Draco wasn’t usually very observant, he knew this. But when Potter started acting in so very familiar way, he was bound to take notice. The way Potter seemed to grow smaller every time someone called the prat ‘the Girl-Who-Lived’ or ‘the Girl Wonder’ or when professors called out ‘Ms. Potter’. Draco recognised the signs. He knew them in a very intimate fashion. He had been there, as a child. He remembered how every time he had been misgendered felt like a stab to the gut. Of course, he had been lucky. His mother had known what he’d meant when he had said he wasn’t a girl, and his father had paid for the best treatment, so now he felt mostly at peace in his own body. Of course, nobody but his parents knew about him being trans, he had been presented as the male heir of the Malfoy name from the start. He thanked the pureblood tradition of revealing the baby only after their sixth birthday – it was so that pureblood families had time to get rid of the squibs, but served him well, regardless.

Potter, though, wasn’t so lucky. Everybody knew the prat as a girl, it was plastered across the front page almost every morning. Potter was becoming almost invisible, the way Draco saw the prat only in classes or the Great Hall for meals, and even there Potter was quiet, never drawing any attention. And it was grating on Draco. He remembered what being called a girl felt like (horrible), and he wouldn’t wish it even on Potter. He had to do something about it.

⚧

“Potter.” Draco cornered the prat in an empty hallway.

“Malfoy.” The answering phrase was neither a statement nor a question. Draco didn’t know what to make of it.

“Look. I hate you, you hate me, but…” Draco drifted off, not sure how to continue.

“But?” Prompted Potter. Stupid fucking Potter. Draco decided just to get on with it.

“Look,” he started again. “I see the way you act when someone calls you a girl.”

Potter’s face drained of all colour, and the stupid prat stared at Draco, terrified.

“I just want to let you know that… Ugh.” Draco dragged his palm across his face. “I won’t out you. But how in the Salazar’s silken undergarments am I meant to insult you now? I need to know what terms you’re okay with!” Yes, Draco realised how it sounded. “I hate you, but I’d never… I know I’m right, alright? I know you aren’t a girl,” Oh fuck, Potter’s stupid green eyes were filling with tears, “I know you aren’t a girl,” he repeated, “but I need to know your pronouns, I’m going crazy not knowing how to refer to you – in my head. Not aloud. With other people, I won’t use pronouns for you before you come out.” Draco ceased his rambling before he made even more of a fool of himself. Potter’s eyes were still full of tears, and the expression on the scarhead’s face was… mostly confused. There was still fear, but it was minimal. Then there was amazement, most likely from being seen or some such hippogriff dung. Draco knew how that felt.

“I- I’m… a boy,” Potter whispered quietly. So quietly, that Draco had to lean closer to hear.

“A boy, okay. Your pronouns?” Draco questioned and was met with a blank stare. “You know, he/him, she/her, they/them? Words people refer to you with?”

“He/him, I guess?” Potter’s answer was tentative, and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, fine. Let me try something.”

Potter nodded, still unsure but that was as much permission as Draco needed.

“So there’s this prat Potter, y’know? He’s so stupid with his messy hair and fucking glasses I just want to hex him. But no one else seems to realize how annoying he is cuz he just looks at them with these green fucking eyes of his and-” Tears had started pouring from Potter’s eyes, and Draco is interrupted by a loud sniffle. Potter wiped his eyes with his sleeves, but fresh tears continued to fall on his cheeks. Draco watched, smirking at himself for a job well done.

“So? He/him yours or what?” Draco prompted.

Potter nodded, this time clearly sure of his answer. “Yeah, he/him is mine.” The sentence was followed by a watery smile. Ugh. Potter and his stupid smile.

“Good talk, Potter. Your hair looks like a mess, too lazy to brush it or what? Maybe you should just chop it off, might actually not look like an overgrown garden of weeds then!” Draco turned his back to Potter and walked away, a smirk still on his lips. It always felt good to be proven right.

