A/N: I know what I've said about genderbend fics. I think they can be erasure at best and transphobic at worst. But I read a mass of fools and knaves by displayheartcode on FFN (which I have to say is one of the only properly reflective genderbend fics I've ever read) and I fell in love. I wanted to explore what would happen if Hermione had been born a cis male, with all the conversations about sexuality that that'll come with later. So we have male!Hermione with a side of the Girl-Who-Lived.

This story will likely follow canon very closely in terms of major plot points.

Chapter One: Gryffindor at Heart

Not a single book Hector Granger had ever read actually prepared him for the shock of being told he was a wizard. He'd read fantasies. He'd read fantasies galore. Anything he could get his hands on, really: young adult mystiques with ice queens, first-edition Stephen Kings, Howl's Moving Castle. His copies of Lord of the Rings—battered, well-worn, but not dog-eared—sat in pride of place on his bookshelf, which itself was in danger of collapsing.

He didn't really have any friends. The other boys at school were annoyed by him on good days and maliciously nasty to him on bad ones (he'd narrowly avoided getting jumped the other day when he'd hid in the teacher's bathroom), and the girls, just starting to flounce around boys their age, were dismissive of odd, cold, Hector Granger, with his kinky hair and ever-present book. None of the other children had the brain cells to spare a discussion on the physics of Star Wars, and it was fine, but a little lonely.

It didn't help that strange things tended to happen around Hector. He couldn't explain it—how do you explain to your mum that you locked a bully in a closet that locked from the inside? There was no good explanation for the Flying Potato Incident. And the way Billy Wilson had wet himself, after he'd stolen Hector's book…

Hector couldn't even begin to think about how that had happened. He'd just balled his fists, demanding his book back, feeling a flush of hot rage well inside him, and all of a sudden, Hector's book was in the mud, Billy's pants were wet, all the other children were laughing, and Billy had thrown a look at Hector that promised murder.

He had delivered. It hadn't been pleasant.

All these things and more were on Hector's mind as he stared up at the woman who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. Even the name sounded magical, like something straight out of The Chronicles of Narnia.

"A what?" Mr. Granger said, though it wasn't really a question.

"No, this makes sense," Mrs. Granger said, shaking her head with a not significant air of relief about her. "Don't you see, dear? Everything strange that's happened around Hector… I'm just glad I have an explanation."

"Can you show us magic?" Hector asked excitedly.

McGonagall flicked her wand, and the half-empty teapot rose into the air. The Grangers gaped at it. Hector was nearly breathless at the possibilities that spun before him.

"Will I learn how to do that? What other magic can you do? What subject do you teach? When will I get a wand? Where in London can you even buy a wand, anyway? Where is Hogwarts? You said Scotland, but there's a lot of land in…" He trailed off, noticing the professor's faintly amused expression.

"I performed a simple levitation charm, which you will learn in your beginning Charms classes," Professor McGonagall said. "There are many branches of magic that you will learn, one of which is the class that I teach, Transfiguration—" she turned the still-hovering teapot into a tortoise and continued to speak as though it hadn't happened, "—and you can buy a wand in Diagon Alley, to which I can escort you and your parents at your earliest convenience. Provided, of course," she added, "you decide to accept your place at Hogwarts."

"This is a lot to take in," Mrs. Granger said. She was gaping at her ex-teapot.

"I thought you wanted to be a doctor, Hector," Mr. Granger said.

"But I'm magic," Hector said. "Are there wizarding doctors?"

"There are," McGonagall said. "We call them healers."

"Is Hogwarts the only school of magic?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Certainly not," McGonagall said. "It is, however, the only one in Britain. On occasion, other British parents do opt to send their children to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but those require further lengths of travel."

Hector's mum hummed, and he knew he had her. He turned to his dad.

Mr. Granger's brow was furrowed as he took in the raw hope on his son's face, the relief on his wife's. "Alright," he said. The 'study hard' was implied and unnecessary—he knew his son.

There was a smile on McGonagall's face. Another flick of her wand, and the tortoise was a teapot again, cradled safely in Mrs. Granger's hands, as the professor drew a thick envelope out of her robes. "This," she said, "is for you, young Mr. Granger."

Hector took the envelope. It was thicker than paper, a little yellowed, rough under his fingers. "Is this parchment?" He asked. "Like, made from animal skin?"

"Common wizarding parchment, including the envelope you're holding, tends to be plant-based," McGonagall said. "But, yes."

The envelope was unstamped, and Hector lifted the wax seal with shaking fingers, drawing out several more sheets of parchment ("What does it mean, 'await my owl'?") and skimming through the supply list ("Where is Diagon Alley? Is it diagonal? Do a lot of students really have toads? How many classes are there total?").

His most pressing question, however, was, "Will I be behind?" He looked up at McGonagall worriedly. "All the other students, they've known about magic their whole lives, right? I'm sure I've got loads of catching up to do…"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said. "The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery says that no witch or wizard may do magic outside of school until the age of seventeen, and although you may need to catch up on wizarding culture and current events, I assure you, not a single student ever comes to Hogwarts a master of their craft."

