Chapter 2: How Girls are Different to Boys
Harry awoke at about nine the next morning, groggy. He was in one of those dazed sleeps where can think but you are trying to trick yourself into thinking you are still asleep. Harry finally got up when he realised there was a dull pain on his chest and was starting to get very irritating. He was lying face down and he tried rolling over. He was still for a few minutes as dregs of memories flowed sluggishly back into his mind, connecting together like a jigsaw puzzle. The little bits of information all sort of fitted into place and when the memory of Remus and Sirius holding the white mouse was laid down, Harry's eyes opened in a flash.
"Bloody hell," he whispered in terror and then clasped his hand to his mouth. His voice was higher than he remembered, softer, more feminine. Well, duh, Harry, he thought. He gingerly ran his hands through his hair, relieved that it hadn't changed much. It was still fairly unruly and was the same length but it sat flatter on his skull and was silkier. His vision was as bad as ever as the blurry outline of his hands found his glasses.
He didn't have the guts to look down just yet and, his face pale and his body trembling, he made his way over to the grubby bathroom. The mirror was cracked in places and smeared, but a clear picture was displayed in front of Harry, and he wished it didn't. He almost slipped on the old bathroom tiles and felt his face heat up all of a sudden.
"Oh, shit," he moaned quietly to himself, raising trembling hands to his face. He noted his eyes were the same but were now framed in thicker lashes that curved slightly. The lips – his lips – were less thin, and pinker. His nose had shrunk to become more slender and the small bulb on the end of his nose was gone. His new almost pixy like haircut curled a bit around similar ears and hung closer to his glasses and eye-brows. That was the only good thing quite possible, the fact that his scar was completely hidden by his slightly tamer fringe.
"Shit…crap, oh, shit, bloody hell…" Harry continued to emit soft profanities to the bathroom mirror and succeeded, for the first time in his life, in making his hair do what he wanted. But the voice was a problem, it made him sound more like a child than a girl, he thought and he tried to make it go lower.
"Morning," came a voice from the door way. Harry bit his tongue and uttered a particularly stronger swear as he spun round.
"Language, Harry," Remus said not really meaning it. Harry walked from the bathroom, slumped over and subconsciously pouting in a very cute way.
"How do you feel?"
"Weird," Harry answered almost miserably in the voice he hated so. Remus chuckled a bit. "Come have some breakfast," he said kindly.
"Not hungry,"
"Be careful Harry, one morning I may ask Molly over and when she finds out you're not eating she'll be after my blood." The newly changed boy-girl laughed a bit but sobered and then sent daggers with his eyes.
"Don't invite Mrs Weasely over, Remus." He shot warily. Remus held his hands up in submission,
"Yes, okay Harry, it was a joke." He assured. Harry came down to the breakfast table with the werewolf to see Sirius scoffing down some scrambled eggs and bacon, with orange juice next to him and an unused napkin lying on the table, forgotten.
"Morning," he said, actually making the extreme effort of looking at Harry rather than his food. Harry nodded, he just didn't feel like talking - or eating - or being a girl, for that matter. But he knew that his two guardians had made him do one, and they would make him do the other two.
Sirius inspected Harry quickly, his eyes darting over his new hair, slender (rather than dead skinny) limbs and even his chest. Harry blushed, suddenly quite self conscious, and sat down quite roughly, snatching a bowl of porridge and digging in. He couldn't help but notice Sirius staring in awe.
"Why are you so surprised?" he (or she) snapped at the animagus. Sirius blinked and came out of his trance and Remus sat down and picked up the daily prophet.
"You…you look like Lily." Sirius said incredulously. Harry started; it was not the answer he was expecting.
"Mmm, I thought so too," Remus said smiling. Harry didn't quite know what he was supposed to say or not. He had always been told how much he looked like his dad. But he had his mum's eyes. Now he looked even more like his mother, which was probably better because wouldn't a girl who looked like their dad be a bit boyish?
What the hell am I thinking? I'm not making any damn sense!
Harry, whose cheeks felt a bit warm, continued shovelling porridge into his mouth, burning his tongue.
After a reasonably silent breakfast, Harry sauntered into the living room, where he remembered he, the Weasely children and Hermione would sit and try desperately to listen to 'Order of the Pheonix' meetings. He flopped down on the couch and sorted through some of his school books. He had a considerable amount of holiday home work this summer and was glad he had a nice comfy couch to sit in while doing it. It was much better than writing until the early hours of the morning with a torch back at Privet Drive. A deliciously war feeling spread through him when he realised he would never go back there.
"Harry," Sirius called lazily from the kitchen.
"Don't bother him, he's doing home work."
"Coming," harry called quickly, smiling as he heard Sirius' bark of laughter. He re-entered the kitchen, still in his pyjama's.
"Wanna dust off the old Firebolt? I hear Umbridge banned from playing last year." He said with a subtle hint of anger in his voice.
"Brilliant," Harry agreed. He missed his broom and not having to fly with padded gear and helmets in the summer sounded much more thrilling than just sitting inside, polishing. Remus sighed, and folded the paper.
"First, I want softening charms on the grass." He said loftily. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Yes, mum." He said before Remus whacked him over the head with the paper playfully. Harry laughed, it was light, almost musical. It sounded weird and Harry stopped quite suddenly. He hesitated for a second and the two men looked at him.
"I'll – go get dressed then." He said. The prospect of flying (in summer – yes!) would clear any unwanted awkwardness from today. He heard Sirius bellow something about going easy on him as he bounded up the stairs, adrenalin pumping.
Harry hesitated again as he dumped a shirt and shorts on his bed, glancing over at the mirror. He stepped towards it carefully and peered at his own girl face.
"Some thing wrong, dear?" the mirror muttered. Harry ignored it and picked up the heavy mirror and made it face the wall – so he couldn't see his reflection. The mirror grumbled. He stripped his pyjamas at lightening speed and changed into a loose fitting green shirt and three quarter shorts. He then went to the bathroom and inspected himself. His body looked almost the same except for the definite bulge under his shirt. He noted his knees were still quite knobbly, a small comfort that it was still his body…just a little different. Harry stared at himself for a few minutes thinking about things. Like whether his skin was usually this smooth, whether or not he'd need to wear make up. He'd probably need a bra at one stage, too.
"Wonder if Voldemort would even recognise me like this?" he muttered to himself, flattening his fringe subconsciously. He brushed his teeth and went back to put his shoes on. His shoes were now about three sizes too big and he had to tighten the laces allot just to keep them on his feet. Not only that, his normally perfectly comfortable pants hugged his waist, hips and thighs more than normal. His shirt sat abnormally on his neck. He shrugged, it wasn't like he'd never worn uncomfortable clothes before. All he ever had were enormous hammy-down from Dudley, and this in comparison was much better.
"It's just a bit different." Harry said, trying to reassure himself.
"Whatever you say…" said the mirror loftily from it's corner.
