A/N: This is part I of a fluffy little "something" I wrote for fun.
Harry got his first erection just a few months after he turned 13; it happened while he was asleep. He awoke in his bed in Gryffindor Tower with sticky pajamas and a vague memory of a dream involving the smooth curve of girl-parts as they looked when covered by a Quidditch uniform. Even as he grabbed his wand from his nightstand and tried to remember the cleaning spell that Mr. Weasley had taught him and Ron that previous summer, he flushed.
It wasn't like he fancied any of the girls he played Qudditch with, was it?
He didn't think so. Alicia, Katie, and Angelina tended to act like indulgent older sisters when they weren't treating him like just another teammate. Harry had observed the flirting that occurred between the girls and Fred and George and Oliver but he had never felt any sort of compulsion to participate himself. So what had happened?
Harry's cleansing spell was only partly effective; he wiggled uncomfortably out of bed and grabbed a towel before sidling into the loo. Luckily, his roommates were all still asleep.
Once safely in the shower, Harry tried to remember what Ron's dad had told them. They had both been properly embarrassed during the talk and now Harry wished he'd paid a bit more attention. It was normal, Mr. Weasley had said. These physical reactions could happen at any time, even if he wasn't thinking about a girl, that much he remembered. The thought had made him nervous. What was he supposed to do if he got . . . one of those when other people were around?
"You will be thankful that wizards wear robes, that I can promise you," Mr. Weasley had said. Now, burying his incriminating pajama bottoms at the bottom of his hamper and pulling on the most confining trousers he owned, Harry had to agree. His body had become, overnight, something of a lit cannon. He wished he had a better sense of when it might go off again.
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At first, third year was torturous. If the Dementors and fears of Sirius Black and werewolves weren't enough, Harry had to contend with the problem of walking around school, sitting in classes, and doing homework in what felt like a permanently aroused state. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable and Harry thoroughly agreed with Mr. Weasley that he was thankful for his robes. Vaguely, he wondered if any of his roommates were having similar problems, but it just wasn't the kind of thing one bloke asked another. It wasn't until he had to call into the shower three times to ask Ron if he was ever getting out that Harry finally cottoned onto the idea that there was a solution to his situation.
He waited until the first Hogsmeade weekend. He couldn't go anyway, and that would give him plenty of time in private to get things right; he didn't really know how long it was going to take. He'd take a shower, he decided; he had already sent so many extra sets of sheets and pajamas to the laundry that he was sure the house elves were talking about him.
So it was with a slightly less depressed air than he would have had otherwise that he watched his friends leave for the village, all of them promising to bring him plenty of candy and trinkets. He waited until the dorm was quite still, and then, feeling a bit silly, stripped off the robes he had put on only an hour before and wrapped a towel around his waist for the walk across the landing to the third year boys' loo. Despite knowing he was alone, Harry set a basic privacy charm around the shower before stepping inside. Good thing Professor Flitwick had taught them just this week for lessons.
The water was warm and Harry's self-consciousness faded in the familiar space. He washed his hair and body quickly and then looked down, considering. It seemed slightly odd to want to give himself an erection; until now, his focus had been on trying to avoid them at any cost. Still, apart from the possible embarrassment, he couldn't deny the fact that it felt rather good to be hard. It caused a pleasant tingling between his legs and, if he wasn't worried about someone seeing him, that feeling would expand to cover more of his body.
This time, Harry knew no one would see him, and he stroked himself lightly a couple of times, sighing when his penis twitched in his hand. It felt really good, and that encouraged him to grasp himself more firmly, sliding his hand down to the base and pushing harder. He closed his eyes and instinctively moved his hand up and down, feeling himself lengthen and harden until it was sticking out straight in front of him. Harry bit back a moan and moved his hand faster. Vaguely, he was aware of images of Quidditch-uniformed girl-parts, like from his dream the month before. There were soft curves covered in red and gold and when he wondered how they might feel if he were to touch them, pressure grew suddenly in his back and he came, spurting white across the shower stall.
Harry squeezed out the last bits of pleasure and did not remove his hand until he was quite soft again and his breathing had slowed. It had been brilliant. He was definitely going to do it again. Hopefully he would be able to last longer than a minute next time.
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Harry took a lot of showers during his third year. He was worried his roommates might guess what was going on until he realized that, they too seemed more interested in hygiene than in previous years. None of them talked about it – it was far too embarrassing, of course – but at least Harry was able to walk the halls of the castle without worrying that an unintended arousal was going to cause difficulty.
