AN: Well, here it is. My first piece of fanfiction. Sort of, anyways. I have another story that I'm working on, but it's kind of a massive undertaking, so I'm taking a break to work on something less stressful. Fair warnings: this story contains Ginny bashing, but not general Weasley bashing. Hermione also does some questionable things prior to the start of the story, but it's actually somewhat in-character for her. There's a fairly long theory explaining how. To find it, search "HPB love potion theory," and it should be the first thing that comes up.
Also, I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own Harry Potter.
As easy as Harry found it to disagree with most of what his immature godfather had said in life, he couldn't deny one thing: messing with people's heads was fun. One of the ways he did this was by purchasing ten sets of an identical outfit (black jeans and sneakers, a red and gold hoodie, and a white short sleeved t-shirt) and wearing a different set every day.
Most of the population of Hogwarts castle was utterly convinced that he never changed his clothes, and were baffled by how he managed to otherwise maintain a respectable standard of hygiene despite this. The only people who knew (Harry's dorm mates and some of the staff) were all sworn to secrecy, and Harry took great joy in confusing and annoying his classmates this way.
Probably the best part was that, despite them all believing him to never change clothes (ever) the people of the magical world still trusted him, an eighteen-year-old with a famously poor temper, to conduct a war.
Well, war might have been too strong a word. Mostly, it was just a series of skirmishes with the ragtag remnants of Voldemort's forces under the less-than-capable command of Rabastan Lestrange. Which was funny, really. The man was a competent enough duelist, but his concept of strategy boiled down to sending wave after wave of disposable foot soldiers at his target until they surrendered or died. It was lucky for him that these disposable foot soldiers were a bit dim.
It was also lucky for him that Voldemort had, in his distinctly finite wisdom, elected to recruit with the concept of quantity over quality. He had about three-hundred wizards who used to be snatchers under Voldemorts command, but none of the other proper death eaters were involved. They all believed, correctly, that life working under Rabastan Lestrange was as difficult, and a good deal less rewarding, than life working under Lord Voldemort.
And, as Harry was deemed the most suitable person to deal with this new threat (for some reason), he was forced to spend a good deal of his time in meetings like the one he currently found himself in. Leaning against the wall of the headmaster's office, Harry was deep in conversation with the portraits of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. Dumbledore made it a point to ask the opinions of the other portraits, all whom Harry and Snape studiously ignored.
"I really don't see why I need to be in charge here," Harry said evenly. "I'm not qualified." Snape sneered at him, though Harry pretended not to notice.
"I agree," he cut in. "Perhaps we could find someone a tad more . . . focused?" Harry had indeed let his mind wander several times over the course of the morning's conference; he couldn't stop himself from thinking about how his relationship with Ginny had ended.
Dumbledore looked like he wanted to say something, but Harry beat him to it.
"I'm sorry, Snape. I didn't realise that you had some sort of claim on self pity born of unrequited love." Snape glared, Dumbledore gulped, and Harry smirked. "What was it you said a few years ago, Professor?" Harry asked, turning to Dumbledore's portrait. "Something about feeling 'love's keen sting?' I'd say we've all felt that."
Dumbledore frowned and Snape's glower grew noticeably. Still Harry smirked at them. Pushing himself off the wall, he took a few steps forward and put his left hand on his hip. "Granted, I didn't fall for a dark wizard, and the woman I loved didn't marry and have a son with my worst enemy," Harry knew that he was being overly harsh, that he was dragging Dumbledore's past into an argument that he had nothing to do with, but that didn't stop him.
"Even so," he plowed on ruthlessly, "I'd say I had a worse break-up than most." Harry was extremely glad that McGonagall wasn't present for this meeting, not that she ever showed up for them. He didn't think she would approve of the way he was speaking to her predecessors.
A strained silence followed Harry's words, as Dumbledore wasn't quite sure how to respond and Snape had told Harry that he was an arrogant prat far too often for any further repetitions to be necessary. Eventually, Dumbledore spoke up.
"Well then, Harry," he began somewhat awkwardly, "if there is nothing else about the war-"
"There isn't" Harry and Snape said in unison, though neither of them acknowledged it.
Dumbledore smiled slightly before continuing. "There is something else I wished to discuss with you." Harry raised an eyebrow and waited for Dumbledore to continue. "As Minerva may have mentioned to you, we are taking a seventh year transfer student."
"Yeah, Someone Or Other Price. What about her?"
"Aderyn Gwyneth Price, Harry. Minerva wishes you to show her around the school."
"Why me?" Harry asked suspiciously. He knew that where Dumbledore was concerned, there was rarely an innocent reason for him to be involved in anything. The man normally had numerous ulterior motives for most of his actions, and Harry had found that they were rarely to his benefit.
