Harry awoke early the next morning to a brisk rap on the door, and again was seized with the disorienting panic of uncertainty about where she was. Fumbling for her glasses, she breathed more easily once her surroundings began to clear.

Throwing off the covers, she got out of bed and hurried to the door, straightening one of the straps of her pyjama shirt in some semblance of tidying up. Cautiously she opened the door, peering uncertainly at the unfamiliar face beyond. A woman of middling height and generous build, her flyaway dark hair streaked liberally with gray and pinned untidily back beneath a slightly crooked net, she wore simple brown-black linen robes faded with use and an apron, with a teatowel hanging from one pocket. She held one hand uplifted, and to Harry’s astonishment she had a covered tray balanced in the air alongside a second tray of tea service.

At Harry’s uncertain nod, the woman bustled into the room and set both trays down on the small table and smiled reassuringly at Harry. “Leave them on the table when you’re done. Hagrid should be by in a couple hours or so to get you. Key on the table with the trays, and if you’d strip the bed before you go, I’d much appreciate it.”

And with that, she disappeared, leaving a sprinkle of greenish sparkles on the floor where she had stood.

Delighted at the surprise breakfast, Harry lifted the lid and inhaled the smells eagerly. Perfect scrambled eggs, set on hash browns with two sausages beside, those covered liberally in a chunky chutney sauce. She’d never seen such good food in her life – at least, not that was for her. On the other tray was a small teapot, aromatic steam curling from the spout, alongside a delicate jug of milk and another of sugar, and a single cup on a saucer printed with a ring of knots around the edge.

Harry polished off the breakfast in record time and, following a quick shower, she dressed and set about tidying the room. Sheets and towels she piled in the middle of the room and then, having run out of busywork, she sat down on the floor with her back against the wall and started to read one of her new books. She’d purchased a second-hand suitcase from Tom, who owned the Leaky Cauldron, and Hagrid had left her with her new belongings to pack and settle. A creaky meow sounded from the suitcase as Harry settled herself in to read, and her kitten crawled out from inside a sweater to curl up at Harry’s hip, purring.

A History of Magic was not nearly as dry as Harry had expected, peppered throughout with the author’s scholarly wit and distaste for the elitism and racism of the magical world. Harry was by no means a quick reader, but she was fascinated by the complex politics and systems of the magical world, and sympathised with the author’s frustration at its’ backward policies and treatment of both non-magical humans, and non-human beings. Being mixed-race, Harry wasn’t unfamiliar with racism. And as before, with her introduction to the classism of blood status, it made the magical world seem more real. It was just a different world, not some kind of perfect utopia, and she’d have the same fight here as anywhere else.

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Absorbed in a deeply political explanation of the first goblin rebellion, Harry was startled by a sharp knock at the wooden door. “Come in,” she called distractedly, closing the book with its’ ribbon as a marker. The kitten, seizing an opportunity, crawled into Harry’s now-vacant lap and began kneading at Harry’s skirt.

Expecting to see Hagrid’s broad frame, Harry was surprised instead to see a thin, severe-looking woman dressed in deep green robes, with a tartan band around the pointed hat she wore over her tightly pinned grey hair that had some stubborn streaks of red still visible in the morning light. Despite her dignified appearance, the woman had a kind look in her pale eyes, and Harry cautiously stood and pulled out a chair for her with the disgruntled kitten cradled in one arm.

When they were both seated, the kitten now returned to Harry’s lap, the woman smiled faintly. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Minerva McGonagall, though at school you should address me as Professor. I’m the deputy headmistress, and Hagrid arrived in quite a flap last night about you.” she explained, revealing a heavy Highlands accent though her manner of speech was clipped and formal in carefully correct English. “Albus was not as concerned as I’d like, so I took on your case instead. As Hagrid made clear, we can’t return you to the Dursleys’ home, and I will confess I had my reservations about leaving you with them in the first place.”

A rush of breath escaped Harry, she coughed and had to calm her giddy heart for a moment. “You mean, I really don’t have to go back?” she asked, her voice breaking on the words. The woman – Professor McGonagall – nodded, again smiling in that surprisingly gentle way Harry would soon come to find familiar. “That is correct. I have found you a place with the family of another student starting Hogwarts this year. As Hogwarts is a boarding school, this is a short term solution. You can stay with them until term starts, and at the end of the year we will look for a longer-term placement for you.”

With that, she fixed Harry with a searching gaze. “Now, another matter. I was under the impression that we would be expecting a Mr. Harry Potter, but clearly that is not the case. I’ll make sure your bed is in the right dormitory.” Professor McGonagall stated, making a note on some parchment that she manifested from air.

Harry winced at that. “Um, sorry. Easy mistake. It’s... short for Harriet. But that’s a snotty name so everybody calls me Harry.” she lied quickly, she didn’t want to start her new school going into that sort of detail. Minerva looked unconvinced but didn’t question her; unlike most of her magical fellows the professor was somewhat enlightened about the diversity of human experiences and didn’t want to put someone so young on the spot about something so personal.