His thoughts during his daily wank had become a bit more refined as well. Sometimes, the curves he imagined were not quite as covered in clothing. Sometimes, he brushed long blonde or red hair off a bare shoulder. Once, he glimpsed a face smiling at him, black hair whipping in the wind before it turned away as if flying off on a broom. That had been an especially good time. Harry didn't recognize the girl, but her image stayed in his head for weeks afterwards.
And then the school year ended and suddenly Harry had a godfather. Talking to Sirius was brilliant for so many reasons, and Harry filled his letters with questions about his parents, about their time at Hogwarts, and anything else he could think of. But he didn't realize just how useful having a godfather could be until he got one particular letter, which arrived, fortuitously, on his birthday.
Dear Harry,
Happy 14th Birthday! I wish I could be there to celebrate with you, but this letter will have to suffice: I'm unfortunately not in a position to buy any gifts right now. Take an extra ride on your Firebolt and think of me though.
So, 14. I can tell you with some authority that it is going to be an interesting year. Not only because of what is planned at the school but because you are now at an age where you are going to start to notice more and more changes. To your body, I mean. I suspect you have already experienced some of them, right? Third year is what is called "the shower year" for blokes, and I trust you know why. I hope you have had someone to teach you the proper cleaning spells too. There are a few, and some are more useful than others. Hopefully I will be able to see you in person one day and make sure you have them down correctly.
But now, girls. If you haven't already, you will soon realize that the little "surprises" that seem to happen at odd and random times are going to start becoming less random. Specifically, expect to find your body reacting in rather pleasant ways because you are having particular thoughts about a girl. Or girls. Or boys, maybe. I don't know. Either one is fine, of course. Whatever makes you happy.
It can be tricky, once you find a girl you fancy. On the one hand, you are going to want to think about her. On the other hand, thinking about her is going to cause your body to react. I know. My body reacted to a girl called Cassiopeia Worth almost all of my fourth year, and I'll admit, I didn't do as much as I could have to stop it.
It's hard to give advice from afar, so the best I can do is to tell you to have fun, and try not to overthink things. There will be many awkward moments, many, many awkward moments. Remind me sometime to tell you about your dad and his ridiculous habit of ruffling his hair whenever he fancied a girl, and how it once led to him getting a . . . well, I think that's a story for another time. Trust me when I saw that eventually, you will find the right girl, and all the awkwardness will just fade away. You won't need to take nearly as many showers. And it will be bloody fantastic.
Love, Sirius.
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It was during his fourth year that Harry finally recognized the face of the girl who had intruded his thoughts so often. Cho Chang was a year older than Harry, beautiful, and a Seeker. He had watched her play a number of times before and it was with a jolt of surprise (and, to be sure, enjoyment), that he realized he must have been watching her more closely than he thought. Truly, he didn't know what he liked best; her face (lovely and exotic), the way her hair blew around in the wind while she flew (exciting), or the soft curve of her bum that peeked out from under her robes when she leaned forward on her broom to chase the Snitch (wow), but suddenly Cho Chang was on Harry's mind a lot. And when she was on his mind, his penis was, more than likely, hard and in his hand.
And then, he bollocksed things up and missed out on the chance to ask her to the Yule Ball. Until he found out Cho had already agreed to go with Cedric, Harry had harbored fantasies – that seemed to become more explicit every day – about what he and Cho might do during a few quiet and more private moments. These fantasies had become more explicit by the day, until he barely had to think her name to get aroused. And then she told him she couldn't be his date and everything deflated. Literally and figuratively.
Parvati was a very pretty girl, it was true, but Harry simply hadn't been able to muster that much excitement for her. As soon as he glimpsed Cho and Cedric, holding hands and slipping out of the Great Hall, he'd made an excuse about having a headache and gone up to bed. He thought for a minute about taking a shower, but for the first time, Harry didn't even want to. Instead, he grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled a note to his godfather.
Dear Padfoot,
Thank you for your last letter; it was very informative, and quite accurate. I think Ron takes even longer showers than I do, though. I'm writing because, well, tonight was the Yule Ball. There is a girl I like, and I wanted to take her as my date. She's really something, beautiful and popular and she plays Quidditch. Seeker, actually. You should see her on a broom, she's like a blur in the air. . .
Harry had to stop writing. His arousal had returned ten-fold. He sighed and crumpled the parchment before picking up his towel. Looked like his real life experience was going to have a wait for a while longer.
