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Nobody needed to know why Draco Malfoy always changed with his hangings drawn. Nobody needed to know why he sometimes got a little too defensive. Nobody needed to know why he silently admired Professor Lupin, despite his reservations about the man. Nobody needed to know anything.
Draco thought that he would be happier at Hogwarts. He knew that he would be Slytherin from the moment he got the letter, although it was addressed to the wrong person. He didn’t know how to change it until Professor Snape mentioned it to him. Draco was discreetly called into Professor Snape’s office the day he arrived at Hogwarts and the Professor explained, if a little bluntly, that accommodations could be made for Draco if the need arose. Professor Snape then explained something that stuck with Draco.
“Considering that this school has you named as somebody else, I would advise you to say as such to your letter.” the Professor had said. Draco, feeling more than a little foolish, whispered that his name was indeed Draco Malfoy to the admission letter, and, to his amusement, the letters rearranged themselves to read his name. Draco had laughed in bewilderment, thanked Professor Snape, and caught up with Crabbe and Goyle on the staircase.
Draco had felt a lingering sense of joy from that moment, especially each year, when the letters arrived addressed to him. He enjoyed gloating his riches to his acquaintances and friends alike, crumpling the envelopes of letters not truly addressed to him so that nobody saw the name obscured by his fingers.
Admittedly, Draco enjoyed Professor Lupin’s lessons. He still mocked the teacher, but he liked the classes themselves. So, as a matter of fact, did a certain Harry Potter. It was a little disheartening, but at least the two boys were not sharing classes for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. Draco all but threw himself into the classes, and he was glad that there wasn’t enough time for him to battle the Boggart. That would be both humiliating and awkward to explain. Lupin may have noticed Draco’s poorly hidden apprehension as the line dwindled, but the Professor never breathed a word of it to anyone.
It was safe to say that he was absolutely mortified after he was attacked by that stupid Hippogriff. His injury wasn’t major or life threatening, nor was he concerned about embarrassing himself in front of the entire class. He was more worried about the fact that his wound’s placement meant that in order for it to be properly bandaged up and healed, he needed to be shirtless. Which was uncomfortable enough without Madam Pomfrey seeing. Or maybe he was just paranoid about being shirtless in front of anyone, let alone Hogwarts staff and students. He shrugged it off and quickly redressed in his repaired shirt and robes, ignoring the heat that was yet to leave his flushed cheeks.
Draco got mail constantly, or semi-regularly at the very least. His mother was his main correspondent, and she rarely addressed letters to someone who wasn’t really him. Narcissa Malfoy usually sent her son letters concerning the family affairs, or the occasional parcel, such as his coveted Nimbus Two Thousand and One. His father rarely sent letters to him, but when he did, it was never truly a good thing. Lucius was indifferent to Draco’s identity, and had acted scornful when his son had finally built up the courage to inform his parents that he wasn’t Cassandra Malfoy. Lucius seemed to go almost out of his way to constantly refer to Draco as Cassandra, unless it was in front of somebody who did not.
“Mother; Father?” Cassandra Draco had asked tentatively, stepping into the dining hall nervously. Narcissa gave Cassandra a small smile. Lucius raised an eyebrow. “I-I’m a boy. My name is Draco…” he had muttered from the doorway. Narcissa had stood up and rushed over to him, hugging him, if a little awkwardly. Lucius rolled his eyes. “You’re accepting yourself into the usual kinds of Muggle and Mudblood filth, are you? Narcissa, leave her.” Lucius had said, his voice cold as ice. Draco had hesitated. “No, Father. I-I’m not! I’m just… not a girl.” Draco had stammered, tears welling in his eyes. Lucius scoffed. “It’s a good thing you’re off to Hogwarts soon.” Lucius lowered his voice, “…rid yourself of these idealistic impressions.”
Draco was different now, more mature; a teenager now. He knew who he was; he had known who he was since he was at least ten years old, possibly nine. No amount of mockery and deliberate disrespect would change who he was. He was Draco Malfoy. He was Slytherin Seeker. He was Harry Potter’s enemy. He was Draco Malfoy.
His father sent him a letter, one that made him pull a face and scrunch up the envelope quickly. Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson noticed the name. “Draco, that is yours, isn’t it? It doesn’t say Draco on it.” Pansy asked, her high voice rising an octave, her fingers trying to prise the envelope from his fist. He snatches his hand away. “Leave it! It’s my letter, Pansy. It’s… a long story that I’d rather not tell.” Draco snaps in response, a cold sweat starting to form a strange feeling sheen on his skin. Pansy sighs, pouting. “But, Draco… I’d listen!” she cries. Draco glares at her for a moment, his jaw set, and she backs down. It was better to deny or ignore it when people noticed these things, or at least to Draco.
His mind was running wild after Pansy’s discovery of his old name. He trusted her, yes, but he wasn’t sure if she’d spread the information. Nobody could know he was transgender, not even his closest friends. It would probably ruin his reputation, for one. The fact that Pansy might’ve guessed was honestly horrifying, especially if she spread such information. This thought ate at him for a few days after, and he cornered her on the way back from Potions. “Pansy. Did you say anything about that letter?” he whispered urgently. Pansy looks scared and frantically shakes her head. Draco nods and lets her go. He walks away with a small yet satisfied smile on his face. His secret was safe for now.