Author's Note: I was tempted to call this chapter 'Christmas Celebrations' but that would be too normal, therefore not funny.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Though if anyone would like to give him to me for Christmas, I wouldn't mind. Do include a bag of Potter-feed, please, I wouldn't want him to starve before I heroically trudge through the snow to a Walmart.
Harry is a She!
Chapter 9
Conniving Castration
'How to steal a Dark Lord's bits in three simple steps:
1. Lure in the Dark Lord.
2. Catch the Dark Lord.
3. Cut off the Dark Lord's bits with a butter knife.'
Luna turned away from the blackboard and beamed at her audience proudly.
Hermione hid her face in her hands.
Harry cleared his throat.
"Er, Luna, you do realise that we're not physically taking his bits, don't you?"
"We're not?"
He shook his head.
"That's what the potion is for, remember?"
"Oh!"
She turned, erased the last line and presented it again:
'3. Force-feed the Dark Lord a castration potion.'
"Ouch!" Hermione exclaimed.
"What? What happened?" he asked worriedly.
"I opened my eyes."
He honestly couldn't blame her.
"Luna, the potion is for me, not for Voldemort. We just need a drop of his blood to add to it."
"Alll-right!" she exclaimed and made a third version:
'3. Add the Dark Lord's blood to the potion and wait for his bits to fall off.'
Harry pinched his nose. Hermione stared at the blackboard open-mouthed.
"She's messing with us, isn't she?" she muttered.
"Yeah."
"You know what the worst part is, though?"
"What?"
"She's not technically incorrect."
Harry waited for Hermione to finish stirring the cauldron so as not to distract her.
"What if we used some sort of bait?"
"What did you have in mind?" she asked.
"Well, you know, like for example... Me?"
First, she looked outraged and made to say something, probably scold him for such an irresponsible suggestion.
Then she closed her mouth and seemed to actually consider it.
Finally, she shook her head.
"It wouldn't work."
"Why not?"
She sighed.
"Why would he even go after you?"
"Because... he always does?"
Hermione gave him a sympathetic look.
"I don't know how to tell you this, Harry, but he already beat you. The only reason for him to go after you was to show the world that he's better. He was only ever really targeting the Boy-Who-Lived and..."
"I'm not one of those anymore. Yeah, I remember."
Feeling sombre, he read through the next steps for the potion and began crushing Dirigible Plums.
"Look at it this way, you're well after Empire Strikes Back and you feel like you were frozen in carbonite, but you're not. You're Luke and you've got to bring about the Return of the Jedi."
Harry looked up from the cutting board.
"You know, the pop culture references would work much better if I knew what on Earth you were talking about."
(after a fifteen-minute explanation.)
"You compared my bits to a FROZEN GUY?!"
Ron jumped onto the couch between them, eating from a bag of pumpkin chips.
"So..." he stretched awkwardly. "How are you guys doing?"
"Still the same." Hermione muttered distractedly, leafing through stacks of parchment of ideas.
"What're you stuck on?"
She raised a brow.
"Seriously, you want to help?"
He spread his hands defensively, spilling chips on Harry.
"Hey, I'm not totally hopeless. Besides, you look like you need it."
"We need a drop of Voldemort's blood and we can't figure out a way to capture him." Harry said, sniffing the chips and brushing them off, deciding they weren't worth it.
"What do you need His blood for?" Ron asked, dumbstruck.
"The thing that makes me a guy that he stole, I want it back."
"Makes sense... Would it work for anyone, though?"
Harry turned his unseeing eyes to him.
"What?"
"You know, I'm no Hermione, but I figure if you have a thing in your blood that makes you a guy, other guys probably have it too. So, could you take another guy's blood, and not You-Know-Who's?"
Harry stared blankly, his brain too tired to process it. Hermione gaped.
"That's actually a decent idea. But who..."
"Reckon there's many people who'd die for The Harry Potter." Ron interrupted, which immediately woke Harry up. "Giving up their bits might not be off the table either."
"But Harry got so much bad press this year..."
