It was the robes, Snape suspected, that had allowed him to hide this from himself for so many years. He had worn the same clothes for many years now, clothes that (aside from the size and perhaps the color) could easily be worn by any female teacher at Hogwarts.
And, indeed, had in fact been worn by one.
She was never one to hide difficult facts, either from herself or anyone else. Her life had given precious little room for pleasant daydreams such as occupied the otherwise empty heads of so many of her students. Yet such a life had also been in many ways a distraction from herself – being a spy certainly called for deception, perhaps even self-deception, and hardly left room for time wasted dreamily gazing at one's navel – or, as the case might be, one's robes.
She had thought at first of writing a letter. Dumbledore adored sending and receiving letters, as evidenced by his insistence upon Hogwarts issuing letters of acceptance rather than using something more modern, which Snape had continually suggested to no avail. If she did send a letter, certainly her own girlish handwriting would help to make her point. But it was no use. This was one of those difficult duties which – rather like teaching Mr. Longbottom – unfortunately had to be done in person.
It was with this in mind that Snape knocked on Dumbledore's office door just as the sun was setting. Fortunately (or was it?) the Headmaster had not yet left. "Come in," he said, or rather mumbled through a mouthful of lemon drops. Snape did, but did not take the chair she was offered. Rather, she stood as stiffly as possible – which was very stiffly indeed – and declared, "I have come to speak with you about a personal matter." Dumbledore nodded, and with a flick of his wand the door locked and the walls were soundproofed. "Go on."
"I've been taking Polyjuice Potion for the past several months, using hair supplied by Professor McGonagall," she blurted out, obliterating her carefully planned speech. "I told myself it was a matter of professional curiosity, but I have come to realize that I am a transgender woman. I would like to come out to everyone, including the professors and students, and be referred to by all as Severina Snape."
She paused, awaiting the surely inevitable questions. They did not arrive; rather, Dumbledore simply nodded, as if he had heard far more unusual things quite often – which, Snape now realized, he doubtless had. "Is that all?," he asked, polishing his glasses with his shirt. It was Snape's turn to nod. "Very well," said Dumbledore. "I have no objection. But the parents who send their children here are, I'm afraid, far less enlightened. I would like to combat this ignorance, I truly would. After all – no need to ask if you can keep a secret – I'm gay myself." Snape was not so skilled at keeping surprise from his expression as Dumbledore was, but he did an admirable job considering. Dumbledore went on. "I do hope someday we can both exit our closets and bring pride and support to students who need it – but first we must simply ensure those students survive. When You-Know-Who is gone, that will be the time. Until then, as always, we may trust our secrets are safe with one another."
"Of course." With that Snape left, feeling cheerier than she had in years, perhaps ever. Perhaps she would even get her robes dyed to match her new mood – but then again, that would surely bring too much talk. After all, she thought, arranging her features into their customary sour expression, the world was just not ready for some things, at least not yet.