The Relative Truth

Chapter 3
It was finally, in Harry’s fifth year, when the proverbial shit his the fan.

How we had gotten so far with his secret in tact, I still do not know. However, I suppose it was too much to hope that the charade continue.

The class started as any other. Barely uttering a word to the brainless masses, I wrote the instructions for the period onto a slate board and turned the imbeciles loose. Fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins jumped to task, not wishing to incur my wrath and earn a lashing with my now notoriously sharp tongue. As it was an individual assignment, each stu wor worked diligently on his or her potion. The goal of the class was to crate a treatment that would make objects invisible to only the person or people on the treated side. Essentially, this was the concoction that made invisibility cloaks what they were. Of course, I would never tell a group of immature fifth years that or only the gods knew what the consequences would be.

While I discussed nuances and intricacies with Harry, for the child was still quite gifted in Potions, there was an explosion from Longbottom’s corner of the room. An opalescent smoke filled the room and began condensing over the head of each student and me as well. Ultimately it was my fault for not getting Harry out of the room immediately, I realize that now, des my my deepest desires to the contrary. The potion that the idiot Gryffindor had managed to create was one typically used in identifying the gender of unborn foetuses indicating male with a bright w clo cloud and female with a vibrant violet. How he managed to brew it instead of the target potion, I’ll never know. The best I can suspect is sabotage. Of course, without proof, I could not punish any of my students.

In general, all of the students found it briefly amusing as the smoke glowed overhead. Soon, however, the majority turned back to the task at hand, knowing that they would not receive an extension. Had it not been for one Pansy Parkinson, the clouds would have gone forgotten for the rest of the day. However, the conniving young woman had a vendetta to serve. Miss Parkinson, who had been jealous of Draco’s attention to Harry, determined that she should be the next generation of Malfoy bride, pointed out the cloud over the boy’s head.

“Asphodeline’s cloud is white!”

There was a collective gasp as the workroom fell silent and all eyes turned to the emerald-eyed youth. The fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins watched as the girl known as Asphodeline tentatively raised her head to look at her own smoky cloud. A soft white glow spoke the truth more painfully than any words could express. I am sure I was not the only one who saw the tears in Harry’s eyes as he fro from the lab as though a three headed dog was at his heels.

I, as well as everyone else, knew that Parkinson had a malicious intent, the smug smile on her face was evidence enough to that fact. However, I could not take House Points from her for being observant. I could, and did, however, take great pleasure in docking Gryffindor an astounding amount of Points. They had not won a House Cup since before Harry had started as Seeker and, with the number of points I took, they had no chance of winning again this year. Normally this would have made me nearly giddy, but my thoughts focused on the outted, and now quite emotionally distressed raven-haired young man.

The room was tense and I could tell that Draco and Blaise both wanted to go after their friend. Knowing that nothing more would get accomplished now, I futilely gave a stern warning against spreading rumours and dismissed the fifth years a half hour early. Without bothering to gather their things, the two Slytherin boys shot me grateful looks and raced out of the room. After the rest of the students left, no doubt to share the latest gossip with their insipid friends, I collected Misters Malfoy, Zabini and Potter’s paraphernalia and started to clear my personal workstation. With the knowledge that I would not be able to get through my next classes, I left a note on my blackboard closclosed myself in my private chambers. Then I waited.

I was not surprised that Harry did not show up until much later. Truthfully, I would only have worried if he had not come to me at all. I have become something of a confidant for the child, coming to me whenever he has a problem in classes or any number of more personal issues. As soon as I felt him approaching, something that all of the current professors are capable of due to a bond initiated by the Headmaster for the child’s protection, I ordered a House Elf to bring a small dinner, as I was certain that the boy had not made it to the Great Hall for the meal. There was a soft knock, nearly inaudible, at my door. Luckily, after nearly five years, I know what to listen for; and I knew exactly what the child needed. Rather than magically and impersonally open the door from where I sat across the room, I stood to open the heavy oak barrier manually.

In the doorway slouched, for all intents and purposes, a heartbroken little girl, green eyes bright with tears and rimmed in red from those already shed. Black hair fell messily around a youthfully round face, as though the child had flung himself onto his bed. A simple knit grey skirt fell to his ankles and a lightweight Slytherin green jumper hung loosely from his shoulders. On his delicate feet were matching green house slippers. I was shocked to see his outfit, given that I had rarely seen him in anything other than school robes except during the summer.

All of this was but a moment’s work to take in before the boy launched himself into my arms and began weeping anew. For a few minutes, I did nothing but hold thild ild in my arms, letting him cry himself out once again. Gently, I led the sobbing boy to my couch where he settled comfortably in my lap. Regardless of his biological sex, Harry was raised as a girl and was then and still is socially, mentally and emotionally female. He has all of the mannerisms of a well breed young lady, acutely conscious of the arrangement of his skirt. He shifted slightly against me, ensuring that the fabric did not rise too far for propriety.

Sniffling occasionally, Harry simply relaxed into my embrace, trying to burry himself in my robes. While I might normally be aroused by the proximity of such a beautiful young man, this felt too much like a father/son moment. I was too protective and worried about Harry’s well-being to even think about the possible sexual connotations of this contact. Getting his breathing under control, Harry looked up at me with those devastating green eyes.

“Is it true, Sev?”

