House: Hufflepuff
Position: Prefect 1
Category: Short story
Prompt: [Romantic Pairing] Non-canon pairing of your choice
Word count: 1951
A/N: Harry figured out his sexuality the same way I did: by gagging his way through sex ed and then vomiting a little every time he flipped the page. It was a hard week for me in school that year. Please keep in mind that asexuality is different for every single Ace, and we don't all have to be sex-repulsed. I don't appreciate hateful comments, but I adore those of you who have something nice to say about this fic. :)
One other thing, The Invisible Sexuality is an actual book. I can't remember when it was published, so Hermione may have somehow travelled into the future to get it. Hermione is a total sweetheart in this.
Warnings: Asexuality; slash pairing; mentioned/implied neglect and abuse; sex education—seriously, when did they learn this stuff in Hogwarts; canon-divergence; movie interpretation of the events leading up to the second task during the Triwizard Tournament; figuring out sexuality; Sirius lives, because I don't want to cry today; bisexual Fred and George (mentioned)
Harry knew that he was different. He always had been dissimilar to everyone else . He started as a magical kid in the Muggle world, disliked by his own family. Then he was the Savior of the wizarding world, expected to fight for all of the magical community, despite his young age.
He'd hoped that it would end there; but Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived, the poster child of the unexpected and mysterious.
It started when he was thirteen. Hermione—the bossy best friend she was—sat down with him their first night back at Hogwarts and pulled out a book. This was not one of her usual books, mind you, but one of the most disturbing books that Harry had ever seen her read.
That was saying something.
It was titled: So, My Body Is Changing. Harry had stared at it in confusion.
"I know that the Dursleys haven't thought about teaching you about puberty or, well, the things that generally follow that conversation," Hermione had said, concern coloring her voice.
Harry had turned bright red at 'puberty.' He'd heard Ron talk about it before, and it seemed like the most awful thing in the world. Harry didn't think he'd be getting it anytime soon; he was much shorter than every other boy in his year and a lot skinnier. Hermione had once used the word 'malnourished.' Since then she had been making his plates at meal-times, because Harry hadn't been eating much.
He had protested at first, because what if the cooks didn't want him to eat it? What if it was meant for someone else? Hermione had pulled him into a crushing hug when he'd told her of his concerns and since then hadn't let him make his own plate, but still let him choose the foods he liked.
"I thought you'd want to learn more about your own body before you learn about the opposite sex, though." Hermione had continued, perfectly aware of Harry's discomfort, but not making him say a thing.
Hermione had to be an angel. There was just no other explanation.
She had charmed the book cover to read Hogwarts: A History so that Harry wouldn't be embarrassed to read it around other people, and so no one else would try to pick it up.
She'd handed him a bag full of things related to some of the chapters in the book, like deodorant and skin-care products. She also threw a hair brush in there, and Harry was pretty sure that it was only a joke, but Hermione was a little hard to read sometimes.
Of course, Harry was grateful for Hermione during those years. She had saved him from a lot of embarrassment, especially once he'd finally figured out first-hand what Ron's brothers meant when they said puberty sucked.
Everything smelled and everything was sweaty. That was really gross, and Harry had taken more showers during those years then he had his entire life.
Things had gotten worse when Hermione had approached him with the sex education book at the beginning of their Fourth Year. That book had horrified Harry and disgusted him to the point where he'd been gagging and dry-heaving whenever he had tried to read it.
Apparently that wasn't normal. As Hermione had told him, it was perfectly normal to—er—feel aroused when he read it, and that he shouldn't be embarrassed if he was. Harry hadn't understood how anyone could want that in any way, shape, or form.
He'd barely made it half-way through the book when he threw up all over the floor in his dorm room, which had been very awkward to explain.
He'd given the book back to Hermione, stuttering something along the lines of "I don't think this is the book I need, Hermione." She had frowned thoughtfully and came back to him a week later with books on same-sex relationships.
That wasn't exactly what he'd meant, but he didn't have the heart to tell her and read it anyways, far more prepared for the inevitable horrors within. He managed to only gag that time.
This was just another way that Harry was different, he supposed. It hurt a little bit more to acknowledge than it had been with the other differences. There was something wrong with him, wasn't there? Petunia had loved to tell him that he was broken. Maybe she was right?
Telling Hermione about his disgust and, well, hatred of the topic spurred her research on that, on top of all the ways to beat a dragon. He'd sort of forgotten about his disgust until the end of the second task, after Neville had stolen Gillyweed from Professor Snape, the teacher he feared the most.
Harry's heart had done cartwheels, and he felt warm all of a sudden when Neville told him, for some reason. He had more time to think about it later, after the celebration, when he was sitting in his bed and trying to ignore Ron's snores. Harry realized that he may have liked the boy in that way.
That was when Hermione had snuck into his dorm—honestly, whoever said that she was this perfect, rule-abiding girl had their facts wrong—and gave him another book. This one had been titled The Invisible Sexuality.
