Thus, I am posting fic. My second this month! (By a whole half hour!) Dear Lord, not since the crazy badfic days of 2002 has that happened, and may it never again.
So, I present...
Summary: "She seemed intent on proving to him that he wasn't gay, that he liked girls, and that above all else, he liked her." Harry is out to convince Hogwarts that he is gay after giving up on females, but is his newfound sexuality as strong as Hermione's will? Harry Slash Pairings Abound. Blatant Stereotypes. Eventual H/Hr.</b>
A/N: This is my last HP fic, I think. I'd rather spend my time doing some of my own stuff. This fic is entirely silly, and goes from heavy-handed humour to heavy-handed satire to heavy-handed fluff. You have been warned. Thanks to bobbypin, lissannej (my
It was on a sunny Sunday morning in May that Harry Potter swore off females and decided that he would much rather be gay instead.
His reasons for such a dramatic decision were quite clear - and in his opinion - more than justified.
Females were, as he had discovered since The Cho Incident of his fifth year and the more recent Ginny Debacle, incredibly stupid. Both of these were relationships far too embarrassing and stress-inducing to dwell on for any extended period of time, and with the delicate balance of medication Harry was now on, stress was something which was better to be avoided.
It seemed, though, that stress aversion was a rather pointless exercise, as it was after the aforementioned Ginny Debacle that Hermione - his gal pal, his confidant, his romantic advisor - had decided that her advice was no longer of any use to him, and instead resorted to blushing profusely and leaving the room at any mention of his love life. This was, of course, completely unacceptable as females were not creatures who could be deciphered, and so without his inside source, he simply had no chance in hell of ever getting shagged. Ron was the perfect example of this. His own seemingly never-ending, hopeless and rather ridiculous crush on Hermione had stopped him from listening to her bountiful and useful advice. As a result - be it direct or not - the poor boy hadn't even received so much as a peck on the lips - and it was nearing the end of seventh year.
Thus, seeing no other alternative because of these issues and previous experiences, Harry decided that boys would be a much more suitable pursuit for his remaining romantic rendezvous at Hogwarts.
He could understand males better - much better - for starters, being one himself. He knew that they were simple minded creatures with only a few things on their minds (mostly because they were only capable of having so few things on their mind at one time), and he also knew that those things were almost always Sex (or at least some kind of contact with another human), or Quidditch.
Hogwarts was, unfortunately, a place limited of substantial sexual contact. Aside from the fact that most of the girls were utter prudes, the various charms that had been sneakily inflicted all those many years ago still proved to be the bane of every straight male's existence. Though Harry was not really sure whether he so infact desired sexual contact with another boy, he was quite sure that your chances of getting off with a hand or other apparatus besides your own were a lot higher when you kept to the members of your own sex, and thus possibly even your own dorm.
The only thing that males didn't have going for them, Harry rationalised, was that they didn't have breasts of decent sizes, which was a thought that made Harry mournful indeed as he did love breasts. However, thinking about it further, Harry later realised that most of the Hogwarts females were unnaturally flat anyway, so he dismissed his previous complaint as petty and unneeded. Knowing that time was of the essence, he wasted no time in setting out on his mission: to establish himself as a gay male - as quickly and effectively as possible.
He worked throughout the afternoon and late into the night, not worrying about his dorm mates who he had so helpfully locked out several hours before. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to go about his conversion, only knowing that he wanted to do it quickly and relatively painlessly. In the end, after many hours of careful deliberation and a sullen realisation that purple was indeed not his colour, he emerged from the dorms the next morning. With a tight black satin shirt, leather pants, and a silver dogchain necklace on his neck, combined with the essential spiked up ebony black hair, he thought he looked refreshingly... fabulous.
With that confident thought in mind, he stepped over the sleeping bodies of Dean, Seamus and Neville, and made his way down the stairs, prancing into the common room off the landing. He scanned the room with an over-exerted smile on his face, and spotted the two people he was looking for. Ignoring the curious glances coming from the rest of the student body, he made his way over to the couch where Ron and Hermione were sitting - and by the looks of it, where Ron was once again trying to subtly crack on to Hermione. She, of course, being oblivious to this, was just smiling fondly at him like a child would to their elderly, insane parent. When she looked over to Harry, however, the look on her face changed quite rapidly. Rather than looking just bemused, the expression on her face was also reminiscent of someone who had been stupefyed, mixed with that of a wild animal in heat. It certainly was a curious look.
