Disclaimer – I have no claim to Harry Potter, nor do I claim to be the first to consider enforcing Rule 63 on any of the characters contained within. The plot of this specific fanfic is, however, mine. All mine. (Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha).
Rating – T / PG-13. Possibly a (very) light PG-15 for some of the topics discussed.
WARNINGS – Rule 63, fem!Ron and all the insanity such a change would bring, Gossip (yes, that comes with its own warning in this), discussions of sexuality, homosexuality and asexuality – though not in great detail. Discussions of underage sex, or allusions to the same. Also, this hasn't been Brit-picked. Be a bit good if anyone's willing to offer any suggestions on the topic.
Timeline – Set in the Sixth Year at Hogwarts, with mostly miniscule changes – except for Cedric being alive, even if he isn't actually present within this fic. Also veers back and forth with the Fourth Year.
He Says She Says
"So, is it true?"
She leaned back out of her bed, her back curving sinuously between the curtains and one hand stretched out to balance against the bed post in a casual stretch that made Lavender twitch.
"Is what true?"
"Oh, you know. The stuff that Skeeter's saying about the two of you." Parvati cut in, a wide grin breaking out on her face.
She gave a rough snort of amusement, the kind that made Lavender want to huff and demand to know from what angle could anyone consider such a crass girl pretty. Not that anyone did, Lavender knew. No one ever asked her out. And she hung out with the boys enough that Lavender was sure they thought she had equipment to match them.
An airy laugh. The kind that was one part flirtatious and nine parts contemptuous.
"Oh, Skeeter's always had… stuff… to say about us. Has been since we were 14 and Harry nearly got toasted by the Horntail."
"m' not asking 'bout the rumours. Come on. Is it true or not?"
"Is what true or not, 'vati?" she shot back playfully, a wicked smile playing across her pale pink lips.
"Are you shagging the Boy-Who-Lived or are you not." Lavender bit out.
Parvati gave a coy gasp, fingers curling over her lips in mock-censure.
Lavender told herself not to feel guilty. She wanted to know, after all. And the fact that the other girl's smile had gone sharp around the edges had nothing to do with the pin-prick of unease beneath her skin.
"Well, that'd be telling, wouldn't it."
Lavender's eyebrow twitched. Once. But before she could continue her line of questioning, the dorm door swung open and Hermione stepped back in, towel draped over her head and both her hands immersed in blotting the water out of her thick hair.
"The bath's free, girls, one of you should consider going in before someone else gets in, if you'd like a bit of privacy…" her words slowly trailed away when she noticed how charged the atmosphere in the room was.
"Blimey, 'Mione. You have the greatest ideas. I'll go right away."
Ron easily rolled out of the bed, a finger hooking into the towel hung over the edge of her worktable in a near thoughtless motion that had her out of the room in seconds. Lavender stared after her, lips pursed in irritation, and she forcibly willed away the expression away before turning back to meet the unamused look on Hermione's face.
Parvati threw her head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
The truth was, no quite knew what to make of her.
It was easy in the beginning. Little Ron Weasley was a short girl with choppy hair a shade of red that rightfully belonged on a fire engine, pale as a ghost and yet with ridiculously obvious freckles that dusted over the bridge of her nose. Not attractive even in anyone's wildest imagination. And hardly a girl from any angle, not in the loose hand-me-downs she'd inherited from her innumerable brothers or with the wide grin that flashed on her face whenever she pulled off something insane beside her best mate. The prefects quickly lost count of the number of times they tried to keep her out of the boys' dorm, but they let it go once they realised that she was perfectly safe. Most everyone knew that no one got on the wrong side of a female Weasley. They had a nastier temper than all of the men of the family put together.
Growing up did nothing to change the impression that Ron could very well have been another boy – even the rest of the boys in her year tended to forget she wasn't one of them. Her hair remained in a messy bob inclined more towards utility than beauty, and her gangly limbs did more harm than good in perpetuating the notion that there were six male Weasleys rather than five. More than once, someone would think it just wasn't possible for a Weasley to look feminine or lovely. At which point the younger sister would pass by with a toss of her hair and her pack of admiring paramours all but falling over each other to remain at close quarters to her.
