The Learning Curve so steep it might actually be Everest
While Merlin and Arthur would be nothing but delighted to spend another half-summer at the Burrow, they make the point to stay behind this year. They load Ron and Harry up with baked goods and well wishes for the family, reminding them to keep training their familiars, don’t forget to write, let them know if they need anything. They assure Harry that they’ll let him know the moment they’ve traced the magic off that parcel he was sent. There’s a great big send-off from the castle, all of the stained-glass members gathering round, the animals getting in their last-minute cuddles, and the inevitable scramble for things they’ve forgotten. At the very last second, Harry gives in to the reckless impulse to give Draco a hug. Draco takes it like he’s made of stone, blinking owlishly at Harry as he and Ron floo out to meet the Weasleys.
Then it’s just them and Draco. No one to put up pretences for. The castle sure feels different for it.
Draco figures there’s no point pissing around. He brings it up over dinner that night.
‘Merlin,’ he hums unmistakably. The man in question squawks and drops his spoon in his soup. Draco snickers openly over Merlin’s swearing in what sounds like Latin. He waits it out as Merlin blinks, nonplussed, shakes his head a little, fishes his spoon out, cleans it off, and waves it around a bit with a long-suffering air.
‘Yah?’ The greatest warlock of all time sighs.
‘You have plans to look into Harry’s origins,’ Draco starts. ‘His past, his father’s culture. Correct?’
‘He’s asked us to. Of course we will. Poor kid didn’t even know he was desi, I mean really–’
‘I worry about that boy,’ Arthur mutters.
‘Would you be willing to help me in a… similar manner?’
Merlin looks up from his dinner, eyebrows raised. ‘Of course, Draco. You only ever need to ask. What’s up?’
Draco takes a steadying breath. His eyes flick to Arthur once. Then he just dives right in.
‘I’m a Veela.’
Arthur confirmed it for him two days ago. Draco’s thought about it, and he believes his father was probably raised the same way he’s raised Draco, taking suppressants and playing a part. He’s probably altered his body accordingly, made permanent changes and felt the effects of having been taking the potions during his developmental years. Draco wonders when he found out what his parents had done to him. He wonders how he felt. He wonders if his father’s like him, with female and male organs. For a moment, he wonders if his mother even carried him, or if it was some Veela he didn’t know– father wouldn’t have done it. He wonders a lot of things, and Draco doesn’t like to wonder. Draco likes to know. But he recognises that he is limited and biased in this, and Merlin isn’t. Nor is Arthur. Draco has the most credible source of information sitting across him at the table right now. He’d be a fool not to use him.
‘I discovered two weeks ago that my family has been cutting my hair and giving me potions to encourage male development and discourage female development. It’s likely my father went through the same thing, as I got the gene from him. I’d like to look into the implications of this, and my options. I will want to know about Veela and their culture eventually, but for now I want to focus on my situation and how I want to address it. Will you help me in that?’
Merlin stares at him, mouth open, eyes wide. To his credit, he doesn’t look to Arthur for help or assurance, staring right at Draco. And thank– well, Merlin, he doesn’t gape for long.
‘Of– of course. Of course, Draco. By the Goddess…’ Suddenly his hand shoots across the table to cover Draco’s. Draco freezes, but manages not to pull away. He keeps Merlin’s terribly earnest gaze. ‘Thank you for coming to me. I appreciate the trust, and I’ll help any way you want me to.’
Draco nods tightly, not trusting himself to speak. He even manages a wan smile when Arthur claps him proudly on the shoulder.
‘You went to the right person there,’ the king assures him. His voice is warm, and Draco soaks it up like a dying man. ‘Merlin here’s been every shade of boy and girl under the sun and then some. He knows ‘is potions too.’ He inclines his chin at his husband. ‘You had any dealings with Veela?’
‘No,’ Merlin hums thoughtfully, leaning back. He makes the word sound like a delicious opportunity. ‘They’re a relatively new subsect. From what I know of them, they might’ve evolved from Fae, possibly with some Siren or Banshee blood… I’ll have to look into it. But Draco first. You still have your potions?’
Draco nods. ‘Arthur says I have to be weaned off.’