Her silence was almost deafening, despite the rattlings of the common room still continuing around them. He waited anxiously for her reply.
"Oh my," she finally uttered, a few seconds later. "Goo- Good Morning, Harry."
Ron, meanwhile, hadn't even noticed that Harry was there until Hermione had said his name, and had not stopped surreptitiously flirting with her until she had. At this point, he looked over to Harry, still stuttering from being interrupted, and promptly fell off the arm of the couch on which he had been leering towards Hermione on.
Harry frowned, and quickly checked that Ron was indeed okay before cheerfully replying to Hermione with a "Good Morning!" of his own.
Hermione still looked rather taken aback, completely ignoring the floundering redhead on the floor besides her. "Er," she began timidly, looking unsure as how to proceed. "...How are you?"
"I'm great! Dandy!" he replied with a wide smile, then added, "Feeling quite... gay," for good measure, as one does when they are out to prove something as important as their sexuality.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, then coughed while Ron fell down again in his attempt to get back on his feet.
"Gay as in... happy?" Hermione asked, curiously, with a concerned and strangely heartbroken look on her face.
"Well, that too."
"Oh," she replied, seeming to have caught his drift, continuing to look morose. Ron was back on the floor and Harry wasn't quite sure how he was reacting to the news, asides from the bare fact that he was on the floor because of the news. Hermione, who seemed to be having a great amount of difficultly believing his claim, ploughed on. "So, you like boys now? Instead of girls?"
"Yes, that's exactly it," he replied earnestly, nodding furiously, trying to convey to her that he was as completely serious as it was possible for one to be.
The look on her face, however, indicated that it would still take her some convincing.
She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you are, Harry. It's just difficult for me to believe you when you say that you prefer boys when you are...," an uncomfortable pause, "staring at my chest." Though not raising her voice, she said this last part with such awkward emphasis that he stopped staring at her rather wonderful bust, something he hadn't even realised that he was doing.
"Oh," he replied sullenly, mentally kicking himself. "Sorry. Well, it's true! I'm gay! I, Harry Potter, am a homosexual - a raging homosexual. I'll even prove it to you!" By this time, Ron had finally got off the floor and was sitting back on the arm of the couch, failing to act casual and indifferent, looking at anything and anyone but Harry. "Ron," he addressed in a formal tone, adding what he thought was a feminine twinge to his voice, "want to go snog or something?" He said this with an amazingly straight face, considering what he was asking sounded ludicrous even in his severely medicated mind.
Somehow, Ron managed to remain composed enough to not fall off the couch again. This moment of composure was lost, however, with Ron's high-pitched squeak of "What?!?"
"I asked," Harry began, moving closer to the couch, "do you want to go snog, or something?"
While Ron was looking completely lost, sitting frozen on the couch, Hermione was perched aside from the fray, her nose scrunched up in the way that indicated the cogs of her mind were turning rapidly. When it seemed that she had reached her own conclusion on the subject, she spoke up with, "No, come on, Ron. Take Harry up to the dorm and, er, show him the ropes. Right now."
"What?!?" Harry and Ron screeched in unison.
She stared back at Harry, looking defiant as she laid the gauntlet for him. "Come on, Ron. Harry is telling us that he is gay now, and he is asking if you will help him get more, er, familiar with it. Don't you want to be a good friend for him, Ron? Come on."
"KISS HIM. NOW."
"Hermione," Harry said, casting her a dirty glance and looking thoroughly annoyed with her as he spoke. "You are not taking me seriously."
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she scoffed. "Of course I am taking you seriously; or at least, I should say, as seriously as you deserve to be taken at the moment."
He let out a sound that was suspiciously like a growl, feral and low, before glaring at her one last time and then heading straight for Ron. Before the poor redhead even had a chance, Harry had his arms around the boy with his hands clasped at Ron's shoulders and his lips pressed tightly against Ron's. At first, Ron was too shocked to reply in kind - or in any form - which suited Harry quite fine as he wasn't really sure if he actually wanted to go any further towards there with Ron, of all the people. It was bad enough that he was giving Ron his first kiss.
Ron, to his credit, didn't seem like he was a horrible kisser, despite his extreme lack of experience, but Harry was far too busy checking out of the corner of his eye to gauge Hermione's reaction to care much.
Hermione, for her part, looked furious, absolutely furious. Harry grinned in glee against Ron's lips.
