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Black Me Out	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 12998 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two – Because of the Shame

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon with Sirius, which, after he'd finally stopped teasing Harry about being in love with Draco Malfoy, he shifted tacks and began to encourage him to come out to Hermione.

“After how Ron reacted?” Harry asked incredulously, “no way.”

“Hermione isn't Ron,” Sirius said patiently. “And she deserves an explanation as to why Ron was expelled. I really don't think you need to worry about her freaking out about this.”

“I'm not, or at least, not completely,” he muttered, fingering the lip of his tankard, “I'm more worried she's gonna throw a torrent of questions at me that I don't want to answer.”

“You know you can tell her what you're comfortable and not comfortable discussing,” Sirius said in the same infuriatingly calm, patient very un-Sirius tone of voice. “We've talked with your Mind Healer about dealing with your dysphoria in a healthy manner, instead of bottling it up and disassociating. You know that Harry.”

“I know,” he replied with a huff and thought, easier said than done, but when he looked back up, Sirius was still staring him down.

“I mean it Harry, you have a bad relationship with your body. It's understandable, but the process is slow, and you'll never have the same exact body type as a cisgendered male. You need to work on accepting that, and maybe talking to Hermione and dating Draco Malfoy would help with that,” he said, pointedly ignoring Harry's red-faced sputters of negation. Why is Sirius being so calm about this? Harry wondered, I thought he'd be furious that a Malfoy was hitting on me.

At the end of the afternoon, Sirius bid him goodbye at the Hogwarts gates with a quick, one-armed hug. Harry moved to head back up to the castle, but Sirius's hand on his arm stopped him short.

“I mean it Harry,” said Sirius seriously, “you should tell Hermione. You owe her that much.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to nod. He wanted to say that he didn't owe Hermione anything, but he knew that that wasn't entirely true. She deserved some kind of closure over what happened with Ron. Sirius squeezed his shoulder once before he turned away, headed back down the path, and beyond the Anti-Apparition wards.

Harry watched Sirius until he Disapparated, then with a defeated sigh he turned and headed back to the castle while he tried to figure out how to explain himself to his remaining best friend.

Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten very far before a voice he really didn't want to hear called out to him.

“Hey, Potter!” Malfoy called, and Harry groaned.

Malfoy caught up to him, his fair cheeks slightly flushed, and a mischievous glint in his eye. Harry curled his hands into fists to resist the urge to go for his wand.

“What part of leave me alone is not penetrating that thick skull of yours, Malfoy?” Harry growled, “I'm not interested, now piss off.”

“Come on Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice softening a little as he reached to touch Harry's arm, but he jerked out of reach. Malfoy curled his hand into a fist and let it drop to his side as he continued. “Don't be like that, I fancy you, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Harry deadpanned. Malfoy sputtered, and Harry watched him grasp at straws for several long moments before he seemed to find his voice again.

“Well, I do. What would convince you that I don't have any malicious ulterior motives this time?”

“Veritaserum, Legilimency, nothing big,” Harry said sarcastically, “look Malfoy, I don't know what you're up to, but just leave me alone, all right? I've got enough going on without you pestering me as well.”

“And I want to help! Share the burden, or load, or however you call it.”

“You're an only child. What the hell do you know about sharing?” Harry demanded, while he began to inch up the path that led to the castle, intent on getting back now more than ever. Harry was beginning to find this new version of Malfoy even more irritating than the old prejudiced, racist, and antagonistic pain in the arse he'd been before.

“Bit of pot calling kettle black, don't you think?” Malfoy asked with a familiar self-satisfied smirk. Harry scowled at him and turned away without answering.

“Harry,” the sound of his first name coming from Malfoy, paired with the softness of the tone, and the hand that grabbed his caused him to freeze. Harry turned slowly, eyes wide with shock at what he was seeing.

The usually haughty, arrogant expression was gone, and in its place was a soft, almost tender look. Harry swallowed nervously, and he suddenly realized that Malfoy was going in for another kiss. Harry wrenched his hand out of the other boy's grip as though he'd been burned, and did not stop to even feel remotely guilty about the hurt look that crossed Malfoy's aristocratic features as Harry turned and bolted for the castle.