⚧

Next morning a glance at the Gryffindor table revealed that Potter had taken his advice. His hair was cut short, layered in a way rather similar to Draco’s own haircut. Short on the sides, long on the top. The shortness of his hair didn’t give much length for it to get tangled and revealed rather nice waves. Draco couldn’t resist a remark on his way out.

“Decided to get rid of the bird’s nest, didn’t you, Potter? Ha, not sure you’ll attract any boys with that, looking like a bloke yourself. Not that anyone would have been interested in you beyond your fame anyway!” Draco sneered and walked away, leaving Potter to try to suppress a smile. He wasn’t sure where the complement came from, because that’s what it was. A compliment veiled in an insult, because only he and the prat knew that Potter wanted to be seen as a boy.

⚧

The trend continued. Potter slowly changed his appearance, one thing at a time, towards a more masculine look. He exchanged his skirt for trousers, tucked his shirt in to look baggy, bound his chest, and used makeup to bring out his masculine features. The contour highlighted his jawline, and mascara filled out his eyebrows and Draco would admit to only himself that Potter was becoming quite handsome.

And the best part was that Draco could take almost all credit for that. After that first time when he’d cornered Potter, he and the prat seemed to always bump into each other when they wandered at night and Potter would be… friendly. The first time it happened he thanked Draco for the compliment because of course he would and Draco brushed him off. Then he’d asked how Draco had known, and Draco had given a non-answer, “It was obvious,” because like hell was he going to trust Potter with that. Somehow that had turned into Draco offering him advice, thinly veiled as insults that Potter seemed to always see through easily. Draco mentioned (“Do you even like skirts? Why would you wear something you don’t like? Are you an idiot or what? Oh wait you are. Let me spell it out for you…”) that the school rules didn’t dictate what version of the uniform students had to wear, only that they had to be according to the dress code. He told him to pull out his shirt just a bit, to not accentuate his chest (“Are you trying to convince everyone you are a girl?”), gave him (threw at him and walked away) an owl-order catalogue for undershirts that bound the chest and showed him how to use makeup the way he did every morning (he… hadn’t known how to form it as an insult, so it had turned into a makeup session (“sit the fuck down and pay attention”) with Draco insulting Potter in every other sentence). This night he was going to – no, he was not making plans, he wasn’t even sure he’d see Potter this night on his insomniac walks (yes he was, Potter always seemed to find him). That night, if he couldn’t sleep (he never could), he would go on a walk. That was it.

And of course, he ran into Potter the moment he left the dungeons. Draco unholstered his wand and pointed it at Potter. “Humilis Vox.”

“Wha-” Potter cut himself off when he heard his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again: “What was that?”

Draco holstered his wand and sneered. “Was tired of listening to your stupid squeaky voice.”

Once again, Potter’s eyes filled with tears. Draco rolled his eyes. He should have expected this. Potter cried every time he… no, he didn’t help him. He was just annoyed that not everybody saw Potter as the boy he clearly was.

This time though, Potter didn’t wipe the tears away and give him a wobbly smile, but burst into full-blown sobs and sat down against the nearest wall. He hugged his knees against his chest and lifted his glasses to press his face to his knees. Draco stood in place, frozen. Did he go too far? No, that couldn’t be it. Potter had told him he hated his voice, multiple times. So what was the problem?

“Hey, what the hell, Potter? What’s the problem?”

“Just-” Potter’s answer was cut off by a loud sob, “just had a bad day,” he mumbled to his knees.

“And? What does that have to do with me hexing you?”

“Hated… my voice today. And then-” another loud sob, “then you fixed it!” Potter continued to cry. Draco… understood. Kind of. He’d never had very intense voice dysphoria, but on the other hand, he’d never had to go through the wrong puberty. His voice had started changing around the same time as his male friends’ had. But he could imagine what it would have felt like if he’d been dysphoric all day about something and someone had just come and ‘fixed it’, as Potter had put it. It would have felt overwhelming, he was sure. So, he sat down next to Potter, and let him sob.