"This is ridiculous, Harry," she hissed eventually, stomping over to him and pulling him off Ron. "Don't use Ron as a pawn in your... your stupid little games!"
Harry frowned, annoyed, as he realised she was right. Sending a bitter look her way, he turned to Ron, who had gone very pale and looked like he might just faint, and said quietly, "Sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have done that."
Ron murmured something inaudible, then turned away, taking very slow baby steps as he went and sat on the couch.
Harry decided that he had had enough of Hermione's attitude.
"Why won't you take me seriously, Hermione? This is not a stupid little game! I'm GAY! I LIKE BOYS! I WANT TO BURY MY...thing in...other boy's botto - WHY DON'T YOU BELIEVE ME?"
She looked back at him defiantly as she headed over to Ron to comfort him. "Because you're still staring at my... at my bust!"
"What?" he snapped, distracted by the sight of her chest. "...OH. GO DIE."
At breakfast, Harry decided that he was not going to let Hermione's unfortunate attitude ruin his spirits, and set out on his original mission. Sitting down at the Gryffindor table, purposely distanced from Ron - who was still looking pale and disturbed - and Hermione, he slowly and daintily ate one piece of plain toast, making sure to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt so that plenty of flat boy muscle was showing to entice his gay male audience. Unfortunately, this only seemed to be attracting his - he cringed - fan club; the majority of who were screaming, nauseous females or unattractive, short, fat boys like Colin Creevey. There were even more than usual, no doubt drawn by his fabulously sculpted chest, and they were all staring at him with lusty "fuck me now" eyes.
It was all making him very uncomfortable.
Wondering why the-powers-that-be seemed so ready to deter him from what was obviously his romantic path, he buttoned up his shirt quickly, escaped the hoardes of drooling fangirls with as little direct interaction possible, and headed over to the Hufflepuff table, swinging his hips (because he just knew that his arse looked great in the leather pants). Once there, he stopped behind a boy with short blond hair, and tapped him politely on the shoulder until he turned around.
"Zacharias Smith," Harry addressed him.
The boy eyed him up wryly. "Yes, Potter?"
Harry hesitated, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet, deciding that the direct approach would be best. "I'd... I'd like to take you to Hogsmeade on Sunday. On a date."
Zacharias looked confused. "But you're straight."
"I'm not!" Harry protested desperately, wanting to shift this opinion before he went the way of Hermione. "I like boys!"
"Er - no, you don't," Zacharias replied slowly and adamantly.
"But I do!" Harry wailed.
He must have said this with such utter desperation that the other boy seemed prepared to believe him for the sake of stopping him from doing it again. "Okay, for arguments sake then; you like boys. Next question, why I? We can't stand each other, Potter."
"Yes, I do quite dislike you, Zacharias, but I feel that, possibly, all of our supposed anger at one another is actually... repressed sexual energy. It's very possible that I am actually very attracted to you."
Silence, then a slow, "Uh Huh." Zacharias was back to looking doubtful, very doubtful, and Harry wasn't feeling particularly confident either. For a few seconds he looked around like a lost actor waiting for his next line from a prompt.
"Yes, I'm attracted to you," he continued, slightly less sure than he was before, "and I... I want to be dominated by you."
"Dominated?" Zacharias asked, enunciating each syllable, his eyes going wide with disbelief.
"Yes. I want to be threatened by your powerful Hufflepuff... thing."
A flicker of annoyance passed across his face for a second before it went back to being utterly confused and shocked. "Dominated?"
"Yes," Harry answered with a frustrated sigh. The constant need of affirmation of his - in his opinion, very obvious - homosexuality was getting very tiring, and was taking up far more time than he really had. Was the student body even looking at him? Had they not seen his clothes? Heard his blatantly feminine voice? Heard the gossip of his morning snog - near shag (Chinese Whispers and all, you know) - with Ronald Weasley?
Had they not heard the story of how he grew up in a CLOSET?
Maybe his faith in the small, close-knit and thus, gossipy community of Hogwarts had been unwarranted all of these years. As he looked on at Zacharias, who was obviously deciding how to take it all, Harry wondered if Hermione still had Rita Skeeter's contact details. Maybe she would be able to convince the dunderheads of the school and wizardry community that he was gay.
That, or just further convince them that he was having a wild, torrid affair with Hermione, or was at least madly in love with her. Both ridiculous notions, of course.
