HP (Harry Potter) Requests

The events of the second year at Hogwarts had unfolded with more than enough drama to last a lifetime. The Chamber of Secrets was a mystery no one would forget, and the truth about Tom Riddle had been exposed at last. But as the school year drew to a close, there was one question lingering in Harry's mind—one he couldn't quite shake off. It all started when he had climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory, searching for Hermione, only to find the room empty. It wasn’t a big deal, at least not at first. He left, assuming that Hermione had simply stepped out for a moment. He hadn’t thought much of it. But that was before he saw something strange a few days later.

It was just before the end-of-year feast, and Harry was walking with Ron near the stairwell when he watched him attempt to climb the stairs to the girls' dorm. He had no idea what Ron was thinking, but the moment his friend set foot on the first step, the stairs began to shimmer and shift. The next thing Harry knew, Ron was sliding backward down the stairs, looking flustered as the girls laughed, some of them even giggling at the sight of him sprawled on the floor. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, but something about it stuck in his mind. He turned to look at Hermione, who had been coming down from the upper floor, her face barely hiding the amusement. 

"What's all this about?" Harry asked.

Hermione, adjusting her bag with a small smile, answered nonchalantly, "Oh, it’s simple. Only girls can climb up to the dorms without the charm activating."

Ron looked baffled. "Charm? What do you mean? It’s just a set of stairs."

Hermione nodded, still smiling. "The Founders, in their infinite wisdom, decided that only girls should be able to climb the stairs. They didn't trust boys, you see. The charm activates whenever a boy tries to ascend. Girls have no issue."

Harry raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "So, it’s a charm? I’ve never had that problem before."

Hermione turned to him then, her expression changing to one of mild surprise. "Wait, you’ve never tried to climb the stairs to the girls’ dorm?"

Harry shook his head. "I did once, but I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t notice anything strange." He paused. "I was looking for you, actually. But the room was empty."

Hermione’s eyes softened slightly, though her smile remained. "You must’ve been lucky then. The charm usually prevents anyone who isn't a girl from getting up there." She shrugged. "It's just the way it’s been for ages."

Harry thought back to that moment a few days ago, to when he had been up there, and he suddenly felt a strange realization sweep over him. The charm hadn’t rejected him at all. It wasn’t a simple misunderstanding, as he had originally thought. It was something else entirely. 

The sudden understanding hit him like a bolt of lightning.

"Wait," Harry whispered to himself, blinking as he processed the thought. *The charm didn't reject me... because I...* He stared at the girls around him, his mind reeling. A flood of memories came rushing back—of times when he’d felt different from everyone else. When he'd looked at girls’ dresses in shops with longing, feeling something in his chest tighten when he saw how pretty they were, wishing for something similar. He had been young, just a child at the time, and the Dursleys had always been so strict about suppressing any sign of “weakness” or difference in him. They had told him that "boys don’t wear dresses" and certainly didn’t talk about wanting to. They'd even tried to "squash" his magic out of him, treating him like an outsider in his own skin. Those memories of being silenced, of being told he wasn’t allowed to be who he truly was, resurfaced with sharp clarity.

A feeling of dread had settled in his stomach back then, and he had buried those thoughts deep, never wanting to acknowledge them. It had felt dangerous to even *think* about them. But now, looking back on it all, Harry realized that the jealousy he’d felt for girls’ dresses wasn’t just envy—it was something more, something that had been repressed and ignored for years. He had wanted to be like them, to wear beautiful clothes, to feel pretty, to look in the mirror and see someone who wasn’t just a shadow of himself. He had been a boy for so long, told by the world that he was supposed to be a certain way—strong, tough, quiet about his feelings. But deep inside, he had always known there was something different about how he felt. It wasn’t a sudden shift. It was a realization that had been brewing, deep within him, for years.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to find her watching him closely, her brow furrowed with concern.

Harry blinked, suddenly aware that his face was flushed. "I—" He swallowed hard, trying to collect his thoughts. "I think I understand now."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Harry looked at her and then, almost as if the words were coming to him for the first time, he said, "I think I’m... I’m actually a girl. I don’t mean just in the sense of the charm, but... I’ve been hiding it. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but... I always felt different. I wanted to wear dresses, feel pretty. And it wasn’t just because of the way the Dursleys treated me, I think it’s because that’s who I’ve always been. I never understood it before, but I think I’m starting to now."

Hermione’s eyes softened, and she reached out to gently touch his arm. "Harry, I don’t know what you’re going through, but I’m here for you. You’ve always been you, no matter what."

Ron, who had been standing beside them, seemed a bit taken aback, but he quickly shook his head and smiled. "Oi, mate, I’m not going to pretend I understand everything. But you’re still Harry. And if you want to wear dresses, then wear them. No one’s stopping you, especially not me."

A strange feeling washed over Harry, a mix of relief and fear. He felt exposed, like a weight had been lifted off him, but also like he had just opened a door he couldn’t close. It was one thing to recognize this truth within himself, but another to share it with the world. But here, with Hermione and Ron, in the safety of their understanding, it felt okay.

For the first time in his life, Harry allowed himself to fully understand something he had tried to repress for so long. He wasn’t just Harry Potter, the boy who lived. He was something else. Someone else. And he was finally starting to accept that.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, the realization settling deeper into Harry’s bones as the evening approached. They all walked down to the Great Hall together, the laughter and chatter from the end-of-year feast spilling out as they entered. But Harry didn’t feel like the same person anymore. Something had shifted within him, a piece of the puzzle finally falling into place. He wasn’t just a boy playing a part. He was a girl who had hidden herself for too long, and now, for the first time, she could breathe.