Her fast friendship with Potter and Granger did nothing to change the way most of her year mates looked at her. While both Hermione and Ron were in a similar situation, it was easy for people to look at Hermione and accept that she was a young woman. Bushy hair and unfortunate teeth aside, Hermione was still decidedly feminine in the ways that mattered, while Ron was just as decidedly… not.
In all honesty, there were very few people who remembered Ron Weasley was, in fact, a girl, until Rita Skeeter chose to write home about the dewy-eyed Boy-Who-Lived and the depraved women who were out to play with his affection-starved heart (among other organs). Pandemonium broke out amongst her faithful readers, a reaction that would have been much more controlled in a world where Harry Potter had only one female friend to deal with the ire of all the furious mothers and female fans in Wizarding Britain.
The questions and speculation soon reached a head, and even Potter couldn't completely ignore the rumours running rampant in the castle. The fact that both his friends were tickled pink at the fact that a mind-boggling number of people in the nation thought they 'lived in sin' did nothing to help his case. One howler too many finally resulted in him standing up in the middle of the Great Hall one sunny morning to declare, rather loudly, that yes, he was shagging one of his best mates, and no it wasn't anyone's business to know which one it was.
That his best mates were currently clutching at each other and laughing themselves hoarse added no credibility to the statement, even if it did change the tone of all the following howlers sent to the castle. Ultimately, the only reason the letters stopped was because Dumbledore decided to step in and put an end to the farce.
The statement made that sunny morning, however, wasn't one easily forgotten. It stuck in the minds of more than one student in Hogwarts. And, over time, it was easier to focus on the friend who wasn't openly roaming the halls hand in hand with the Seeker of the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team.
"May be it's the legs."
"What?"
Dean looked away from admiring the rather eye-catching image that Madam Rosmerta made while leaning over the countertop and laughing at something one of her customers said, wondering what in hell Seamus was on about.
"I said, may be it's the legs. She's got great legs, innit?"
"…who are we talking about again?"
Seamus shot him a look, and Dean had to control the urge to sigh.
"Seamus. Ron didn't become a girl just because Skeeter said so."
"…I knew that."
"…she didn't become a shaggable girl just because Skeeter said so, either."
"…I knew that too."
It wasn't even that Seamus was actually interested. He wasn't. Neither was Dean. They'd been alongside HarryRonandHermione long enough that they'd stopped wondering if the three were involved in any way with each other. Having Ron tumble out of Harry's bed in the wee hours of the morning in a rush to get back to her dorm hadn't raised their eyebrows since they were eleven. Three years down the line and they'd got so accustomed to having her in their dorm that it was stranger if she wasn't there. No, the only thing Skeeter's article had done was make Seamus curious.
And a curious Seamus was an insufferable one.
"You could just ask, y'know." Dean suggested mildly.
"Hm?" said Seamus, eyes still focused on the sight of Ron and Harry huddled into a corner of one of the booths on the opposite side of the wall where they were. The lack of Hermione would have been telling if they hadn't already seen her leaving the pub with Krum earlier.
"I said, you could just ask. He'd probably tell you. Harry's a mate, that way."
"No, I don't think so. Not about this, anyway."
Dean's eyebrows rose, and he sat up slowly. Seamus almost sounded… wary. As though he'd already asked the question and hadn't gotten a very nice answer.
"I didn't. Ask, I mean. Just… Didn't you hear? Lavender asked Ron a few days back. She blew her off. And left Hermione to deal with the aftermath."
Dean winced in sympathy. For Hermione.
"Well, that's Lavender. And Ron can't stand her. You know that."
Seamus gave an unamused snort.
"Ron can't stand girls in general. The only one she gets along with is Hermione. And her sister, but Ginny's a class of her own, yeah?"
Dean sighed, and ignored the way his gut tightened. She was, at that. But-
"So's Hermione. In a class of her own, I mean. But Ron's always been a bit of an odd duck that way. Ginny's only an year younger, so they shouldn't be so different, but I guess the Weasley brothers always did have a stronger impact on Ron."
