(Hey there, guys! I have some kinda-awesome news! As of today, I finally decided to do something fun! I’ve made a Discord server, where you can come and hang out with me and talk about my writing, or games, or anime, or all kinds of fun stuff! I’ll add a link here!

 https://discord.gg/858fU4HS 

But now, back to our regularly-scheduled shenanigans!)

The next morning, I wake early, with Ron and Harry muttering quietly as they dress. Today is the first Quidditch match of the term, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, with Harry taking the role of Gryffindor’s new Seeker. Ever since the flying lesson where Draco had been an arse as usual, Harry’s been attending practice with the captain, Oliver Wood, and has made enough progress that he’s debuting today.

I grab my clothes and dress under the covers once again, before slipping out and folding my sheets back. True, there are House Elves at Hogwarts that do stuff like this for us, but I’ve never been keen on relying on other people to do for me what I’m more than capable of doing myself.

I look over at Harry and call softly, “Good luck, Harry. See you at breakfast.” I slip out of the dorm room, and run into Hermione in the Common room. As she sees me, she marches straight up and folds her arms, frowning at me. “I want a word with you. There’s something about you that I can’t quite decipher, and I want to know what it is!”

I flinch, and she grabs my elbow, frogmarching me over to one of the overstuffed armchairs. “Sit!” she huffs, and, surprisingly-gently, pushes me into it. I gulp, then do as she says, parking my bum down on the poufy cushion.

Hermione seats herself down in the couch at right angles to my chair. “Alright… tell me what’s going on. You always seem extremely nervous, you barely participate in classes, and yet you somehow have the courage to stand against a TROLL. Harry and Ron told me you distracted one all on your own. You’re not a coward, Maximillian. So tell me what’s with you?!”

I feel a cold chill run down my spine, before leaning in. “Hermione… If I tell you, you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone. I mean, at all.” I see her eyes widen, and she nods. I take a deep breath, look around to make sure no-one else is here, and murmur, quietly enough that only the brunette, bushy-haired girl could hear me.

“I’m transgender. I’m a girl, but I was born with a boy’s body…”

 Hermione’s eyes widen, and she rears back, mouth opening. “I knew you were hiding SOMETHING, but… I never dreamed that you identified as female… I’m sorry for forcing you to out yourself to me; I should have been more compassionate-”

I hold up a hand, cutting her off. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I was actually trying to figure out who I could tell. It’s been… difficult, these last few weeks. I’ve been struggling to not have a breakdown almost constantly, but I didn’t know who to turn to….” I sniffle, putting my head in my hands, feeling tears threatening to spill down my face. Suddenly, Hermione’s arms wrap around me, and she murmurs in my ear.

“It’s alright… I promise to keep your secret… I’m sorry…” she murmurs softly, rocking me in her embrace. “Do you... have a name you’d prefer me to call you?”

I wipe my eyes with the heel of my palms, blinking at her as she smiles. My hair has come loose, and I can feel it flowing down my back.  “Maxine… I’m Maxine Victoria Darcy….” I bite my lip, and Hermione sits back, smiling at me. “That’s a lovely name, Maxine. Would you like to go for breakfast with me?”

I nod, tugging my hair back into a loose ponytail, and stand. “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” I tug my robes tight around me, my wand tucked into my special wand-pocket. Mini scampers down to join me, her ears pricked up, and leaps into my lap. I brush my fingers down her back, eliciting a chirring mew from the tiny fennec. Hermione coos over her, and I let Mini sniff at the other girl’s fingers. 

She seems to like Hermione, and nuzzles the bookworm’s hand, letting the girl scratch her under the chin, as I stand, holding the diminutive vulpine in my arms, making our way out of the Common room, descending towards the ground floor and the Great Hall. Entering the bustling hall, Ii find us a couple of spots next to each other, Mini squirming in my arms as she smells the food.

I ask, “yoghurt and honey with muesli and banana, please, and could I have some raw mince and egg for my familiar, if it’s not too much trouble?” the moment the words leave my mouth, what I ask for is provided. I smile and thank the invisible servants, placing Mini’s bowl down for her to enjoy.

Hermione slips into the spot beside me and orders her own meal, and I mix the muesli into the yoghurt more thoroughly, pouring us both a goblet of orange juice, taking a bite of my cereal and chewing slowly.

Harry and Ron enter, and make their way over to join us. Ron looks suspiciously at Hermione, but I shake my head. “Knock it off, Ronald; Hermione’s helped me with something this morning. She’s my friend, okay? Be nice.”

He blinks, and then sits down beside Harry, curiosity sparking in his eyes. Hermione draws herself up, but I gently touch her elbow. “It’s fine, Hermione. I’ll talk to them about it after the match; I don’t want to throw Harry off his game, yeah?” she relaxes, and Mini climbs up onto my lap again, batting at my tie as I resume spooning breakfast into my mouth. Harry and Ron start making short work of their own meals, when the ear-splitting screeching of owls breaks over the quiet murmuring.

“Post? Oh joy…” I mutter. My parents have been sending me messages, proclaiming their disappointment that I was “unworthy of Slytherin’s legacy”, and that I should at least “prove myself the most superior Gryffindor student”. What a load of tosh. They’ve never really cared, only seen me as a tool to enhance their own status.  However, today, there’s no such missive. Instead, Harry’s owl, Hedwig, swoops down, bearing a long parcel, a bulbous shape at one end.

