Disclaimer: Don't Own Harry Potter. Shoo, fly, shoo!
Dear Diary,
My name is Harry Potter. I am a wizard. Yes, I can do magic. But that is beyond the point at the moment, I think.
I'm sixteen as of today, on the thirty-first of July. And for a teenager, I've been through more than what most adults would face in ten lifetimes. And I envy those people. Of the several billions of people across the earth, it had to be me, Harry James Potter who has to save the world.
Harry paused as he wondered if it was a good way to write in his new diary.
As of today, like he had written, he was sixteen years old. Not that it really meant much to him. Having been an orphan since young, he had never known true familial love. Sure. The Weasley family treated him like one of their own, but he sometimes he felt like he was an odd cogwheel.
Sirius? True, the man was what he had always wanted, a father figure to care for him. But Sirius was dead. His closest family member, his godfather, was dead, killed and thrown through a veiled archway by his own cousin.
That was just great.
The bitterness was there, but he had pushed it down to the back of his mind. No use brooding over someone who's dead, even if it was his own godfather. Because the longer he brooded, the stronger the enemy would grow. They had no time to waste.
Unable to really think of anything else to actually write in the diary, Harry scribbled more about himself and signed off.
Maybe starting a diary wasn't such a good idea after all. He blamed it on Hermione's persuasive abilities.
Harry sighed and fell back onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling. His head hurt a little
'Unfamiliar ceiling,' he thought to himself. He had gotten this room about five years ago, but to him, it was as unfamiliar to him as say Knockturn Alley would be. Indeed, he had never really gotten much of a chance to know his room since he had gotten it.
The first time he had the room was because his uncle thought that it would throw the wizards off his trail. But he hadn't even stayed in it for a day before he was taken along for a 'trip' which ended up in his knowing of his true heritage.
The first, second and third summers had been hectic, since he was quite literally the servant of the Dursleys. Most of the time, he was worked so hard that he usually fell asleep once he got into bed, what with the chores and homework he had to do.
This was the first summer he would spend very much unmolested in the Dursley household, thanks to the threats his friends had promised his aunt and uncle. He had, to the bewilderment of his relatives and his watchers, continued to clean up the house and cook for the family despite the fact that he no longer had to.
It had felt very odd to him on the first day he had returned to find the house in quite a mess. He wasn't a neat freak, but having laundry piled up and crockery left around didn't appeal to his nose. Besides, it felt odd when he had woken up on the first day back and found that he wasn't ordered to do anything. He guessed that it was simply because if had became a ritual for him every summer.
Fast forwarding his summer, he had received his OWL results. He had expected to fail a couple of subjects, but to his surprise, he had passed every subject, most with flying colours. Divination and History of Magic he scraped past, but what surprised him was that he had 'Outstanding' for potions. Apparently, the markers weren't as 'strict' as their Potions Professor.
And when it came for him to choose his NEWTs subjects, he found that his old dream of getting five NEWTs to be an Auror was a thing of the past.
He knew that he had been adamant and insistent in wanting to be an Auror in the past, but it occurred to him that he didn't care anymore. Not that he was going to stop his hunt for the Death Eaters and Voldemort, but he had no wish to work for the ministry. Besides, his decision was partially made out of spite towards Umbridge.
Also, his birthday wasn't such an important or excitable event anymore. It reminded him that his past was flowing like water through his fingers, the good times gone, and that an era of darkness lay ahead of him.
He was pleasantly surprised to find that he received presents from not just his friends, but from members of the DA as well. Most of the presents ended up being books which taught about the Dark Arts, Hexes, Curses, Jinxes and the ways to avoid or prevent them.
Hermione got him a diary -the one he was writing in-, Ron got him an autographed copy of one of the Chudley Cannon's books, Ginny got him a book of chess strategies, Fred and George sent him some of their joke products, Mrs Weasley sent him some of her famous cooking, and Remus Lupin had given him a wand holster.
He was very thankful for his friends' thoughtfulness and had replied as such. He had maintained occasional contact with them, and smartly avoided anything to compromise the Order or anything along that line.