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It was brilliant, finally being able to spend time with Sirius. Despite the nightmarish horror of seeing Voldemort come back to life and his worry over the looming Ministry hearing, Harry had a good time at Grimmauld Place the summer before his fifth year. After a week there, Sirius had pulled him aside. Harry assumed he was going to ask him how he felt about the upcoming hearing and he prepared, again, to deny his worry.
"So Harry," asked Sirius quietly. They were the only ones in the kitchen at the time. "How have things been on the 'witch front'? Did you get my letter about . . . "
"Yes, yes I did," Harry interrupted quickly. "It was, umm, very helpful. Thanks."
Sirius grinned at him. "Don't be embarrassed, Harry. It's all a normal process of growing up." His godfather's face grew a little sad. "Your dad should be the one having this talk with you, actually. I assume you know the mechanics? Of how things work?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said with a blush. "Ron's dad told us. Summer before third year." Despite his embarrassment, he was rather glad Sirius had raised the topic. After his disastrous attempts with Cho, Harry had questions, and he suspected that his godfather would be more than willing to answer them.
"Good then," said Sirius. "But there is more to it than just . . ."
"I'm starving, is there any of that pie left from supper?" Ron ambled into the kitchen, Bill close on his heels.
"Probably," Harry mumbled. It looked like his questions would have to wait.
He was wrong.
"Bill, great, maybe you can help me out. Harry here has some questions about girls. Want to help me explain some of the finer points of wooing witches?"
Harry blushed. "That's okay, I don't need . . ."
"Great idea," said Bill firmly. He grabbed Ron by the neck as he tried to sidle out of the room, his mouth full of pie. "You too, Ronniekins."
Harry and Ron looked at each other. Despite having shared a dorm room for four years, there were definitely things they just had not discussed, but it looked like that was about to change.
"As I told Harry in one of my letters, it's perfectly normal that he should start having a physical reaction to liking a witch around this age, right Bill?"
Bill nodded, a slight smirk on his face. "Or. . . liking a wizard?" He raised his eyebrows. Both Harry and Ron shook their heads.
"Witch," mumbled Harry, and Ron nodded.
Bill shrugged. "Okay then, not that there's anything wrong if you like blokes, although if that was the case, I'd probably ask someone else to talk to you. But since you both like witches, we can continue." He looked at Sirius. "Where do you want to start?"
"Erections," said Sirius firmly. "What to do with them when you are alone, what to do with them when you are in public, and, most importantly, what to do with them when you are with a witch. Now, when you are alone. . ."
"Uhh, I've got that part, I know what to do," said Harry quickly. "You don't have to explain . . . anything." Please don't explain anything. He looked at Ron, who was as red as his hair. "Right?" he asked.
"Umm, right," Ron mumbled. "Except, umm . . . d'you think maybe you could, umm . . . teachmeabettercleaningspell?"
"What did you say, Ron?" Bill leaned forward and Ron took a deep breath.
"I asked if you could teach me a better cleaning spell," said Ron. He was looking firmly at the ground. "Cause the one dad taught us . . . it, umm. . ."
"Ahh, yes." Bill looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Dad's fond of 'Teregesperm,' isn't he? Not nearly strong enough for blokes your age and with your probable . . . frequency. That's much better for your minor messes. You know, when most of your climax is deposited . . . elsewhere." Bill gave up the effort and snorted. Harry lay his head down on the table.
"I'd teach them 'Scourgicum,' wouldn't you?" said Sirius. He was leaning back in his chair and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.
"Yep. And 'Erasemen' is a good one to know too. Better for messes on the skin, both yours, and hopefully, someday, a witch's too."
Harry couldn't begin to imagine the confidence he'd have to feel before he actually was able to get any of . . . that . . . on a witch's skin, and by the slightly sick look on his face, he had the feeling Ron felt the same way. But Sirius and Bill weren't finished.
After teaching Ron and Harry both spells (which included, to Harry's horror, making them practice on puddles of pumpkin juice and milk they spilled onto the table, their hands, and their pajamas), Sirius picked up the thread of conversation again.
"Erections in public are easier," he said.
Bill nodded. "Keep your robes loose, wear trousers underneath that hold everything in, and, if necessary, think of Hagrid in a bikini."
"Or, McGonagall would probably work too," said Sirius thoughtfully.