Seamus huffed in agreement, but the sharp look he shot Dean had Dean cringing into his butter beer, almost wishing there was more alcohol in it. If only to drown the fact that almost everyone knew about his raging crush on Ginny Weasley. Including Ginny Weasley. Not that he'd ever have the guts to act on it – having been Ron's friend for so many years, he knew exactly what fate awaited him if he dared even consider looking after the younger Weasley's sashaying hips.
And it wasn't a very pleasant one.
"So. Coming back to Ron's legs…"
"Merlin, Seamus, just shut up…"
"So. Are you?"
Draco had to quell the urge to snigger in the most unbecoming fashion when he saw Potter almost drop his knife in with the diced boomslang skin into the cauldron they were sharing for their exercise.
"…y'know, you were the very last person I expected to hear that question from, Malfoy." The other boy grunted, fumbling his knife and somehow neatly dropping it to the table before surreptiously looking over his shoulder for the Potions' Master.
"Slughorn isn't going to notice even if you dance naked in front of him, Potter. He likes you far too much to care about any disturbance you cause in class. And answer the question."
Draco was close to questioning his mental sanity at this point, because he really wasn't sure why he was asking the question. From the disturbed stare focused on his back, no doubt from either Blaise or Pansy, they were doing much the same.
Potter's bemused expression made the exercise worth the effort, though.
"I don't think I'm going to answer. I am going to tell Ron you're interested in knowing, however. She's bound to get a kick out of it."
Draco couldn't stop himself from scoffing.
"I'll do you the courtesy of not commenting on that."
Potter eyed him almost lazily from the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the cauldron before them.
"Sure. Just as I'll do you the courtesy of not asking about you and Greengrass."
Draco stiffened, then forced himself to relax slowly. He couldn't help but notice that the stare that had been focused on his back had been shifted somewhere else. That answered who the stare belonged to, at any rate – Blaise must have turned his attention to keeping Pansy as distracted as possible. It wouldn't do for her to hear the subject of their conversation after all. Blaise Zabini of all people would understand the importance of keeping relationships as clean as possible.
…Potter had a faint smile playing across his lips. And Draco had to stop himself from laughing out loud. His efforts didn't do much more than stem the laughter to one soft exhaled breath, though.
"…Well played."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy."
"Oh, I'm sure you don't. The very best, in aid of taming her."
"The same to you. You know what they say, the younger they are…"
"…and that's enough out of you."
They spent the rest of the potions class doing their best to ignore the friends staring holes through them and sniping companionably at one another. Under their breath, of course. It wouldn't do to give the rest of the class a conniption.
"Oh, Ron! Just the girl I wanted to see!"
"…Cho, I'm saying this in the nicest way possible. Go suck an egg. Or Cedric's face. I can't see much of a difference, either way."
"You could at least tell me the truth, you know."
Rita knew she was whining much like a child denied its favourite toy. She couldn't help herself, not really. She was curled up on one among the riotous mix of rugs and pillows that covered the floor of one of the private rooms of Madame Puddifoot's Tea House, quill and parchment lined out in front of her. And yet, she could not write. As one of her main informants had no interest in providing her with any of the juicy titbits she needed to make her articles more eye-catching.
And, oh, how juicy the titbit about the Golden Trio had been. Even she couldn't have guessed the amount of popularity her exposé on the Boy-Who-Lived and his girlfriends would have caused. Potter's deliciously scandalous statement had only increased the fervour of Rita's audience. The situation had mostly simmered down, but an article every once in a while did wonders to keep the theories alive and kicking. And her dear informants were always so very willing to share. Even this informant had contributed a surprising amount to keep the rumour mill running. But, then again, it wasn't surprising. Rita knew better than anyone else that the best way to control the rumour mill was to be the one starting the rumours in the first place. Even if it meant that you sometimes got caught on the wrong side of people at times.
