Author's Note: Yes, it's an omelette.
Disclaimer: I do own Harry Potter. He lost a bet and now he's my slave for the rest of the month. Sweet victory!
Harry is a She!
Chapter 6
Omnipotent Omelette
He gazed down at the players zooming after each other, throwing the Quaffle, passing it around, knocking it out of each other's hands, dodging, swinging, aiming - generally trying to make each other fall to their deaths.
He could never really keep up with the dynamic. Lee's shouts were the only reason he knew how his team was doing. His brain was training for something different, his eyes tracking different patterns. Golden glints, sharp unnatural turns, the distinct buzzing of rapidly flapping steel wings - that's what he was about.
The Snitch was hovering at the edge of his field of view, just a couple of meters away from him. He could've just glided gently in its direction and taken it into his hand. He could've ended the game now.
If only he were a player.
But he was stuck in the stands with his fellow Gryffindors, using Hermione as a shield between him and Ron, quietly observing the golden-red splotch of a Seeker at the other end of the stadium.
He knew Umbridge was staring at him with satisfaction, revelling in seeing him put down like that. Though he revelled in exercising his freedom of clothing choice and the knowledge that she was helpless to do anything against him.
That was just his life, he supposed. Ever since the trial, everything was continually going to shit. Most people actually believed the nonsense the Ministry was spewing, including that Harry was a lying bitch who deceived everyone about her gender for years.
He had never expected Angelina to hold a grudge over something like that, she never said he was lying about Cedric and Voldemort (though that became a second-priority topic when it came to Harry-gossip) but how well did he really know her?
Either way, she didn't want him on the team (though that might have more to do with how snippy he became at the beginning of term, he didn't remember it anymore).
Now it was Ginny, ickle stick-my-elbow-into-butter, get-possessed-by-a-book, run-away-with-an-eep Ginny, who Sought for Gryffindor. And he had to admit, her hair looked glorious as she did so, almost like a fiery tail of a comet.
He was the better Seeker, though. No questions asked.
He let out a sigh, watching the Snitch zip away.
"Something wrong?" Hermione asked over Ron's overzealous cheers.
"I'm fine, thanks."
He turned to her and forced a smile. He didn't know if she could tell it was fake. She let it go.
He stifled a sigh of relief as he slumped. Ever since the Great Bleeding, as he dubbed it, she was unusually cautious and protective of him. She even made sure that he visited the bathroom often enough, standing guard by the doors so that no other girl walk in on him. It was nice to be cared for in the beginning, now it was just annoying. If there was ever any kind of attention he wanted, this wasn't it.
He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his skin unstick from itself in the crotch area. As cosy as the pads were, like tiny pillows he could sit on, they had one crucial flaw. They made him sweat more. He honestly didn't know how it was supposed to work. Absorb one fluid, cause another to flow? Nah, he wasn't buying it. (Technically, Hermione's parents were.)
The crowd roared suddenly, drowning out his uneasy thoughts. He soon learned why, as Lee Jordan called:
"SIXTY-FORTY FOR GRYFFINDOR!"
The people were bumping into one another and elbowing him in their joy, forcing him to duck out of the way and scoot closer still to Hermione. That made him keenly aware of the small stretch of skin where their tighs were touching but at least nobody would knock him out.
Unfortunately, as he did so, he opened up a space for someone else to sit beside him.
"Good match, eh, Harri?" Lavender said cheerfully, because who else?
"Mhm." he hummed noncommittally, trying hard (and failing) not to touch her. He got squeezed into a thigh-ended sandwich.
"It's quite interesting." said Hermione from his other side, oblivious to his predicament. "The strategy Angelina is employing is called 'The Weimar Trident', named so after..."
"Whoohooo!" Ron cheered with the other Lions as the team scored another ten points.
"Fascinating." Lavender commented, pretending to duck underneath Seamus' elbow and leaning closer to Harry, who in turn leaned closer to Hermione, who took it as a signal to keep talking. And Lavender leaned even closer, so he failed to avoid her heavily perfumed hair.
"See how they're positioned, in a line tilted to one side, with the middle Chaser slightly behind the others?" Hermione pointed with her further arm, drawing back the closer one to give Harry space to look.