~*~

Too shaken up by Malfoy's pseudo-assault, Harry had effectively lost the nerve to talk to Hermione that evening. Avoiding the common room entirely, Harry holed up in the Head Boy room he'd been given, and alternated between trying to do his schoolwork and trying to come up with a way to talk to Hermione that wouldn't make her hate him.

“This is hopeless,” he said with a groan as he folded his arms on the desk and buried his face in them. Sure, Hermione was the smartest and cleverest witch of her age, but that didn't mean she'd be completely okay with what Harry had to tell her.

He was grateful when ten o'clock rolled around, giving him an excuse to head to bed. He stripped off his clothing, stopping short at the restrictive undershirt that was keeping his chest flat. He stood before the long mirror, unable to hide a small smile as his fingers trailed over the coarse, wiry body hair that adorned his stomach. In the privacy of his own room, without fear of someone catching him, he allowed himself a moment of glee, to marvel at the physical changes he'd been gifted with over the last few years. With all the madness surrounding Voldemort, he hadn't had much opportunity to really stop and appreciate how far he'd come in his physical transition.

Carefully, he peeled off the top, he felt every muscle in his back relax immediately, and he slumped forward slightly as he groaned with pleasure, enjoying the unrestricted flow of air into his lungs once more. He rotated his shoulders and his spine popped as he tossed the chest binder into the pile with his other dirty clothes, and snatched up a tiny tub of thick, sticky salve off his bedside table.

“Slow process, it's a slow process, that's what Pomfrey told you,” Harry muttered to himself as he unscrewed the top, scooped up a glob of the strong-smelling salve, and gently massaged it into his chest.

Harry could not completely understand why the muggle method for shrinking one's chest was so much quicker than with potions. Often it was the reverse, but Harry figured that it had to be fate. Something that he wanted—no, needed would take such a frustratingly long time.

Not that there hadn't been any progress. In the months that Harry had been applying the stinky salve, his chest had shrunk significantly, and now they looked less like actual breasts, and more like the aptly named man boob. Even so, it still wasn't fast enough for Harry, and he had spent many nights over the winter fantasizing about swimming in the lake without his shirt. It would seem that he would be resigned to yet another summer without touching any body of water, at least until his chest looked like it was supposed to.

Washing the salve's residue off his hands with a damp flannel, Harry set aside the little tub and wrapped his chest in a thick cloth bandage to keep the stuff from wiping off in his sleep. As a last touch, Harry fished out the tiny vial from the pocket of his jeans, and twisted the stopper clockwise. A tiny hollow needle materialized attached to the stopper, and after casting a quick cleansing charm on his abdomen, he jammed the needle in at an angle without even a moment's hesitation.

Harry extracted the needle a moment later, the entry site healed instantly, and the needle itself vanished. A new spring in his step, he changed into a pair of striped pyjama bottoms and climbed into bed. Maybe having a room all to myself isn't such a bad thing, he thought, and grinned at the idea of sending Ron and Seamus thank-you notes for beating the crap out of him. The image of their utter horror at receiving such a thing put a wide smile on Harry's face as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, Harry got up earlier than he normally would have on a Sunday. He washed and dressed, and as a last touch extracted an old photograph from his treasured album before he headed down to the Great Hall to fetch a stack of buttered toast. He returned to the Fat Lady's portrait and Hermione stepped out not five minutes later, and stopped short when she caught sight of Harry standing there.

“Are you speaking to me again, then?” She asked coldly, and Harry bowed his head guiltily at the question.

“I, er, thought you might fancy a walk around the lake, and maybe we could talk? About what happened last week, I mean,” he spoke in a rush, and chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek while he waited for her answer.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, her eyes narrowed in a glare that showed more hurt than genuine anger. She seemed to realize that Harry's attempt to talk things out was genuine, and her shoulders slumped slightly as she gave in to his request.

“Fine,” she said at last, her expression still a little dark, though Harry beamed at her nonetheless.