Not that she wanted to get on the wrong side of this particular informant. Not again, at any rate. She'd learnt that lesson the hard way the first time around.
The monster masquerading as a sixteen year old tilted her head delicately to the right, hazel eyes showing a spark of unholy amusement before they went flat again.
"I don't think that's what you wanted to say, Rita."
Rita shivered, wishing the chit couldn't chill her so. Granger wasn't even anything more special than a first generation witch, coming from a completely ordinary couple that were healers in the muggle world. Rita had done the groundwork as soon as she'd been released the first time around, after all. Even a threat to reveal her unlicensed animagus status wasn't enough to stop her from trying to dig up something, anything, unsavoury about Granger. The only problem was that it had to be completely, irrefutably true. As anything less wouldn't work as the blackmail she needed to control the younger woman. And yet… nothing. Absolutely nothing. The girl's past was as spotless as a brand new broom shaft.
When she'd finally met the girl for the first time after she'd been let loose, Granger had had the most unnervingly polite smile Rita had ever seen gracing her face, but her eyes had been as cold as the Black Lake in winter. And Rita had known. That the girl, no… that the monster had somehow figured everything out. And that she couldn't try her luck again, as anything else might just cause Granger to capture her again. And Morgana alone knew what the girl had in store for her if she didn't keep to the straight and narrow.
The monster was staring at her again.
She swallowed, and raised her quill.
"That wasn't a very nice thing to say, y'know."
"What wasn't a very nice thing?"
"That. What you said to Cho. It wasn't very nice."
Ron paused in the process of tugging off her outer robe to shoot a dirty look over her shoulder.
Harry, ensconced comfortably within one of the crenels of the parapet that lined the top of the astronomy tower and leaning comfortably into the stony support at his back, couldn't help but laugh at how disgusted she looked.
Ron for her part quickly shucked off the robes and dropped them to the ground before clambering out and up to join him in the crenel. Harry gave a gasp as the breath was knocked out of him, lifting his arms and straightening his legs so she could climb on easily. And Ron didn't stop until their bodies were lined up almost perfectly, chest to chest and hip to hip. It was almost obscene, how well her long legs could straddle a man's hips if she willed them to.
"…You do realise that you're wearing a skirt today." Harry pointed out dryly, leaning back against the stone and wrapping his arms around the lithe form leaning against him. Ron gave a rude snort, shooting him a wild grin, then dropping her head to his sternum in as rough a manner as she could. And trying not to snigger at the grunt her action caused.
"Not like you bloody care." She shot back, snuggling into her friend's warm body. Harry hummed wordlessly in reply, raising a hand to tug at the choppy locks crowning the girl's head.
Ron's hair had been neater when she'd been younger, back when Molly had actually cut her hair for her, but growing older had put a stop to that. Come thirteen and Molly had put her foot down, insisting all young women should grown their hair out and at least try to dress well. Ron had thrown a fit, tossing out anything that looked even remotely feminine from her closet, burning the lot when her mother had tried to put them back in, and taking a scissors to her hair when Molly had denied any magical aid. Hermione had been horrified when she'd seen the state of Ron's hair and wardrobe in their fourth year, but Ron had insisted that she could take care of herself, and that had been the end of that. Harry had asked why she hadn't asked the twins or Percy for help, anything had to be better than trying to cut your hair yourself, but she had insisted that she didn't want the twins anywhere near her scalp with a sharp object and that Percy would have insisted that her hair remain longer than she wanted it to be. Shorter than her mother's prescribed length, but still far too long.
Harry didn't ask why Ron didn't ask her younger sister for help. The sisters had a complicated relationship, balanced around their mother's expectations and their interaction with their brothers, and he wouldn't touch the topic with a ten foot pole. Or a ten foot polearm, for that matter.
They remained quiet, staring out at the sun setting over the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Hogwarts always seemed more magical than the ordinary at dawn or dusk. Harry had been sneaking up to stare out at the sky for years, and Ron and Hermione had starting sneaking in after him whenever they could.
"…Malfoy." He murmured suddenly, voice low. Unwilling to disturb the comfortable silence. Ron stiffened in surprise, then relaxed back into her boneless sprawl.