"Yes, I see." Lavender said, keeping her head right next to Harry's in front of Hermione's chest.
"Errr... Yeah." Harry mumbled, very conscious of the fact that he was almost lying forward in Hermione's lap with the other girl lying on his shoulder (no almost about that). If before was a sandwich, now he found himself in a burrito.
"That position allows them to surround the other team." Hermione continued as though nothing out of ordinary was happening. "One wing goes underneath, the other upwards, and the centre can attack..."
The crowd jumped with a mighty roar again, giving Lavender an excuse to lie all her weight on Harry, who leaned forward, trying to avoid landing on Hermione, and inevitably lost balance, causing both him and Lavender to land in a heap at Hermione's feet.
"...exactly like that!" she finished before noticing what happened. "Oh, are you okay?"
"I'm perrrfect." Lavender purred, stroking Harry's chest lightly.
"I want this to end already." Harry muttered from underneath her, blowing their collective hair out of his eyes.
And before Umbridge could come down to punish him for inappropriate behaviour, there was another roar from the golden-red audience.
"GINNY WEASLEY CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS TWO HUNDRED THIRTY TO FORTY!"
"You got your wish, mate!" Ron said cheerfully.
That was not what Harry meant.
With the first match of the season gone and Slytherin sufficiently humiliated, they could now refocus on the task at hand: namely, their double-headed research.
Of the two topics they sought, gender-changing was by far the less promising. In the week and a half they already established that wizards really knew nothing of genes or chromosomes and were now researching blood magic.
Warding, on the other hand, turned out to be quite straightforward. They quickly found the spell designed to banish a ghost from Hogwarts and only needed to scale it down to the size of a bedroom. The only problem was that neither of them was up to it: Hermione not feeling confident enough to modify a spell and Harry simply not knowledgeable enough in the field.
As it was, Hermione was tasked with getting a grip and doing the thing already while Harry mindlessly leafed through stacks of tomes on illegal magic.
How did he get his hands on them? Do you even need to ask?
Needless to say, the task wasn't doing him any good. He was learning loads of spells that could land him in jail and he was receding into his snappy-snarly, get-out-if-you-want-to-live self. He was getting so good at terrifying not-silent-enough library-goers that Madame Pince was starting to consider offering him an apprenticeship.
It did mean he was safe from Lavender, though, who similarly to Ron never went to the Library unless she absolutely had to. That Harry didn't qualify for such a high priority, he didn't know if he should feel insulted or relieved.
Feeling a headache coming up, he looked around to make sure the area was clear and pulled a sock-wrapped vial out of his bag.
After all, nobody could blame him for carrying extra socks, right? One could always step into a Myrtle-made puddle or get jumped by Peeves. Not that the Drying Charm existed or anything.
He unrolled the socks and uncorked the vial of blueish-pink liquid before drinking it with a shiver. He was getting better at distinguishing colours, though he couldn't tell if it was by virtue of gender or just sheer practice. Anyhow, the blueish-tinged ones gave a better buzz.
He rolled the vial in the socks up again and dropped it in his bag just in time for Hermione to come skipping into the bookshelf alley.
"Guess what!"
He frowned and put a finger to his lips.
"Guess what?" she repeated in a whisper.
"What? Did you manage to get the charm done?"
"Well, no..." she had the decency to look abashed.
He rolled his eyes.
"Then what's got you in such a good mood?"
Her answer came in a rapid-fire.
"Well, I went to Professor Flitwick to ask for help but he said he's not that good with wards and sent me to Professor Babbling, who said it's a good exercise and I should try to do it myself, but before I went to her Professor McGonagall came upon me and Professor Flitwick..."
"Is this when you finally get to the point?"
"Well, yes." she blushed slightly at the tease. "We're looking for a way to change your gender back and I thought if anything it sounds like transfiguration."
"So you asked McGonagall and...?" he tried to hurry her along.
"She said it was a big taboo and no one has ever tried transfiguring genitalia but there are some spells to change your silhouette." she said with a bright smile.
"My silhouette...?" he mouthed, his brain not catching up.
"Yes, you said you wanted the real thing, not illusions." she beamed. He struggled to remember the conversation she was referring to. "And Professor McGonagall offered to ask Madame Pomphrey and you can come up to the Hospital Wing and she'll do it."
