The Talk

Author's Note: This time, not only do the characters belong to someone else, but this time the story idea does as well.

After receiving an overwhelming number of requests, I've written this little ditty about Harry receiving `the Talk.' Keep in mind that `overwhelming' is a relative term; since I've never received a request to write something before, and 2 divided by zero approaches infinity, and since infinity is a really big number, I'd say that's overwhelming.

Regardless, I hope this doesn't sound rushed. I just read the request the other day, and I wrote this up this morning. It's unbeta'd. Enjoy!

The Talk

First, let me preface this by saying that I love Hermione very much. She is my everything, and I can't wait to spend of the rest of our lives together in wedded bliss.

Okay, now that that's out of the way, let's be honest here: I always knew there'd be problems once I asked her to marry me. Not that I was afraid that she would say no, though I was, but rather I knew there'd be a ton of attention once it was revealed that we were to be married. And I hate attention. Eloping would have been a good idea, but I knew Hermione wanted a nice wedding with her parents, and I couldn't take that away from her. So, as I arrived at the Burrow for the first monthly Sunday lunch after Hermione and I were engaged, I was prepared to receive all the questions and comments and the blasted attention. I knew it would be bad, but I had no idea how bad it would be.

While Mrs. Weasley was putting the finishing touches on the meal, Ron and I were in one corner of the family room talking about the latest Quidditch standings and the rather far-fetched scenarios that would have to take place in order for the Cannons to make the playoffs. These scenarios usually involved the rest of the teams in the league losing all of the rest of their games. The sound of a throat clearing made us both look up.

“Er, sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could speak to you Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, looking a little nervous.

“Sure Mr. Weasley. What's up?”

“Actually, if I could have a moment alone?”

“Alone?” I was immediately alarmed, since people generally don't ask to speak to you in private to share good news. No, people don't tell you that you've won the Daily Prophet lottery in private, they tell you things like you were born under a prophecy and are destined to have a crappy life until you graduate from Hogwarts, if you can live that long, that is. Or something like that; it's different for each person I guess.

My concern must've been evident on my face, because Mr. Weasley quickly added, “Oh, no, no, Harry, it's nothing to worry about. It just a…delicate subject matter.” He gave Ron a significant look. I looked at Ron and watched his face go from curious to confused to realization, quickly followed by alarm. This was not good. “Come on Harry, follow me to my study,” Mr. Weasley said, gesturing down the hall. I couldn't very well refuse him, so I stood. As I followed Mr. Weasley to his study, I glanced back at Ron. He looked positively panicked. There was no way this would be good.

“Please come in. Have a seat,” Mr. Weasley said, holding the door open for me. I looked around the study, and couldn't help but think what a mess the place was. Broken bits of Muggle artifacts were everywhere. “Here, let me,” Mr. Weasley said, moving around me to sweep some paper clips and staplers off of a chair. I sat down, feeling almost as nervous as Mr. Weasley looked. He took the chair across from me. I waited for him to speak.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, I couldn't stand the awkward silence. “So,” I said, “what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked politely.

“Yes, right then,” he said, appearing to build up his courage. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

I wondered whether this painful conversation (which so far consisted of only three of four sentences, so of course that couldn't be a good sign) would end if I said no. But of course, I couldn't say no to Mr. Weasley. “Of course.”

“Right.” He fidgeted slightly. “Right then.” Some more fidgeting. Then he took a deep breath. “Have you and Hermione…” and then he said something in a mumble that I couldn't catch.

“I'm sorry, what was that again? Have Hermione and I what?”

He sighed. “Sex. Have you and Hermione had sex yet?”

I must've heard him wrong. Dear Lord, please let me have heard him wrong. “I…uh…”

“Oh dear,” Mr. Weasley said, looking embarrassed and apologetic at the same time. “I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that…”

“It's okay,” I said quickly, hoping to hold off any apologies, even though things were far from okay. “No, Mr. Weasley, Hermione and I haven't had sex.”

And then Mr. Weasley did something that I would never have expected. He looked disappointed. “Oh dear,” he said softly. “That's not good.”

“Not good?” I blurted. How is that not good? I mean, it's not good for me, but from an adult's point-of-view, wouldn't that be good news?

