Chapter II
Draco had been walking with Harriet in a comfortable silence for a few moments after their conversation in the lavatory. As they walked, he couldn’t get what she’d said about her hair out of his head. It hadn’t been irritation or frustration– it had been pain. Something deeper than he was used to seeing– especially in Harriet bloody Potter. The sharp tone of her voice when she had told him about how she had kept it– no. been forced to keep it– long… he wasn’t sure how to react. “Harriet-” “I told you not to call me that.” “Right. Potter-” “Yes?” “I’ve been thinking about what you said about your hair.” She stiffened- that wasn’t what she was expecting, and she didn’t want to talk about the stupid Dursleys. “I already told you. I don’t like it long.” Draco nodded slowly, trying to process it all. He was starting to understand the kind of hurt behind her words—there was something more there than just a preference about hair length. “Yes, but… it’s more than that. Right?” Draco was pressing, he knew he shouldn’t, but he didn’t want to leave her with a heavy burden. He would try his best not to step over the line. “Why- Why’d you keep it long if you hated it so much?” Harriet let out a shaky breath, feeling the familiar sting of vulnerability that she wasn’t sure she could handle right now. She wanted to be open, but the idea of explaining everything — everything that had happened — felt impossible. “Because they made me.” The sentence was so quiet, Draco wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly. Harriet risked a glance at Draco, only to find a look of confusion and disbelief. “They?” Draco said, frowning, “Who’s they?” Harriet swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been so sure that Draco would understand, but now he seemed almost… perplexed. “My aunt and uncle…” She said with a low voice, “The ones I live with.” Draco blinked, caught off guard. He’d always assumed Harriet lived with a wizarding family—everyone did. It was common knowledge that any witch or wizard raised in the Muggle world was usually taken in by a wizarding relative after certain events, especially a child as well-known as Harriet. He couldn’t fathom why she would be living with anyone else. “I thought all your relatives were dead?” Draco pressed. “What? Where’d you get that idea?” Harriet asked, now she was confused too. “It’s what everyone thinks…” Draco told her tentatively, “It’s not true– is it?” His heart sunk at the thought. “You live with muggles.” Harriet winced. She could tell that Draco didn’t quite get the gravity of the situation. It wasn’t just about her being raised in the Muggle world—it was about being raised by a family that didn’t just reject magic; they rejected her. She was more than just out of place in their home. She was actively punished for being herself. “Yeah…” she muttered. She was starting to feel that awful heavy feeling in her chest meaning that she might begin to cry You had better fucking not, “And they didn’t… they didn’t want me to be… like this.” Draco furrowed his brow, still not understanding. “Like what?” Harriet hesitated. This was the hardest part, the part she hadn’t even been able to explain to herself until recently. She looked up at Draco, almost searching his face for some kind of understanding that she wasn’t sure he could offer. “They… they want me to be a girl.” Her voice was barely audible. Draco had to lean into her until he could feel her breath on his cheek before he could even hear her. “Even though I’m not. They want me to wear dresses and wear my hair all pretty and be a girl.” Draco blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. He’d never really had to think about something like this before. He came from a family where roles were rigid, but it was always clear to him who he was supposed to be. To hear that someone had been forced into something completely against their nature… he couldn’t make sense of it. “But—” Draco began, his voice faltering slightly. “But… you’re a wizard. You’re free to be whoever you want, right? Why—why would they do that?” Harriet’s chest tightened, and she clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. The words that came out of her mouth felt like acid as they left her lips. “Because they don’t give a damn,” she spat. The tears were there now, threatening to fall. She quickly wiped them away, her voice breaking. “They don’t care about me, Draco. They want me to be what they want—not who I am. And when I’m not… they punish me.” Draco stopped walking, stunned into silence. He had never heard such bitterness, such rage, coming from her before. It hit him harder than he expected. Harriet Potter wasn’t just some angry, reckless Gryffindor. She was someone who had been silenced for so long, forced to fit into a role that wasn’t hers. And no one had ever really seen it. “Harriet.” “Stop.” “Potter…” “Draco. I said to stop. I’m done talking about this.” “Potter-” “Goodbye.” “Potter.” Harriet had already begun to storm back to her common room angrily, but Draco needed to follow her; to make sure she was okay. “Draco, I said to go away.” she said hiccupping. “I’m not leaving until I know that you’re safe in your common room.” “Fine. But don’t expect me to talk.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”