It took a while for Potter to calm down, and when he did, the first thing out of his mouth was: “Why?”

“What do you mean why? I told you, I was tired of listening to your squeaky voice. Sounded like a prepubescent little boy.”

Potter gave a weak laugh and lifted his head to look at Draco. “No, I mean why are you helping me?”

“I’m not,” was Draco’s immediate answer.

“Yes, you are. All your insults are… affirming too, nowadays,” Potter smiled. Ugh. Draco thought for a while. Was he really going to trust Potter with this?

Draco sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Because I know how it feels. For your body to not match your identity.” Draco didn’t look at Potter when he opened his eyes. He stared intently at the opposite wall, counting the stone tiles from the ceiling to the floor. He was at 35 when Potter interrupted by speaking.

“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense actually. With how fast you recognised the signs with me, I mean. But… I would have never guessed.”

Draco gave a weak and dry laugh. It was terrifying, baring oneself to another like this. Even though logically he knew Potter would tell anyone, Draco knew his secret, after all, but he couldn’t help but feel awfully defenceless. “That’s the point. No one was supposed to know.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me. Makes me feel better about myself. And… Hopeful. That someday someone could look at me and never be able to tell I wasn’t born in the right body. Thanks.”

Draco still wasn’t looking at Potter. He only hummed in response and continued counting. 46 bricks from the ceiling to the floor. Would it be the same amount for the row next to it? He intended to find out.

“I’ve chosen myself a name,” Potter announced next to him. Draco didn’t react, didn’t want to lose count. “Harry. That’s my name. Harry James Potter.” Draco lost count.

“Harry? Huh. And James after your father?”

“Yeah! I wanted to keep the connection to my parents y’know?” Potter, Harry, leaned his head on his knees, facing Draco with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know. My second name is Lucius.” Draco didn’t know why he volunteered that bit of information. Maybe he just wanted to show Potter he really knew? “Harry fits you. Plain and common.”

“Hey! Draco fits you too, prat. Bet you chose it only ‘cause you liked dragons.” Potter laughed, and Draco felt his cheeks heating up. Thankfully it was dark enough for Potter to not notice.

“I was five!” He defended himself, before realising it only confirmed Potter’s accusation. “And I did not! It’s a family tradition to-” Draco was cut off by Potter’s laugh. It was full of joy, and Draco’s world stopped for a moment. He’d never heard Potter laugh like this, it had always been held back or a bit forced. Draco’s own lips quirked up to a smile. It was… relaxing, to hear Potter like this. Hear Potter let go.

“Thanks,” Potter said after getting his laugh under control. Draco only huffed in response.

“I mean, for the spell you cast on me. I… like how I sound now, and that’s a first for me.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “I guess it’ll be impossible to get you to shut up now.”

“Definitely!” And oh, Potter’s smile was so bright in this dark hallway, Draco couldn’t help it when his mouth ran without a filter. Again.

“Put that away before someone comes to look where the light is coming from.”

“What?” Potter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Your smile, you prat.”

Potter laughed again.

⚧

The next morning, you could hear Potter’s voice across the hall as he laughed and smiled at his friends, voice still low. It took everything in Draco to not let a smug smile grace his lips. He did that. He was the reason Potter was smiling and laughing and talking excitedly, feeling like himself with his voice.

Of course, people noticed Potter’s lower voice. Potter waved them away, saying that he had a sore throat, but contradicted himself with his actions, rambling non-stop and laughing loudly. When they questioned him, he told them that it would be fine in a few days.

His voice never went back to normal, but people got used to it. No one questioned it after a while.

⚧

After that, their meetups were… friendlier. To Draco’s horror, he couldn’t help but treat Potter like a friend when they were alone and it was all Potter’s fault! He just smiled at Draco and then he couldn’t bring himself to… ugh! It was like trying to hex a kitten, impossible, and you couldn’t help but want to squish it in your arms. Not that… Draco wanted to do so to Potter.

