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There was a reason the first spell Hamid learned was prestidigitation. The spell that could change the way he looked, shield him from scrutiny, well, of course it was exactly what he needed.
Saira was the first person he came out to, and her reaction proved that he was right to trust her. She had hugged him, smiled, and told him that he was leaving her as the only girl in the family. A year later Aziza came out, and Saira was ecstatic to find that there was another girl for her.
It wasn’t hard, after that, for Hamid to tell his mother and father. They told him, point blank, that none of their expectations for him had changed. He was still expected to be every bit the man his father was. Perhaps he would have to work harder, even. His father pulled him aside, and Hamid felt anxiety like a knife in his gut. He was sent to Prague to finish school.
Although Hamid knew it was because his parents were scared for him, that they desperately wanted him to live a cushioned life, he couldn’t get rid of the permeating feeling that he was being sent away. That he was the family disgrace.
None of it was true, of course, Hamid knew that logically. Aziza went where she wanted, to a bardic school in the south of Germany, and he went to become a wizard, just like he was always meant to become.
His father had told him, right before he left, that nobody should know who he was born as. Hamid knew that wasn’t his father telling him he wasn’t an Al-Tahan. No, somehow it was an even worse request.
But Hamid learned quickly what his father had meant, when he met Gideon. Cruel eyes, wicked smile, gleeful, evil laughter lines.
A kid can’t be evil. A kid can only be exactly what they were told to be.
At least, that’s what Hamid told himself when he found the ruined remains of his binder at the foot of Gideon’s bed. (Hamid never confronted Gideon on that particular occasion. He was too afraid of what might be held over his head. No, Hamid skipped class for three days, waiting to acquire a new binder. When his father had called and spoke in that oh-so-quiet voice, Hamid said nothing of the incident, only promised to do better.)
Lilian was better, Hamid supposed. She didn’t care about the way he was born, but she didn't care about much else, either. It hurt, but not the way Gideon slaughtered his hopes. Cold, detached apathy was much worse.
Hamid had his top surgery when he moved to London. Out of everything that had gone wrong, after getting kicked out of school, being cut off by his parents, it was the one good thing to happen during that year. That he was finally himself, in all the right ways. (And all the wrong ones. He had hurt people. He had killed people. Who was he to feel proud of a silly change? Who was he to insist people respect him?)
(Hamid began to practice she again. Staring in the mirror, late nights, crying and vomiting as he looked at himself from the wrong angles. She had made a mistake. She didn’t deserve respect, it was all her fault. She had killed a man. She didn’t deserve to feel the comfort of a missing S.)
Sasha seemed baffled at the idea that people would worry about his gender, when they had enough to deal with on their own.
“Whether I’m a he, they, she,” said Sasha, “It won’t matter if they never see me.”
“So why do you use she?” asked Hamid.
“It’s easiest?” Sasha said in a questioning tone, looking down at Hamid. “People have called me that for years. Seems like a bother to change it now.”
Zolf never really knew, not until the end. Hamid never thought that it was necessary to tell the older man, and by the end of it, there was too much to even think that something like that was important. What was important was the world.
Bertie never knew, either, because Hamid knew the kind of reaction Bertie would have. Either Hamid would be faced with the loss of friendship, or a tirade about masculinity, and how if you could choose to be a man, why wouldn’t you make that choice quickly? Hamid wasn’t sure Bertie had ever heard of transgender, on second thought.
He had told Azu and Grizzop, as well. Sad, sick in the heart and the stomach, he was afraid that they would learn from his family. That they would accuse him of lying to them, that they would hate him for it. (Okay, Hamid never thought that with Azu. She gave off an aura of trust, of courage. She was one of the first people in a long time he’d wanted to know.)
And Grizzop? Grizzop had nodded, matter-of-factly, and simply said “Veseek’s like that.” Hamid hadn’t known who Veseek was, or why they were important, but he knew they were. Certainly after Rome.
Rome. And then the hellish time after. Stripping in front of the world, letting them view him like he was nothing but a fifteen year old again, donning a pin and a pixie cut and trousers. All these years later, it still felt like being sent to the headmaster’s office for a dress code violation when he was ushered into the cell.
That was how Zolf had learned, and Hamid had nearly vomited. He didn’t know which was worse, the pity in Zolf’s eyes, or the surprise tamped down with apathy in Wilde’s.
“Do I have to do this with everyone?” asked Hamid, voice barely suppressing anger, fear, hatred, and whatever else he could fit into a glare.
Zolf closed his eyes and sighed, and it made Hamid want to scream. After everything, after Prague, he was not to be pitied. Not for this.
“Yes,” said Zolf, breaking Hamid out of his spiral. “Anytime you go out on a mission, or alone.”
“I don’t- I don’t-”
Zolf stared impassively, and Hamid was grateful when Azu finally stepped between them, doing push-ups in an obvious show of power directed at Zolf.
The clothes in Shoin’s institute were almost a relief, when he could see they were made for him, not the mockery of a woman. Zolf rolled his eyes and told Hamid that he hadn’t changed at all, and Hamid bit back a remark about the way he must understand the way nothing was built for him, he must understand the feeling of finding something that fits him in a world made for humans, two feet taller than either of them.
His conversation with Cel was short and exactly the normalcy he needed.
“Oh, that’s nice, buddy,” said Cel, their voice genuine and happy. “Hug?”
Hamid accepted, reveling in the warmth of somebody else that could understand everything about this kind of world.