It was very informative, and he didn't feel so bad about his feelings after Hermione explained some things to him. Being asexual didn't mean that he couldn't ever be in a relationship with someone. It didn't mean that he couldn't function like every other human being. It didn't mean that he couldn't fall in love, or have a crush. It didn't even mean that he couldn't be aroused or want to be with someone in an intimate way.
Harry started to think that this was his favorite way of being different. He came out to the Weasleys and Sirius when he was finally taken to 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius had been more than supportive, though Molly had been very adamant that he was just a "late bloomer" and "confused." That had stung, but Harry didn't let it get to him, not when he had Sirius and his friends.
His coming out had sparked many jokes from Fred and George, but Harry was touched when they actually confided about their sexuality to him. Harry had his suspicions—okay, Hermione had her suspicions and just happened to share with him—and they'd cleared a few things up for Harry.
When Harry finally got through that terrible year with Umbridge, and the terrible decision on his part to rush to the Ministry and save Sirius, he'd returned to Hogwarts with the task to get the unaltered memory of Voldemort from Slughorn.
Harry wasn't really one to notice things like beauty. It wasn't really something that he'd ever paid attention to. Looks had always been something that the Dursleys had valued, and Harry had taught himself that they were wrong. (He was also proud to say that he knew what amount of food was appropriate to eat at each meal. It was the middle ground between Hermione's plate of food and Ron's.)
He'd always appreciated people's personalities more than their bodies. He started noticing things about people that he hadn't really acknowledged in conscious thought before, like how clever Ron could be when he wasn't reading too much into something, Hermione's caring nature, and Ginny's sense of humor.
Most of all, though, Harry started noticing things about Neville, things that he was pretty sure nobody else saw.
Neville was sweet, in the ways that he avoided conversations that might upset people. He knew what lines shouldn't be crossed and steered people away from them before someone exploded in anger—or tears. He was kind but timid, even to complete strangers. He offered his help whenever he knew he could get it right for the person in need. He wasn't hesitant to share an opinion if you asked for it.
Harry didn't understand it, but he started to notice other things, too. Neville had the prettiest blush when he was embarrassed. He was a lot taller than Harry, he made Harry feel safe. It was. . . odd, to say the least, and very new.
So, of course, Harry went to Hermione. She'd spent a good minute or two squealing and jumping up and down in her seat before telling Harry what she was so excited about.
"Harry!" she'd practically yelled, earning strange looks from their fellow Gryffindors. She blushed and leaned closer to Harry.
"You have a crush!" she continued eagerly.
"A what? But I've never liked someone like that before!" Harry had burst, slightly appalled.
Hermione had taken a few minutes to tell him it was normal before blushing furiously when Harry had asked her if she had a crush, too.
She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Ron.' He'd have to look more into that later.
It was by Hermione's demands that Harry decided to try and find out if Neville liked him back. It was unlikely, because Neville had never expressed any interest in Harry, or men in general.
"There's no harm in knowing," Hermione had reasoned.
Harry wanted to disagree that yes, there was a lot of harm in knowing whether or not Neville might have a crush on him. There were a million things that could happen; Harry could accidentally blurt out his feelings and make a fool of himself; trip and have one of those accidental kisses with Neville (which wouldn't be too bad, except for the fact that it was utterly embarrassing); he could stutter so badly that Neville wouldn't understand him.
He could just go with the safe option, he'd argued with his bushy-haired friend, and curl up in bed and stay there forever.
Hermione had pinched his arm lightly and fixed him with a glare—though it lacked any heat—and told him to just ask Neville.
They were friends, and no one had to know that Harry had a huge crush on him.
Harry had gone straight to the taller boy before he'd lost his nerve and looked him right in the face, confident in his ability to not barf all over his friend—
Harry barfed all over Neville.
Neville had been very kind about it, actually. He hadn't hesitated to banish the sick from his clothes and Harry's flushed face.
That was one of the worst things that could've happened. Out of thousands of possibilities, he had to puke on Neville.
Well, Harry didn't do likely. Harry did very obscure and unbelievable.
Even worse than that though was explaining to Neville that he wasn't sick, he was just nervous, and, why he was nervous.
"Well, you see, I was just wondering if, you know, you were like, you know, interested in men. I wasn't sure and Hermione told me to just ask you before I convinced myself that you would completely reject me, because maybe I sort of like you, but that's not point. Well that basically sums it up and I'm really sorry about your shoes. Were those new? They looked new—" Harry had rambled on, unable to stop himself.
"Wait, back up," Neville said, effectively stopping Harry's rant.
"You. . . like me. . . romantically?" Neville said slowly.
"Well, er, yeah. I totally get it if you don't feel the same way—"
"Are you sure? Completely sure?" Neville asked, hands fisted in his jumper.
"Yes. Definitely," Harry said.
He might've been a rambler, but he really did like Neville. What wasn't to like about him?
"Can I kiss you right now?" Neville breathed, and Harry's heart fluttered.
He nodded, and the next thing he knew, Neville's lips were against his in a soft kiss. Harry practically melted at his touch, feeling safe and warm in Neville's arms.
Life was perfect for Harry.