“Oh Harry, you misunderstand,” Mr. Weasley said quickly. “It's very good. I'm proud of you. Well done. Good show.” And then he gave me a congratulatory pat on the back.

I was so confused.

“What I meant,” Mr. Weasley continued, “is that it's not good for me. Because, you see Harry, I know you don't have any…parental figures in your life. Those Muggles you lived with hardly count. And while I know I'm a poor substitute for your father, I think it's my responsibility to have `the Talk' with you.”

“The Talk?”

“Yes Harry. The talk about sex.”

Oh sweet Jesus. I knew this wouldn't be good! “Er, that's alright Mr. Weasley,” I said uncomfortably, thinking frantically for a means of escape. “You don't have to-”

“Oh, but I must,” he said quickly. “Molly would have my head if I didn't.”

And once I knew Mrs. Weasley was behind the idea, I knew there was nothing I could do to prevent this from happening. I sighed. “Okay.”

Mr. Weasley smiled. “Good. Let's begin, shall we?” Then he looked around the study, a frown on his face. “I usually have visual aids, but I seemed to have left them in the attic. Would you like me to get them?”

“No! I mean, no, that's okay.”

“Okay then, we'll try without the visual aids.” He paused, collecting his thoughts as my dread only grew. Then his voice took on a more formal tone. “Harry, one day you'll meet a woman that you love and-”

“Excuse, Mr. Weasley?” I interrupted. “Since Hermione and I are in love and engaged, perhaps we can skip that part?”

“Oh, too right. Good point Harry. Okay then. Let's see…” Mr. Weasley said. And then that formal tone was back. “Girls and boys are different in many ways. Boys are born with a pe-”

“Mr. Weasley!” I nearly shouted in panic. He looked at me curiously. “Um, I know most of that already. Perhaps we can skip that part too?” While he considered my request, I briefly wondered exactly how much trouble I would get into for using an Imperious charm on him.

“Okay, we'll skip that part too,” he finally said. After another pause to collect his thoughts, and he was off again. “When you're with Hermione…”

And then, for the first time ever in my life, I gave thanks for living with the Dursleys. They had yelled and lectured at me so often that I learned how to completely block out what they were saying while looking attentive and nodding at the appropriate times. Mr. Weasley continued to talk while thoughts of Quidditch and lunch ran through my brain. I was just thinking about Mrs. Weasley's homemade pudding when my brain told me it was time to pay attention. “Right Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked.

Although I didn't have a clue as to what he was talking about, I just nodded. “Right Mr. Weasley.”

“Now,” he said, “what I do when things get a little repetitive is to role-play. Sometimes Molly would dress up…”

And once again my brains turned off my ears. It was a good thing too, because I really didn't want to hear the rest of that sentence. All I wanted to do was think about Mrs. Weasley's smoked turkey, her desserts, and that Healers outfit she would wear when-

Oh God! How did that thought get into my brain?! Some part of my stupid subconscious must be paying attention! Must focus on Quidditch…

“So you'll keep that mind, won't you Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Of course, Mr. Weasley,” I replied, though of course I had no intention of doing so, even if I knew what he was talking about. I started to stand up, thinking we were done.

Mr. Weasley put a gentle hand on my shoulder, preventing me from standing. “Almost done, but not quite. Now we have to talk about your first time.”

“Er, okay.” I settled back into my seat and started picking out classic Quidditch matches in my head, when Mr. Weasley broke through my defenses:

“Our first time,” he was saying, “was difficult because Molly complained that it was too big…”

OH-kay. I think knowing the size of Mr. Weasley's…'little Auror' ranks as number one on the list of things I didn't want to know.

“…but then it turned out we were trying to put it in the wrong hole…”

AAAAHHHH! I have a new number one on that list. Why is this happening to me? Wasn't Voldemort bad enough? Those two sentences from Mr. Weasley conjured up images that prevented me from blanking him out.

“…magic comes in handy, of course. Some people use their wands as stimulation. Once, I put my wand in Molly's…”

His wand? HIS WAND? I've touched Mr. Weasley's wand before! Mental note: must remember to sever own hand after lunch.

