Harry's a she

POV: Ronda Weasley

Ronda Weasley sat on the edge of her bed in the Burrow, staring out the window as the summer sun dipped below the horizon. Her hand rested lightly on the frayed quilt her mother had patched countless times. It was the same room she'd grown up in, the same chaotic home filled with love, noise, and magic. Yet this summer, everything felt different.

It had started as dreams—vivid flashes of another life. She was still Ronda Weasley, but she was also someone else. Someone older, someone who had lived through a life she couldn't fully comprehend, who once red a book about an alternate self of her best friend. The dreams became memories, slipping into her waking mind like tendrils of smoke. She remembered the book : a war, friendships forged in fire, and a life that had ended with a quiet finality. Yet she was here, still herself, still Ronda. The memories were hers, but they didn't define her, she would shape her own future, not some otherself future.

At first, she'd been terrified. How could she reconcile these two lives? But over time, she began to see them as a gift. She wasn't just Ronda Weasley anymore; she was something more. Her memories gave her insights she couldn't have gained otherwise, and she resolved to use them to protect the people she loved. Her family didn't notice the change, not really. Ginnie teased her for being more thoughtful, and her parents chalked it up to maturity. Only Freda and Georgia seemed to sense something was different, but they didn't press her. For that, she was grateful.

The memory faded as Ronda returned to the present. The Great Hall was alive with anticipation, its enchanted ceiling reflecting a clear, starlit sky. She sat at the Gryffindor table, her heart swelling with pride as her younger sister, Ginnie, approached the Sorting Hat. Ginnie's red hair gleamed under the flickering candlelight, and Ronda felt a surge of affection and hope. Her sister was a firecracker, full of determination and spirit. When the Hat declared, "Gryffindor!" Ronda clapped loudly, her cheers echoing through the hall.

Ginnie beamed as she joined the table, and Ronda leaned over to ruffle her hair. "Knew you'd end up here," she said with a grin. "Welcome to the best house in Hogwarts."

The Sorting continued, and Ronda watched with mild interest until a name caught her attention: "Black, Arcturus."

Her gaze snapped to the boy stepping forward. His dark hair and sharp features were unmistakable, a striking image of the Black family's legacy. Yet there was something about him that made her pause. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, but his eyes—there was something behind them. Something familiar. She couldn't quite place it.

When the Sorting Hat shouted, "Slytherin!" the Slytherin table erupted into polite applause. Arcturus walked toward his new house with a measured stride, his expression unreadable. Ronda watched him go, a flicker of curiosity igniting in her mind. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Later that evening, Ronda sat in the Gryffindor common room with Holly and Hermione, the warm glow of the fire casting dancing shadows on the walls. Holly was sprawled in an armchair, fiddling with her glasses, while Hermione was perched on the edge of the sofa, her nose buried in a book.

"What do you think of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Holly asked, glancing at Ronda.

She shrugged. "Haven't met them yet, but they've got big shoes to fill. Hopefully, they'll last longer than a year."

Hermione looked up from her book. "I heard he's a specialist in counter-curses. That could be interesting."

Holly snorted. "As long as she's not another Quirrell."

Ronda laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Well, at least Quirrell made for some good stories. Imagine telling your grandchildren one day that you learned Defense Against the Dark Arts from the back of the head of the greatest dark wizard of our time!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stories aren't much use when you're facing a real threat."

"Fair point," Ronda conceded. "What about you, Holly? Looking forward to Quidditch trials?"

Holly grinned. "Always. You should try out this year."

Ronda shook her head. "I'll leave the glory to you. Besides, someone's got to keep Hermione company in the library."

Hermione smirked. "At least pretend you enjoy it."

Ronda didn't argue. She now had a soft spot for the library, though she'd never admit it outright—she didn't want to raise doubts.

The next morning, Ronda's first class was History of Magic. As she stepped into the classroom, she felt a strange mix of dread and anticipation. History had always been her least favorite subject, after potions (but nothing was worse than potions), but the memories of her other life whispered that it was far more important than she'd realized. Besides, there was no longer a Professor Binns, a fact she was still unprepared for. She just chalked it up to being in a parallel world of the one she once read about, so there had to be differences. She didn't think further about it.

The room was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of old parchment. As she took her seat, she resolved to approach the subject with fresh eyes. This wasn't just a lesson in dates and events; it was a tapestry of choices and consequences. And if there was one thing Ronda had learned, it was that history had a way of shaping the future.

She noticed Holly stifling a yawn beside her, her glasses slipping down her nose. Hermione, in contrast, looked alert and eager, clutching a fresh roll of parchment and a quill.

"Do you think this one will be different from Binns?" Holly muttered, her tone skeptical as they slid into their seats.