"Bloody hell. Can't say I'm surprised, he was bound to ask at some point. What'd you tell him?"
Harry smirked into her hair.
"I didn't. I asked him about Astoria."
Ron burst into peals of laughter, her voice a husky timbre that had gotten her mistaken for a boy on far too many occasions. Harry couldn't help but smirk proudly.
"Not bad. I guess all those chess matches have to count for something. Did anyone else say anything?"
"Nothing. Though I remember Dean and Seamus staring at us at the pub earlier."
"They always stare. It's nothing new."
Ron's voice was bored. Disinterested. But Harry could still pick up the vaguest hint of amusement beneath the lack of interest. He hadn't been joking when he'd been speaking to Malfoy earlier, after all. Ron had always gotten a kick out of the rumours that people cooked up about them. He slid a hand lazily down her back, tracing the line of her spine through the loose sweater she had on. One of Bill's old deep blue Christmas sweaters, since she'd somehow managed to outgrow all of hers in one academic year. Harry would have been mortified that she was a whole head taller than him if he hadn't already resigned himself to the fact that Ron was destined to be taller than almost everyone in their year group. And the year groups above them, too.
"D'you think they'll ever figure it out?" she murmured into his shirt. Harry blinked at the question, pulling back to stare down at her. Ron pulled back enough to peer up at him from an angle that had to be excruciating for her back.
"Figure what out?" he asked bemusedly. She rolled her eyes and dropped her head back to his chest. He winced at the audible thump she made against his sternum.
"That I'm too bent to be interested in you and that you're too asexual to be interested in shagging me."
Ah.
He raised his shoulders in a lazy motion, and tightened his arms around her. She was so tall and strong and strung together with good humour that it was easy to forget at times that she could be as brittle and frail as anyone else.
Human.
"I doubt it." He murmured into her hair. He felt her wry smile press into his throat, and said nothing when her fingers flexed and clawed into his back.
The door of the tower suddenly swung open with a bang, but neither of them bothered to move. There was only one other person who would be coming up at this time, after all.
Hermione strode out with an uncharacteristic scowl on her face, but she stopped short, eying the picture they made, tangled up in each other within the crenel. She rolled her eyes with an exasperated look on her face, and turned around and walked back to shut the door. Then drew out her wand to raise as many wards as she could on short notice, which would be enough to keep away any unwanted visitors from the tower.
The only ones who could get past them would be the professors, and they wouldn't be interested in spying on them in the first place anyway.
Wards in place, she turned around to walk towards the parapet and glare up at the two of them. Harry gave her a helpless smile in response. Ron didn't bother to get up at all, simply raising a hand in wordless greeting. Hermione groaned in exasperation and hoisted herself into the tiny space left in the crenel beside them, swinging her legs up and over to dangle freely on the other side.
"It's because the two of you act like this that people keep thinking you're involved." She grumbled huffily.
"Yeah? I think it's because you keep getting Rita to write articles about us." Ron grumbled back, twisting and turning until she was sitting in relatively dignified position, cradled between Harry's legs rather than the desperate hold she'd had on him before. Harry patiently shifted to accommodate her, stretching his feet out to nudge at Hermione's side. She shot him an unimpressed look from the corner of her eyes.
"Don't act cute, Potter. You're not going to soften me up with that."
"I don't know what you're talking about." He offered gamely, making Ron shake with silent laughter. Hermione sighed, shaking her head.
"Whatever are we to do with the two of you. This is why I have to handle the PR work, you know. The two of you would be absolute rubbish at controlling your fans."
"Yes, yes. We bow before your inimitable glory and awe-inspiring wisdom. Only you would know that Harry spends his mornings counting every freckle on my face, and I spend my evenings tracing his scar with my tongue. Without this great bounty of knowledge, how would our fans sleep at night." Ron deadpanned, making Harry choke. Hermione blinked in surprise before shooting her an embarrassed look.
"Paying attention to those articles, are you."