"My silhou..." his mouth froze in the middle of the word and his eyes widened. "I can get rid of my tits!" he exclaimed.
Hermione laughed.
"Yes, amongst other things." she confirmed. "You can also go along with Healer Johnson's offer of hormonal therapy without any drawbacks. Your periods will be much easier."
Harry beamed at Hermione, ready to hug the living hell out of her when he suddenly slumped.
"But Pomphrey doesn't like me."
"She said she'll do it." Hermione reminded.
Harry decided not to argue. Hermione didn't know about his regular excursions to the Matron's supplies and wouldn't understand nor notice the suspicious glances the mediwitch was giving him. He swore the woman had some sort of sixth sense and could tell when he had potions in his bloodstream.
"I'll think about it." he finally said.
"What is there to think about?" her brow rose.
"I just want to take my time, okay?"
"Okay." she conceded.
Silence stretched for several uncomfortable moments as Harry tried to focus on the book in front of him.
He failed.
"Okay, Hermione, are you going to edit the bloody ward or not?"
"Yes, eventually." she snapped back. "No need to be so crass about it."
"Can't you do it now?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because..." she bit her lip.
Harry stifled a sigh.
"Can you walk me through the necessary steps?"
Hermione actually sighed.
"Okay." she pulled out her notes and began explaining. "This is the general ghost-banishing ward that's to be layered on top of the Hogwarts wards. This here..." she pointed somewhere in the middle of a wall of inscrutable symbols. "...is where the identity of the ghost is to be inserted. Each time a ghost is to be banished, the ward must be placed over existing wards with the name changed beforehand."
"Will it be difficult to do?"
"No, not really." she shook her head slightly, causing a wave of brown hair that momentarily distracted Harry. Not that he understood all that much. "We just need to learn the real name of Moaning Myrtle and..."
"Myrtle Elizabeth Warren." Harry threw in.
Hermione stared at him.
"What? I used to be on speaking terms with her before she decided to be a perv."
She didn't deign to comment on that.
"We also need to pad it out, I mean put it in a correct number of syllables so that it fits the arithmancy."
"Which is?"
"Three, seven, twelve, or a combination of these."
"So, since it already has eight..."
"It must be nine, ten or twelve." she confirmed. "And it has to still be true after the modification."
"Ghost." Harry said.
"Ghost?"
"It has one syllable. And it's true."
"Ghost Myrtle Elizabeth Warren." Hermione scribbled down.
"Is that all?"
"No, that was the easy part. Now we need to make it localised, independent of Hogwarts' wards."
"I take it you already have an idea?"
"I figured the existing wards give it structure and boundaries because the formula doesn't mention any definition of those. It probably also provides power after the initial set-up. It's common for simple wards to fade over time and have to be renewed, Hogwarts' wards don't."
"So we need to cast it over a different ward, right?"
"That's what I thought too, but I can't cast any yet." Hermione shook her head again. Observing the way the loose threads stopped swinging last, Harry asked:
"Can't we use an existing ward? Like the one that causes the stairs to slide from under boy's feet?"
She gave him a look like she expected his stupid brain to trickle out his ear.
"She can move through walls, Harry."
"Oh, right. It doesn't go all the way around the dorms, does it?"
"No, I suspect not."
"Oh." he sighed. "What about the window wards? The ones that prevent cold from getting through the glass?"
"They would be too localised too. But maybe..."
"Maybe?"
"I'll have to ask Professor McGonagall. There should be wards to prevent lighting strikes from hitting the tower." she mused.
"Wouldn't that be in the general wards surrounding the entire castle?"
"I don't know. I have to ask but... Remember when last year lightning struck the Great Hall?"
"When faux-Moody was showing off? Yeah, you might be right." he gave her an encouraging smile. "What about the bathrooms?"
"I don't know. I never heard of any wards being placed on them."
"Well, it's still just a workaround. You really should just change the spell, add structure, boundaries and whatever else you said."
"I know, Harry, I just don't know how!"
Harry was looking at the indecipherable wall of text, wondering.
"What if you copied it off another spell?"
She gaped at him.
"You can't just copy part of a spell and paste it into another!"
