If you didn't get it from the summary this is the start of a "What If?" series, in which each chapter will change something about an event or person in the Harry Potter world. All chapters are oneshots and unconnected to each other.

What if Harry had been born a girl?

George Weasley sank deeper into his jacket, trying to preserve what little warmth he had. In truth he hated Grimmauld Place. The old house had a lot of potential – plenty of nooks and crannies to be explored and made into hiding places – but there was just something wrong about the place. It was nothing tangible, nothing that could be touched or seen, more a feeling of unease. Perhaps it was Sirius's restless energy, or perhaps it was the idea of Walburga Black haunting the dark rooms, alone and muttering to herself about her blood traitor son, her sanity slowly slipping away. Whatever it was, George, who had made it his business to explore Hogwarts by night, normally wouldn't leave the room he shared with Fred after everyone else was asleep in bed. But tonight was different. Tonight he was a man with a mission.

Penelope Potter. More commonly known as Penny. George had been thinking about her a lot recently. He wasn't one to obsess over girls, having far more important things to think about: quidditch training, ways to torment Filch, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, ways to torment Filch, keeping his grades at a vaguely respectable level, and just generally making Filch's life a misery. But over the last couple of months Penny had been occupying his mind more than usual, elbowing her way past canary creams and extendable ears to take a prominent place in his thoughts.

Had he ever met a girl quite like her? She was one of the most talented quidditch players he had ever met. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she was given the captain's badge next year although he wouldn't be around to see it. She was also one of the most talented duellers, perhaps the most talented dueller amongst the students. In the DA meetings she had taught them hexes, jinxes and defensive magic that a lot of witches and wizards twice her age didn't know how to do. And, the icing on the cake, she shared his disregard for school rules. It didn't hurt that she wasn't bad looking either. If not stunningly beautiful, she had a kind, pretty face and startlingly green eyes.

Here, George thought, was a girl who could keep up with him.

That's why he was creeping down the stairs in the dead of night, trying desperately to avoid the steps that creaked. The attack on his father had pushed Penny out of his mind for a few hours, but since seeing for himself that his dad was well on the way to recovery he had been racking his brains for a way to talk to Penny alone. It wasn't as easy as he had imagined it would be. Hermione and Ron seemed determined to keep her mind off You-Know-Who and Umbridge, and so kept her busy with an endless round of chatter, decoration hanging and games. When not trimming the tree or receiving a sound beating at chess from Ron, all of Penny's time seemed to be occupied by Sirius. Sirius, perhaps sensing George's intentions towards Penny, stuck to her side like spellotape and glared at every male in the house as if they intended to ravish his innocent goddaughter.

George had almost given up hope of ever getting Penny on her own when Hermione had casually mentioned that Penny sat up on her own every night after everyone else had gone to bed. He hadn't liked the knowing look Hermione wore when she told him this, but at least she hadn't mentioned her suspicions to everyone else. Having to face Ron's sniggers or Sirius's anger weren't thoughts that George relished.

It took him a small eternity to navigate the dark stairs and reach the kitchen. When he entered the kitchen, heart beating unreasonably quickly, he found Penny seated at the table, just as Hermione had promised. She pored over an ancient textbook, biting her lower lip in concentration as she scribbled in the margins. This was most unusual: when it came to homework Penny was a last minute kind of person, frantically scribbling answers in the common room with Ron under Hermione's disapproving glare. She most definitely wasn't the sort to stay up late into the night for the sake of an essay.

George made a noise halfway between a grunt and a cough to announce his arrival, and Penny looked up, startled. When she saw who her visitor was her face relaxed into a smile. "You're up late," she commented softly.

"Couldn't sleep," George lied. "Do you mind if I -?" he said, pointing to the chair beside her.

"Not at all," she said, and pulled out the chair to allow him to sit down. "I could probably do with a break."

He walked stiffly to the chair and sat down. "Who was cruel enough to give you homework over Christmas? Snape?"

Penny chuckled lightly and shook her head. "No. Well, Snape did set us an essay but that's not what I'm working on. This is stuff for the DA."

"And what do you have planned for us next, o wise and fearless leader?"

George was only half listening as Penny launched into an explanation of complex counter-jinxes, nodding in what he hoped was an enthusiastic manner as she flicked through the textbook to point out examples. He had spent so much time plotting how to get her alone that he realised now he had given no thought as to what he would actually say when he finally had her to himself. Fred and Bill were the brothers who could be charming when they wanted to; he, George, had never got the knack of it. How exactly was he supposed to steer the conversation from duelling dark wizards to the possibility of a date on the next Hogsmeade weekend?

Finally, just as Penny was beginning to run out of steam and George was panicking that he would have nothing to say, he remembered that he hadn't come completely unprepared.

"Happy Christmas, by the way," he said.

Penny frowned. "It's not Christmas yet."

George nodded towards the clock, which indicated that not only was it Christmas, but it had been for two hours. While Penny grinned and wished him a happy Christmas in return, George rummaged in his pocket and produced a small, shoddily wrapped package which he placed on the table in front of her. "What's this?" she asked.

"A present. For you."

"You shouldn't have bought me anything," she said sternly.

"In case you're forgetting," he began, equally as stern, "you loaned me and Fred your weight in gold just a few months ago."

She fidgeted awkwardly in her seat, fiddling with the textbook. "It wasn't a loan, it was a gift. I didn't expect anything in return."

"I didn't get you this because I felt I had to, I wanted to. Now open it!"

A moment more of hesitation and then Penny smiled, reaching towards the package. Her hand came to a sudden halt a hair's breadth away from its brightly coloured surface. "Hold on a minute," she said, a note of suspicion entering her voice. "Will this present make me vomit, give me a nose bleed or cause me to sprout feathers?"

