Chapter Text
First things first: My name is Amelia. You might not think this to be the most important thing to my story; but it's my story and I choose how to tell it.
Second things second: I'm not a deatheater. I'm not a villain. Have I said some less-than-kind things about holy St. Granger, or that moron Longbottom, or Merlin forbid the jerk-who-lived? Sure. But be certain that they deserved it. Also, I'm pretty certain that Weasley was the first one to call me that dreaded nickname which stuck for my entire time at school.
As you know, house Slytherin has alwas had a certain reputation. It's said to attract ambitios people; those, who dare to bend or break the rules; not for some feeling of moral superiority but to break the barriers that keep us from the live, we want, the live we deserve. For some, that's money. Fame. Status. But not for all. You see, with that reputation, a lot of students don't want to go to Slytherin. I've seen the face. I've seen them plead silently with the sorting hat, bargain, cry on that wobbly chair they make you sit on. And then, when the hat graciously calls out Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, they sqeal in joy. That's when I know.
So we get the outcasts. The ones who don't fit in. A couple sociopaths, yes. But also the ones, who would't make it in the world of the self-proclaimed heros of Gryffindor, who aren't smart enough for Ravenclaw and who don't have the impeccable social skills of a Hufflepuff. We get the ones who know that they have to fight for themselves, because no one else will.
You might also have heard that the Parkinson family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; one of the last remaining pure-blooded families. And although my parents were never as crass with it as others, they were quite proud of it. After all, wasn't it something to be proud of, if your family was without mark, without the sniff of anything undue? It wasn't supremcy, they didn't think less of people with mixed blood, they were just quite happy not to be that way. When they had the privilege of giving that spotless family tree to their heir, their only son, wouldn't that be the perfect succession to a perfect family history?
Well, the one they called their son had other plans.
I was six when I first told them that I was a girl. For a family of healers, it was quite embarressing for them to keep telling me that the fact that I had a penis said something different. I didn't care. I learned quickly that being nice just meant that no one would care what I needed. My first bouts of uncontrolled magic were quite violent, and in one instant I nearly blew half the house to pieces when they tried to bind a tie around my neck. By the time I was old enough to enroll in Howarts, my parents had resigned themselves to the fact that this was not a phase that was going to pass easily. They had consulted a number of different healers, curse-experts and astrologers; who all claimed that they had seen this come and pass a hundred times. But none had a solution to their hardship, and each learned quickly to stop calling me a little sir.
But there were bigger problems on the horizon. And as they seem to always do, they announced themselves with an owl.
„He's answered”
It was breakfast time, and my mother was reading the letters that had come that night. The envelope she was holding was made of heavy parchment and bore a seal of red wax that looked very official, but was yet unfamiliar to me. Anxiety took hold of me, as I put down my bowl of cereals. „Who did?” But she ignored me, breaking the seal and reading the letter silently. My father stood up and set himself behind her, and I started thinking that it would be so much easier for everyone if she just read it out loud.
„He's coming here?”, he said, his eyebrows raised. „That's unusual”
„And soon”, my mum added. „half ten, Merlin, that's in half an hour. Darling”, and for the first time since the letter had arrived she spoke to me „Go dress yourself, we're having a guest.”
I didn't move. „Who's coming?”
„And put on something nice”, my dad added with a sombre face. I answered with an angry glance. Something nice was the nice way of putting none of that pansy stuff; which he had said to me on multiple occations when he was fed up with my resistance. How come a society that likes putting their powerful men in sparkly robes and capes is so stuck-up about skirts? But I wasn't in the mood for fighting this morning, so instead I left my half-finished bowl of cereals on the table and left for my room.
The house I grew up lay in a small magical neigborhood in the outskirts of Oxford. It had just enough muggle repellent magic that you put a kettle with newt's eyes out for the night to simmer in the moonlight without the aurors banging at your door. Over the years, I would visit Draco a couple times over the summer, in awe of the gigantic mansion they lived in. Our house was small and plain, at least in comparison, with the living room and kitchen on the ground floor and my parent's and my room on the first. While brushing my teeth, I let my mom's little winged hairbrush untangle my hair. It finally went down to my shoulders again, after my parents had forced me to visit a hairdresser for my cousins wedding. They had succeeded, in the end, to give me an uneven bobcut; although they had to tie me down for it and still suffered serious burns on their hands when the scissors mysteriously caught fire.
When I came back down, wearing a blouse that could just also pass for a men's shirt, the visitor had already arrived. I stopped on the foot of the stairs to listen to their conversation in the living room. He had a soft, old voice; but I didn't let that lull me in. All the quacks I had been brought before had seemed very nice at first.
