Number 100

25 years ago I was working with a classroom full of second graders. At least half of the students were reading books from a new series that focused on Harry Potter - an adolescent wizard. I began reading the first book - not because I particularly wanted to, but because I wanted to be able to talk to my students about it. I was hooked by the fourth page. I became one of those crazed adults who would be at the bookstore at midnight when each new volume was published. The overarching themes of friendship, the power of love, and inclusion, among many others, held me spellbound. And then, a few years ago the author of the book series revealed herself to be unrepentantly transphobic. It seems silly to admit this, but she broke my heart.

There is a literary theory that claims that once a book is published, it no longer belongs to the author, but to the reader. It was in this spirit that I sat down to write what I am about to read. Briefly my passage takes place during Harry's first night at Hogwarts, during the sorting ceremony that every first year witch or wizard must go through. For the uninitiated among you, each student places a sentient "sorting" hat upon their head, and after careful consideration of the brain drippings found within, the sorting hat announces to all present which of the four school houses that student is to be placed.

“…. Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin…”

“Yes, yes, I hear you, my young Potter,” responded the Sorting Hat, “But before we talk about what house to put you in, we have another matter to discuss. I think it is time for your darkest secret to emerge into the light.”

Harry Potter’s life over the last few months had been full of the most mind-boggling discoveries, but nothing could have prepared Harry for the words the Sorting Hat had just spoken. Harry’s mind went blank.

“Wha… wha… wha…”

“I now see that life with your aunt and uncle was, um, less than pleasant - Why the headmaster ever thought that the Dursley home was the best place for you, I will never understand - but I sense something beyond the abuse and neglect you endured. Something deeper.”

In fact, there was a secret hidden so deep that Harry had never dared to even whisper it aloud in private. And every time a member of the Dursley family called Harry a “freak” or “weirdo” it only drove the secret further down. Though Harry now understood that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been referring to magic, their hate-filled words cut Harry to the core. Many a silent tear had been shed in the closet-under-the-staircase, as the feeling of being all alone in the world mercilessly choked at Harry’s heart.

“The only love you’ve known in your life was stolen from you as an infant when Voldemort heartlessly took the lives of your mother and father. I understand your inclination to stay silent, for fear of further abuse. But Hogwarts is a place for all young witches and wizards - from whatever part of the rainbow they come. You will find adult staff that will protect and care for you. You will find friends who will love you just as you are. Come young Potter - take that first courageous step and tell the world who you really are.”

Harry swallowed nervously, and thought “Can the truth hurt any worse than I already feel?” 

Harry was shocked when the Sorting Hat responded to that thought. “No. In fact I think you’ll find that voicing the truth will be the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to you. Come now, you can do it."

“I… I… I’ve always felt like my body was all wrong and I think I’m really a girl,” Harry thought out loud very quickly.

For a long moment there was silence. Harry’s eyes were scrunched tight. Harry had always imagined that a violent flash of lightning would accompany those words, had they ever been spoken aloud. After a short pause that seemed to Harry like forever, the Sorting Hat said, “My young friend, that was the bravest thing you have ever done - and I know what life with your cousin Dudley was like.”

Harry then began to realize that no harm was going to accompany the revelation of her secret, the doubt and shame that had choked her heart for so song began to loosen. She began to weep tears of happiness, and quickly appreciated the fact that the sorting hat had fallen so far down upon her head.

After another pause, the Sorting Hat asked, “Well what should we do about this? Tell me your deepest wish.”

“I know it can’t happen, but I really wish I was a girl,” Harry said to the hat, and a bit of doubt began to creep back in.

“Just leave things to me - I think you’ve forgotten where you are. But before I continue, my friend, since I cannot continue to call you ‘Harry’, is there a different name you would prefer to be known by.” 

The creeping doubt vanished instantly, quickly replaced by a feeling of hope. “Of all the chores Aunt Petunia made me do, I minded the gardening the least. I always loved it when the irises bloomed. Would that name be OK?”

“More than OK” responded the Sorting Hat, “I think it is perfect.”

With that, Iris Potter felt a tingling throughout her entire body. She felt it run down both her arms and both her legs. She felt it in her head, but most of all, she felt it in her heart. The Sorting Hat had granted her, not her greatest wish, but her greatest truth - She was the girl she was always meant to be.

“And now, I think it’s time to tell this restless crowd my decision,” the Sorting Hat whispered to Iris. 

In a booming voice the hat called out to everyone in the Great Hall, “My apologies for the lengthy delay in announcing my decision, but sometimes arriving at the truth takes some time. This young person in front of you is a witch who shall henceforth be known as Iris Potter, and because she is one of the bravest souls I have encountered, there is only one house for her - Gryffindor!”

The Sorting Hat’s announcement was met with a tremendous burst of applause by everyone, especially her fellow Gryffindors, because Hogwarts truly was a place for witches and wizards from everyplace on the rainbow.

When the crowd finally quieted, and Iris had been enthusiastically embraced by the other Gryffindors, Professor Snape stood, and looking into the green eyes he knew so well, offered up a toast, “To Iris Potter, the girl who lived!”