighting. Not that I really minded in this particular situation.
Except, when George explained the issue to her, she just sighed, looking at me, “well if [insert dead name here] says she’s a girl, then she’s a girl.” And with that, she walked off to continue making lunch for us, as if this was just any old pre dinner argument to settle.
I really will never be able to thank Mum enough for that day. Maybe she was just too tired to argue with me, knowing I would never let up until they called me by my correct gender, or maybe even before she understood fully she was willing to accept me.
After all, she did say she would love me no matter what gender I am.
…
It wasn’t long before I picked a name. Of course I did not want something boring like my brother's names, no offense, I wanted to stand out. Besides standing out as being the only girl in an all boy family, of course.
I picked the prettiest name I could think of, Ginevra . Ginny for short. Mum told me Ginevra meant blessed and Ginny meant pure, both just felt right. Though I do admit I may, emphasis on the may, have picked the initial G just to spite George. If he wouldn’t have insisted I’m a boy while also insulting girls, maybe I would have picked a different name. But the world may never know.
With my new name, and me correcting every single person in the house on my name and pronouns, I was now officially Ginny Molly Weasley, sole daughter. Obviously I needed to have my middle name after Mum, after all she was the first to begin to accept me. Though, picking the name was the easy part. That was when I finally got Mum to stop trimming my hair short, but what’s the point of long hair if I’m still wearing boys' hand me downs? No one would ever know I’m actually a girl if I dress in clothes clearly intended for boys.
But that is one thing I did not ask for. As much as the old shirts just felt plain wrong on my skin, I could not bear to ask for new clothes. Even if Bill and Charlie had not pressed into Ron and I from a young age to never ask for more, never ask for new things, take what you get and don’t say a word about it, I still wouldn’t have been able to justify to myself asking for new clothes. Dysphoria may be hell, but that gives no excuse to be selfish.
…
It was not the very next birthday, but the one after that, and I swear that birthday was the best birthday of my entire life. Mum surprised me, waking me up far too early, that part was not exactly fun, promising, “if you get to the store now I know it’ll be worth it.” Dragging myself out of bed, attempting to rub the sleep from my eyes, I trudged downstairs. Though I could not deny my interest was piqued, Mum had never taken me out to the store on my birthday before.
Arriving at the shop, my mouth gaped when I looked into the store window and only saw isles upon isles of girls clothes. Skirts and dresses and anything a girl would want all on display in front of me. I’m not embarrassed to admit that when I lunged at Mum, tackling her into a tight hug, there may have been a tear or two in my eyes. Weirdly enough, Mum looked just as ecstatic as me. I mean, she always did want a girl.
After much trying on and price tag checking, we finally picked out a couple outfits for me. And she was right when she said going in the morning would be worth it, I got to wear my new clothes home, leaving no doubt in anyone’s minds that I am in fact a girl.
Though the boys looked surprised at my new attire, they did not dare insult or say I’m wearing the wrong clothes. Instead, Ron told me, “pretty skirt,” with a blush on his face, and George pulled me into a hug. Yes, George did. Of course, Fred did the same after, but George initiated it, and there was no trick or prank in it. It was just a genuine hug from my brothers.
That night, they sang Happy Birthday Ginny.
…
The next few years were simpler, no one in the family misgendered or said my dead name even by accident anymore, claiming it was just out of habit . Every time I was introduced to someone it was as Ginny, no more hesitation or side glance at me to double check it’s what I wanted.
That was easy, Hogwarts was not.
We were all waiting with bated breath for my Hogwarts letter, I kept my eyes out for any owl that wasn’t older than Dad himself flying about. I wish I could say it was out of pure excitement that I was filled with so much anticipation.
It was early morning when I spotted the owl, I immediately jumped up and waved my arms about like a crazy person, trying to get the bird's attention. Because if I could read my letter first, I would know whether to be excited or heartbroken. Thankfully, the bird flew straight to me. I could only hope no one else was awake to see the mail arrive.
