Heir to the Moon (V2)

II.IV First Week of School

The first golden rays of dawn crept like silent serpents through the dormitory windows, painting the Hufflepuff banners with a honeyed light that held the promise of a new day. Harry Potter lay nestled in his bed, cocooned within the comfort of warm blankets which seemed to protest as he stirred awake. His messy black hair starkly contrasted against the pale pillowcase, and his silver eyes fluttered open to meet the world's soft glow.

"Morning already?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Has been for a while," came Daphne's voice, startlingly close, and when Harry turned his head, there she was, sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of molten gold, her green eyes reflecting the plants that thrived in every nook of the room, courtesy of her Demeter heritage.

"Sleep well?" she asked with a tilt of her head, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Like a log," Harry replied, pushing himself into a sitting position, and running a hand through his unruly locks. "Dreamt I was back with the hunters of Artemis, but everything was upside down."

"Sounds disorienting." Daphne chuckled, and then her expression turned thoughtful. "So, have you decided? Male or female form today?"

Harry sighed, the blankets slipping from his shoulders as he considered the question. It wasn't just about preference; it was about self-expression. Each morning presented an opportunity, a choice that spoke volumes without uttering a word.

"Still on the fence," he confessed, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. Their soul bond hummed between them, a silent conversation of emotions and sensations, transmitting his indecision.

"Take your time," she encouraged, "but remember, Transfiguration with McGonagall first thing."

"Right," Harry acknowledged, biting his lip. He stood, beginning his morning stretches, feeling the muscles wake in tandem with his mind. "Female form, I think. I feel... I dunno, bold today."

"Bold is good," Daphne agreed, standing to join him in stretching, her movements graceful and deliberate. "It suits you."

He nodded, closed his eyes, and focused. The change was always strange, a sensation of shifting tectonic plates beneath his skin. But it was also liberating, freeing. When he opened his eyes, his reflection in the mirror showed him his other self: softer features, longer hair, the same lightning-shaped scar etching its history onto his forehead.

"I think for this first week of school I will be a female," he said with a newfound confidence, though a small part of him still twinged with nerves. It wasn't fear of what others would think—after everything he'd been through, judgment from his peers seemed trivial—it was more a personal challenge, embracing all facets of who he was.

Daphne beamed at him, pride evident in her gaze. "Remember what Professor Sprout said yesterday, when you're a female you must wear the appropriate uniform," said Daphne while grabbing a hairbrush, "want me to brush your hair?"

Harry who was now dressed in his uniform skirt, and shirt sat down on his bed, "Do whatever you want with it"

The brush ran through Harry's hair, smooth and gentle, as Daphne's skilled hands worked to tame the unruly locks. The room was quiet, save for the soft bristles against hair and the distant sounds of the castle waking up. Harry felt a sense of peace in this routine, a comforting simplicity amid the complexities of his life.

Daphne's touch was careful, almost reverent, as she braided his hair into an elegant plait that fell over one shoulder. "There," she said, her voice tinged with satisfaction. "You look amazing."