"Why not?" he asked, already leafing through the book in front of him.
"Because the arithmancy isn't right!"
"Then you'll just fix it."
"It's not that simple!"
"Much easier than doing everything from scratch, is it not?" he asked, turning the book to her and pointing at the section he found.
Begrudgingly, sending him a murderous glare, she read the passage.
"Harry..." she shot him a cautious look.
"Yes, I know, just ignore the blood part."
She bent back to reading, her mouth moving rapidly as she went. Once again, he found her frantic movements eerily distracting.
"Well, this part seems to be the boundaries" she traced her finger around a portion of text. "but I don't know where to insert it."
"How about here?" he pointed to a random place in her notes.
"No, not here, it makes eleven instead of twelve."
"We could just add another 'ghost'." Harry suggested.
She glared at him.
"It changes the entire meaning! No, we cannot do that."
He chose another random point.
"Maybe here?"
"You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?"
"What?" he asked innocently.
"That's the middle of the banish phrase." she said pointedly.
"I wouldn't know." he shrugged. "I can't read runes, remember?"
Hermione groaned.
"Okay, listen. Here" she circled the first phrase with her quill. "that's the incantation matrix. It needs to be redone after we finish the changes. Next, we have the purpose phrases. They need to be precise, true, and fit in a self-contained set of three-seven-twelves." she tucked her hair behind her ear, where it folded softly in on itself.
That's when she lost him.
He had no idea why the crumpled brown curls caught his attention so much, shining in the warm light of the candled chandeliers. He had the irrational urge to play with them like a cat with a ball of yarn. It brought up some hazy memories like he'd done something similar in a dream.
"Now you know why we can't just insert it in the ready formula?"
Startled out of his musings, he looked down at the parchment again. Neat loops of ink surrounded the different sections of runes, with strange symbols and arrows connecting them in various ways, probably to explain it to him further.
It didn't work, he hadn't been listening.
"You said the spell lacks structure." he blurted out. "But it has one."
"It's not this kind of structure!"
"Wait, hear me out." he held out a hand.
She rolled her eyes.
"Okay."
He pointed to the separate parts of runes.
"This looks like every part has a use but they aren't connected."
"They are connected, I told you..." she pointed to the made-up symbols over arrows but he stopped her.
"They interact but they aren't connected." he argued. "It's like... when you make an omelette, you dice ingredients and fry them together. They interact, the tastes mix, but they aren't connected until you pour eggs over it."
She stared at him, moving her mouth wordlessly, completely dumbfounded.
"It doesn't make any sense!" she spluttered.
"Your face doesn't make any sense." he quipped. She shot him a glare.
"Very mature, Potter, very mature..."
"You just have to fill in the gaps between the fragments, you see? And then you'll make a space for the boundaries part, it'll simply be described by the filler as the right part."
She rolled her eyes.
"You know what, I give up." she stowed her notes back into her bag and threw it over her shoulder. "I'm going to ask Professor Babbling."
After that, Harry didn't have to wait long. The very next day during dinner, while Harry was trying his best to slurp spaghetti and not his hair, Hermione stormed in and slammed her bag onto the bench beside him.
"I can't freaking believe it!"
"Hermione, language." he teased. She shot him a murderous glare. "So, I take it didn't go well?"
"No, it went brilliant." she impaled a chicken breast with such force her fork went straight through it.
"Oh?" he set down his cutlery, looking with concern how she tore into an innocent Ceasar salad. "How so?"
"I went to Professor Babbling." she said as a chunk of chicken flew past his head.
"And?" he asked warily.
"And she told me what I missed." she snapped, clearly trying to outdo Ron (though that was virtually impossible).
Harry didn't know if he should ask the question but, what the hell, Gryffindors charge ahead.
"So, what did you miss?"
She gave him a stare as though he insulted the very foundations the world sat upon.
"Rune arrays are like an omelette."
With a still sour face, Hermione strode into the dorm room and began moving beds away from the walls with her wand.
"Hey!" Lavender protested against the sharp jolt as she was moved along with her bed. "What're you doing?"
"Warding the room against Myrtle." said Harry, who had waited for this exact moment to come into the room only so that someone might comment on his sense of timing. (It was terrible.)
Myrtle? As in 'Moaning Myrtle'?"