Hermione's presence, if nothing else, proved to be useful as they circled the lake and munched quietly on their toast. Harry caught sight of a certain blond making his way towards them, and stopped short when he noticed Hermione. The uncertainty and hesitation was written all over his face at the sight of her, and he quickly spun on his heel and stalked off.

“What on earth was that about?” Hermione asked, staring after Malfoy's billowing, overpriced cloak as he headed back towards the castle.

“Malfoy has replaced the Creevey brothers as my new stalker,” Harry muttered, glaring at the retreating back of his would-be suitor.

“What?” She said, aghast, as Harry turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide with shock. “I'm sorry, I mean...what? Malfoy fancies you? Seriously?”

“It seems that way,” Harry grumbled, tossing his last slice of unfinished toast into the lake, and they paused to watch a solitary tentacle skim the surface and snatch it under. “At least, that's what he says. I'm not sure I believe him.”

“Why wouldn't you believe him?” she asked, clearly confused. “Is that what you came out here to tell me, that you fancy blokes?” Harry turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. He would have thought, she, of all people, would have understood his reluctance to willingly go within ten feet of Malfoy, especially after all he'd put them through over the years.

“Because he's a slimy Slytherin git, and for all I know he's using this as an excuse to fix his family's image—get in with the Chosen One or whatever the hell they're calling me these days. But, no, that's not it,” Harry paused, and amended, “I mean, I am—gay, I mean, but that's not what I wanted to tell you. D'you wanna sit?” He motioned to the beech tree they stood close to, and they took turns casting warming and drying charms on the ground, still a bit too cold and wet to sit for long periods of time, and Harry cast a quick privacy charm to ensure that they wouldn't be overheard.

“Okay, now you're making me nervous,” Hermione said as she settled down with Harry across from her. Speak for yourself, Harry thought, and struggled to keep a hysterical laugh from escaping his throat.

“It's...about what caused Ron to get kicked out,” he said, dropping his gaze to his knees as he thought how to best phrase it. “I didn't want to tell you initially, but Sirius sort of talked me into it. Um...” Harry swallowed thickly, his voice momentarily failing him as he looked up at her, her eyes wide with both curiosity and concern.

“Um...Ron found out about me...what...what I am. There's a curse in place that keeps him from repeating what he knows to protect my privacy, but he, um, went berserk, to put it mildly. He and Seamus attacked me in Hogsmeade, and I was in a bad way by the time I made it to Pomfrey,” Harry finished and looked up, and saw Hermione's eyes were bulging in horror, both her hands clapped over her mouth.

“Oh Harry, I can't believe this! I mean after all, Charlie's gay, everyone knows that how could R—” Harry held up a hand to silence her, and took a deep breath, feeling very much like a diver about to take the biggest leap of his life.

“No, that's not it. I—I,” Harry's voice died again. “Fuck, this is hard,” he hissed, raking a hand through his hair, and realized that as much as he wanted to, he simply couldn't say it. Knowing that he still needed to figure out some way to tell her, he decided for the show and tell method.

With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the old, creased photograph. Feeling slightly sick, he pressed it into Hermione's hands.

“What's this?” She asked, her brow creased in confusion as she stared at it. Harry leaned over, still practically vibrating in place from his shaking fright. He pressed his fingertip against the photograph, which showed a much younger Sirius Black grinning broadly and holding a bundled up baby in a pink onesie and a tuft of wild black hair.

“That's Sirius, just after he was granted custody of me,” Harry said shakily, then dragged his finger down to point at the infant, “a-and that's me,” Harry choked out the words, and felt his stomach twist as his anxiety mounted, moreso when he could see that Hermione didn't understand what he was getting at.

“I was born Henrietta Lily Potter,” Harry said softly, “I—I was born a girl.”

Hermione's fingers went slack as she dropped the picture in her shock, and she fumbled for a moment to catch it, then looked up at Harry with wide eyes.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione's voice dropped to a sorrowful tone as understanding dawned upon her face, “you mean...are you saying...that you're, um, a transsexual?” Swallowing nervously, Harry nodded.