"What can I say. They make for such thrilling reading. My Potions and Transfiguration essays can wait; Skeeter's articles are far more interesting."
"Oh, hush, you. They work, and that's all that matters."
Ron smirked, leaned forward, wrapped a hand around Hermione's wrist and tugged her forward, protesting all the way. Harry gave a wide grin, wrapped his arms around both his friends and hugged them close.
The sight of the stars slowly beginning to sweep across the twilight sky was glorious. He couldn't ask for more at this point.
"You're not allowed to say that my hair looks ugly."
"What?"
Ron frowned down at the black haired boy sitting in the compartment she'd stepped into. He looked silly, hair looking no better that a bird's nest with bits sticking up everywhere and the fringe in front covering nearly the whole of his forehead. His spectacles were huge, held together with something that looked like shiny, transparent paper and were sitting low on his nose. And he looked confused.
She huffed and stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind her.
"I said, you're not allowed to say that my hair looks ugly. Everyone says it's ugly because it's so red, and everyone says that girls shouldn't have such bright hair. So, you better not say-"
"Why would I say that? Your hair's brilliant!"
Ron stopped short, staring at the boy. He'd looked silly before, and he looked even sillier now, with his eyes wide behind the glasses and his mouth hanging open.
"What, really?"
"Of course it is! My mum had hair like yours! I haven't seen anyone else with such brilliant hair, why would anyone call it ugly?!"
Ron continued to stare, unable to believe her eyes. Or ears, for that matter. Finally, a slow grin spread over her face.
"Ok. You're brilliant. I'm Ronelle Weasley, but everyone just calls me Ron. You can, too. Who're you?"
"Ah, I, eh? Oh. I'm Harry, Harry Potter."
Silence. Ron's fingers slipped and her trunk thumped back onto the ground.
The Boy-Who-Lived blinked up at her innocently, clearly wondering what was wrong.
She collapsed on top of her trunk, unable to stand straight. Her grin went from slow to manic in under a second.
"Bloody hell. Wait till I write Ginny about this."
"Um. Okay? That's a good thing, right?" And Potter- Harry- Harry Potter- looked so worried that Ron couldn't help but jump up and drop into the seat beside him.
"Of course it's a good thing! We're going to be best mates, Harry, you'll see."
Her laughter filled the tiny compartment, delighted beyond words. For once, here was something, someone, that was all hers. Not her brothers', because they were older and bigger, and not her sister's, who was smaller and prettier.
Hers.
She wouldn't give it up for the world.
AN: Hello to any readers new to my work, and… a great big sorry to anyone already familiar with my writing. Further explanation will be put up on my bio for anyone looking for reasons as to my absence from fanfiction for so long, but as always, I say the same. Nothing has been abandoned. And updates are forthcoming.
AN 2: Okay, so that's it. At this point, He Says She Says is going to remain a oneshot, as I have no other real plans for what happens in this 'verse. At most I may decide to write up a companion fic, based on response to this one, but I make no promises.
Reasons for this would mostly have to be that I somehow haven't come across a fem!Ron fic. Anywhere. While I don't go hunting for stories using Rule 63, I found it rather sad that most Harry Potter fics with genderbending tend to genderbend Harry and no one else. The longer I thought this, the more the idea of a genderbent Ron began to intrigue me. This eventually led to the creation of Ronelle Weasley, sixth in the Weasley brood and the eldest daughter of Arthur and Molly Weasley.
My reasons for making Ronelle a lesbian are mostly the fact that Ronelle is still, at her core, Ron. And Ron does not like blokes. Ron very adamantly likes women, as his dramatic kissing sequence with Hermione in Deathly Hallows should indicate. Therefore, much as Ronald like women, so too does Ronelle like women. The change in gender makes no difference.
Reviews and comments are very welcome. I'd love to see if anyone liked (or, for that matter, disliked) this, admittedly, strange take I have on a fem!Ron who won't allow her gender to hold her back from anything, and will invariably sneak into the boys dorm because she finds them better company than most of the girls in her year. Except for Hermione of course, but then, Hermione's special.