George chuckled. "No. You're safe." When she continued to look at him warily he raised his hand and added, "I swear on the Marauders' Map."

"Good enough for me," said Penny as she proceeded to tear into the wrapping paper. She stripped off the thin layer of paper to reveal a long, thin box. It was slightly battered after the trial of spending a week in George's robe pocket, but still beautiful in its covering of plum coloured velvet. When Penny lifted the lid her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as they fought to make words with no sound. Penelope Potter was speechless; George knew he had made the right choice.

Slowly, almost reverently, Penny lifted her present from its container. The gold chain glittered in the light of the candles she had been using to read by. Although thin the necklace was surprisingly resilient. It had to be for what dangled from its end. A tiny golden snitch, complete with delicate silver wings, fluttered lazily at the end of the chain. "George..." she said, her voice hushed.

"You can't stay banned forever," George said, trying to sound calm and failing miserably. "I thought it might bring you luck in your next match."

"It's beautiful." She placed it carefully back into its box. "Thank you. I wish I'd done more than raided Zonko's for your present."

It's now or never, George thought to himself. What's the worse that could happen? His mind, quite unhelpfully, provided him with a stream of unpleasant images. Endless mockery from Ron. Sirius cursing him into oblivion. Penny cursing him into oblivion, for that matter. "Well," he began hesitantly, "there is something I'd like."

"Name it," she said firmly.

"Well I'd quite like – during the next Hogsmeade weekend – to go with you. Just you. The two of us." A cool part of George seemed to drift up to the ceiling, calmly watching his body stammer and stutter as Penny looked on in confusion. "To Hogsmeade," George added hopelessly, as if this needed clarification.

Penny paused for a moment before answering. George thought that the corners of her mouth might be lifting into a smile, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking. "Are – are you asking me out?" she asked quietly.

"That depends," said George. "If your response to me asking you out would be to curse me, then no. Otherwise yes, I am."

Now Penny really was smiling. "I'm not going to curse you."

"Is that a 'yes' then?" George asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.

Penny's grin widened. "That's a yes."

George sagged in his chair, sighing in relief. "Thank God for that. You have no idea how much this kind of thing can take it out of a man." He grimaced as Penny laughed and cooed in mock sympathy. "Now all I have to worry about is your charming godfather."

"Sirius?" she frowned. "What do you have to worry about him for?"

"He's been giving us men the evil eye for the past couple of days. I dread to think what he'll do to me once he's found out I've asked you out."

"George Weasley!" Penny said in such a stern voice that for a moment she resembled his mother quite scarily. "Do you really have so little faith in my teaching? Here I've been, busting my gut to train you to fight dark wizards, and you're telling me you can't take on one little Order member who also happens to be an ex convict?"

"For your fair hand," he sighed dramatically as he rose from his seat and offered Penny his own hand, "I would tweak You-Know-Who's nose and call him 'baldy'. As long as you promised to mourn at my grave, of course."

"Of course," she agreed gravely. She accepted his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. George's skin thrilled at the brief contact although he couldn't understand why. How many times had they peeled each other off the ground during training sessions? He had even carried her to the hospital wing after one unfortunate accident. Why was it that her small hand in his now made his fingers tingle? He didn't have long to ponder the question because soon she had released him to scoop the heavy textbook off the table.

"I think it's time for bed," said Penny, blinking sleepily. "I'm sure we'll all be woken at the crack of dawn with a rousing chorus of 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs'."

They had reached the door when George suddenly froze and looked up. Mistletoe. He had placed it there himself several hours ago with vague, half formed plans of trapping Ron under it with Kreacher. Now he was trapped under it with Penny, who was watching him curiously. "Mistletoe," he croaked, nodding towards it.

Penny glanced up. "Yeah. Probably full of Nargles, though."

They looked at each other for a moment which seemed to last hours. Then George was leaning down towards her, closing the gap between them. Their faces were inches away... Millimetres...

"Ahem."

George sprang away from Penny as if burned. Sirius stood at the foot of the stairs, piercing George with a look that would make lesser men cringe. "Sirius!" Penny said, her voice shaking. "I didn't realise anyone was still awake."

"Clearly," Sirius said curtly.

Penny's eyes narrowed slightly at the tone of his voice. "George," she said without looking away from Sirius, "you should go up to bed. I'd like Sirius's advice on the lesson I've planned."

George cast a brief, grateful look at Penny, relieved for the escape she had provided him with. He hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Sirius's glare burning into his back.

The next morning George was woken by a blow to the head with a pillow. He blinked blearily as Fred's grinning face appeared above him. "Morning brother," he said pleasantly. "Good night last night?"

"Absolutely," said George, unable to suppress a grin of his own.

"I see the book came in handy."

George frowned. "What book?"

Fred tapped a book that rested on the end of George's bed. Brow creasing, George sat up and picked the book up. It was his copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches, but he hadn't read it in weeks. How had it come to be on his bed? He knew that Fred hadn't placed it there: they played jokes on other people, never each other. Settling it in his lap, he allowed it to fall open on a random page. To his horror he saw that it had been annotated in dark ink. He didn't recognise the handwriting but a brief scan of the scribbles left no doubt in his mind as to who the author was.

Don't even think of trying this with Penny... If you try this I'll make the cruciatus curse look merciful... Attempt this and I'll show this book to your mother...

He groaned and flopped back onto his pillow. "What is it?" Fred asked, suddenly concerned.

George thrust the book into his brother's hands. "I think I've made an enemy."