During the day, Draco was as antagonistic as always. He started calling Potter ‘a boy’ more often, in place of insults. He drew attention to Potter’s flat chest, questioning his maturity, and called his short hair a bird’s nest. To his voice, he didn’t draw attention, he didn’t want people to question its authenticity. But during the night… Potter thanked him for all the insults. It was bizarre.

One night Draco brought up the possibility of hormone potions. Potter looked at him with wide eyes and breathed out: “Really? That’s possible?” And Draco suddenly wanted to kiss him. The look of wonder in Potter’s eyes and the hope in his voice was suddenly all too much, overwhelming him with feelings. Ew.

The urge to kiss someone, anyone, was new to Draco. He knew he was attracted to men, objectively, but wanting to kiss somebody, to feel their lips against his, was something he’d never felt before. He wanted to be close to Potter, to Harry, and know him like nobody else did. And… he guessed he already did. He knew nobody else knew Harry, nobody but him. The thought made him smile, and the feeling of his facial muscles moving brought him back from his thoughts.

“Yeah, it’s possible. I never went through the wrong puberty thanks to them, but there are also ones to just replace the estrogen in your body with testosterone which can be started at any point in your life. I’m on them and will be for the rest of my life.”

“Woah… I… I think I’d like those. But… People would notice.”

“You could start with a small dose, and then when we graduate, disappear from the public eye to transition. Then come back and no one would recognise you.” Draco shrugged. He’d been thinking about Harry’s – because now that he’d realised he was the only one to know his name, it was Harry – situation. He didn’t want just anybody to know he was trans, and he knew it was the same for Harry.

“Yeah… That… that would be actually amazing.” Harry was looking at Draco with such a star-struck look in his eyes that Draco had to break their eye contact. He turned his head away and cleared his throat.

“Have you thought of telling anyone else?” Draco asked, suddenly curious.

“I’ve thought about it. But I just… I want to tell them, but I also don’t want to tell them.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

The silence between them lasted for a while.

“I want to tell Sirius.” Harry suddenly spoke up.

“Sirius?”

“Sirius Black. My godfather.”

“Oh. I didn’t know he was your godfather. He’s my cousin, you know?”

“Really?” There was that eagerness and curiosity in Harry’s voice again. The earnestness in his voice made Draco’s heart flutter.

“Yeah, my mother was a Black. If I remember correctly, Sirius’ little brother, Regulus, was like us.” His mother had told him that, to let him know he wasn’t the only one like this. That he wasn’t alone in his experience. Regulus was also the reason his mother had known how to help him.

“He was? Do you know how Sirius reacted to it?”

“Sirius helped him to get the treatment. It’s not my place to tell much, but their childhood wasn’t the best. Sirius practically raised him. Regulus chose his name to honour him. It’s the brightest star in the Leo constellation, the Lion’s heart.”

“Oh… That helps. Thank you for telling me.” Harry scooted closer and leaned his shoulder on Draco’s for a moment. The skin under Harry’s touch warmed up immediately, tingling. The touch was over far too soon.

“Y-you’re welcome.” Draco cleared his throat and felt his whole face heat up.

“Well, I should probably get to sleep. I’ll let you know how the conversation with Sirius goes!”

And so Harry walked away, leaving Draco red-faced sitting on the floor. He pressed his face in his hands, the coolness helping a bit. Ugh.

⚧

As Harry promised, the next night he filled Draco in about Sirius. Sirius had been ecstatic that he’d trusted him enough to come out to him, and promised to do anything to help Harry with anything he wanted. They already had a shopping trip planned in Muggle London to get Harry some clothes, and Sirius had apparently cried when he’d heard Harry’s middle name.

“And he told me my dad would have been proud of me and loved me no matter what!” Harry’s cheeks were wet with tears but he was smiling oh so brightly and Draco wanted nothing more than to kiss the tears away from his cheeks. He scooted closer to Harry, their bodies now almost touching.