"There's still a lot of people who believe him. They believe that You-Know-Who came back from the dead, stealing Harry's bits isn't that ridiculous in comparison."
Hermione took out a clean parchment and started scribbling on it.
"No." Harry said.
"What?" Ron looked at him incredulously.
"I'm not taking anyone else's bits. I want mine back."
"Well, I don't think you'd even feel the difference, most of the phenotype is yours, you just need the on-switch." Hermione argued.
"First of all, I have no idea what you just said. Second of all, it's not about feeling the difference. I just wouldn't wish this on the worst enemy. The only reason I'm willing to do this to Voldemort is that he did it to me first, so at this point, it's fair game."
"That bad, huh?" she raised a brow at him.
"Don't get me wrong, Hermione." he said steadily. "I'm not saying being a girl in general is bad. I'm saying that being not your own gender is a bad thing."
"Exactly." Ron said. "So why won't you let your fans help you?"
Harry scowled at the word 'fans'.
"Because. I'm not going to abuse people's trust and curse them for it. If I can't take my bits back, I don't want them at all."
Harry rested his chin on his intertwined fingers, staring at the blackboard. Under 'How to steal a Dark Lord's bits in three simple steps' there was another list:
'How to lure in the Dark Lord:
Use Harry Potter as bait. - defeated already.
Prepare a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (crossed out)
Use the Philosopher's Stone as bait. - has body already. Not to mention Stone destroyed.
Kidnap his favourite teddy bear! (crossed out)
Use whatever weapon the Order is protecting as bait. - don't know what it is. Order won't cooperate.
Spread a rumour of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. (crossed out) - Luna, stop messing around!
Use Dumbledore as bait.'
He frowned.
"Who wrote that about Dumbledore?"
"I did." Hermione said from her desk, still scribbling in her notes, two more stacks next to her.
"It makes sense." Luna cut in. "He's the only wizard Voldemort fears, so taking him out would be beneficial to him."
Harry's frown deepened. He wasn't sure what was more confusing: Luna finally saying something productive or the thought that anyone might fear Dumbledore.
"I'm not sure how that'll work. I mean, if Dumbledore was able of catching Voldemort, wouldn't he have done it already?"
"He would." Hermione looked up. "Except Voldemort is very careful and always runs away when he starts losing against Dumbledore."
Harry still couldn't reconcile the thought of Dumbledore winning against Voldemort with the image of him pushed around by McGonagall.
"So, that's it, isn't it?" he stood up and crossed out the line. "What else can we do?"
"I don't know, but I'd like to take this moment to point out that we're failing at step one." Hermione said.
"Don't worry," Luna said cheerfully. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."
They didn't.
It was official. Harry was doomed.
Since the beginning of December, he was brewing the bloodline-stealing potion with Hermione and Luna, all the while coming up with increasingly complex plots to try and capture Voldemort. And now it was all for nought.
It was the day students were to leave for Christmas and the entire Great Hall was in uproar once more. It wasn't even that surprising, considering how every table was showered with dozens of Daily Prophet issues, all sporting the same headline:
'DEATH EATERS AT LARGE! MASS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!'
The article then went on to blame everything on Sirius, though obviously Harry knew the only way his godfather would free anyone from the horrors of Azkaban was with a Bombarda to the face.
The real question was, how could Harry have forgotten that Voldemort was the proactive one in their dynamic? He himself only ever really reacted to the bastard's plans. And now he had deluded himself into thinking he could reverse the trend.
How? How could he possibly do that? Voldemort was the most powerful, devious, ruthless wizard alive! And undead too, since he was the only one in that category!
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry. We're still following the plan." Hermione whispered.
"How am I supposed to not worry?" he snapped. Was she crazy?
"Okay, you can worry, just don't do anything stupid." she said soothingly and he was glad that he hadn't voiced that last thought.
He simply nodded.
Harry closed his trunk and left it for the elves to take. Then he crossed the gap to Hermione's bed, sat down and surreptitiously passed her the cloak wrapped around the map.
She responded by pulling him into a tight hug.
"We're going to make it." she whispered.