Harry nodded.
"Why?"
"Have you never found her peeping at you in the shower? asked Harry because Hermione was busy walking right underneath walls, muttering gibberish and waving her wand in a half-dance half-swordplay.
"No..." Lavender said uneasily.
"Then you should've looked closer."
"You mean...?"
"Yeah, the damn ghost has been spying on our dorm, conversations, baths, probably even watched us sleeping, I don't know."
They settled into silence as Hermione made another circle around the room. She seemed to be on a second lap, settling into something of a fencing-tango.
"Wow." said Lavender into the silence. "I think it was the most words you've spoken to me, like, ever."
Harry rolled his eyes at her.
"I'm having a good day, don't ruin it."
Surprisingly, she didn't. She just sat there silently and let them finish warding in peace. It made him nervous. What if she got switched for a Death Eater, like Moody last year?
After Hermione warded the dorm and the connected bathroom, all they needed now was to test it out. Fortunately for them, all they had to do was sit and wait.
It was already well past midnight when the entire Gryffindor Tower was shaken by an ear-splitting shriek:
"WHAT'S THIS? I WANTED TO SEE HARRI IN HER PANTIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"
Calling it embarrassing would be a criminal understatement. Harry jumped out of bed (pulling on shorts just in case) and run down to silence the damn ghost. When he got there, everyone was already awake.
The entire House. Including McGonagall.
Then he and Hermione had to explain their problem to the Head of House. Harry felt his face burn up at the mention of Myrtle popping out of his bath. How could Hermione do it to him? Was it revenge for the omelette?
"Miss Granger, if you'd be so good and share your notes on the spell, I'll ward the Tower now and speak to the Headmaster first thing in the morning." McGonagall said.
"No, you can't banish me!" Myrtle protested. "I'm totally harmless!"
The Professor looked at her over her glasses.
"Be it as it may, Miss Warren, it's not proper for any student to experience such treatment. At the very least, we're going to bar you from entering any bathrooms and sleeping quarters."
"But I live in a bathroom!"
"And you'll be confined to it if this behaviour ever repeats, am I clear?"
Myrtle made to say something but eventually slumped and just nodded.
That's when Hermione came back with her notes.
"Thank you, Miss Granger." the woman accepted the bundle of parchment. "Both you and Potter deserve twenty points each for bringing the matter to the staff's attention. And another twenty for providing a solution."
The gathered Gryffindors cheered at getting eighty points for free.
McGonagall leafed through the notes and glanced at Hermione. The girl shifted uncomfortably.
"Is there a problem?" Harry asked, oblivious to the subtext.
"No, of course not." McGonagall said. "You all better get back to beds.
She decided it best not to ask why every paragraph of the runic array started with 'Harry Potter is a stupid, brainless, omelette lover'.
With that out of the way, Harry could now focus solely on trying to fix his gender problem. Which was a problem since it was impossible.
For the next weeks, Hermione had been bothering him on and off about going to Madame Pomphrey for help, which he wasn't eager to do. He just had this feeling that Pomphrey knew. One could call it paranoia but was it really? He just didn't want to be caught stealing, that's all.
Yes, he should have just stopped but try telling him that. He doesn't listen to me, that's for sure.
The plus side of the situation was that he could now get his baths without fear of anyone disturbing him. Those were the rare precious moments of actual peace he had.
It was in one of those precious moments that he came up with an ingenious idea.
He had sealed the door like usual and got into the bath. He let himself submerge under the surface of the bubbly water, leaving only his nose over it. It must've looked funny, his nose sticking among the colourful bubbles. What wouldn't he give to see that.
That made him wonder.
Couldn't he cast an Impervious on his eyes? It was a stupid idea, of course. It wasn't meant to be cast on living beings. Probably. Also, since the spell repelled water, it would likely form a wall of water that he couldn't see through, mere millimetres from his eyeballs.
It was a very stupid idea.
What could he cast it on, though? There were his glasses, of course. That's what he usually used it for, otherwise he wouldn't be able to see in rain. He could use it on clothes too, so they wouldn't get soaked. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It could also be used on homework so that nothing can spill and ruin it.
But what if...
