Sex. I've known about it since I walked in on my aunt and uncle. That is a truly appalling sight. From what I had seen I thought it was something I would never like. As naïve as it sounds, I believed that some people enjoyed it and some didn't, and from my first sight of it, I was sure I never would.
Then came sixth year in the Gryffindor dorms. They never really do explain the `brave' also includes bringing your father's stash of porn from home and hoping no house elf would understand what it was; like Seamus did. During the first month of classes no sixth year Gryffindor was able to look any girl in the eyes, excluding me, of course. I found no interest in what they were looking at. I hadn't even taken a look because I was sure I would be one of those people who just didn't like it; why beat a dead hippogriff? So, while girls kept asking me what was wrong with all the guys, I said nothing. I may not have partaken in any of the `spoils,' but I knew enough about male comradery not to rat everyone else out. Of course, over this period of time, and a month after that, Ron had accumulated a knot on the back of his head. Every time we talked to Hermione I had to smack him in the back of the head so that he would look at her head and not…well, below her neck.
At this time, I began to wonder which girls would like it, and which wouldn't. Ginny: yes. Lavender and Parvati: of course. Pansy: hope not! Luna: something told me she would really enjoy it. Then Hermione came and sat down beside me. I began to ask myself whether she would like it or not and I came to a conclusion that she would be like me. She didn't like it all that much when Krum touched her, so maybe. It comforted me to know that I wasn't alone. When I figured that out, I stopped hanging around with Ron so much and started spending most of my time with Hermione. I was happy that while others were so enrapt with who was dating, who had done it, and who had split up because they had done it, I didn't have to pretend to care. Of course the Daily Prophet reported a couple times that we were dating, but I did care, we didn't even talk about it. Ron's voice squeaked a bit, and he asked us up front about it, but we said no, and he believed us.
I began wondering if my parents like it or not. I wondered if they were like me, maybe they had only performed the act to conceive me. But then Ron had to open his big mouth. He had just come back from the boys' loo and handed off Seamus' magazine to him. When everybody left, he came up to my bed and sat on the edge of it.
`You know I think Colin is okay.'
I look up from my Professional Quidditch Teams book and just stared at him.
`What are you bringing him up for?'
He sat there for a moment as if he were trying to find the right words.
`I just say it because he's the only other one in the entire school.' He looked at me pitifully, `Doesn't give you much choice.'
`Choice?' I repeated.
`I wish I was, well not really, but I…I would have like to help you. I mean, first you got Voldemort, then Snape, and school. It's a lot for anyone. I just guess I wish you didn't have to go through it alone.'
I was completely perplexed. I suspected he knew I didn't like `it,' but really, I wasn't the one acting funny.
`Ron, are you going mad? I have no idea what you're talking about.'
`Well, you know…because you're gay.'
`What the fuck is wrong with you?'
His head shot around and he looked at me as if I were the strange one.
`You're not?'
`Of course, not!'
Ron sat silently for a moment, then opened that too big mouth of his again, `You don't have to lie to me, mate.'
I didn't know that blood could boil while someone was trying to do something nice for you. I just walked out of there, not saying a word to Ron, or anyone I passed. I went into an empty classroom and trashed everything in sight. What Ron had said was more or less true: I was alone. Because I didn't want sex or my own Playboy bunny, I was all alone. Just as I was about to wallow in my own self pity, I remembered: Hermione. She would talk to me, or not, but she would understand, we were in the same boat. It was well passed two in the morning and boys couldn't get into the girls' dormitories. Then I had a moment of brilliance. I got on my Firebolt and under my Invisibility Cloak. I flew over some of the four-posters until I came to Hermione. I moved down and put my hand over her mouth. She woke and was scared until she noticed it was me.
`What?'
`Just get dressed,' was all I said and flew out of her dorm.
She met me in the common room and then we went to the Quidditch pitch, where I was sure we wouldn't be bothered.
`I hate Ron,' were my first words to her.
`Is there a reason for this hatred or are you just feeling it at, to see if you like it better than being his friend.'
Her joke was lost on me.
`It's like just because I don't want to stare at nude pictures all day there's something wrong with me.'
She just looked at me.
`I mean, I am working hard, I am one of the only people Voldemort wants to kill, my godfather just died, and just because I don't want to look at every girls' chest that makes me gay.'
`Ron thinks you're gay?'
`Yeah, that's why I hate him,' I answer.