Harry and Ron both groaned. "Got it," said Harry weakly. "Can we get onto the . . . the witches now?" For as embarrassed as he was, Harry also figured he'd better learn as much as he could, on the off chance that one day, he would need the information.
"Ahh, yes. What to do with your 'magic wand' when it shows signs of shooting off sparks while you are with a girl." Bill's voice had an undercurrent of glee. "I remember those days, trying to get as far as I could with Melody Arbuckle – I dated her at Hogwarts – and yet still keep her from realizing that I was totally hard."
"What does a witch think, when a bloke gets hard, I mean, can they tell?" Ron looked worried.
Sirius spoke up. "It depends on how experienced the witch is," he said. "If they haven't done much yet and you are wiggling around, trying to keep it from them, they are probably going to just be rather confused."
"In that case, it's best to do your snogging mostly sitting up, or possibly standing," nodded Bill. "Because if you are lying down, it's a lot more difficult to keep her from figuring out what is going on, or feeling it."
"Of course, maybe you'll want her to feel it," added Sirius. "Because it feels bloody fantastic, to lie on top of a witch – fully clothed, of course," he looked questioningly at Ron and Harry.
"Of course," they responded quickly.
"Right, clothed," said Sirius. "It's going to feel great, and you are not going to want to stop . . . grinding into her."
"Don't be surprised if your body takes on a mind of its own, that first time," said Bill with a smirk. "I remember the first time I came on top of Melody . . ."
". . . And the witches, they are okay with this?" interrupted Harry. As fascinated as he was to hear about some of Bill's and Sirius' experiences – the two men likely had more combined experience than all the other males Harry knew, put together – he was even more interested in getting his questions answered.
"Well, most witches will be nervous about it at first," said Sirius.
"And mum thinks that 'nice witches' don't do that sort of thing until marriage," said Bill. "But mum's wrong. Just because a witch likes the way things feel doesn't make her a slag or anything. I think it's perfectly fine for a witch to do . . . things while at school." He frowned. "Except when it comes to Ginny." He shook his head.
"Okay, Ginny aside, there are plenty of witches who will be okay with some 'over the robes' activity that involves your erection."
"And while you are doing . . . that," said Harry. "You might suddenly . . . umm, go off?" He blushed furiously.
"Climax, Harry," said Sirius. "The proper word is climax, although 'come' or 'finish' are fine too. And yes, you very well might climax while you are involved in some heavy snogging or other activities that don't necessarily involve touching below the waist."
"And what do you do then?" Now that they'd started, Harry couldn't stop the flow of questions. In the back, deep recesses of his mind, he was thinking about Cho, and what it might feel like if he was to, maybe, get into a situation with her that would require some of this knowledge.
"Well, you continue as long as she'll let you," said Bill. His face turned serious. "But if a witch ever tells you to stop, or says no, you stop immediately. No questions asked." He looked first Ron and then Harry in the eye to make sure they understood. "It doesn't matter if you are a second from climax. You roll off, move away, and take care of things yourself later."
"And don't make the witch feel bad for wanting to stop," said Sirius. "This is a bigger deal for them than for you. Let them set the pace. Always."
Now satisfied that Ron and Harry understood, Bill continued. "But if she lets you keep going, and you actually do get the chance to finish, then there are a couple of things you need to do. She might be surprised. She might be disgusted. . ."
"She might be really turned on," broke in Sirius.
Bill grinned. "Yeah, you want to find those girls, for sure. But then is the time to tell her how good it felt, how happy you are, and then to show off your mad cleaning skills. And always clean her first. Then you. Make sure you get everything off her skin, clothing, bed, whatever. She's sure to be impressed if you know how to do that."
"Just watch for chafing," said Sirius suddenly. "I forgot to mention that."
"Chafing?" asked Ron faintly.
Sirius nodded. "Too much rubbing through the clothing can be a little . . . rough on the skin. There are charms to help, of course, but even better is to convince the witch to slip her hand inside, and . . ."
"There you all are, Ronald, are you eating more pie?" Hermione appeared at the door to the kitchen and Harry fervently hoped she hadn't overheard anything. She looked around curiously. "Ginny and I have been waiting upstairs forever," she said. "Molly wants us to start cleaning the bookshelves in the library." Her face grew a little dreamy. "I wonder if we'll find anything really rare or interesting there," she said.
Sirius snorted. "More likely you'll find books about how to make sure your friends are all as pure of blood as you are," he said. He looked at Hermione. "I just need to finish telling Harry one thing, then he and Ron will be up."