"You want me to DOMINATE YOU?!?" The outraged voice of Zacharias snapped Harry out of his reverie, and he jumped, startled, before processing the other boy's words and then gritting his teeth.
"YES," Harry replied with a desperate roar, almost feeling tears welling up in his eyes for Zacharias' failure to believe him or even understand him. Maybe the boy was just stupid - he was in Hufflepuff after all. Knowing not what else to do, in a moment of innate stupidity, Harry, for the second time that morning, grabbed the other boy by the collar, pulled him up to face him and kissed him, a furious smack sounding as their lips collided.
This time, however, unlike his kiss with Ron, after the initial shock period Zacharias seemed to have no qualms about kissing Harry back. He was quite... over-enthusiastic really, and wet, and sloppy and... hmph.
Deciding he didn't like it particularly much, Harry pulled away, with so much force necessary that he stumbled back and Zacharias was thrown backwards on to the table. This, unfortunately, gave Zacharias the wrong impression, and a lascivious grin emerged on the boy's face.
"Right now? In the great hall? Potter, you kinky bas-"
Harry pursed his lips and searched his mind for an adequate reply. "Um, no, sorry, Zacharias. Mistake, I... I thought you were someone else. Stay away from me. Forever. Forever."
And then, with a lately added dramatic flick of his hand, he fled.
Two more boys and several hours later, Harry was still faring no better than his early morning attempts. The day, unlike the day before, had been grey and miserable, and it was this shining display of the fickle and useless English weather that Harry blamed for the thwarting of his plans to sunbathe half-naked by the lake to distract and attract potential beaus.
Despite his clothes and his non-existent hesitation to kiss other males, very few of the student body seemed prepared to believe his claim that he was a gay. "It's probably just a phase," had come the whispers, followed by, "It was just a pity kiss for that Weasley boy, everyone knows he's been crushing over Potter for years," and,"It's just one of his and Granger's kinky little games - yeah, I know; another one - apparently that kind of thing, y'know, boils her potatoes."
Harry was less than impressed.
His only hope was a stray look from Terry Boot he had caught at dinner; a look which was, at least in Harry's (by then) severely desperate mind, as hungry, wanting and intense as a look which lasted all of half a second could be. But without his free ticket into the Ravenclaw dormitories available - Head Girl Hermione - this was something which could only be pursued come morning.
And it was with that thought, late that night, that he sat, glaring at her from the opposite side of the common room. He had mounting piles of homework to be completed, but it was easy enough for him to now fog it off under the guise of mental illness, so he felt that he had all the time in the world to portray his anger to her in such a time intensive manner.
Though she appeared to be aware of his presence (it was hard to not be aware of it with Harry coughing harshly and abruptly every few minutes to remind her), she had not acknowledged him in any particular way and was instead studiously reading Hogwarts, A History.
It was all making him very annoyed.
He'd been nodding off to sleep when he heard her rustling from the other side of the room. His sleepy eyes snapped open and then quickly formed into glaring slits as he watched her pick up her book and walk over towards him. As she got closer to him he raised his head into the air and coughed again.
She stopped in front of him, an impatient look on her face.
"What's your problem?" he snapped before she had the chance to speak herself, thinking immediately that he likely looked and sounded horribly reminiscent of Malfoy. The thought caused him to retract much of the look and attitude he was entertaining, and in that moment, he knew that he had likely lost. He'd shown weakness. With Hermione, he knew that it could only be all downhill from there on.
"MY problem?" she said, incredulous. "You... you..." She seemed to give up then, and gritted her teeth at him as she started walking away again, muttering, "stupid, bloody, idiot males," as she went.
He wasn't going to let her get away so easily. He was furious at her, he decided, and intended to blame her for anything he possibly could. "What did you call me?" Harry called after her, sounding overly outraged. He rose out of his chair and turned to face her.
She stalked back to him until she was standing close - very close - to him, and spoke slowly and sarcastically, "I called you a stupid, bloody, idiot male."
He bit his lip nervously. "Oh really."
Her eyes narrowed. "Yes. I did. Would you care to dispute the claim? Or are you not in the mood for lying any more than you already have today?"