“…now, you might feel her clench around you…”

Clench? The only thing clenching right now is my stomach in the attempt to not empty my breakfast all over the floor. But despite my prayers for rescue, Mr. Weasley continued to talk about horrid, nightmare-inducing things. Horrible images flashed through my head, and he seemed to go on forever. In fact, it just might have, if not for a knock at the door.

“Come in!” I yelled instantly, the old Seeker reflexes coming through.

Mrs. Weasley poked her head into the study. I shivered and looked away from her. “Lunch is almost ready. Are you two about finished?”

I figured it would be rude for me to say yes and then flee, but drastic times called for drastic actions. Before I could speak though, Mr. Weasley told her we were done and would be out in a minute. I could almost hug him, that is, if I could ever bring myself to touch him again, which of course I couldn't. After Mrs. Weasley closed the door, Mr. Weasley turned back to me. “Have you any questions Harry?”

“No, no questions,” I said tonelessly. I was a little shell-shocked.

He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. I somehow managed not to flinch. “Let's go eat then, shall we?”

I, of course, would never eat again, but instead of saying so, I just told him I needed a few minutes to collect my thoughts. He smiled and then left the room, closing the door behind him. I sat there for a few minutes, torn between wanting to throw up and wanting to cry, all the time feeling like I needed a scalding hot shower. Then there was a knock at the door, and I filled with fear. Had Mr. Weasley decided that I needed to see the visual aids?

But it was only Ron. “You okay mate?” he asked, his face filled with sympathy.

“It…it…it was horrible”

He nodded. “I thought as much.” He looked around the study. “You were lucky though; no visual aids.” I said nothing, unable to think clearly as yet.

“Hey Harry, how are you feeling?” I looked up in surprise at the sound of the new voice.

“Bill? What are you doing here? I thought you had too much work to do,” I asked. I would normally have been happy to see the eldest Weasley brother, but after what just happened, I wondered if I would ever be happy again.

“Ron called me. This is an emergency. Listen, I know what you've just gone through, we all have,” he said, as Ron nodded. “Fortunately for you, after Dad gave me `the Talk,' I figured out a way to deal with it.”

My ears, and hopes, perked up. “Yeah?”

Bill nodded. “Over the years, we Weasley brothers have perfected a little memory charm that will wipe away the entire conversation. Now, I know it's dangerous, and you have every right not to trust us or believe that we can-”

“I'll do it!” I said. I'd do almost anything to get the image of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in leather out of my head.

Bill chuckled. “All right then Harry. If you're sure.”

“I'm sure.” Then another thought occurred. “You've memory-charmed all of your brothers?”

Bill nodded. “All of them…well, except for Percy. He said it would be unethical.”

“Ah.” The three of us nodded then, the unspoken agreement that maybe that's why Percy's so screwed up.

“Anyways, if you're ready Harry, here we go. One…two…three…Obliviate!”

*****

“Harry, you okay?”

I blinked, feeling a little wobbly, and saw Ron and Bill giving me looks of concerned.

“Hey Bill,” I said, my voice sounding a little sleepy. “What are you doing here?”

“Never mind that for now,” Ron said. “What's the last thing you remember?”

Such an odd question. I thought back. “Your Dad was talking about visual aids…” Then full clarity hit. “Oh Lord, your Dad! What happened?”

Ron and Bill shared triumphant looks. “We memory charmed you to forget the Talk. Believe me, you'd thank us if you knew what he said.”

I rubbed my temples. “I'm thanking you anyways.”

“Good,” Bill said, smiling. “Anyways, I gotta get back to work, and you two have to eat lunch. Just remember, if my Dad ever says anything about `the Talk,' just pretend you remember everything.

I nodded. “Thanks again Bill. You're a life-saver.”

When Ron and I returned to the main room, my face lit up when I saw that Hermione had arrived. I went over to her and gave her a little kiss. As we hugged, I saw Ron's Dad give me a little wink. I nodded and winked back.

Thank God for memory charms.

A/N: And so ends the story. If you liked it, give thanks to gal-texter and CryHope for requesting this. If you didn't like it, then you probably didn't finish the story and are now browsing for porn news, so I have nothing to say to you all.

Hope everyone had a happy New Years, and I'll catch you later.

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