I would like to say that I did not hesitate to rip open the letter, but I was stopped dead cold. Instead, I crumpled the stupid thing in my hands, balled it up as small as I could make it, wishing I could make it so small it would poof out of existence. It’s not like I really wanted to go to stupid Hogwarts anyway.
I did not mean to collapse to the floor, stupid letter in hand. I pressed my unused hand to my face, or rather my eyes, pressing and hoping that it would be enough to keep the stupid tears at bay. God, if anyone saw me now I would never hear the end of it.
I’m not sure how long I sat there, but then there was a rough knock on my door, “Gin, time for breakfast,” Ron called out.
I cleared my throat, “coming,” curse my stupid cracking voice. I did not hear anything on the other side of the door at first, and for one measly second I let myself believe Ron left. But no, my older brother opened the door, discovering me balled up on the floor.
His eyes widened, clearly shocked to find me in such a state. I wiped my eyes with my hand, trying to regain any sense of dignity. But he stepped forward, “what happened?” He asked, voice softer than usual. When I did not respond right away, he kneeled down in front of me, “Ginny?”
That is what pushed me over the edge, I tried my best to cover my face with my hands, which was not an easy feat with the bloody letter still in one hand, as the tears leaked out of my eyes. Neither of us remembered the last time he had seen me cry, or anyone for that matter.
He clearly was at a loss, and I’m not sure if it was because I wanted him to understand or because I was sick of the paper in my hand, but I shoved the letter into his chest. My hand, now free, immediately went back to press against my eyes, failing at keeping my cries at bay.
When he let out a simple, “oh,” I knew he finally understood, well best he could. “Dad’ll fix it,” he tried to reassure me, “he’ll make sure they get the right name for you, and gender. And Percy, Fred and George, and I will all be there, at school, we’ll hex anyone who calls you the wrong thing.”
I uncovered my face, still hiccuping a bit like an absolute baby, my eyes landed on the bloody letter.
Mr [dead name] Weasley.
I finally choked out, “I can’t pretend for seven years.” God, I sounded absolutely pathetic, yet he did not seem to mind.
He nodded, “You won’t have to. Dad will fix it, and if he doesn’t we both know Mum will never let any school treat her daughter like this,” he chucked a bit, managing to get a faint smile out of me. “Why don’t we go show Dad, yeah? So he can fix it right away?”
I nodded, after he stood up he reached out his hand, helping me to stand. With a comforting pat on the back, he led me downstairs straight to Dad, who thankfully had not left for work yet. Mum did not insist we eat as a family, as per usual, it was like she just sensed something was wrong and let us go off to another room with Dad.
I could not manage to get any words out, instead Ron handed him my ruined letter and asked if he could fix it. I had never been so thankful to have Ron as an older brother before.
His eyes narrowed at the incorrect name, before he put a hand on my shoulder, “I’ll take this up with Dumbledore himself,” he promised. He left right after, skipping the rest of breakfast to immediately make good of his word, taking the letter with him.
Though the rest of my brothers did not know what happened, they clearly knew something was wrong given how me, Ron, and Dad had been acting. And instead of berating us for answers like I expected, George snuck me an extra slice of bacon from Fred‘s plate. Sometimes I’d forget how great my brothers are.
…
After much arguing and convincing, Dad did keep his word. And soon came my new letter, addressed to Ms Ginny Weasley. To say I smiled at it was an understatement, beamed was more like it. This time, I showed my letter off to all my brothers. Mum even framed it which even I found excessive, but I didn’t complain.
…
Being sorted into Gryffindor was a relief more than an excitement, knowing I had four of my brothers there with me eased some of the weight on my shoulders. But not all of it. George and Fred had warned me about the dormitory stairs, that boys were not allowed up to the girl bedrooms and vice versa. To say I was nervous was the understatement of the year. I honestly had no idea what I would do if I was not allowed into my own bedroom.
While every other first year was bubbling in excitement to get to their bedrooms, I was only filled with dread. All I could think of was the stairs turning into a slide, and not only being humiliated in front of my entire house but everyone then also knowing my secret.