‘So you do want to stop taking them?’ Another nod. ‘Okay. You don’t have to make that decision so quick by the way, the process’ll take time no matter what. I’ll have to have a look at the formula. If you know any of the components, that’ll help, but if you don’t, that’s fine. I can probably develop a counter-potion if you want to undo any of the effects. We’ll have to look into what those effects are, of course… what do you want to do about your parents, Draco? No, don’t answer that, you need to sleep on that. Think about it, take all the time you need. One thing at a time…’
The whole thing feels so much lighter out loud, spoken over the dinner table like a shared project rather than his own personal hell. Draco feels less like Sisyphus by the minute. He has a lot to think about, but they’ll handle it together, and that’s… that’s everything.
The first time Draco sees Merlin the woman, he freezes. He tells her not to do that for him, and she tells him it’s actually for her. Since he knows who they are, she can be whoever and whatever she likes in his company, and today she’s a woman. Draco asks her about that, and she tells him. He takes in every word and mulls them over as he stares at her swishing about in a pretty yellow dress. Her features are maybe a little softer, but somehow she’s as sharp as she is as a male, all steep angles and dry wit. The dress does not look ridiculous on her at all, even with a flat chest. There is nothing about her much different than usual, actually. She snarks the same and yells the same and trips over thin air the same. She moves through the world with the same unapologetic gracelessness as Merlin the man did, taking up as much space as she pleases and being as loud as she likes. It strikes Draco that were she in pants and speaking in a lower tone, he might not notice the shift at all. Merlin could’ve been a girl at any point before without him even noticing. Draco knows she could take any form she likes; she could embody femininity if she chose, fill herself out with curves and pretty makeup. She’s bloody Merlin, she can do anything. And here she is, hardly different than a man… still a woman.
It gets Draco thinking.
His hair grows at an exponential rate that explains why he was made to cut it every day. The more it grows, the more right Draco feels. From what Merlin tells him, Veela hair has magical qualities. When it gets to his collar, he has to cut it– apparently so much power before he learns how to wield it isn’t a good idea for his body, which has been screwed with enough as it is. Still, it’s progress. Incredible progress. It makes Draco feel indescribable to look at himself in the mirror and see hair flowing down freely around his face. It makes him genuinely smile.
Eventually, Draco summons the courage to try out feminine pronouns. Just with Arthur and Merlin. Just here, in the haven, where there is nothing he can’t do. There will be no repercussions. If he’s ever going to take that leap, it will be here, and he can’t deny himself the chance.
There is a day when it clicks. Draco can pinpoint the exact moment. He and Merlin are going through the dresses and skirts Draco hesitantly picked out, trying them on to see how he feels. He looks in the mirror, and… she looks back.
Draco stares at herself. A sleeveless white turtleneck dress. Velvet shoes with an understated heel, not unlike the ones he usually wears. That’s it. It’s so simple, just a dress and shoes, just some longer hair, and she feels… incredible. And she doesn’t feel like she’s any less than she was as a boy. No, impossible as it is… she feels more powerful than she ever has.
She has the rest of the summer to think about it, and by the end, she has a system. A solid plan. She’s weaning herself off the potions, though the effects haven’t really shown yet, and she’s still not sure how much she wants to change herself. She’s not sure about her parents, either. She knows she’ll have to talk to them, but she doesn’t want to, not yet. She doesn’t know what she wants to say or hear. She doesn’t know where her mother stands, what her father will do once he finds out. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to go home, and that’s so bright and scary an idea that it sends her to sleep in crying fits every other night.
Draco’s mother sings him to sleep sometimes. She’s good to him, truly. She is always there, through every struggle he puts his family through just by virtue of being the way he is, as if to remind him it’s not his fault. She loves him, even when he screws up and doesn’t sleep, even though he came out all fucked up when he was supposed to be perfect. Even when she sees in his eyes that he doesn’t agree with her, deep down. She forgives him every flaw like only a mother can. Draco thinks that maybe, maybe, she’ll forgive him even this. The risk is that she might forgive his father too, and if he’s not careful, he might follow suit.