"Can't be worse," Ronda whispered back. "At least this one's alive."

Holly snorted, but any further commentary was cut short as the door at the front of the room opened with a confident creak. A man in his twenties strode in, his black robes flowing with precision and his sharp green eyes scanning the room like a hawk. His presence silenced the murmurs among the students almost instantly.

"Good morning, everyone," he began, his voice rich and commanding. "I am Professor Alaric Fawley, and I will be teaching you the subject of history—not merely as a recitation of dates and names but as a lens through which to view the world we live in today."

Ronda exchanged a surprised glance with Holly. Already, this was worlds apart from the droning monotony of Professor Binns.

"History," Professor Fawley continued, pacing the front of the room, "is not a passive subject. It is alive, interwoven with the choices, fears, and hopes of those who came before us. To understand it is to understand ourselves. Today, we begin with a question: Why do we create spells?"

A hush fell over the room. Hermione's quill was already scratching across her parchment.

"Spells are not arbitrary," Fawley said, his voice rising slightly. "Each one exists for a reason, born of necessity. The simplest Levitation Charm, for instance, was created by a powerful witch who wanted to realize one of humanity's dream : flying, she wasn't very talented in runes and thus couldn't use subtle rune works to create a broom, she then decided to create a spell for that. After testing it on herself with a huge public, she broke her leg and had everyone laugh at her. After her recovery, she discovered that while such a spell couldn't make her fly, it could enable her to use one of today's basic magic, but such a basic magic was once unthinkable for common wizarding folk and was once the appendage of powerful witches. This is the results of experiments according to someone's dream, but more complex magic—warding spells, defensive charms, even the Unforgivables—are a response to the world around their creators. History provides the context for their invention."

Ronda felt herself leaning forward, drawn in despite herself. Holly, beside her, had stopped fidgeting entirely.

"Let us consider the Founders of Hogwarts," Fawley said, his eyes sweeping across the class. "Four extraordinary witches and wizards who came together to create this institution. Yet even they were not immune to the influence of their time. Their choices—both good and ill—were shaped by the world they lived in."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle.

"Take Salazar Slytherin," he said, his tone even. "A name that inspires admiration in some, fear in others. History often reduces him to a caricature: a pure-blood supremacist who hated Muggle-borns. But history is rarely so simple."

Ronda saw Hermione stiffen slightly, her quill pausing mid-sentence. Hawthorne continued undeterred.

"Slytherin lived in a time when Muggles were not merely ignorant of magic but actively hostile to it. The Church, in particular, saw witches and wizards as an affront to their doctrines. They hunted us. Burned us. Tortured us. And they didn't stop with magical folk. They weaponized fear, turning families against one another. It is documented that Muggle-born children—ignorant of their magic and desperate for acceptance—were manipulated into believing they in fact weren't witches but chosen by God to eradicate witches, entire orders of them hunted for their own. They could also be used as spies to infiltrate wizarding communities. Entire families were slaughtered because of these betrayals."

The room was silent, the air heavy with the weight of his words.

"Slytherin's own family," Fawley said softly, "was one such casualty. He lost everything—his parents, his siblings—to a mob incited by the very Muggle-born children he had once sought to protect. Is it any wonder he became mistrustful? That he sought to protect Hogwarts from what he saw as a mortal threat?"

Holly's brow furrowed, and Ronda noticed Hermione biting her lip, clearly struggling to reconcile this perspective with her own beliefs.

"This is not to say Salazar Slytherin was without fault," Fawley continued. "His fear drove him to extremes, and his legacy is far from unblemished. But it is not our place to impose our modern values onto figures of the past. To truly understand history, we must view it through the lens of its own time, with all its complexities and contradictions."

He straightened, his gaze once again sweeping the room.

"I challenge each of you to approach this subject with an open mind," he said. "Do not let bias cloud your understanding. History is a story—a tapestry of perspectives. Learn to see it in its entirety, and you will gain not just knowledge, but wisdom."

For a moment, the room remained still, the students seemingly caught in the spell of his words. Then, slowly, Fawley's lips quirked into a small smile.

"Now," he said, "let's begin."

The rest of the class passed in a blur of discussion and thoughtful questions, with Hawthorne deftly steering the conversation and challenging the students' assumptions. As the bell rang, Ronda found herself reluctant to leave, a rarity for History of Magic.

"That," Holly said as they filed out of the classroom, "was bloody brilliant."

Hermione nodded, her expression thoughtful. "He's not wrong, though. Understanding the context does change things. It doesn't excuse them, but it helps explain them."

Ronda, for her part, felt a flicker of something she couldn't quite name. Admiration? Curiosity? Either way, she was certain of one thing: Professor Fawley was going to make this year unforgettable.