The matter settled, Minerva stood and directed her attention to Harry’s semi-packed belongings. With a flourish of her hand and a muttering of what sounded suspiciously like Scots, the books and clothes neatly rearranged themselves and the case slammed closed. The kitten was unceremoniously removed from Harry’s lap and deposited gently in her crate with a displeased yowl. The crate was then dropped into Harry’s arms, while Minerva took hold of the heavy case. She held out her free hand to Harry, who awkwardly wiggled one elbow free and held it out stiffly. The professor took it gently and muttered something else that Harry didn’t quite catch, and then with an uncomfortable dissolving sensation, the two were tugged into a Between-space.

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The two were surrounded in clinging mist for only a moment, before Minerva McGonagall’s spell had them standing on a neatly paved street in the mid-morning sunlight. Harry blinked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Situated in a cul-de-sac, every house had a well-maintained hedge for privacy and there was not a speck of weeds in sight. They stood before a stately two-storey home of a more modern style, painted a modest mushroom grey. The Dursleys’ would have bled with jealousy to live there, or even be invited for dinner.

Briskly, the professor strode up the few steps to the front door and knocked. It was opened immediately, as if the occupants had been waiting for them. A girl of about Harry’s own age stood in the doorway, her brows drawn together. Her skin was deep brown with darker freckles scattered liberally across her solemn face, and her thick hair hung in heavy braids to her shoulders “Hello Professor McGonagall. I’m Hermione Granger.” she greeted them politely, and held the door open. “My parents are in the dining room, if you would come inside.”

As they entered the house, Harry glanced at the well-polished bronze plate to the left of the door. It read

Dr. E. Ndiaye-Granger, lawyer

Dr. D Granger, MFDSRCS

Intimidated, Harry offered the girl – Hermione – a shy smile, and was gratified when she returned it. “I’ll take your things upstairs, my parents want to talk to you before you head up.” she offered, holding out a hand. Harry set the cat crate carefully on the ground and took the suitcase from Minerva, offering it to Hermione. “Are you sure? Thanks,” she said gratefully, as Hermione took both and trotted off upstairs with another shy, shared smile.

Feeling a swell of trepidation, Harry trailed after the professor down the imposing hallway, and out into a sunny open-plan dining room. Two adults were seated at the table, Harry could recognise Hermione in their faces. The woman shared Hermione’s coily hair, though hers was elegantly touched with grey at the temples and the braids held in a high bun; while the man had Hermione’s slightly-upturned short nose and a heavier blanket of freckles. Both were dressed neatly and gave off the air of polite professionals, though their smiles were kind and their manner open and free of any judgment or haughtiness.

Harry bit her lip, fumbling for her manners. “Em... Thank-you, for having me to stay. Your home is very nice.” she stammered, fighting the urge to shrink back behind Professor McGonagall. Hermione’s mother smiled, and she pushed out a free chair for Harry. “Thankyou, Ms. McGonagall. You’re welcome to return to your work now, we’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Minerva smiled wryly and with a shallow bow, she vanished in a similar manner to how the two of them had traveled there.

“Now, dear. Your professor told us a little, and we understand you can’t stay with your family. We can’t make any long-term promises on such short notice, but you are welcome certainly until school starts. We have a spare bedroom upstairs, and it’ll be so good for Hermione to have someone her own age around.” Hermione’s mother continued warmly. The past few days had been such a whirlwind, Harry could barely think, but that persistent hope remained in her chest. “Thank-you, Dr. Granger,” she replied politely, a smile tugging at her mouth. “I’m H-Harriet. Harry for short.”

Hermione’s mother smiled wryly. “I’m only Dr. Granger at work. You can call me Evelyn, and this is my husband Danjuma. You met our daughter briefly, I believe.”

Harry nodded assent, and her attention was then drawn by Hermione’s father – Danjuma – as he stood. “Well, Harry, let’s get you upstairs and settled in. You’ll be expected to help Hermione with the chores but don’t worry for a few days, she’ll show you what to do.” he explained kindly, and Harry nodded again. She stood, careful to remember to push her chair in, and wandered off to the stairs where they’d come in.

Hermione waited on the lowest stair, tapping one hand against the hand-rail. When she caught sight of Harry she stopped abruptly and bit her lip, clearly embarrassed. “I’ll show you your room,” she offered hastily, and so Harry trailed upstairs behind her.

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Days at the Granger household settled into an easy routine. Hermione’s father was an excellent cook and always pleased when Harry offered to help, while Hermione herself was studious and uncertain. At first the two were unsure how to break the ice, until their awkward conversation reached the topic of books. While both were new to the magical world, they shared an interest in the history, social structures and injustice within it, and Hermione was delighted to find someone else who could see beyond dry historical fact to the social implications.

Despite their shared interests, Harry still felt as if she was playing a role within the family until one breezy Saturday she was vacuuming upstairs and caught sight of an enormous multicoloured banner stretching across one wall of Hermione’s bedroom. The Dursleys of course had been closed to any such thing, but when Hermione explained the concept to Harry, it was like a light went on inside. There was a name for people like her and better yet, there was someone right in the here and now who didn’t judge.

Slowly, and then all at once, Harry opened up to Hermione and was joyfully surprised with the acceptance and insight her new friend showed. Hermione’s parents too, when Harry felt ready, were unconcerned and accepting of the matter, though they did share reservations about how a transgender girl like Harry might be treated by the magic world. From their reading, both Harry and Hermione shared these worries, and while Harry felt a little guilty for lying to Professor McGonagall, she was more worried about the potential ramifications of telling the truth.