"Yeah." he said numbly.
He pulled back. It was enough that she was staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, she really shouldn't be cheering him up too.
"You know, there's still time to..."
"No." she cut him off. "It's already decided. Besides, Hooch would skin us if we changed things around now." (since she was their new Head of House.)
He dropped the subject and let her lead him down to the Entrance Hall.
They had been arguing about it a lot: who would stay to watch the potion brewing? Each of them had family to go back to, but he was the one whom the ritual was for, so he thought he should stay. But of course, he never could have things his way so eventually the girls outvoted him and decided to draw lots.
Hermione won. Or lost, depending on who you asked.
He got startled out of his sulking by Luna tackling him at the halfway point between the Towers.
Then, she made a show of swatting invisible flies from around his head.
"Really, Harry, you should be taking better care of yourself." the tiny blonde admonished. "You're practically swarming with Wrackspurts."
"I completely agree, Harry, you should cheer up." Hermione added. "It's Christmas!"
He shrugged.
"I guess I'm a lost cause."
"There's no such thing, silly." Luna said as she skipped down the stairs. "Think about it, in a few hours you're going to meet your dogfather!"
Harry exchanged a defeated look with a smirking Hermione. Luna had a tendency of knowing things he didn't remember telling her and Hermione never admitted to doing so either.
"She's right, you know." she whispered. "As mad as she seems, she's making a lot of sense."
"Yeah." he muttered a token agreement again.
Honestly, he dreaded meeting Sirius. He was a girl now and still didn't know what his godfather thought of it. Not to mention how horrible he had been when they last saw each other.
Hermione saw them off to the carriages and hugged the living hell out of Harry, then they proceeded to the station.
From the moment he lost sight of Hermione, his mood darkened. He should have been the one to stay. It was the right thing to do, and he let it go. He should have fought harder, argued better. How could he even call himself a man if he let her carry his weight for him? What kind of a friend was he?
He ended up spending the train ride with Ron and Luna, the latter of which did everything in her power to 'stave off the wrackspurts', as she put it.
He tried his best to keep a brave face on and smile at her silly jokes, but she must've caught on to the ruse. Eventually, she lay on his side and went to sleep.
He shared an awkward look with Ron.
"I'm going to take a nap too." he lied. "You can go find your brothers, or maybe Dean or..."
"Nah, I'll pass." the redhead told him. "I have to keep an eye out, so nothing, err, untoward, doesn't happen."
Harry snorted at the thought of Ron protecting his virtue and closed his eyes, leaning into the seat. There was really nothing else to do but pretend to be asleep. It's not like he could actually sleep with Luna's warm weight on him. The mere thought of her touch made him feel guilty all over again.
The moment he got off the train, he got surrounded from all sides by Moody and co. Otherwise known as the Order of the People-he-had-pissed-off.
"Uh, hi guys?" he stammered.
Immediately he got picked up by the shoulders and practically carried off the Platform.
"Where are you taking him?" he heard Luna asked worriedly.
"Not your business, lass." Moody grumbled.
"Headquarters." Ron told her, walking alongside his family in the totally-not-out-of-place procession.
Idly, Harry wondered if he could be any more literal of a Jesus stand-in. They'd have to stuff him in a metal box and carry over their heads. And start singing.
Fortunately, the only person capable of such ridiculous timing was too busy worrying. Also, why was his brain doing this to him?
"Cool, can I come?" Luna asked.
"Isn't your father waiting for you on the Platform?" Remus frowned, carrying Harry through King's Cross and absolutely not drawing anyone's attention.
"Daddy can find me wherever I am." Luna smiled. "It's a game of ours and he's getting very good at it."
"Dear, you can't just follow strangers to their homes." Mrs Weasley protested.
"But you're not strangers, you're Harry's friends. And Harry and I are friends too, right Harry?"
"Yup." Harry confirmed, not wanting to get dragged into whatever craziness was unfolding around him. "The very best of friends."
"Hey!" Ron outraged. "I thought I was your best friend!"
"Get in line, Ronald, there's also Hermione before me." Luna shut him down.