"I do not know what your problem is Hermione," he started, pacing himself carefully as his voice rose, "but it is-"
"Oh, honestly," she cut him off. "If you don't know what my problem is, Harry, then you really are even dumber than I thought." He still had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but he did know that they had come to be standing very close, so close that he could feel hot breaths against his neck and smell the gentle lavender of her shampoo. It was all making him very nervous and any angry retort he had seemed lost as it had been then, for a moment, that she looked like she was going to kiss him, lips parted, cheeks flushed, breaths heavy. That made him even more nervous because he realised he was not completely adverse to the suggestion, and for a moment, found himself wanting to lean down to her, to brush her lips and...
And then she was gone, stepping back from him, looking slightly flustered but regaining a definite air of composure that he knew was nothing but a long lost hope for him at that moment. When she said, "Honestly," that time, it wasn't with scorn or anger, but with something that made it seem to be a statement, a revelation.
It had all just become much more confusing.
By some unknown combination of luck, miraculous intervention, and blatant fame whoring, Harry managed to score himself a date for the weekend. The boy - yes, boy (he was still completely and utterly convinced he was gay) - was Terry Boot, and though Harry didn't think he could ever feel any particular sense of attraction towards him, by the point that a confident and rather scary Terry asked him after Potions on Thursday, he had been, admittedly, completely desperate.
His desperation seemed not only to stem from the fact that very few people yet believed his claimed homosexuality, but also from the intense fear of Hermione he had developed since the encounter in the common room. His next encounter with her was shortly after he had secured the weekend date, and in yet another moment of immense stupidity, he jovially told her the news. This move resulted in Hermione reverting to her previous stature; glaring, seething, and being generally hateful in his direction. This, combined with whatever it exactly was which had happened in the common room, and the residue effect it had had on him, lead to their encounters afterwards being horribly uncomfortable or just plain angry. She had seemed to have, however, accepted that maybe he was gay, though he suspected she did this mournfully and she seemed to look more and more depressed each time he saw her. He was beginning to suspect that it was slightly possible she had the smallest of crushes on him, but he could only offer the way she had looked at him the other evening as evidence, mostly due to the fact that the only decipherable emotion usually expressed by Hermione was annoyance. But he could have very well missed earlier signs...
This, however, was inconsequential as Harry was most definitely gay. He wasn't doubting that at all, not a bit. The only other person who didn't seem to be doubting the validity of his new sexuality was Ron, who had eventually fallen out of his trance-like state to at least be able to act supportive of Harry's new approach to his romantic life.
Ron, adorned with his first kiss - an honour Harry never thought he would hold - was seemingly no longer content waiting around for Hermione to never reciprocate his hopeless crush, and had also arranged a date for the weekend. It appeared that word of his lack of experience had not much extended beyond Harry or Hermione and thus, little damage had been done to his reputation. Apparently the talk of that morning snog with Harry Potter had only appreciated his value as a potential beau to the females of Hogwarts, and as quickly as that, Ron had managed to find himself in a position as the most desired redhead to have ever existed (surely a difficult task...). Though Harry had not seen him much over the past week, all the times he had, Ron looked as if all of his Christmases had come at once. Harry imagined that Hermione was probably feeling much the same way.
Harry, of course, was feeling no such thing. He was completely indifferent to the fact that Hermione was now a "free" woman, because he was gay. As thus, he only liked boys, and he definitely did not think he liked Hermione in that way. And he knew for a fact that he never ever would because he was gay. And gay boys liked other gay boys. Not girls. Not Hermione.
The date was bad.
Terry Boot, as it turned out, was not only intelligent, conveniently homosexual, and generally attractive, but was also the most utterly pretentious, poncy snot that Harry had ever encountered, short of Draco Malfoy.
Harry, in growing desperation, had not bothered to dress for the setting - the very exclusive Rilliba'd Food in Hogsmeade - and seemed entirely out of place in jeans two sizes too small and a tight tan satin shirt. Terry had turned up dressed as if he was ready to attend a royal gala in full dress robes, as had the other patrons at the restaurant, who had all looked queerly at Harry (with absolutely no carnal appreciation at all) as he had entered the restaurant. He had made an attempt with his hair to hide his scar but with his name on the booking, recognition was inevitable and as a result, the waitress assigned to their table had become a frightful mess of arse-kissing and hyperventilating for the rest of the evening.
When not being harassed by the waitress, who seemed to make an effort to check their table every single time she passed it, and when not eating the truly deplorable food, Harry had been subjected to a long, ill-fascinating and seemingly well-rehearsed chronicle of Terry's trials, tribulations and successes at Hogwarts. It was so very boring and so very pretentious that at points Harry had found himself wishing that he was being lulled to sleep by a musical version of Hogwarts, A History rather than the droneish, uppity voice and story of a ostentatious arse.