"My dear boy," Dumbledore smiled at him, "who else could? She will arrive in three days, and the term will not start until a week after that. Do you know of anyone else who could do it in your stead?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. He had to have a good reason, didn't he? "Fine. I'm probably the best man for the job anyway. Just so long as she isn't some fan girl. She isn't, is she?" Harry asked, suddenly apprehensive. It was moments like this, when he was nervous and not entirely sure what to do, that he acted more like his old self. Like he used to act before he found out about Ginny's manipulations.
"I make no promises," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly.
Harry just sighed and turned around to leave. Raising a hand over his shoulder in farewell, he walked out of the office, thinking about his last conversation with Hermione.
Harry had been almost offensively cheerful after the war ended. It had taken almost a week for him to calm down to the point where he no longer started grinning like an idiot for no apparent reason. It probably would have taken longer but for a string of revelations for which he hadn't been entirely prepared.
The first of these was that Ginny was pregnant with a child she claimed was his. Despite the fact that they had never slept together. Harry found this somewhat suspicious.
The second was that Ginny had spent much of the year, until she left school for the Easter holidays and was forced to stay home afterwards, sleeping with most any male whom she could be reasonably sure wouldn't tell Harry. What she hadn't counted on was Harry being sufficiently terrifying (after having killed Lord Voldemort, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord) that several of them confessed to him, begging forgiveness.
This, in turn, led the rest of them to confess as well, seemingly under the impression that Harry would be less angry with them if he found out from them directly. The full list comprised some twenty-seven boys, none of whom knew about any of the others. Some notable examples included Seamus Finnegan, Blaise Zabini, Zachariah Smith, all of the sixth year Slytherin boys, most of the fifth year Slytherin boys, and a string of seventh year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw boys. Those were just the ones she met regularly; Harry had to wonder how exactly she managed to keep them all secret from each other.
This, in and of itself, never bothered Harry. Or at least, he didn't resent Ginny for it. He had told her at the end of his sixth year that the two of them couldn't be together, and he had done it with the full understanding that she might, and probably would, pursue relationships with other people. He had no right or reason to expect her to wait for him. If anything, he was indignant on behalf of the boys on whom she had been cheating; a list that he didn't consider himself to be on.
What did bother him, however, was that she had continued these arrangements, all twenty-seven of them, after getting back together with Harry after Voldemort was killed. Harry could only conclude that she had sex so often that she didn't remember that it had never been with him.
It was within a week of this incident that he realised that any attraction he had ever had to Ginny disappeared all at once. It was another week after that that the third revelation, the worst of all of them, struck him.
It was a very nervous Hermione that asked Harry for a private word the Thursday after he had found himself no longer attracted to Ginny. Shrugging, he followed her from the Gryffindor common room and into an empty classroom. Closing the door behind him, he saw Hermione fidgeting horribly, looking rather as she had done before their OWLs.
She took a deep breath and began talking very fast. "Harry, do you remember how I gave some relationship advice to . . . Ginny?" Hermione hesitated slightly before saying Ginny's name, which was probably wise. The mere mention of her was enough to drive Harry into a stony silence liable to last until he woke up the next morning.
Harry tensed slightly but nodded. "Well, that wasn't the only thing I did to bring you two together." Harry tensed further, which Hermione seemed to notice, because she started hastily apologising. "Oh, Harry, please don't be mad at me! I really thought the two of you were good for each other! I just wanted to play matchmaker for you."
Harry sighed. "There's no reason to be so nervous, Hermione. I don't blame you for what she did, and I don't blame you for trying to get us together. Actually," he smiled genuinely at her, "I'm kind of touched that you did. It didn't work out, obviously, but you couldn't've known that."
Hermione's eyes started glistening with what Harry assumed were tears of relief, and he pulled her into a hug, which she returned fiercely. "I'm so sorry, Harry!" she sobbed into his shoulder.
"Don't apologise. You were only trying to help."
After a few minutes of this, when Hermione had managed to calm herself, she pulled away and wiped her eyes. "There's more, though, Harry." It was barely more than a whisper, but Harry heard her perfectly.
"What is it, Hermione?"
She took a deep breath to compose herself. "Do you remember when it was that you first started feeling attracted to Ginny?" Harry nodded. "Do you remember what you felt like when you saw her?" Again, Harry nodded, growing more confused by the minute. "Well . . . that wasn't . . . entirely . . . you."
Something about her tone was really beginning to worry Harry. "Hermione? You aren't making sense. What do you mean 'it wasn't entirely me?'" Hermione began to fidget again, which Harry took as a bad sign. "Are you saying that somebody was giving me a love potion or something?" Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her shoes. "That's it, isn't it? Somebody was spiking my drinks with love potion!"
Hermione suddenly looked up at Harry, eyes moist again, and shouted "I was only trying to help you both!"
Harry hadn't spoken to Hermione since.
AN: There's chapter one done! This is kind of exciting, actually. R&R please; all (constructive) criticism is more than welcome. Thanks for reading! Duke out!