The package lands in front of us, and Harry, after sharing a look at Ron, begins tearing it open with help from the redhead. Something gleams inside the paper, a rich, warm brown. As the layers of wrapping fall away under the combined assault of two eleven-year-olds, I gasp. It’s a broom. The latest model, too!

“Harry, that’s a Nimbus 2000… it’s the fastest commercially-available broom on the market!” I murmur, and Harry’s eyes widen behind his round-lensed glasses. Professor Snape approaches, an uncharacteristic grimace twisting his face. As he gets closer to us, to my shock and horror, I realise… Professor Snape… is SMILING! He comments, “Good luck today, Potter. First Quidditch match of the season… even if it IS against Slytherin…” he passes by, on his way towards the dais where the teachers’ table is set. Harry whips round. “He’s limping… that explains the blood I saw. He must’ve tried to get past that dog.”

I narrow my eyes. “That might explain why he teaches. He’s been biding his time, waiting for his opportunity, and now he’s getting desperate. Who knows if Dumbledore has a backup plan?”

Hermione, the one person I’d expect to be freaking out about us suspecting a teacher of anything, is frowning so hard that her hair’s frizzing up even more than usual. She grabs my wrist and pulls me to my feet, Mini tucking herself into the crook of my other arm. “Come along, Max, we need to get good seats. We’ll save you a spot, Ron!” she drags me out, and I catch Ron and Harry’s poleaxed expressions.

Once we’re out and heading towards the stands, alone, Hermione releases my wrist and turns to look at me. “Maxine, do Harry and Ron know?”

I shake my head. “I… I haven’t told them yet. I’m scared of how they’d react…” Hermione sighs. “Do you want me to talk to the girls?” My eyes widen, and I start to shake my head, before stopping. “Well… could I do it, but with your help, Hermione? Please?”

She smiles and nods. “Let’s do it one by one, yes? That way we can manage the spread of it. I’ll ensure they’ll keep it a secret, no worries.” She gives me a little hug, and I gulp, before nodding and giving her hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Hermione. You’re a good friend.”

I follow the bushy-haired girl up towards the Quidditch pitch, cradling Mini as the sound of cheering and roars fill the air from the stadium.  It takes a minute, but we follow the stream of red-and-gold-scarved students, ascending into the high stands of the Gryffindor side of the pitch. Good seats, too, giving us an unobstructed view of both sets of hoops.

Out in the centre of the pitch, several metres off the ground, there are two small groups of figures, barely distinguishable. I snag two pairs of binoculars from a box at the front, passing one to Hermione. Mini noses at my pocket, and I produce a grasshopper from the small bag of insects, raising an eyebrow. “You just ate, you pest, this is the only one you’ll get till lunch, okay?” I say fondly, and the tiny fox delicately collects her prize from between my fingertips, crunching into the shell of the bug.

Raising the binoculars to my eyes, I focus in on the pitch. Madam Hooch is standing there, holding the big red Quaffle, the two Bludgers rattling their case, with a tiny speck of gold winking in the early-morning sun. I can spot Harry, looking small amongst the crowd of Gryffindor players Fred and George flanking him, facing off against the emerald-robed Slytherin team, both sides hovering in mid-air, brooms tucked between knees and gripped in clenched fists. With a shrill blast on her whistle, Madam Hooch hurls the Quaffle up into the air, releasing the Golden Snitch, and finally the Bludgers.

The two teams rocket up into the air, and I lower my field glasses, my eyes searching the air to find the players, watching as they balletically loop and swarm, Beaters and Chasers swooping around each other, with the Keepers blocking the hoops. Harry’s out there in the midst of this chaos, ducking as a Bludger cannons towards him, one of the Weasley twins powering after the angry ball, slamming it towards the Slytherin Keeper with a mighty clout of his bat.

 I jerk back in my seat as the echoing CRACK of metal-banded wood impacts the worn, battered surface of the Bludger, the roar of the crowd drowning it out seconds later, as one of the Gryffindor Chasers, a dusky-skinned girl with chocolate-toned hair in a tight ponytail, hurls the Quaffle through the centre hoop, scoring the first goal of the match. The Gryffindor announcer, a boy called Lee Jordan, yells into a speaker-system, “ANGELINA JOHNSON SCORES! TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!”  A cheer goes up, from what sounds like a couple of hundred throats.

“GO, GO, GRYFF-IN-DOR! GO, GO, GRYFF-IN-DOR!”

As the tumultuous thunder of voices and stamping feet rise into the early-morning air, I find myself on my feet as well, swept up in the festive atmosphere, chanting along with everyone else, my soft voice lost amid the din.

Slytherin take possession of theQuaffle after that, with the Slytherin captain, a thuggish-looking boy named, according to Lee’s discordant shouting, Marcus Flint, booting away the Gryffindor Chaser who makes an attempt to snatch the big red ball away.

Just when his glory seems all-but-certain, the Quaffle rocketing towards the central hoop of the Gryffindor side, Oliver Wood darts up and bats the ball back into play, defending the hoop and mean-mugging his clearly-incensed green-robed counterpart.

Our Chasers make sport of the Slytherins for a couple of minutes, weaving in-between the towers along the edge of the pitch, passing the Quaffle back and forth, before the leader overshoots- wait, no! She comes ROUND, hurling the Quaffle straight into Angelina’s arms. The dark-haired Chaser sinks the second goal, too, doubling our lead over the opposing team! We’re in the lead, and there’s still the Snitch in play! It’s anybody’s game!