It had been later in the date, however, when it all went to hell. Terry was, of course, still talking and had mentioned Hermione, which attracted Harry's interest. This, though, had turned out to be a mistake as it seemed Terry lacked sensibility or tact and had decided to spin off into an indignant rant about her dominance of the Hogwart's academia. Harry had then said something, making his support for Hermione quite blatant with a snarky comment, and as Terry's eyes narrowed into finely formed slits, turning the prim and proper boy into an unattractive mess, all hell had broke loose.
Terry had left, sobbing, shortly after that, but not before he had shouted at Harry for a good few minutes and announced to the crowd of onlookers that Harry had a small penis (as he was of course the person to know). Apparently Hermione was a very touchy subject with the academic elite of Hogwarts. That had made him quite proud, for a moment, until it had sunk in that he had essentially just blown the only hope he had actually had.
It disturbed him even more that he didn't much care.
Feeling somewhat miserable and entirely resigned, Harry, later that evening, made his way from his dormitory to the common room, choosing an armchair situated by the fire. He'd abandoned his date clothes, and was instead back to Classic Potter: jeans (not two sizes too small) and a t-shirt. Legs slung over one side of the chair, he sat picking at a stray thread of his t-shirt for quite a time until he heard a rustling from the direction of the dormitory stairs. The sight of a recently unfamiliar Hermione greeted him - one without a stone-hard or angry face - and upon realising she had company, she tentatively smiled softly at him a few moments later.
"You'll ruin your shirt, doing that," she chided gently, pointing to his fingers and the thread as she came near.
"Just an old one of Dudley's. Doesn't matter," he mumbled, not looking at her.
She came around to sit on the chair closest to him, leaning towards him a bit. "Date didn't go well?"
He laughed shakily and sighed, biting his lip. "No. It was quite a disaster, actually." She didn't reply. He looked over to her. "Hermione, I'm... I'm probably not gay."
She didn't look particularly surprised, even though she did look like she was trying to hide said lack of shock. "Oh...," she began, looking like she would burst if she left it at that which she, of course, didn't, adding, "no, you're not," with a smile.
"I think I know why, as well," he continued in a slightly nervous, but cheeky, tone.
"Oh?" she queried, looking blatantly suspicious. He didn't disappoint.
"Mm. It's all your fault, really."
The look on of her face changed very rapidly into one of irritation, and he withheld a smirk. "MY fault?!? Harry Potter, you better have a good reas- Why are you grinning? STOP GRINNING, you unbearable little twit. You have been around Ron entirely too much and that is something I refuse to tolerate and I absolutely demand that you stop grinning and explain yourself before I have to forcibly wipe that stupid grin off your face!"
But he didn't stop grinning, knowing that by continuing he would beckon her with it, to force her to stop him, and to thus see if what he wondered was true. She still looked frustrated with him when she quickly moved to be hovering over him, looking at him with an unimpressed scowl on her face. Noticing how close she was, his grin faltered for a moment but she didn't seem to care, and she didn't seem to care when his grin completely disappeared either, as it was then that she moved even closer, so that their faces were only scant millimetres apart and so that her hands were having to rest on his knees for her to stay balanced.
It was a moment after that that he found he was being kissed by her, not softly or sweetly like he had thought she might, but with teeth clashing, hands pawing, tongues delving, lips bruising. She seemed intent on proving to him that he wasn't gay, that he liked girls, and that above all else, he liked her. It was a shameless exercise of branding, especially so once her lips had moved away from his and started on his neck, teeth working away at the skin there. When she pulled back a few minutes later she looked very smug in the seconds before her lips were on his again, and he was beginning to feel very convinced, but refused to let it show if this was how she intended to prove it to him.
It continued on like this for quite a bit longer, Harry discovering that Hermione was certainly a much better kisser than Cho or Ginny had ever been, with no wet tears or exuberant cries of victory, that she had a wonderful pair of breasts, and that she made a wonderful mew sound when he palmed said breasts relentlessly. It was also rumoured that there may have been some slightly more intimate explorations, with some slightly more intimate reactions, in a slightly more intimate setting, but that was purely conjecture.
Later, a very relaxed, spent Harry could only confirm that he was firmly convinced that he was not gay, that he liked girls, and that above all else, he liked Hermione Granger.