Pairings: Harry x Ginny, Fem!Harry x Ginny

Warnings: Gender bender, female Harry, and future lesbian sex.

Disclaimer: My first Harry Potter story is here at last! I have, as you may know, written many different stories other than this one, but this is my first for this particular fandom. Honestly, there needs to be more gender bender yuri stories in the world of our favorite boy wizard. Why isn't there? There's ample cause for such a story to exist; in a universe where magic spells can do anything, and there are tons of hot girls, it seems almost sacrilege not to have a handful of stories like this. P.S. I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does, obviously.

Before anyone says anything, this takes place in an alternate, more peaceful Year Six, where Voldemort was killed by his backfiring Killing Curse.

Chapter 1: Feminine Woes

It was the dead of night in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and even in the Slytherin House, almost no sounds could be heard. The operative word here being almost. If one listened faintly, every few moments one could hear the slight rustle of ancient pages turning.

The sound was as quiet as quiet could be. In his four-poster bed, Draco Malfoy knew that even he could get into serious trouble if caught reading this particular book. He had stolen it from the Forbidden Section in the Library and it contained archaic spells and curses long forgotten by most minds. Bound in scarlet leather with its glistening silver, loopy cursive title - - 101 Charms and Curses to Get Revenge on Your Oldest Enemies - - it was the sort of thing that Fred and George Weasley would have loved to get their hands on. All of the magics contained in its fading and dusty pages were basically enormous pranks. Painful pranks, yes, but pranks all the same, and none of them non-reversible.

It was a shame, thought Draco sadly. Perhaps getting turned into a newt for life would soften Potter's big head. But that particular spell just didn't seem embarrassing enough (he had come across it around fifteen minutes ago). Sure, his own similar transformation into a ferret several years back had been morally wounding, but Potter... Potter deserved something bigger. Something spectacular. Something that would show off Draco's own greatness and skillful wandwork while, at the same time, bringing everlasting shame upon the Moron Who Lived.

And so Draco continued to flip through the tome, reading by candle-light, searching for something that would fit his desires.

Should Draco strip away most of Harry's magic? (No, that seemed rather harsh, even for Potter.) What about turning him into a half-cat? (Although hilarious to think of, the Granger girl had already suffered from something very similar. Casting such a curse would feel boring and repetitive, even if the aforementioned situation hadn't been his fault to begin with.) Perhaps making Potter talk in constantly-changing languages, so no one could discern what he would try to say...

As the blond boy turned over the Ever-Changing Tongues Charm in his mind, his right pointer finger happened to slip a little. The page turned to the next curse.

What Draco saw made him explode in laughter. Then he quickly clapped a hand to his mouth. In the four-poster across the room, Crabbe turned over restlessly in his sleep. None of his other roommates made a sound, save some rather disgusting snoring from Goyle.

Satisfied that he hadn't given himself away, Draco slowly shifted his attention again to his book. He read the curse's description again, then a third time. He studied the explanatory diagram provided to make sure the lack of sleep wasn't getting to him. Draco nearly burst into laughter again but caught himself. His chest heaved painfully with the effort.

This is perfect, Draco thought ecstatically. Merlin's saggy underpants, this is perfect!

Unable to stop from grinning at the hilarity of the magic he was about to use, Draco grabbed his wand off of his oak nightstand. He wiped it onto his bed-sheets to make sure it was clean, then brandished it out in front of him like he was holding a sword. Following the instructions in the text, he brought to his mind the annoying face of Harry James Potter.

"Transfiguro Femina!" whispered the youngest Malfoy, as softly as he dared. There was a second's delay, and then the tip of his wand glowed faintly pink.

And all the way on the other side of the school, in grand Gryffindor tower, the Boy Who Lived began to change.

Not for the first time, Harry Potter was having rather troubling dreams.

The raven-haired boy was standing in the Leaky Cauldron, eleven again and experiencing the wizarding world for the first time. Which was normal enough at first glance. There was one rather huge difference from how it actually occured, however - - or rather, two huge differences that were basically one and the same. All the familiar witches and wizards who shook Harry's hand and hugged him called him not Harry, but Rose... and he was unmistakably a girl.

It was quite disconcerting.

Although it was very obviously a dream - - everything had a kind of black-and-white colour to it, as though Harry was watching an old television set - - it was all extremely vivid and alive. Harry could hear everyone talking clearly, could smell the aroma of the Butterbeer in most of the customers' hands. Rings of smoke conjured from the wands of several wizened old men in the back choked young Harry's (or, perhaps, Rose's) lungs. In this unfamiliar feminine body, his head was even closer to the bar than it had been all those years ago. Apparently Rose was even shorter and scrawnier than the real Harry was.

"What an honor it is to finally meet you, Rose!" cried a jolly lady with rather overwhelming hair, whose name Harry was unable to recall. "An enormous honor indeed!" Harry's hand hurt in her tight grip.

A man in shockingly blue robes stepped up to him (her?) and knelt down so he was at the same height as Harry. He smiled. "My daughter thinks you're the best," he said warmly. "She's always talking about how you're her heroine. She'll be in school with you this year, you know - - it will be her first year, too. You've set an example for all the girls of this age. You should be proud." His hair was like chocolate and looked as though he hadn't bothered to run a comb through it in several decades. It was even more disheveled than Harry's.