Hermione nodded. "Bring extra rags," she said as she left.
Once she was gone, Sirius leaned in. "One more thing," he said quickly. "When you are with a witch and you finish, do not, under any circumstances, just roll over and ignore her because you're so tired."
"Especially not the first times you are with her," added Bill. He looked at Sirius. "We need to tell them what to do for the witch first," he said.
Sirius nodded. "Another time, for sure." He clapped Harry on the back. "Write me this year, let me know if you've used any of this information, okay?"
Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said quietly. "If I don't get chucked out of Hogwarts tomorrow, I hope to have the opportunity."
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The cleaning spells Bill and Sirius taught Harry proved much more effective that Mr. Weasley's. Unfortunately, Harry only ever got to use them on himself during his fifth year, in the mornings, in bed. For while Cho continued to figure quite prominently in his dreams and his showers, she and Harry never got beyond those few kisses in the Room of Requirement; by Valentine's Day, they were pretty much over. Harry found himself unable to even get hard thinking about her after that; his morning wanks were fueled by faceless Quidditch players again, much to his dismay.
He meant to ask Sirius for advice; clearly he had a lot more to learn before he bollocksed things up with the next girl he fancied, and the next. But it wasn't meant to be, and Harry added relationship advice to the long list of things he'd never get to talk to his godfather about again.
It was Sirius he was thinking about by the pond at the Burrow when Ginny came and found him. It had only been three days since Dumbledore had fetched him from the Dursleys, and despite his promise to the headmaster that he wouldn't shut himself away and mope, Harry had found himself seeking daily solitude. The pond was quiet and peaceful, and it allowed Harry time alone with his thoughts and feelings of guilt and responsibility before rejoining Ron and Hermione and the rest. They all granted him these hours to himself, for which he was grateful. But now it seemed that Ginny had other ideas.
She plopped down next to him on the bank. They sat silently for long minutes, but it wasn't awkward for some reason, and Harry realized he'd gotten used to Ginny's presence. Finally, she spoke.
"I suppose telling you that it's not your fault is useless," she said conversationally.
Harry sighed. "You're not the first one to say so," he admitted.
"But it's not sinking in."
Harry shrugged. "I should have studied Occlumency more. I should have listened to Hermione when she suggested that Voldemort might be taking advantage of my 'saving people thing.'"
"And Dumbledore should have told you more about what Voldemort might try to do, and of course, Voldemort himself can't possibly be to blame now, could he?" Ginny looked at him frankly and he squirmed a bit under her gaze. Her expression softened.
"I get it, though," she said. "For years, I thought it was all my fault, what happened to us in the Chamber; all those people getting petrified, you almost dying. My stupid mistake and nothing else."
Harry looked at her in surprise. "But, that was all Voldemort, taking advantage," he said. "You were eleven years old, and . . ."
"And I had a huge crush on Harry Potter and everyone knew it," she finished. "And I knew better than to trust any object that could think for itself if I couldn't see where it keeps its brain. And what did I do? I trusted the diary." She gave a little shrug. "See? All my fault."
Harry was quiet for a long time, and Ginny let him be. Finally he put his hand on her arm.
"Thank you, Ginny."
She smiled back at him. "Any time."
After his talk with Ginny, Harry found he didn't need to separate himself nearly as often or for as long. He helped around the Burrow, talked for hours with Ron and Hermione about what Dumbledore might teach him in their private lessons, and played a lot of two-aside Quidditch.
It was after one of those games a week later that Harry found himself in the shower, feeling the first stirrings of arousal he'd had since Sirius had died.
He closed his eyes and grasped himself, preparing to envision the random parade of Quidditch-uniform-covered breasts and bums, when suddenly, his imagination become much more specific.
Ginny was in her Gryffindor uniform, and they were in the changing rooms after a game. The hangings that normally separated the girls from the boys was gone, and as Harry watched, Ginny pulled off her shirt, and then undid her bra, stretching her arms up to the sky and then reaching down to massage her calves. When she straightened up, she looked right at Harry and smiled. Her fingers brushed against her breast and she reached out to him and grabbed his hand. She pulled him closer, moved his hand to replace hers on her chest, wrapped her arms around him and moved them down to his bum . . .
Harry was hard in his hand before he realized what he was thinking. He jerked in surprise, but it was no use; one more stroke and he climaxed against the wall of the shower. His heart was beating almost out of his chest and he tried to calm himself down. What the hell had he just done?