His headache was becoming worse as he glanced at the time. Seeing that it was almost midnight, he yawned, stowed his diary in his trunk, changed into his pyjamas and fell back onto the bed, sleep claiming him quickly.
The next morning, Harry woke up feeling rather sore and odd. He wondered why as he got up slowly since there was no rush. If he didn't wake up in time to make breakfast, Aunt Petunia would have.
He frowned as he sat up and felt the fabric of his pyjama top rub against his chest tightly. He wondered if his pyjama top had somehow shrunk during the night, seeing as it was still loosely fitting when he went to bed.
He headed into the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth, not really caring to take a closer look in the mirror. He felt like his body was feeling strange, but he couldn't put a finger on what it was, since he was just waking up properly.
That was, until he was about to pee.
He fumbled with his pyjama bottom, but the absence of something made him feel that something was amiss. And once he looked down, he realised why.
For several moments, he stared at his crotch, his eyes growing in disbelief. Then he turned to the mirror. Slowly, it dawned on him what had happened. He took a deep breath to calm down...
Only to let loose a piercing scream that very much awoke the entire neighbourhood.
"Shut up, boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the sitting room.
That was followed by a deafening bang as the door to Number 4 Privet Drive was almost blown of its hinges as a witch scrambled in, wand drawn, an apprehensive look on her face as she quickly looked around the house while the Dursleys stared at her in shock. "Harry! What's wrong? Where are you? Is it your relatives?" she asked.
The scream had abated by then as Uncle Vernon jumped up from his chair yelling "Who are you and what are you doing here?" at the witch who cared less about him.
The witch scrambled up the stairs to Harry's room, opening the door with a bang to investigate what was going on, ready to unleash hexes, only to find Harry still in the bathroom, mouth wide open, his eyes large as sauces and staring at the mirror.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Tonks asked as she approached carefully, trying to determine if the boy had been hit by a body-bind curse or something.
"I-I-I-I" was all Harry could sputter as he opened and closed his mouth.
"Harry, did you change your voice or something?" Tonks came closer to the boy.
Finally, Harry snapped out of it, eyes still wide with disbelief. "I-I... iamagirl" he muttered, before going into a dead faint.
"What? Can you repeat that?" Tonks replied, her reactions catching Harry before he hit the floor.
"What's going on here!" Uncle Vernon demanded as he stormed up the stairs.
"Ennervate!" the Auror continued to ignore the muggle in favour of trying to revive the boy. "Harry! What happened?"
"Tell me I was dreaming," the boy mumbled as he came to. "Tell me I imagined it all, that I'm still a boy, that I don't... have..." he slowly trailed off, as he glanced down at his chest. "Breasts," he finally ended, before fainting again.
"What is he talking about?" the huge muggle continued to roar, which caused Hedwig to hoot unhappily.
Tonks was about to assure Harry that, of course he was a boy, but having glanced down at his chest when Harry did, she found her words caught in her throat. The first thought that formed in her mind was that Harry was probably a metamorphmagus, but she quickly pushed it out of her head. If Harry was one, he would've shown signs of it a long time ago... Quickly, she cast a diagnostic charm to see if he had been afflicted with any kind of hex or curse or potion or any form of magic which might've caused his problem.
Glancing through the diagnosis once the charm had done its job, she found, to her annoyance, that there did not seem to be any problem. It wasn't that surprising, actually, considering that this was a general charm used by Aurors on the field. A Healer's diagnostic charm was more specific, and Tonks wondered if she should contact the Headmaster and ask him to bring along Madam Pomfrey...
She paused as she glanced at the diagnosis again out of the corner of her eye. Something seemed out of place.
"Name: Harry James Potter... Age: Sixteen... Gender: Female... Address: Number four... FEMALE!"
Author's Note:
Sorry that this isn't an update, but I've noticed lots of mistakes in the previous version. I've been spending some time editing them, but I haven't had much time to do much. Time's been rather tight since school started.
Ne-chan, I know this isn't much, but Happy Birthday )