I had been expecting the question, of course, but not he way in which it was asked. I took me a moment to gather myself to answer. How does one tell a child that all of his self-conceptions were false? Certainly I would have to tell him everything. I would not, however, nor in truth could I, force him to act upon what he learned.

“Yes, child, I am afraid it is.” Oh, how I wished I could take it back. “Your real name is Harry James Potter. Your father was James Potter and your mother Lily Evans. Both were Gryffindors, very brave and loyal to their friends. It was their loyalty that cost them in the end. They were betrayed by one of their closest friends, Peter Pettigrew, and killed by Voldemort.”

His brow was furrowed slightly in thought, emerald gaze locked on my eyes. “You mean that dark wizard who was living off Professor Quirrell first year, the one you stopped from getting the Philosopher’s Stone?” He really does have such a sharp mind.

“The same.” I sighed. Now we were getting to the hard part. “He wants revenge on you, that is why he attacks Hogwarts every year, he is looking for Harry Potter.” I gave the child a moment process this before continuing. “When he tried to kill you, after he had done the same to your parents, the curse rebounded. Because your mother’s love created a protective spell around you, you only received the scar, while Voldemort was very nearly destroyed. Headmaster Dumbledore left you with your aunt and uncle to protect you from the dark wizards who wanted to avenge their lord. Lamentably, we did not know about your aunt’s… problem. Her desire for a daughter drove her to raise you as one.”

“So that is why I have always stayed here.” It was said thoughtfully, without a hint of emotion, as though he was simply considering what he was hearing.

“Yes, that is one of the reasons we have kept you here. Only the professors know who you really are. After Quirrel, we were not going to tell the DADA teachers, especially not after that incompetent Lockhart. However, Professor Lupin had to be told the truth. He was another of your parents friends and had been aware of our plans to protect you. When he started in your third year, he would have recognized you eyes and your name. Thankfully, we have not needed to find another Defence instructor. The only other person who knows that you are Harry Potter is Sirius Black, your godfather.” The boy’s eyes were wide and I almost chuckle. This had to be a lot for him to take in, but there were two more things I needed to explain.

“You would be living with Black if it were not for his work with the order. He is a powerful animagus and is often out running errands for the Headmaster. Please understand that we have done all of this for your protection.”

I cringed, waiting for the question to come. I did not know what I would tell him, for in all honesty, there was no good reason for keeping it from him, better when he was eleven than now at fifteen.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me? For my protection?” The tone was not accusatory, as I would have expected it to be. He was simply trying to understand the circumstances. I could not have been prouder of him. He was truly a Slytherin, always poised and in control.

“We imagined it would be difficult for you, not only discovering that you were possessed of the ability to wield magic but also that you were a wizard and not, in fact, a witch. Could you really have accepted that five years ago?” He silently shook his head, lip quivering as he tried not to cry again. I pretended not to notice as I wrapped my arms more tightly around his small frame. “No of us were brave enough to shoulder the responsibility of telling you the truth and eventually Albus adopted a ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get there’ attitude. Of course, he had assumed that would happen when you suddenly found yourself attracted to females.”

The look Harry gave me was mostly confused and slightly sad, as though he was deciding whether or notwantwanted to tell me what was on his mind. My heart leapt at what that look implied, knowing what was coming.

“But Sev, I like boys.” His admission was quiet and I wondered if he were ashamed of his preference. For my part, I had equally expected, hoped for, and feared this revelation. It is perverse of me, I know, but I had hoped that one day the young man would grow to care for me to the same extent that I cared for him. However, given the events that follo tha that does not look likely.

“Is that bad?” The dear child, so insecure, I could not help but want to protect him.

“No there is nothing wrong with your attraction to other males. For one, you consider yourself female, so the attraction is natural. Second, perceived gender aside, as long as you are happy and not hurting anyone than that is all that matters.” Hopefully that would be enough to assuage his fears. The minutes passed and he remained silent and still on my lap. Just as I was beginning to wonder what he was thinking, my patience was rewarded.

“I-I’ve heard stories.” He was trying to be brave, but the stutter betrayed him. “They all talk about how Harry Potter is supposed to save the world. He-I am supposed to stop Voldemort and… and the Death Eaters. B-but my friends… some of my friends talk about getting the… the D-dark Mark.” His voice broke at the end, and I knew he was close to tears again. “I don’t think I can do it, Sev. I don’t think I can be Harry Potter for them; I don’ think I have it in me.” Not surprising that that is what he was worried about, so much like his parents, concerned with what others think about him. Of course, the fact that he was unsure about it proved that he was a separate entity unto himself. This really was Asphodeline Evans and Harry Potter died at the hands of Voldemort fourteen years ago.

“Lin, no one will ever make you be or do anything you do not want, I promise you. You are safe here at Hogwarts, do not worry about anything.” And I swore that my words would hold true for him. So naturally I eventually failed him. For the moment, however, we were both content holding each other in my sitting room while the poor child made a valiant effort to control his tears. As the latest bout subsided, I attempted to lighten the mood.

“So, what did Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini have to say?” Apparently this was thrrecrrect question to ask because Harry looked up at me with a tentative smile.

“Well, Draco said that there could have been a mistake, that the smoke could have reacted with the fumes of my potion.” The boy gave a not-quite content sigh. “Blaise said that even if I was a boy they would still like me, and Draco agreed.” The smile became a bit more sure and I was relieved to see the child returning to something resembling normal… well, normal for him anyway.