Author's Note: Yes, there are three words in the title now. Keep up, nerds!

Also, @FastFrank, thank you for pointing out the failed italics. I hope I got them all.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not know if anyone decided to gift him to me for Christmas either, since the day hasn't come yet. Don't worry, it can still be you, you still have time! (though if I'm being honest, I'd prefer to get Hermione for Christmas. Don't let my wife know!)

Harry is a She!

Chapter 10

Wondrously Woeful Wooing

Remember how I said the other gifts weren't important? I lied. Let it not be said that I can't write an unreliable narrator.

It was the last one he opened, simply for the fact that it was the biggest and he didn't want the others to pale in comparison. The problem was, he forgot to check the sender beforehand.

'Hermione'

The name drew his eyes so much that he failed to read the note that was signed with it.

What's worse, when he managed to pry his eyes from it and move a fraction of an inch upwards, he realised it was actually signed:

'Love,

Hermione'

His chest tightened painfully. With trembling hands, he opened the package.

It only got worse from there.

He expected her to give him a book, as was her custom. She didn't. She gave him several books.

First, the SE book, aka the Book of Sacred Enlightenment, the same one he nicked off of Dudley. In three volumes, for three years of education. With handwritten sticky notes inside.

He blanched as he leafed through them, and it had nothing to do with the contents.

A second stack constituted of a book on male-inspired female fashion, like appropriating high-heeled men's boots and suits and ties into a woman's wardrobe, a book on hairdressing and books on modern Muggle and Wizarding etiquette, complete with a note saying 'If you're going to break the rules, at least know what you break!'

He smiled nervously and his heart almost broke when he saw that the next big part of the gift was a second box inside the bigger box, this one full of hair care products. He only peeked inside and sat down heavily, hoping this was the end of it.

It wasn't.

There was one last book, no, a notebook, all bound in brown leather and full of written parchment.

It was a guide.

She had handwritten him a bloody guide to solve all his current life problems. She put in references to the other books she gave him for cross-checking, as if he ever did such a thing. She put in a table of contents, to her own handwriting, and even labelled the appropriate pages with colour-coded stickies! She even put in a chapter on what to do if he suddenly started liking guys, for crying out loud!

His life was over.

Wait! - I hear you cry. - How is this a bad thing? She clearly cared a lot to give him such a big, thoughtful gift. And considering Harry's latest resolution, isn't this a good thing?

No. Definitely not. Because despite all your insightful insights, you missed one key fact.

Harry had already bought her gift before he had had his latest resolution. He'd bought her a god-damned writing set, complete with a fancy quill, expensive ink and a new quill-sharpening knife, which she didn't need because she was a witch for crying out loud!

He was an idiot. (His words, not mine.)

He wiped away a tear of despair and glanced at the clock. Christmas Day was almost over. He had maybe four hours to find a gift that actually showed that he appreciated her and somehow deliver it to Hogwarts, which was a six-hour train ride away.

He wasn't giving up, though. Not before he even tried. There was always the Floo or something.

Ignoring the worried looks the still-present Weasleys and Order members were giving him at the obvious display of distress, he run out of the house.

A gender-ambiguous teenager running through Muggle London wearing only torn jeans and some '70s music band T-shirt under an oversized leather jacket in the middle of December (because the elves stole his clothes, remember?) would've maybe passed as remotely normal if he wasn't checking out all the jewellers' window exhibitions.

As it was, he got chased away by roaming policemen and worried citizens more than a dozen times.

Eventually, he got to the Leaky Cauldron, where, ironically enough, he would've fit perfectly if any Muggle was capable of seeing him enter the dingy pub.

It was also just his luck that all the proper and upstanding shop owners had already closed for the day if they were even open on Christmas Day, to begin with.

And no, nothing short of a piece of jewellery would suffice to show his feelings for Hermione. He wasn't very imaginative that way.

As a last resort, he decided to visit Gringotts, on the off chance that his vault contained anything other than round chunks of precious metal.

As it turned out, it didn't.

This time luck smiled at him, though, as he combed through the heaps of gold, silver and bronze coins, he came across another round chunk of silver, or maybe white gold, complete with two tear-shaped precious stones, red and green, hugging each other with the sides of the tears' spikes.

He gave a big:

"Whoooooooooohoooooooo!" and the accompanying goblin glared at him.

"I take it you've found what you're looking for, human. Can we go back?"