Harry's entire body was coiled like a tightly wound spring; waiting for the inevitable eruption of rage, rejection, and disgust.

What he hadn't counted on however, was acceptance.

Hermione threw herself at Harry, and he tensed, alarmed by the sudden movement, but she did nothing more than draw him into a tight hug. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his shoulder, and as his shock wore off, he returned the gesture.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione sniffed, as she sat back, withdrawing a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her eyes and blow her nose. “I'm just...oh, I can't believe Ron would do that to you! I love you Harry, you're my best friend. I don't care if you're a girl, a boy, or a unicorn. You're still Harry, you're still my friend, and nothing could ever change that.”

Harry turned away from her for a moment, smiling, but overwhelmed by what he was hearing. He had not expected such instantaneous acceptance to his big secret, and it had left him momentarily struck dumb with shock. His eyes were glassy, his throat suddenly tight with emotion, and he took several breaths in an effort to compose himself before he turned back to her.

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry said, his voice still a little hoarse, “it means a lot, especially after...” he trailed off as Hermione's expression darkened.

“It's nothing, seriously. I will be having words with that...oh, nevermind,” she glared at the grass as she trailed off, then refocused her gaze on Harry, “is it all right if I ask you about it, the...the transsexual thing?”

Harry felt his blood run cold, and he swallowed thickly. He looked away from Hermione quickly so that she would not see the panic there. This had been exactly what he'd been afraid of. Hermione and her infuriating need to know everything. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his anxiety before he responded.

“Yeah, you can,” Harry said, his tone apprehensive, “but if I think it's too personal a question I'm not gonna answer, just so you know.” He finished his statement, but the warning didn't seem to upset her as she visibly brightened, and nodded once.

“Of course, that's totally understandable. So, you were born a girl, but go by male pronouns and everything?” Harry nodded once, and she rushed on to her next question before Harry could say a word, “when did you know? I mean, by the time you started Hogwarts you were already Harry, and all the history texts involving Voldemort call you The Boy Who Lived not...the other thing.” She finished, smiling a little apologetically. Harry appreciated her cautious wording, as it was still uncomfortable at times to remember who he used to be. As far as he was concerned, that version of him was long dead, and he hated that he had to remember it.

“Sirius figured it out when I was really little, and Dumbledore helped him keep my transition quiet so that it just looked like a printing error, saying that James and Lily Potter had a...er, girl, instead of a boy. All the paperwork was fixed, and no one knew the truth. Sirius never explained it all to me, because I was five or six when it started to present himself, but anyone who became suspicious about it were diverted to other stuff, mostly by Dumbledore, I think, so even someone like Rita Skeeter didn't really have a chance of figuring it out.”

Harry fell silent, feeling both awkward and a little pleased that he had someone to talk about this with—other than Sirius, Madam Pomfrey, or the Mind Healer assigned to his case. He hadn't expected it to be such a freeing sensation—sharing this part of someone who was so close to him.

“Okay, so then how did you—er, change? I mean, I know it's done with steroids and things in the muggle world, but I never really had a reason to research the wizarding methods,” Hermione said, wincing a little at her phrasing, but Harry smiled at her reassuringly, indicating that she hadn't said anything particularly offensive—yet.

“The muggle world is about on even ground with the wizarding world with this stuff,” Harry said, unable to look at Hermione as he picked at the grass, lost in memory, “all the potions and stuff for this work really slowly, so that you can go through puberty gradually like a normal kid. I was on hormone blockers until I was twelve, then Sirius had me switched over to...well, testosterone suspended in a nut oil that I have to take once a week, and it makes me go through puberty like any normal bloke.”

“And what about...?” Hermione faltered, nodding to his chest, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. Understanding the body language, Hermione quickly changed subjects, “Harry...how did you use the changing rooms? Certainly someone may have noticed your...erm...” her cheeks coloured as she struggled to find the right word, “I mean, didn't anyone notice that your anatomy was a little...different?”