Since it was already the most private place he had, he could take advantage of it. Too many people have paid attention to him in the dorm for him to peruse the magazine lately. That and he felt guilty doing it with girls sleeping all around.
But now, with this revelation, he could indulge all he wanted without fear of damaging his, err, educational material. It was still just for educational purposes. Getting used to female anatomy, remember? Yes, that was it. Definitely nothing else.
And that's how Harry began carrying the magazine in his bag.
It was October 31 and Harry Potter had a problem.
Yeah, I know, nothing new. He was already stuck with female anatomy, his best mate asking strange, uncomfortable questions, his best friend nagging him about getting what amounted to plastic surgery, getting booted from the Quidditch team, his busty roommate molesting him and his Healer demanding a response every few days. And it wasn't even everything.
This was different, though. Those were somewhat manageable. At least he knew about those problems.
But it was Halloween. And he was having a good day.
Any sane person would probably be happy with that. Harry wasn't sane, though. Not for a long time.
Every Halloween something happened and his life turned to shit. Last year he was chosen for the Tournament, which still had consequences. To put it simply, his life was already shit and it was about to turn even worse.
But it didn't. Not yet.
He woke up well-rested, which was already something for him. Last evening Hermione said she'd stop bothering him and it was his choice anyway. And she hadn't stopped helping him search for other options, which was a surprising bonus.
When he left the bed, Lavender left the bathroom. Fully clothed. It took him by surprise so much so that he did double-take. He didn't think she was a Polyjuiced assassin, though. Not after she said:
"Good morning, Harri." with a seductive wink.
During breakfast Ron didn't spit a single crumb of toast in his direction. And afterwards, he pulled Harry aside to apologise.
"I get that you don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry I didn't get it earlier. What do you say we grab some guys for a pickup game of Quidditch later?"
Harry was so taken aback by the apology that he barely uttered an agreement. To the best of his knowledge, it was only the second time Ron ever apologised to anyone. That both were to Harry was telling.
Then he and Hermione had a breakthrough in their research.
"Look!" Hermione shoved a huge tome in front of whatever he was reading at the time. It was filled with very tiny letters that seemed to wave before his eyes.
"What am I looking at?"
"Here!" she pointed. "The Bloodline Thief..."
"...allows an individual to replace another as the rightful heir to their ancestors." he read. "It's sure to be against a hundred different laws..."
"It's actually what blood purists accuse muggleborn of." Hermione nodded. "And it requires fresh blood from the victim but..."
"With this, I could retake what Voldemort stole!" Harry grinned.
"It's dead difficult but no more than kidnapping the most dangerous Dark Wizard of this century."
She looked at him as if expecting some sort of quip but instead he sprang from his chair and hugged her. It was probably the first hug he ever initiated and when he pulled back she was looking at him with eyes sparkling with happiness and he felt an inscrutable need to kiss her.
He didn't.
Maybe he should have because it could only lead to a disaster and then the Halloween curse would be satisfied. On second (third?) thought, no, he shouldn't have. Her friendship was much more important than some stupid superstition.
The entire day passed without a hitch and dinner came. Harry was glancing nervously between the doors and windows. No letter from Johnson came at breakfast nor lunch. Now was the last moment for it to come and cause some sort of problem, perhaps Hermione getting a hold of it and pressing for answers or Ron making fun of the idea of Harry getting more girly.
It didn't come.
Nothing happened the entire day and Harry went to sleep thinking that perhaps his shit-quota had already been exhausted for the year.
It hadn't.
Harry woke up late the next day since it was Sunday. He might've slept in even further if not for the noise coming from downstairs.
He dragged himself from the sheets and down the steps, wiping the sand from his eyes.
"Harry, look!" Hermione pulled him through the crowd to the announcements board near the portrait entrance.
"She's going to be even more impossible." Ron grumbled near him.
"Will she be able to sack teachers?" someone wondered.
Ignoring the ruckus Harry pushed to the board and read the latest notice under a giant M letter:
'By decree of the Ministry of Magic Dolores Jane Umbridge is thereby appointed High Inquisitor of Hogwarts.'
Having read that, Harry let out a sigh of relief. Then he started laughing. People were shooting him weird glances. Hermione checked for a fever.
Well, at least this trouble he knew how to deal with.