Harry smiled at him evilly.

"Now I need a box for it."

The goblin sighed in exasperation.

"You have my permission to Summon a jewellery box from the vault, human."

Harry cocked a brow at the creature.

"Approving underage magic? Feeling naughty, are we?"

The goblin met his eyes in a staring contest. It won.

"We're on goblin territory, human. We, quite simply, don't care. Now stop wasting my time."

Sitting in the crazy minecart ride back to the surface, Harry had a decidedly stupid grin on his face. And he wasn't ashamed of that.

The only thing left now was to deliver the gift, which he only had two hours to do. If he wanted her to get it before going to bed, that is. He still might drop it off in the middle of the night and pretend he wanted to surprise her in the morning.

Suddenly, something occurred to him.

"What if it doesn't fit?" he worried aloud.

The goblin gave him a death glare, the kind that suggested it wanted to strangle, skin and burn alive the recipient of the glare.

"Don't be stupid, you stupid human." it barked, heedless of the contradiction it just created. "It's goblin work, it will resize to the wearer's finger. I thought this was the entire point of disturbing Gringotts' peace at this ungobly hour."

Harry closed his mouth that was gaping stupidly.

"Yes, right, of course it was."

Another thing that hadn't occurred to him before was that running out of the hideout in the middle of the war while being one of the most high-profile targets (according to everyone except Hermione, therefore no one with an ounce of logic in them) tended to get your side rather riled up.

And by riled up I mean frantically searching all corners of London, both magical and mundane, for three hours.

When Harry had finally returned to Grimmauld Place, the tongue-lashing he got was so intense that I better spare you. You might reach the point where swearwords don't mean anything anymore, 'imbecile' in particular.

Let it suffice to say that Harry didn't understand any of it, since at least five people were screaming their heads off at him at all times for a full hour.

Even Sirius stopped avoiding him to take the chance to lecture him for something he would've loved to do himself (and was probably only angry that Harry hadn't taken him with). Huh, turns out crippling isolation outranks the embarrassments of boning your own niece.

By the time Harry was let off the hook, the time limit he'd set for himself had passed. Damn, he had really hoped to deliver the gift before Hermione went to bed.

She was curious that way, she always went to bed at 10 p.m. sharp, because that was the rule. It didn't matter that she was reading a very interesting book, it didn't matter that she would continue to read the book until 4 a.m. Rules say she's supposed to be in bed, so she's in bed.

And she was there now, he knew, disappointed that her supposedly best friend thought silly writing utensils were an appropriate gift for her.

Too bad he couldn't Apparate to Hogwarts. Not only was it probably stated in 'Hogwarts: A History', he had no idea of how to Apparate in the first place.

Or maybe he could snap his fingers like Dobby did when he'd disappeared from the Hospital Wing after not getting strangled by Harry. (Don't judge Harry, he had good reasons. Like almost getting killed by the elf.)

Harry snapped his fingers, thinking of Hermione's bed. Nothing happened.

He tried again. Still nothing.

He was about to try a third time when he realised how awkward it would be if he succeeded and suddenly appeared on top of Hermione in her own bed.

He stopped himself. Thus, nothing happened.

Then, he slapped himself.

He was an idiot! (Again, his words, not mine.)

"Dobby!" he called.

The little guy appeared out of nowhere and began calling and jumping out of joy so much that his hats fell off.

Yes, the same hats that Hermione knitted last year, trying to free the other elves. Ironically.

And no, Harry still didn't understand how a guy that was trying to kill him second year could love him so much. He was happy to capitalise on it, though.

Hermione was, in fact, lying in bed while reading a book, not dissatisfied with the writing set from Harry.

Yes, the quill was over-the-top fancy and she wouldn't be using it except for special occasions so as not to destroy it. Yes, the expensive ink had no point at all, since it was just ink and therefore would be used, dry off and display letters no better than any other ink. And yes, she saw the irony in giving a quill-sharpening knife to a witch who knew the Quill-Sharpening Charm.

She was pretty sure someone had hoaxed Harry into spending too much money on something that wasn't even that useful and that she would be just as happy with just a quill. But it was the thought that counted.

It was a huge improvement from first year when Harry hadn't expected to receive gifts nor planned to give any. And from second year when he gave her a generic box of chocolates. At least this year he gave a bit of thought to what she'd want to get. And, unlike fourth year, he actually remembered that Christmas existed.