I entered, and found myself in front of a tall man with a long, white beard and purple robes. When he turned to look at me, a friendly twinkle lay in his eyes.
„So”, he said with a friendly tone. „There is the young troublemaker I've been hearing so much about”
„Darling, this is professor Dumbledore”, my mother injected while directing me towards the sofa.
„The headmaster of Hogwarts. He's been so kind to drop by, after we sent him an owl about, well...”
She didn't seem capable of ending the sentence, but the man just gave her another smile.
„Oh, not a problem at all. We have a couple of these talks every year. There have always been students with special conditions at Hogwarts - the school senate doesn't want me to share the details, but back in my days, I had a classmate who suffered from an elemental curse. Every two hours he burst into literal flames. I'm sure your little aggression problem...”
„I don't have an aggression problem”, I interrupted him loudly. „I'm trans”
A deafening silence followed my words.
„Excuse me”, the professor said. „I don't think I'm familiar with that. Would you mind explaining to me what you mean?”
Before I could give an answer, my father gave out an exasperated sigh.
„It's a term he overheard from a college of mine at St Mungo's. I believe that's what the muggles call it. It means...”
„It means I'm a girl”, I interjected. The interested look in the old mans face gave me hope, and the last thing I needed right now was another misleading explanation from my dad, messing it all up.
„I'm a girl. Not a boy, not a mister, not a He, not a wizard. I'm a witch”
Every eye in the room was fixed on the professor, whose expression hadn't changed in the slightest. He still looked at me like I had just said something witty and mildly amusing. But when I had found it reassuring a minute ago, it now started to feel unnerving. At last, my mom broke the silence.
„You'll see, he's actually quite bright, and I'm certain he'll do great in class, he's just a little peculiar about his hair and, well, the way he likes to dress”
No one else seemed to notice, but with every wrong pronoun she used the flames of the candles grew a little higher, until they burned full three inches high. Wax dripped down on the table.
I closed my hands to fists, trying to control my anger. It wouldn't do to lash out now. I forced to look into Dumbledore's eyes.
„Well, you'll be glad to hear that there are no rules in Hogwarts regarding the our pupils' hair - something I'm quite thankful for myself”, and with a jovial smile he wound a strand of his long, silvery hair around one of his fingers. „But when it comes to clothes, I'm afraid, you'll have to wear the school uniform, like anyone else.”
The flames shrunk back to their normal size. That didn't sound too bad. If everyone wore the same, boys and girls, I wouldn't stick out. At that point I felt safe enough to ask the question that had burned on my tounge.
„Will people be using my deadname?”
The professor raised an eyebrow, but this time my father had the answer ready before I could explain. With disgust in the voice he said:
„I don't know where he picked up that word. It's just his name, but everytime we say it, he explodes.”
„Well, I can't speak for the students, but the staff will always address you with your last name. If that is all...”, he stood up from his chair, looking quite content with the way the morning had played out. „I have another meeting coming up. I'm not allowed to tell you, but it regards a little boy who seems to misplace his bones every now and again. Parcival; Mrs Parkinson”, he nodded to my dad and made a little bow towards my mom before turning to me. „Mr Parkinson, I will be seeing you in September.”
The lights went out. Not just the candles, but even the windows suddenly seemed to reject the morning sun. When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse.
„Miss” I said. „It's Miss Parkinson”
Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew he was still smiling when he said:
„Ah well, I was afraid we might still come to an impasse. No, I'm afraid that's not quite right..”
With a light pop, one of the candles exploded, spreading little chunks of wax all over the living room, where they kept floating in the air.
„You will see that there are a lot of ways to express yourself in Hogwarts. But we do not condone our students lying”
Three more pops left the air cluttered with wax. The professor however seemed unfazed.
„Nor can you expect the staff to encourage every little confusion a student might have”
One by one the little balls of wax caught fire, filling the room with a dense light without shadows. The little flames started moving about, circling us. I heard my mother sigh 'oh my...' and saw how my dad reached for his wand, but the professor raised a hand, telling him to stop. I realized with some content that his smile had finally died. I already knew I had crossed a line. Without quite knowing what I did, I let my anger flow, let it fuel the maelstrom of fire that had appeared between me and professor Dumbledore.
„I think that is quite enough”, he said with a soft but firm tone, and the flames disappeared, as if they had never existed. I felt like the floor had dropped an inch. All the power I had felt a moment ago had vanished, and I sunk into the sofa, exhausted.
„That was quite impressive”, said Professor Dumbledore. He was smiling again, but I noticed that the twinkle had left his eyes. „But you'll learn that theatrics like that will not be tolerated at Hogwarts.”
And with these words, he left.