"Harry, tell her something!"
Harry looked to the indifferent sky outside the station for help. None came.
"I have no control over her whatsoever." he finally said. "Also, can you guys put me down? People are staring."
Only now Moody seemed to realise the spectacle they were making off themselves and shoved Harry into a car, muttering about failing notices or something.
The last thing Harry saw in the window was Luna exchanging something with the Twins, then the Order filed into the poor car one by one, making it stretch like Ron's stomach on a Halloween Feast.
As Harry sat squished in the middle of a dozen people on the backseat, he wondered how he could manage to avoid them all break. Maybe he should camp out with Buckbeak again?
The main problem with trying to hide with Buckbeak in the attic again was that there was no Buckbeak there.
He sat there on the feather-covered floor, stubbornly refusing to interact with the people downstairs. Or in some cases, they refused to interact with him.
He had been dreading the moment he met Sirius again, considered running at the first sight of him, but in his worst nightmares, he hadn't imagined that the one running away would be his godfather.
Even stranger, another one avoiding him was Tonks, who had up to this point only been poking fun at him. We're the two somehow connected? Was Sirius secretly hooking up with his cousin and trying to avoid Harry finding out?
He didn't know, neither did he really care. He wasn't even sure if he should feel relieved or saddened by Sirius' behaviour. Mostly he just felt numb.
Except that was a lie.
Sitting in this room reminded him of that time when he last hid here when he truly did feel numb. Honestly, he would prefer feeling that way now. But he wasn't.
He was pissed.
Nothing was going his way. The last six months had been living hell and everything he did would backfire spectacularly. He'd only barely managed not to go insane and now he found himself wondering why he even bothered. He could give up any time, couldn't he?
Except he didn't want to. He wanted to achieve something. He wanted his life to finally start getting better. He wanted to be happy and he couldn't do it stuck in a wrong-gendered body!
Or could he?
What did he actually need to be happy?
That was a very good question. He felt like he hadn't ever really asked this of himself. He most likely had not. Another good question came as a natural follow-up:
When had he last been happy?
He couldn't remember. Had he ever been happy? What did it actually feel like? Good. It should feel good. Okay, second try:
When had he last felt good?
He supposed sitting in the Library with Hermione and Luna felt good. But it was work, wasn't it? And while sometimes it was peaceful, sometimes it was hopeful, there was always this undercurrent of tension, the anticipation of a fight with Voldemort.
Well, then, when wasn't he working?
When wasn't he working?
Was he always working?
His breath hitched at the thought and his mind searched frantically as he fell victim to a minor panic attack.
Oh, yeah, there was this one game of pickup Quidditch with Ron a couple of weeks ago...
Yeah, that wasn't optimal.
On top of that, the game didn't really feel good. It felt awkward. Everything with Ron felt awkward these days, ever since Harry lost his bits.
Come to think of it, it was much earlier than that, wasn't it?
How many times had he actually had fun with Ron while training for the Triwizard? Not before the dragon, to be sure. And after the dragon? Definitely not during the Ball. And after that? Or before the fourth year...?
No. Stop. Bad Harry-brain. He most definitely did not want to open that particular can of worms.
Well, not Ron, then. What about when he was alone?
The baths. He did like the peace and quiet, especially after he got Myrtle grounded and didn't have to worry about perverts anymore.
The magazine. Right. It did feel pretty good to read the magazine. Maybe he was onto something. Maybe he should dedicate his life to finding new and exciting ways to arouse himself sexually?
He smiled at the thought. Sirius would've been proud.
But no, of course not. He liked baths too, but it didn't mean he should spend a better part of his life underwater. Or flying, for that matter. Or having sex. Or even better, having sex while flying underwater.
Okay, his brain had officially gone off-track. Bad Harry-brain.
So, there were baths, maybe the magazine, flying - he hadn't gone flying in a long time. It seemed that the good times were when he was alone. Maybe he didn't really like people all that much.
Well, not Ron and not Hermione...
Was he really so sure about that? There was this one time which was very, very good. So good in fact that he could barely remember any of it.