Hermione comforted me, made me feel better, and made me like Ron again. I was such a prick. I was king of the pricks. Of all the pricks in the land of Prickerville, I was their fucking king! Don't understand what I mean? Why don't I explain this not from my point of view, but Hermione's.
* * *
Hermione started her sixth year just like any other, she studied like crazy. Soon she noticed most of the Gryffindor boys looking at every girl's breasts, except hers. At first this made her feel bad; that was until she sat down with Ron and Harry. Every time Ron looked at her breasts Harry would hit Ron to get him to stop. Harry didn't want any of the boys looking at her... self. The thought made her cheeks flush, it was almost... possessive.
Soon after that happened Harry started to spend more time with Hermione, which she felt was a confirmation of what she had hoped for earlier: Harry and her were a couple. Of course Harry had trouble showing his feelings, so she wasn't expecting him to go after her like a lovesick puppy. Besides, she liked the way things were going; little touches stolen at various moments throughout the day. It was as if they were co-conspirators with their own secret world, where only they knew the truth. It was quite perfect. So what if they hadn't kissed yet? It would come in it's own time.
Then the time came when Hermione was sure she was going to get that first kiss, Harry had figured a way into the girls dorms and took her down to the Quidditch pitch. On the way she wondered about things like her breath and if she needed to lick her lips first, but that all rushed away when she realized this was about Ron. Ron, and Harry not wanting anything to do with girls. Hermione didn't know what to make of this at first. In the end she decided it was good to know that Harry wasn't looking at other girls, but he also didn't seem interested in looking at her either. Had she misunderstood the past month? Did Harry tell Ron that the Daily Prophet was wrong because he actually believed it? Hermione quickly shook those thoughts away and focused on helping Harry.
* * *
Prick extraordinaire. That's what I am. Of course at the time I am unaware, and that excuses just about none of my actions. But I digress. Now that I feel better I start to lead Hermione back to the castle and Gryffindor Tower, oblivious that my mere touch is reassuring her of feelings she had previously doubted. I take comfort in our shared solitude, knowing that if I have to be alone, at least I'm alone with her. The next day Ron and I forgave each other; then of course, as it is in my life, the shit hit the fan... again.
Hagrid and Grawp were out on an assignment for the Order and were attacked by a group of Death Eaters. They were missing in action.
It was happening again.
Someone I cared about was leaving me, like my parents did.
Like Sirius did.
I sat alone in the boys' dorm starting to feel anxious, I needed something. No, I needed to feel something, and hate wasn't strong enough. That was when Hermione closed the curtain behind her and sat on my bed with me.
Lucky me.
Unlucky Hermione.
I didn't care if I didn't like it, it was something more, something more than friendship, which wasn't strong enough to fulfill me.
Prick.
I crossed the little space there was between us in a flash; Hermione didn't even have enough time to gasp.
I kissed her hard, bruising her lips and digging my tongue deep into her mouth. It was clumsy; it was the first time I had ever really kissed anyone. It was also pure, white-hot, need. It was the death of my innocence. It was everything; it stopped the nothing from consuming me.
It was the beginning of the end of our friendship.
Remember me, mister prick of the month? You didn't think that a kiss would be enough to satisfy me, did you? Of course not. I wanted all of it, and I didn't even ask.
Hermione gave it up willingly of course, but I didn't even ask.
To tell the truth I think I actually tore her panties off, and entered her without a moment's pause. She was a virgin and I never asked if she was sure, or slowed down, I just went for it. I was lucky that Hermione was a muggle and used tampons, or else I would have hurt her physically. I pushed into her again and again, she would try to move with me, but the rhythm was off, so what did I do? I took my two hands and pushed her hips wherever I wanted them. Once I felt her tighten, what, I don't know, just tighten around me I felt all this tension that I had inside me release. For one moment I felt again.
I liked it.
I felt sick with myself, I liked it.
I didn't know what to do to solve the situation, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I put Hermione, then myself, back into the position we were sitting in before the entire interlude.
'Harry?' she croaked.
Fuck.
My best friend. I just had sex, if you could call it that, with my best friend. She trusted me, and what do I do, I take her the first chance I get. She needs to get better friends.
Of course the thought of a contraceptive only comes to me afterwards, which just demonstrates how stupid I am.
She takes my hand, and rubs it with her own. She then interlaces her fingers and mine, and puts our palms together.
Her simple touch comforts me; we're alone, together.
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