Next to him - - or was it her? Harry really didn't know how to think of this dream version of himself - - Hagrid stood smiling proudly. Compared to the midget that Rose proved to be, Hagrid seemed to fill up the Leaky Cauldron with his huge presence. "Alrigh', you lot, break it up, wontcha?" he boomed. His voice thundered around the tavern without him really trying. "She needs ter get 'er books 'n wand. We don't got all day."

Hagrid clapped a hand against Harry's back, and he nearly fell face-first to the floor. Harry/Rose stumbled for a good two feet before regaining his/her balance.

"Ouch," he said, and winced at his achingly whiny voice.

The half-giant's face dropped into worry. "You alrigh', there, Rosie? Sometimes I dunno me own strength."

"'M alright," said Harry. Again the eleven-year-old girl's voice issuing from his own mouth made him shudder.

"What?" Hagrid cried. His expression changed, now incredulous instead of worried. His accent transformed, too. "What do you mean!? Of course you're not alright, mate! You're a bloody girl, for Merlin's sake! Wake the bloody hell up!"

Harry felt a hand slap his cheek, and his eyes shot open. The dream evaporated at once.

"Cut that out, Ron!" he groaned, sitting up. Something about his voice seemed off. Sleep was dulling his senses and the pillow seemed like a very welcoming idea right about now. Harry rubbed his leaden eyes. "Wha's that... for..."

"Harry? You with me?" said Ron. His freckly face peered down with a strange mixture of emotion - - part disbelief, part humor, part shock, but mostly caution. Through the dregs of sleep, Harry could make out Neville, Dean, and several other sixth years also staring at him.

The world shifted into focus slowly as Harry spoke. He was leaning up a little from his bed, at such an angle that he was given a clear view of his body. His scarlet and gold bed-sheets were at a bundle at his groin. Harry's nightshirt felt unusually tight against his chest. His back was itchy, like a horse's tail was brushing against it. The Boy Who Lived frowned, certain that he must be too tired to think straight. A foreboding feeling growing in the back of his mind, Harry lifted his hand to his chest. He squeezed, confused. Squeezed again.

And immediately stopped cold.

"Er, Harry?" Ron said again.

"Imma go back to sleep," said Harry, his head spinning. "G'night."

"Harry!" cried Ron, and he grabbed the pillow out from under Harry's head before he collapsed into it. His crown smacked painfully against the wall. "Oi, stay with me, mate! Neville, go get Professor McGonagall!"

"Um, right," said Neville, who was looking at Harry as though he were a ghost. He hauled out of the room as fast as humanely possible.

Dean shook Harry. "Hey, Harry, don't faint now!" he snapped. "It took forever to get you awake!"

"Let me sleep," Harry moaned, turning over so his head was buried in his four-poster. "I'll wake up in the morning and this won't be real. This can't be real. This is just a dream."

Ron's dangerously calm voice dragged him back from the pit of slumber. "Listen to me, Harry. This is no dream. This is real."

"No."

"It is."

"'S not."

Ron cried out in exasperation. "Just look again, mate! I'm telling you, it's real! And if you still don't believe me, check for your... you know what."

Hoping against hope that he wouldn't see what he knew he'd see, Harry reluctantly rose his head and sat up. He looked down. The things that he had felt before on his chest were still there: round and poking out against his nightshirt uncomfortably, the size of melons. Two of them. Harry felt them again. They were definitely real - - soft but firm, fitting nicely in his smaller-than-normal hand. Panicked now, Harry reached behind his head, ran his hand along an incredible length of hair that he had definitely not had before. It probably reached down to his back. Aunt Petunia would have a field day with it.

"Ron," said Harry, fear in the edge of his voice.

Ron frowned apologetically at him. "What is it, mate?"

"Get the bloody hell out. Everyone else, too. I'm... checking. For it. And if it's not there, I don't want you to see..."

Ron's ears turned the color of his hair. The faces of the other boys curiously looking at Harry also flushed rather forcefully. "Er, r-right," stammered Ron. "Say no more." He glared at the other boys. "Well, what are you all waiting for? You heard the man! Er, I mean the... yeah. Just... get out."

Dean and the rest of the Gryffindor sixth-years jolted and hauled out of the dorm as quickly as Neville had. Ron hesitated for a moment, then under a withering glare from Harry that could've curdled Honeyduke's Best Chocolate, he left too, shutting the door firmly behind him as he went. Harry paused a moment. He really didn't want to do this. If it wasn't there, he didn't know what he'd do with himself.

Harry steeled himself to the task. It simply had to be done.

With trembling hands, he gripped the edge of his shorts... and looked down.

There was a couple minutes in which absolutely nothing happened.

Outside the dorm, the awkwardness and tension between the sixth years couldn't have been higher.

"You think he's...?" Dean began to ask. He trailed off and stared down at the floor.

Ron frowned. "I don't know. I don't know how I'd handle being in his situation. Damn, the worst crap happens to him." The silence lingered for several moments longer. "Maybe I should - -"

He was cut off by a very loud, very agonized, and very girly shriek.

Ron groaned. "Bloody. Hell."

Well, we'll just have to see how this little project goes.

As always, follows and favorites are welcome but not necessary. I'd really appreciate reviews a lot more, though. Seriously, they're what make my day in the end. Hearing what you guys think of my stories makes me very happy indeed. A single nice review is worth more than thirty follows or favorites in my book!

I hope you all enjoyed this new little story of mine. Next chapter is coming as soon as I can get it up.

-Lemony Yuri Snicket