“Careful timing, mostly,” Harry said with a slight shrug, “I'd change into my Quidditch robes in the dormitories before I headed down the pitch most of the time. Wood was aware, he was so enamoured with my skills as a Seeker that he could care less what was in my pants. He was good about keeping it quiet though, and if anyone ever questioned my changing room habits, he was good about dismissing it as a weird quirk of mine or something to that effect.”

“So not all the boys were as closed-minded as Ron,” Hermione filled in with a small smile.

“Yeah, not all of them,” Harry agreed. Hermione's gaze dropped curiously to his crotch and he tensed, bracing himself for the invasive, definitely none of her business questions, but she seemed to understand the physical response, and thankfully she kept her mouth shut.

“Okay, now that that's all out of the way, we need to move on to more important matters,” she said, clapping her hands together as she spoke, and Harry's head snapped up in surprise as she turned to him, an intense look upon her face as she asked, “do you fancy Malfoy?” Harry buried his face in his hands with a groan at her words, and she began to giggle.

“Fucking you and Sirius, I swear. It's not funny Hermione, he won't leave me alone, and he doesn't seem to understand the definitions of no, no way, bugger off, or never in a million years. I don't know how to be shot of him!”

“Is that because you actually don't fancy him, or is that because of your...er, complicated situation?” Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Harry had to resist the urge to jinx her. Why did everyone seem to think that he was in love with Malfoy?

“It's because he's a slimy Slytherin git from a long line of slimy Slytherin gits. Have you forgotten that he quite cheerfully called you a 'mudblood' repeatedly, cursed you in our fourth year, and—”

“—Yes I know Harry, I'm not stupid,” she snapped, “He was foul for a long time, but haven't you noticed what he's been like this year?”

“He's added stalking to his list of talents?”

“No you twit,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “he's been decent. His father and mother are both out of the picture, he's no longer associating with any of the blood-purist Slytherins, and I even saw him come to the defence of a second year who was being harassed because she wasn't a pureblood. He's changed Harry, or have you been too thick to notice...again?”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He tried again, but soon he found himself doing a remarkable impression of a fish out of water, while Hermione sat there with a triumphant smirk on her face.

“Shut up,” he muttered eventually, which caused her to laugh. Desperate to get away from the topic of his significant lack of observation skills, he decided to flip it back to her. “What're you going to do about Ron? I'd hate to be the cause of you two splitting up.”

“You wouldn't be the cause of us splitting Harry,” Hermione replied, her tone edged with annoyance, “Ron's closed-mindedness would be the cause. You just happened to be the...I don't know, catalyst or something. If Ron can't accept you, I can't accept him. I won't be with someone who hurts my friends.”

Harry felt a little warm at her words, though for once it was not out of embarrassment but pleasure. He hadn't counted on Hermione being so supportive, though in retrospect Harry thought he probably should have done. It wasn't in her nature to be bigoted, but it had always been difficult to gauge how people would react to his unique 'situation'.

“You know what, Hermione?” To his question, she turned back to him, her eyebrow cocked curiously.

“What?”

“I love you.”

She smiled.
A/N: For those of you who don't know, 'in the muggle world' FTM chest surgery is done by two methods, the most common one is the Bilateral Mastectomy, which results in the two large scars just below the pecs that are sort of indicative of trans men these days. If the man's chest in question is small enough, they have what's called a “Keyhole” method, where the incisions are made right below the nipples and there's next to no scarring. The latter method isn't done very much though. The healing time is several weeks of wearing a tight bandage attached to drain tubes. It's not a pretty picture, and definitely not for the faint of heart. (And a pain in the ass in my country to get all the paperwork in order, even if it's covered by MediCare grumblegrumble...)
As for Harry's method of injection, there are two ways hormones (for trans men) are administered by syringe. There's other ways, but by injection is the best/safest way to get the changes you want quickly. Either subcutaneously (in the fat just below your skin, usually in the stomach) or intramuscular (in the butt or thigh). SubQ injections, is what I do, and so I'm more familiar with how it feels and stuff, which is why Harry's injections are SubQ too. I'm writing this all here for any pre-T or pre-op trans men/transmasculine people who happen upon my story and want more information.
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