Yes, last year Harry had forgotten. Only he could've managed that. His only saving grace was how stressed he was over the Tournament. That, and she got distracted by Krum for a few days.

The only thing that made her sad was that he wasn't with her now. As a matter of fact, she was the only student staying over for Christmas, which meant her only company was the Professors at meal. Other than that, she was alone, but she only had herself to blame. After all, she had fixed the lot-drawing so that she would be the one to stay.

Someone had to keep the potion under control, right? It was a willing sacrifice, something she would've done again if need arose.

And so, she was lying in bed, re-reading the book on the Bloodline Thief, trying to find anything she might've missed, anything at all.

There was nothing. She knew the damn thing by heart.

Suddenly, there was a small pop and she sat up with her wand and the ready.

It could have been just a fart, had there been another girl sleeping in the dorm, she thought as she fumbled to cast Homenum Revelio. It resulted negative.

"Crookshanks?" she whispered. Hoping he'd jump onto the bed.

He didn't.

Cursing whatever decided to scare her under her breath, she set her feet on the floor and cast a Lumos. Only then did she notice a small velvet box sitting on her nightstand with a note under it.

'Dear Hermione,

I know it's late for a Christmas gift but I wanted to make it special and setting it apart in time is one way to do it.

I know that the gift itself is nothing special but by making it special I wanted to show how special you are to me.

Love,

Harry'

She opened the box, revealing something that was far from not special.

Her heart did a backflip and a smile crept onto her face. She liked this new, mature Harry. The old one would have never thought to give her something like that and would probably get a heart attack before writing that last sentence.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, he had in fact had a minor panic attack before forcing himself to write that particular sentence. In for a penny, in for a knut, or whatever the saying actually was. He couldn't expect to get her attention without some risk.

He had accepted that risk. She could always turn him down. His heart would have to survive it somehow.

Like just now, when he got off the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade Station and saw Hermione waiting for him.

She wasn't wearing the ring.

He frowned. Why wasn't she wearing it? Did it not fit? No, it didn't make sense, the goblin wouldn't lie about it just to get him to shut up, would it now? (Actually, it would, it just hadn't in that particular instance.)

It could only mean one thing. She didn't like him that way. His heart sunk.

Wait, why would she come here then? Just to refuse him to his face? She wasn't like that, was she?

Maybe she came for Ron? Did she like Ron that way? He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. The two hated each other.

"Harry, are you alright?" he heard the worry in her voice. "You seem... absent."

Finally, he decided to just ask. In for a ferret, in for a Hippogriff, right?

"You're not wearing the ring I gave you."

She looked taken aback, even shocked, at being called out.

"The ring you gave me..." she bit her lip. "I just thought that, you know... I didn't want it to be damaged."

He smiled, sighed in relief and grinned at her.

"I think a bit of cold won't hurt it, nor will your page-turning."

Shyly, she smiled back.

"What about a bit of ink?" she showed how much between her fingers.

"I think it'll survive."

He offered her his arm in the best mockery of someone with actual manners. She took it and they walked back to the castle, unintentionally leaving Ron to deal with Luna on his own.

The first week of the year 1996 was good. Very good, in fact. Suspiciously good.

They had all been overworked before the holidays, so the break might've had something to do with the change, but Hermione was much less bossy, Harry much less snappish and Luna much more coherent. Yes, Luna coherent, I know.

Harry couldn't pin it down, but the girl seemed at the same time more comfortable and more restrained around him.

What? Luna? No, Luna didn't even know the meaning of the word. The other girl.

She walked with one arm hooked around his, she often leant over him to reach for dishes during meals or books during research and sometimes when they took a break in the Common Room, she would just rest her back on his arm or chest while reading a book.

At the same time, he often caught her looking at him when she didn't think he noticed and immediately turn away when their eyes met, her speech patterns often got jumbled and she wasn't explaining herself very well and he was almost certain he overhead her and Luna talking about him behind his back.

She was plotting something, he knew it!

Deciding to ignore it for now, Harry had the group take breaks often. After all, he didn't want to get them overworked again and knew perfectly well that the whole bit-stealing thing would not work out.

So, on Monday they just took a walk around the Lake, the two of them plus Luna, then laid on a couch in the Common Room and enjoyed hot cocoa (and a good book in one case).