Yeah, that was a problem, wasn't it? How could he know if he was happy if he couldn't remember the party at all?
Except that was a lie, too.
He remembered the beginning. He did remember being happy. He remembered Hermione being as beautiful as the night of the Yule Ball, despite all the soot and blown-up hairstyle. He remembered wanting to kiss her.
Why had he wanted to kiss her?
Well, she was beautiful, she was smart, she was fine. She was his best friend. Wasn't it enough?
Wasn't there supposed to be something more?
Like what? Sexual attraction? He did want to kiss her so that one's already checked.
It seemed so, but equating something as grand as love with "friendship with sexual attraction" felt just so... crude.
But friendship was already a form of non-romantic love, wasn't it? And he hoped if he ever had a girlfriend that she also was his friend.
Could that be Hermione?
He really didn't know. But he was done pretending that he didn't want her to be. He was too smart for that.
He smirked.
Yeah. Him. Too smart. It's good she didn't hear that.
He picked up one of Buckbeak's feathers from the floor and started playing with it. He still wasn't ready to go downstairs. The revelation did calm him down a bit, though. Now he felt strangely at peace, despite not being sure about the future. It might be very well that she'll reject him outright. For some reason, he didn't think she would.
He picked the feather apart, strand by strand. It reminded him of Hedwig, who hadn't come back in far too long. He worried he's done something to drive her away, though for the life of him he couldn't imagine what could it be.
Well, at least he knew she could take care of herself. God knew that owl was more capable than Harry himself.
She flew east across the northern lands, filled with snow and ice as far as her eyes could see (and those were no puny human eyes).
Everyone she flew, the same story repeated, the same old jabs and taunts:
'Hoot hoot hoot, hoot hoot.' As though they couldn't even come up with an original insult.
And it wasn't even the end of it.
Once, when she was peacefully resting on a frozen-dead needle tree, an unholy screech split the air and a dirty-white creature fell on her from the sky and they both tumbled to the ground.
Then it started hooting at her.
At least that's what she thought at first, but then she realised that with the horrible accent of the creature, the 'hoot' sounded more like an 'ooOOoOooooOoooOoooOiiiiiiiiiit'.
It wasn't a snowy owl. It wasn't even an owl at all.
She twisted her head around to the back of her torso. There, lying on top of her, was a wheezing seabird.
By the time Harry finished his overlong bout of introspection and got bored of playing Loves Me, Loves Me Not with Hippogriff feathers, it was already Christmas Day, so, seeing no other way, he decided to finally come down to face the crowd.
"Finally!" one of the Twins said as he entered the fairy-lit, mistletoe-showered kitchen.
"We feared we'd have to drag you down here Moody-style." the other added.
Harry's eyes twitched to the corners of the room.
Twin One laughed.
"Relax, he's not here."
"Mum tried to talk him into coming but he muttered something about Death Eaters not resting and stalked off."
"Yeah, as if they didn't have their own Christmas parties to go to."
"Figures he just hates the day for some reason."
Even without knowing the man's history, just remembering his face, Harry didn't think it was surprising at all. The sort of things he must've seen on Christmas day.
He shuddered.
There was a Christmas party that I don't feel like describing and people exchanged gifts that weren't all that important. The one thing that made Harry smile was a note attached to a token box of cookies from McGonagall.
'Mr Potter,
Do not show this to anyone who might take offence to this manner of address. In fact, burn it after reading. I trust you to treasure the ashes as much as you would the note itself.
Forgive an old woman for indulging in a bit of much-needed humour. Merlin knows my workload had not lessened since the 'promotion'. Why do I not get a Deputy?
To the point, I wished to pass on the happy news. Despite the administration's stubbornness in revoking the recent uniform reform, I found a solution for your, and many other female students', problems. As it turns out, Miss Umbridge neglected to include a design for new outer robes, to be worn over the uniform that you so abhor. Which means that, contrary to our beliefs and the students' actions, the uniform does include an outer robe. The very same as always.
Merry Christmas,
Minerva McGonagall'