“I’m glad,” Draco told him, and he was sincere for once. He was so glad that Harry had an adult he could trust, and one who knew his father. One that could tell him that James would love him, as Harry.

“And I told him that I had a friend who was helping me with all this stuff, I hope that’s okay. I didn’t say your name, I know it would be dangerous with Voldemort and all, but I had to tell him about you! I also didn’t tell him that you were like me, only that you knew about me and are helping me and how I couldn’t do this without you.”

“What? You mean that?” ‘I couldn't do this without you’ was ringing on repeat in Draco’s ears.

“Yeah! Of course, I didn’t tell him your name or out you, that could put you in danger and the other thing wasn’t my place to tell!” Harry was still smiling.

“No, I mean the last part. That you couldn’t do this without me.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t do this without you, Draco, any of this. Without you, I’d still be wearing skirts, for Merlin’s sake. You…” Harry drifted off, his voice choked. “You are really important to me, you know that?”

“Oh…” Draco couldn’t help but breathe out, and the urge to kiss him grew even stronger. Fuck it, he decided. Harry had someone else to depend on now if he didn’t want to interact with him after this. “Stop me anytime you want,” he warned and reached out to cup Harry’s jaw. Harry drew in a surprised breath.

Draco’s heart was beating wild, but when Harry didn’t do anything to stop him, he pulled Harry’s face toward him. Draco’s lips met Harry’s gorgeous, soft, warm lips midway, and Draco felt Harry’s pulse go wild under his fingers. The kiss was tentative, and it was clear neither had much experience, but to Draco it was perfect. It was perfect because it was Harry.

Draco drew away with a shuttering breath, feelings overwhelming him. He’d just done that. He’d kissed Harry. And Harry had kissed back. Not only had let him kiss him, but had kissed back. Harry looked wrecked. His eyes were blown wide and he was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed pink. Draco couldn’t help but lean in to capture his lips for the second time.

⚧

After the kiss(es) they talked. Harry confessed to having a crush on Draco since the third year and wasn’t that a massive ego boost. Draco had to kiss him again for that.

They agreed that it wasn’t safe for them to be openly together, for the chance that Voldemort found out. Draco had only barely escaped a Dark Mark, after all. If it came out that Draco was dating his archenemy, he would probably be forced into servitude and spying on Harry. Draco told Harry how if his parents hadn’t pointed out that it would be safer for his mission to not be marked, he would have been forced into slavery during the summer.

They would continue meeting up at night, as they had been for the past three months. Harry could tell Sirius – Draco knew that Harry was the kind of a person who just had to talk to someone important to him, and Draco trusted Sirius. His mother had told him a lot about him, and he knew he wouldn’t go to Voldemort.

And most importantly, they would be boyfriends. Draco saw Harry’s small shiver of gender euphoria from being called that and resolved to drown him in affirmative compliments and names. Harry was his now, and he took care of what was his. He would make sure Harry would never doubt his affection.

⚧

Every night the two met up, migrating their meeting place to the Room of Requirements, and Draco told Harry about his mission to kill Dumbledore and let the Death Eaters into the castle. In return, Harry told Draco about the Horcruxes and let Draco cry on his shoulder about how unfair life was. He had to succeed, his parents’ lives were on the line.

They got to know each other, physically. They cuddled, the Room offering up a nice, comfortable couch and explored each other’s bodies. There wasn’t anything sexual going on, not yet, at least. They just familiarised themselves with each others’ shapes and textures and likes and dislikes. Draco was pretty sure he was asexual, never having felt any need for sexual acts with other people. Sure, he enjoyed his body and felt arousal at times, but there was never a desire for anyone else. Harry on the other hand had really bad bottom dysphoria, and couldn’t imagine enjoying being touched there. Draco assured him it was fine, that he would be open to experimentation but only if Harry wanted. And they weren’t in any hurry, they both planned to survive the war.