Hector carefully slotted the letter back in the envelope and turned it over in his hands. The paper hummed under his fingers, the buzz of what he thought might be magic settling into his bones. It felt like a beginning. He felt a grin stretch his face.

He read Hogwarts, A History four times. He didn't mean to. But by the time he arrived at the platform, he'd memorized it back to front.

And there was nothing about how people were Sorted. The professor had mentioned houses, which were par for the course at boarding school, except that these houses were based on personality, which seemed baffling to him. When he'd asked, she had said that it was tradition to keep it a secret until the Sorting. He could've sworn her eyes had twinkled.

"Running into a brick wall doesn't seem very intuitive," his father said. Mr. Granger had been dubious from the minute they arrived at Diagon Alley. From the goblins ("Seems kind of cliche, doesn't it?") to the telescopes ("Wizarding telescopes do seem of poorer quality."), every question he had asked had been in strong tones of disbelief.

Hector thought everything was wonderful. He'd read all his course books back to front until he knew them largely by heart, and a few other books he'd taken out for extra-curricular reading, too. Though Mr. Granger seemed largely baffled by the world his son had wanted to enter, both he and Mrs. Granger had been content to listen to Hector talk about the things he was and wanted to learn. They'd patiently sat as he tried to make a feather float (which he had managed) and a matchstick turn into a needle (which he had not).

(Hector hadn't talked about anything from Modern Magical History or The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. He didn't think his parents would take kindly to the fact that, though racism didn't appear to be much of an impediment in the wizarding world, he'd traded being one kind of second-class citizen for another.)

"It's magic, Dad," Hector said.

"No magic carpets, then?"

"I think they've been banned…" Hector trailed off as they came to the platform divider. "Here we are." He turned to his parents, feeling a little misty-eyed. His mother was beaming.

"My little boy," she said. "All grown up and going to boarding school."

"You went to boarding school, Mum," he said.

"So I did." She dabbed at her tears. "Write to us every week, you hear?"

"Of course," he said. "Every single week."

"That's my boy," she said, cupping his cheek.

"We love you, son," Mr. Granger said. With a few more hugs, Hector turned and wheeled his cart towards the barrier, slowly at first, then breaking into a run…

He blinked. A large scarlet steam engine idled on the track in front of him, and there was a wrought-iron archway behind him where the divider had been. He could see his parents through it, just starting to turn away.

The platform was just as magical as Diagon Alley had been. The sound of owls hooting nearly overpowered the chatter of the crowd. Robes swirled around ankles, and Hector saw more than a few wands as he made his way down the length of the train. He found an empty compartment a little ways down, and with the help of a girl with a prefect badge, managed to get his heavy trunk onto the train.

"I'm no good at levitating charms," the prefect said ruefully. "First year?"

"Yes," Hector said, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. "Er—"

"Muggleborn?" She smiled. "It's okay, you know. I'm a Muggleborn as well."

"Is it—" He found his voice and then lost it.

"You'll be alright," she said. "Everyone always worries, but Hogwarts is the best place on Earth, in my opinion. You'll do great—I can tell."

"Thank you," he said.

"Go on and find a compartment before all the good ones are taken," she said.

"Thank you," he said again, then, nearly tripping over himself, turned to find an empty compartment.

He was sitting in this compartment, already dressed in his Hogwarts robes and rereading Hogwarts, A History as the train merrily chugged out of the station and out of the city. No one had wanted to sit with him, which he was used to. His thoughts trailed in a more morose direction—what if he couldn't make friends? What if he'd left the Muggle world just to be an outsider in a different one? He thought about his parents' faces if he told them he couldn't hack it at Hogwarts, then shuddered.

The scenery around the train was changing from neat fields to rugged countryside when the door to the compartment slid open. Hector looked up eagerly, but the round-faced boy who stood there only said in an anguished tone, "Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"

"I haven't," Hector said.

"I've lost him," he said miserably. "He keeps getting away from me!"

"I can help you look," Hector offered, tucking his book back in his bag.

"Oh, would you?" the other boy said.

"Of course," Hector said. "I'm Hector—Hector Granger."

"Neville Longbottom," Neville said.

"What does your toad look like?" Hector asked.

"Er, warty," Neville said. "And brown."

"Well, he's bound to turn up," Hector said. "We can ask up and down the train."

The occupants of the first five compartments they looked in were a little dismissive of the two first year boys and their plight, but kind enough. At the first compartment, Hector had been stammering and rambling a little, but by the sixth, he'd quickly figured out what to say in order to expedite the process.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," he said as briskly as possible.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," a very lanky-looking ginger boy said, holding his wand.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" Hector asked. "Let's see it, then." He sat down. The other boy looked rather taken aback.

"Er—all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hector asked skeptically. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, getting my letter was such a shock, but I was just so happy, I mean, it's the very best school of magic there is, I've heard—I've learned all our course books by heart, I just hope it's enough—I'm Hector Granger, by the way, who are you?"