On Tuesday he simply let the conversation drift so far away from the topic that it was evening by the time Hermione realised she'd spent their entire brainstorming session debating House Elf rights with Luna. (whose stance was that first the Ministry has to stop using Heliopaths for their nefarious purposes).

On Wednesday they finished early and took turns getting trashed at Wizard Chess by Ron, until Hermione's last match during which Luna cheered her with red and gold pompons, wearing an oversized Gryffindor sweater, which Harry had no idea where she took from. That was until Lavender came in wearing only a tank top and the Umbridge-approved short skirt, demanding to know who stole her clothes.

That was when Hermione made her finishing move.

"Check-mate!"

Ron would forever use Lavender's coming as an excuse, that it distracted him and that's why he lost.

On Thursday Luna was still wearing the not-her sweater and their study session got interrupted by an angry Lavender, whom they later learnt heard from Ron where her sweater might be, barging into the Library and chasing Luna all around the castle, all the while being chased by Madame Pince for disturbing the Library.

Harry and Hermione stayed at the Library, watching the three dots chase one another on the Marauder's Map, having tea and biscuits, sharing a secret smile over that little rule-breaking.

On Friday they had to do the next step on their potion.

Harry, despite having already given up, did all the chopping and stirring diligently. After all, Hermione would be so disappointed if it was all for nothing.

Which it was.

(his words, not mine.)

"There. All done." he said with a sigh.

Hermione smiled at him.

"Good, just lower the simmering temperature by two degrees, will you?"

"Already done."

"Great! Now, what's next on the table..." she dived into her stack of notes that she carried everywhere these days.

Now that he thought of it, it was more than one stack, but how could she carry it all around? Her bag would have to be bigger on the inside than...

He remembered their tent during the Quidditch Cup.

Oh, yeah. Magic. Right.

He must be getting tired again if he forgot about that. Jumping back into all the schoolwork and this project on top of that, right after the holidays, really wasn't doing him any good. Fortunately, tomorrow was Saturday and they could all enjoy a nice trip to Hogsmeade...

His brain stopped and he realised he had been staring at Hermione. Not that she noticed. Or that there was anything wrong with that, Hermione was a perfectly good direction to be staring. Not unpleasant at all.

The issue was that his brain decided to connect his last thought with what he was seeing and came up with a crazy idea. Again.

Hogsmeade with Hermione.

No, bad Harry-brain.

But why? - his brain seemed to argue. In for a pot, in for a kettle, right? Wasn't that what he was telling himself not long ago?

No, probably not. He was perfectly aware of not knowing what the saying was supposed to be. But it didn't take anything off the argument's power.

Right. He'd decided, hadn't he? He had to at least try. In for a sock, in for a Dobby.

"Tomorrow is a Hogsmeade Saturday." he said off-handedly, he hoped.

Hermione perked up and her eyes lit.

"Yes?" she asked hopefully, or at least he thought she did.

"Wanna go?"

She hesitated almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah, sure, we always go. Me, you, Luna, Ron..."

He licked his lips nervously.

"Actually, I meant just you and me."

Her eyes darted to the side and he cursed himself for forgetting Luna was there too.

"No offence, Luna."

"Oh, don't worry, I think it'll be fun having Ronald to myself too." she grinned in what he thought was a decidedly evil manner.

He smiled stupidly and then realised he still hadn't gotten his answer.

"Hermione?" he asked uncertainly.

She stepped closer and gave him what had to be the most careful hug she had ever given.

"Yes, I'd love to go with you." she whispered to his ear.

He felt like something had maybe changed in their relationship and only cursed his luck that he couldn't see her face at that moment. Not much, though, because he really liked hugging her (and her expression would've probably confused the hell out of him anyway).

The next day he woke up early. His watch told him it was only too-damn-early-to-get-up o'clock, so he flipped his pillow and turned on the side, hoping to get some sleep. That's when he saw Hermione looking at him.

See? She was plotting against him. He totally called it! (Not!)

"Good morning." she mouthed and he felt his face involuntarily split in a grin. The stupidest grin in the world, he was sure.

"Morning, 'Mione." he slurred.

"Morning, 'Ry." she grinned the most adorable smile possible, not stupid at all.

It woke him up at once.

It woke him up in ways he had long not felt awakened. Like, since before Christmas. And never by Hermione.

His legs did that funny squeezing thing and he was sure his knees went limp, despite not standing on them at the time. It was a sensation he only ever associated with a certain magazine and a certain blonde's bosom.