In one summer away from home, Draco’s changed so much: grown his hair, accepted fluid pronouns, started wearing dresses and looking different and feeling free. And he knows that all it will take is one summer back in his own house to change right back. His father will remind him of his place, and the freedom will fall away from him like oil from water, and he will accept it.
Draco tells Merlin all of this, quietly, when the rest of the castle is asleep. Merlin sits on his bed and listens to it all. She assures him that no matter what his mother thinks, no matter what his father does and what happens between them, that Draco will never not have a choice again. The choices may be hard, but he will have them. They will all be beside him, supporting him in whatever he decides, and they will help him with whatever the consequences may be. And lastly, Merlin tells him that they are so proud of him.
Merlin sings him to sleep, and Draco believes that he might actually have a chance after all.
🚻
Merlin is not short of things to look into this summer break. Veela, for one. Here’s what he learns:
- Veela, while being known as a feminine-leaning species and often mistaken for women, tend to be biologically intersex. Approach to gender varies wildly between Veela communities, with the most isolated shunning the concept entirely and the more human-adjacent sometimes leaning towards fluidity or assuming a gender as it suits them.
- Veela magic is typically concentrated in the hair and voice. Veela have a complicated culture with a multitude of strict rules, many of which revolve around their hair, which is seen as sacred. To cut one’s hair is forbidden in most Veela communities, and forcing a Veela to cut their hair can be a punishment or a crime, depending on circumstance. It’s a severe thing. Merlin isn’t exact on the intricacies of hairstyles, which all mean different things. It’s a status thing, so you have to be very careful how you wear your hair as a Veela. Basically, your hair is your identity, and there are very stringent regulations on it.
- Veela voices are typically higher, which for humans implies femininity. Altering them as the potions Draco’s been on have done is tricky business, and also sacrilege in Veela culture. The altering of the vocal chords is also detrimental to the vocal magic. Luckily Draco’s voice hasn’t dropped yet— probably thanks to his natural magical biology fighting back— so the damage is reversible. Draco will have access to his Veela voice (or luleia, as it’s called in the mother tongue) as long as they keep an eye on his development.
- Even though the affectation of Draco’s voice and hair was not consensual, Draco will never be accepted into any traditional Veela community as a result of it.
Merlin gives all this information to Draco in a file for him to go through at his leisure.
Arthur, for his part, focusses on Harry. Here’s what he learns:
- James Potter’s birth name was Jaiman Gotra. He took on the anglicanised James when he came to England, and Gotra was misprinted as Potter. He came from Calcutta (which apparently is Kolcuta now). His first language, besides English, was Bengali, though he apparently knew quite a few other Indian languages as part of his syllabus, because get this:
- Jaiman Gotra, a.k.a James Potter, was a descendent of a minor part of the Maharaja family. High nobility. Harry’s a distant relative of royalty. That explains the robes.
- Lily Potter was the daughter of a GP and a nurse based in Manchester. Her family lineage doesn’t go back far, so there’s no way to trace the witch gene back. Her parents were both muggles who fully supported her going into witchcraft.
- She was a notably skilled potioneer, and apparently there was talk of her opening a shop.
- She was a huge Hollyhead Harpies fan. Yes, big enough that it came up in even a cursory look into her and her life.
- The parcel to Harry was sent by one Remus Lupin, a recordedly unemployed transient. He’s likely found it hard to lock a job down with his status as a werewolf, the poor bloke. Since he left Hogwarts, he’s been all over the magical world in no clear pattern. He never stays anywhere too long.
- Lupin did go to school with Harry’s father, and it doesn’t take much digging to confirm that they were close. However, he was also close to Sirius Black, who went to Azkaban for selling Harry’s parents out to Voldemort, and also happens to have broken out in the last month. So… no way to tell from record where Lupin landed on that. The timing is suspicious. Approach with caution.
Oh yeah, and he’s replacing Lockhart at Hogwarts this year.
Arthur’s really gonna have to talk to Dumbledore about letting him in on his hiring procedure.