He said this all very fast. He could feel the words tumbling out of his mouth as he said them, and could read the looks on the other two's faces, and knew he was messing up already, but he just couldn't stop himself. The girl looked at the ginger boy, and they traded a glance, before the redheaded boy muttered, "I'm Ron Weasley."

Hector nodded at him, resolving to not ramble again.

"Halley Potter," said the girl, and Hector's brain lit up.

"Are you really?" He asked excitedly. "I know all about you! I got a few extra books when I was in Diagon, and you were in quite a few of them—er, Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and, er, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

By the look on Halley's face, this was not the right thing to say, either. She looked more dazed than anything as she said, "Am I?"

"I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Hector said. "If you'd like, I can lend them to you… do either of you know which house you'll be in? I've been reading up on all the houses and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway," he said, noticing the disgruntled looks on both their faces, "we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

As the compartment door closed behind them, he heard Ron Weasley say, "Whatever house I'm in, I hope—" And the door thudded closed, but he had an awful feeling about the rest of that sentence. He sighed heavily and plastered a large smile on his face.

"Come on, Neville," he said. "Let's keep looking."

In the end, they managed to get a Ravenclaw prefect to Summon Neville's toad, and Neville and Hector parted with a strained smile on Hector's part and some stammering on Neville's. As he passed by Ron and Halley Potter's compartment again, there was the sounds of a scuffle, and then a blond, rather pointy-looking boy shoved past, trailed by two thickset boys with dull eyes. Hector frowned and poked his head in. There were sweets all over the floor, and Ron was picking up his rat by the tail.

"What's happened in here?" He asked.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Halley, ignoring Hector completely. "No — I don't believe it — he's gone back to sleep." And so he had.. "You've met Malfoy before?"

Hector listened to Halley talk about meeting an unpleasantly rude boy in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hector, finally. "Can we help you with something?"

"We're, ah, almost there," Hector said, stumbling over the words. "You haven't been fighting, have you?"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at him. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"We?" Hector raised an eyebrow at Ron, then at Halley. Though Halley looked slightly amused, Ron flushed a dark red and glared.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" Halley asked, and Hector pointed wordlessly. She went, and Hector was left staring at Ron.

"I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly," Hector said abruptly, feeling defensive. "Racing up and down the corridors. You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron shut the door in his face and pulled the shade down. Hector rubbed at his forehead.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Hector got off the train, alone. A very large, bearded man carrying a lamp called, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Halley?" He beamed at Halley, who was ahead of Hector with Ron.

All the first years tripped down a steep, narrow path lined with trees. Hector kept tripping on rocks; he wasn't used to the outdoors much. Neville had evidently lost his toad again; his hands were empty and he was sniffling.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

Just as Hector was thinking that was it, that they'd all die out here in this creepy forest, the trees cleared, and they could see it.

Hogwarts.

He couldn't speak. He almost couldn't think. The windows of Hogwarts glittered above them, and for the first time in his life, Hector could feel his dreams unfold before him like a cloak, like a map, like the culmination of destiny. More than that, the magic in the air was palpable. It was thousands of years of students and teachers and the magic of learning.

He followed Ron and Halley into one of the boats and barely noticed when it lurched forward, so focused was he on the school ahead. The pictures in Hogwarts, A History hadn't done it justice. Nothing ever would, he thought. He ducked his head when ordered and carried on thinking, running Potions problems in his head, wondering what he would have to do to be Sorted.

The castle itself was no less imposing once they were inside of it. The entrance hall itself seemed larger than all the lives it had ever touched. Professor McGonagall had given Hector a warm, fond look as he passed her, and he had tried to smile in return. He hoped he had. He barely listened to the professor explain the sorting, and the houses, and when they had entered the Great Hall, was dimly running through all the spells he only sort of knew how to use in his head. He wished he had taken the time to learn more Charms…

"Granger, Hector!"

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A voice whispered in his ear. "You've had a good life, but a lonely one, haven't you? Plenty of smarts, plenty of desire… you crave knowledge, don't you? Yes, not a bad mind at all…"

I want Gryffindor, he thought to the hat.

"Gryffindor? Are you sure? You wouldn't fit in there, you know. In Ravenclaw you wouldn't be an outcast. Ravenclaw would nurture your wit, your wisdom."

What good are books if you don't have people to share them with? He thought.

"Very Hufflepuff of you," the hat said. "Still, you wouldn't belong there, either. Hm… Ravenclaw or Gryffindor… you could go either way… are you quite sure it'll be Gryffindor for you?"

Yes, Hector thought, as firmly as he could. I've never been more sure of anything.

"Just know, then, that your surety is exactly what makes you GRYFFINDOR!"

Later, lying in his bed with the curtains shut tight, his stomach full and his mind whirring at the speed of sound, the hat's words replayed in his mind.

No one is perfectly chivalrous and daring at the age of eleven, he thought, rolling over. So the hat can't look for innate traits the way it might be able to with Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin. Is… is Gryffindor defined by the choice?

He fell asleep before he could finish his thought, and in the morning didn't remember it at all.