Damn it, Potter, keep it together.

He was certain he had a matching blood-red blush to his stupid grin. He must've looked like the biggest doofus ever. And she still smiled at him.

He rolled onto his back and sighed deeply. Fortunately, Hermione went to shower first.

If pressed, Harry couldn't have said which was his favourite part of the day. It was all just too overwhelming.

First, they walked down to the carriages, arms hooked together, keeping close for the warmth.

Then they rode a carriage to Hogsmeade, still cuddling, sitting opposite of a brightly smiling Luna and a very confused Ron.

Then, Hermione entwined her fingers with his, letting him feel the warmth of her skin and the cold of the ring.

He wasn't certain of anything that happened later.

Hermione would never admit it, but her state of mind was very similar to Harry's. Not that she knew, of course. She was altogether too distracted to notice how distracted he was.

She led him by the hand to a bookstore, by the sheer force of habit. When she found herself staring blankly at the same page for five minutes without reading a single word, she wondered if that's how Harry felt when he got high that one time.

So she asked him.

I'd say he looked at her, but in truth he hadn't stopped staring for quite some time now.

"Huh?"

She moved closer to whisper, not wanting to get caught talking about drugs in public.

"I asked if that's what you felt like when you got high that one time?"

It took him a moment to process.

"If what is like that?"

"Being together."

"I don't know." he tousled his hair. "Maybe? Maybe not? Hugging you is better."

She giggled at the mortified look on his face as he realised what he'd just said.

Get a grip, Granger. You don't giggle!

They passed by Madame Puddifoot (because they were not like that at all!) and went straight to the Three Broomsticks. They ordered two Butterbeers, despite not needing them at all, and took one of the enclosed booths, in which they spent an inordinate amount of time snuggling. Because, damn this boy, but Harry was right.

Not that Hermione knew what being high felt like. She had never been more than medium-sized.

Eventually, the Butterbeer run dry and they had been very politely kicked out for hogging the booth during rush hours.

For the lack of better ideas or a presence of mind, they took a walk in random directions to clear their minds.

And, oh boy, clear their mind they did.

Harry got a whiff of fresh air and slowly began to regain his bearings.

He was in Hogsmeade. It was snowing. Hermione's fingers laid warm across the back of his hand. Each snowflake melted as it fell on her skin and evaporated, only for its molecules to sublimate again a few feet higher and get blown away by the soft wind as another snowflake took its place in the cycle...

Where was he again? Oh, yeah, in Hogsmeade. He was in Hogsmeade with Hermione. She was holding his hand and he was leading her through the village blindly, absently looking for a place to take his date...

What was that, Harry-brain?

His date.

He stopped mid-step and looked at her as she smiled and leant back her head, letting snowflakes tickle her face.

Why would he even call her that?

Well, the two of them were spending time together today. They were of opposite sexes and he daresay attracted to each other (that he was shouldn't even be an argument at this point). Moreover, they had agreed on the day beforehand and the day was, as a matter of fact, a date. The eighth of January to be exact.

...the day was a date, duh! Every day is a date! Why would he think this day was any different?

Wake up, Potter. Are you alone with a girl?

...yes.

Do you like her?

Yes.

Is there even a remote chance that she likes you back?

Err, no?

Just shut up and stop doubting everything! Either ask her what she thinks or accept that by any standards you can think of, this is, in fact, a date!

Harry closed his mouth which had been gaping at Hermione and gulped. She was still holding his hand. She hadn't let go. Her face was lit up like she was immensely enjoying the snow on her face or, just maybe, his presence.

It didn't come to him easily but he had to admit that maybe this time his Harry-brain was right. Maybe it wasn't as stupid as it looked (if the very symbol of intelligence could ever look stupid).

Now she opened her eyes and caught him staring. And their eyes were very close.

"Harry?" she asked with... something in her voice. He couldn't be sure anymore.

He moved closed.

"Hermione." he answered, not even being sure what he was trying to convey.

She moved closer too, didn't she?

Didn't she?

"Harry..." now she was biting her lip.

His heart stopped, he was sure of it.

Oh, what the hell. In for a date, in for a kiss, right? That had to be the right saying.

He leaned in and kissed her. Or maybe she kissed him. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He only knew this was the best moment of his life.

Better than drugs? You bet it was.