The day they’re set to meet up at the Hogwarts Express, Draco tells the two of them about his bracelet. He charms it gold when his pronouns are she/her, and silver when they’re he/him. It’s silver today. He’s made so much progress over the summer, it’s amazing. He’s taken it like a champ, rising from the ashes greater than before. The change is almost tangible. Well, it is, with the hair, but you get what Arthur means. He’s still got a lot to work through, though. He’s not sure about they/them pronouns, and he’s still trying things out, trying to wrap his head around it all. Then there’s the whole mess with his parents. Merlin and Arthur’ll have to be here for him through the year. He’s asked them not to tell Harry and the others about him yet, so he’ll need some subtle support.
And then there’s Harry. Finding out all the things he never knew about his parents, meeting one of their best friends who’s been trying to reach him for years? It’s big stuff. World-changing stuff. And until Arthur knows Lupin’s intentions are good, he’ll have to be suspicious enough for the both of them. Lord knows it won’t occur to Harry that the man could have ulterior motives.
Speaking of Harry, there he is, bouncing on his toes and craning his neck around wildly like he’ll be able to tell Lupin from all the other passengers on sight. Arthur owled him with updates and informed him that Lupin would be teaching them this year, and yes, since he’s not a man of means, there’s a good chance he’ll be taking the Hogwarts Express with the students.
Harry hardly has the breath to say hello as they meet up, although he is momentarily distracted by Draco’s hair. In fact, they all are.
‘Blimey, mate, how’d you grow all that so fast?’ Ron gapes. Draco blinks. Arthur and Merlin share a smile. The first time Ron calls Draco ‘mate’, and he doesn’t even realise he’s done it.
‘It’s so…’ Harry breathes reverently, wide eyes following the waves of it across Draco’s face. Arthur bites down on a snicker as Draco’s face tints a delicate pink. They all wait for Harry to finish his thought, but Harry’s off with the pixies.
‘...So what?’ Draco finally demands, all but stomping in adamance. Harry blinks stupidly at him.
‘Huh?’
‘HERMIONEEEEE!!’
They all turn from that car crash of a conversation to watch Merlin bolt into the crowd, scarf trailing behind him. They start to move after him, but Arthur keeps them where they are. Sure enough, it’s only a moment later that Merlin’s back, dragging Hermione through the throng, a great big smile on his face.
She looks even better in person than she did over call, wearing a grey knitted sweater that’s in line with her style but obviously picked out by either Draco or Merlin, given the quality. Her hair is tied up in bunches down her back, threatening to snap their elastics. She’s bigger than Arthur now, even with the considerable weight he’s put on, but not quite taller. Her cheeks are full and round, her body more dynamic and sure of itself. She’s practically glowing. Her eyes are sparkling, and the big smile on her face makes her even prettier. As she gets closer, it turns amazed, and she’s already talking as she’s hugging everyone.
‘Look at all of you! Ron, you’re so tall! You didn’t cut your hair with Em and Arthur? And Harry, you’ve filled out, you’ll be as big as Arthur soon! Draco… wow! I love the look! And thank you, thank you so much for the clothes, you really didn’t have to–’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Draco sniffs.
‘Oh, it was so much fun, I’m so glad you let us do that,’ Merlin titters. ‘And we got the sizes right? Not too snug, too big? If you’re missing anything, we can–’
‘No, it’s perfect!’
Ron rolls his eyes at the boys as they go on and on. Arthur smirks and starts shuffling them onto the train.
‘I didn’t even notice you’d cut your hair,’ Ron admits. Arthur’s willing to bet Harry didn’t either. He just cropped his short to keep it out of his eyes, and Merlin lopped his into a weird androgynous not-bob shape that suits him unfairly well. That stupid twat can pull off anything.
‘That’s right,’ Harry blurts as he’s elbowed and shoved onto the train. ‘I need to talk to you–’
And that’s all they hear, because the whistle blows and suddenly they’re shuffling down the compartments to find a spare one. They manage to score one to share with Ginny and Luna, the second to last on the train. While everyone’s catching up, Harry surreptitiously checks the final compartment with a hopeful look on his face. Arthur follows his gaze to a pile of shabby blankets in the corner, leaned up against the window, rising and falling softly. Harry spins around, wide-eyed, and Arthur gives him an encouraging nod. He’s disappeared inside before Arthur can say ‘good luck’.