“Do you think that magic has a gender, Harry?”

“A what?”

“Do you think that magic itself is a man, or a woman?”

Harry thought back. He supposed that blasting something could be quite stereotypically masculine, and the household charms that Mrs Weasley used were quite feminine - not to mention Veela. But, that didn’t seem quite right…

“No…” He began slowly. Dumbledore smiled and nodded at him to continue. “Some spells come with a reputation that’s more associated with one that the other, but not all. And I’m pretty sure that Hermione has never met a spell she can’t perform because if something like that. I’m pretty sure she would have said something if there was…”

“Yes, Miss Granger would justifiably be rather annoyed if entire branches of study were closed off to her by virtue of her sex.” Dumbledore looked rather amused. “You are quite correct, magic itself does not recognise sex or gender as we poor limited humans might. Through study, we can teach it to recognise our thoughts, intent, and emotions; it can know us better than ourselves, but it is quite frankly uninterested in the contents of our underpants. Most accidental magic is our nascent connection to magic being overly sensitive to the emotions it senses. I saw at a very young age that the gendered binary between creative and nurturing magic versus destructive and protective magic was more of a false dichotomy and acted accordingly.”

“So… Magic doesn’t recognise gender, so you decided not to either?”

“Not quite.” Dumbledore’s smile suddenly seemed sad. “Recall that I said that magic can recognise our emotions. I’m afraid I was never a very happy child, Harry. I was only happy when communing with magic under our holly tree. Otherwise, I felt… Wrong in myself. Like my own skin was the wrong size, and my body didn’t belong to me.”

“Like a freak?” Harry supplied. A memory of a scrawny little boy in huge hand me downs being asked to accept he was the wizarding messiah sprang to mind.

“Yes. When I got my first period, my mother explained I was becoming a woman; I wanted to claw my own skin off. I went into our garden to calm myself by feeling the magic there. And it sensed my distress and the wish I had so deep in my heart that I scarcely knew it myself.”

“Magic made you a boy.” Harry grinned.

"Quite. Not bad for “accidental magic.” Unfortunately, magic didn’t go about it quietly. Which is how my father ended up in prison for attacking some muggle children who wanted a better look. I wish I could say he attacked them to protect me, but the fact is I can’t. From what I recall, he would have attacked them for the insult to his hedges as much as me.

“Thus, Ariana died so Albus could live. My mother embraced my change and was rather proud of my power; so I sought to earn her pride by being the best son I could. She was the one who named me again - Albus means “white.” A blank slate. An alchemical fresh start. Aberforth… Well. He was used to being an only son. And having a father. When he became known as “Albus’ brother” at Hogwarts, I’m afraid it was the final nail in the fraternal coffin.”

“Why was being your brother a bad thing?” Harry frowned.

“Think of your friend Mr Weasley’s troubles. It’s only recently that he has been recognised by the student body at large as his own man - not just as the latest in a long line of remarkable predecessors. However, your friend is a far better man than my brother.”

“How?”

“He knows he is jealous. He may falter, but by and large, he has been an excellent brother to you and his siblings by blood. Loyal and loving by deeds, if not always words. My brother preferred the idea of a dead sister over the living brother he had, when I was alive.”

“Professor, why are you telling me all this?”

“Who knows, Harry?” He shrugged. “Maybe it will be on the test? Maybe it’s to teach you not to take people at face value? It’s your head. Now go back and change the world for the better!”