The first step was the hardest, and I anticipated the stairs to slide out from under me. But they didn’t. Sure it could have been a fluke, I took the next step just as gingerly. Pun not intended. And the next, and the next, and the next, until I reached the top of the flight. The immense relief washed over me like a tsunami wave.
Even the stairs know I really am a girl.
…
I wish I could say that was the last of my struggles in the first year. It is hard to get close with your roommates when you get ready for bed in the dead of night while they all go in together to talk and get to know each other. I just could not risk them seeing that I am different. And while they all talked and giggled in their beds, my four poster was closed shut, just in case my pajamas shifted in the night and they saw anything.
As lonely as I was, I couldn’t just run off to Ron or George or Fred or Percy, as much as I wanted to. They had their own friends, their own lives. They don’t need their silly little sister hanging around.
It wasn't until I found a peculiar diary that I thought I finally found a friend. And well, everyone knows how the rest of that story goes.
…
The next two years were filled with just as much worry as my first. Because while no one quite looks forward to puberty, it was even scarier to me than he who shall not be named. While the other girls would all begin to become curvier and begin to develop breasts, my voice would drop and hair would be everywhere I don’t want it.
Though, my (ironically) greatest allies, George and Fred wrote a letter to Mum for me, informing her of my worries. That is when she told me about a group she found out about, a group for parents of wizard and witch kids just like me. They had enchantments and spells, everything you could ever need, to help with transitioning during puberty. With the help of some muggleborns, we were also able to get a hold of hormones that would help me actually transition.
While the magic would give me a temporary fix, those hormones would fix me permanently. I will never understand why more wizards don’t consult muggleborns when their technology can sometimes do what magic can’t.
Mum sent me a care package of bras that made it look like I had real breasts, a potion that would keep hair off of unwanted areas, which ironically became something the girls in my dormitory envied of me that I never had to shave my arms or legs. She also sent an enchanted necklace that somehow made my voice sound higher, and a spell to hide any unwanted bulges in other areas of my body through my clothes, if you know what I mean.
Of course the group had magic for boys too, enchantments to put on clothes that would bind them in a comfortable and safe way. And a lot of it was the opposite to mine, enchantment for a lower voice, potion for more hair, excetra excetra.
With these magic fixes, it lifted almost all the worry off my shoulders, and instead of being scared to be caught all the time I was able to focus on making friends.
…
It was not until my fourth year that I made a real best friend. Luna Lovegood. And well, as happy as I was to have a true best friend, I could not help but wish for more. We spent every minute together we could and it took all the self control in me to not just kiss her already.
It did not help keep my feelings at bay that we were the first two members of Professor Lupin's LGBTQ+ club. For the first few weeks, it was just us and Lupin, with occasionally Sirius mysteriously hopping in. And no I do not mean Mr. Black, if he hears you call him that he will turn into a dog and eat your bag. And there was no way it would not be confusing to call him by his actual name and say Mr. Lupin when we already have a Professor Lupin. So it was just Sirius as our unofficial second adult supervisor.
Eventually I was able to convince some more Gryffindors to join, Lavender and Parvati first, then soon after Dean and Seamus. But seeing Dean and Seamus begin to date, and quickly Lavender and Parvati too, only made it that much harder to not confess my feelings to Luna.
It was not until the next year that I finally came out with it and confessed, “Luna, I can't keep pretending. I like you, I’ve liked you since we first became friends.” I barely managed not to say love.
When she giggled I was sure I would melt into the ground, but then she said, “oh Ginny, I like you too. Want to go on a date?” Of course I said yes, maybe a bit too eagerly.
…
It was only after a good few months of dating that I decided to tell Mum and Dad about my girlfriend. Even I would have thought Mum would be most excited to have a potential second daughter, but man did I underestimate Dad’s excitement.
…
Even through all the struggles of the next couple years, Luna and I still had each other. Even when I said my love died with Fred, one half of my greatest allies, she still loved me.
…
Though I had always dreamed of proposing to her, it was her who got down on one knee and asked me the question. I am not ashamed to say I cried when I said yes.
To say our wedding was… eccentric would be the understatement of the century. And I couldn’t have wished for it any other way.