⚧

One time bumping into Harry in the hallway, Draco caught him fiddling with the golden bracelet he’d given to him (it looked perfect against Harry’s skin, gold for his golden-hearted Gryffindor). He let his lips curl into a smirk.

“Oi, Potter, did your boyfriend give you that? Or are you the boyfriend? Certainly got the looks for it,” Draco drawled, getting a few laughs from the surrounding students.

“Why, you jealous, Malfoy?” Harry smirked back and oh, he was unfairly hot when he did that. Draco felt the tips of his ears burning, but thankfully Professor Snepe’s arrival saved him from answering.

“Ew, mate, why would you say something like that to Malfoy?” Draco heard the Weasley ask.

“Got him to shut up, didn’t I?” Draco could picture Harry’s smile, the mischievous but still full of sunshine. He was thankful his back was turned, so they couldn’t see his fond expression before he got control of his facial muscles.

⚧

They spent the rest of the school year meeting in the Room, after two months saying ‘I love you’ and the week after getting frustrated that they couldn’t say it if anyone else was in earshot. They came up with a gesture, a sweeping motion above their eyebrow, that they could use to say the words to each other. It was used every morning in Great Hall, every time they came across each other in hallways, multiple times in every shared class they had.

⚧

And then the war happened.

The only time they saw each other was when Harry was brought to the Malfoy Manor, Draco being interrogated about him. Draco could confidently say that it wasn’t who they were looking for, as they all referred to Harry by his deadname. Everyone else would see him wiping nervous sweat off his forehead, but Draco knew Harry could see the ‘I love you’ in his gesture. Then they escaped, and Draco wished his wand would be of help on Harry’s mission.

And then Harry died, and Draco felt a part of himself dying too when Voldemort’s voice rang through Hogwarts, announcing his lover’s death. And another part, because Harry would never be known as Harry by anyone except him and Sirius Black. Unless Harry had told his friends, but he heavily doubted it.

Then Harry came back to life and killed Voldemort. The relief of seeing his boyfriend alive, breathing and fighting made Draco throw all reservations out of the window and he ran to him, enveloping him in a hug that was enthusiastically returned. Draco cried, buried his head in Harry’s chest and felt familiar lips press a kiss in his hair. “I’m alive, I’m safe,” Harry murmured, and only then did Draco ease his hold on him.

“I love you,” he whispered, looking up at Harry’s stupidly green eyes. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Don’t plan to,” Harry grinned. “I love you too.”

⚧

Of course, their embrace was front page news the next day, right below the defeat of the Dark Lord. ‘The Saviour’, they called him. Draco was only glad that it wasn’t a gendered title.

The Weasley and the Granger couldn’t take their relationship and told Harry that they couldn’t condone it. ‘All we went through, we can't believe you would shag a Death Eater’, they told him. Harry wasn’t too broken up because of it. They’d been growing apart for a while, and it had only become more obvious while they were living in the small tent.

Sirius invited Harry and Draco to live with him, and so they went. They stayed out of the public eye, just as Draco had suggested, travelling all around the world. Harry transitioned, grew a small beard and got all the possible gender-affirming medical procedures done. When they finally, after five years since the ending of the war, had their first public date in Wizarding Britain, no one recognised Harry – or Draco, for that matter. The public firmly believed that the Saviour of the Wizarding World was enjoying an early retirement somewhere warm and tropical.

They moved out of the Grimmauld Place eventually, leaving Sirius and Remus alone. Their house was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wild animals. Harry loved taking care of the garden and cooking, and when Draco proposed seven years after their first kiss, they joked about Harry being a househusband.

Draco trained as a healer, specialising in gender-affirming care. He took to activism, believing that information about gender and sexual orientation should be freely available in schools and workplaces, and was finally successful in getting a health class in Hogwarts ten years after the war.

They lived happily, but as Harry’s luck ensured, none too peacefully ever after.