Flushes
"Hermione, what's wrong with me?!" howled a very distressed Harry Potter as he vented his frustration in form of pacing in front of the fireplace. The twirling, enchanted blue flames licked playfully at his ankles as he passed.
He was presently in the one of the private chambers, unruly black hair sprinkling soapy droplets of water over his pale, bare chest. Upon discovering his rather… horrific situation… he immediately rushed out of the shower to seek the council of the one person he knew would understand. Or, rather, he hoped would understand.
A young girl, around the age of eighteen, with dark brown hair styled into a bob, was lounging calmly on a red velvet sofa, silky smoke rising from the end of her cigarette wand to obscure her like a veil. She slowly exhaled through her nostrils, and smiled calmingly at her frustrated and confused friend.
"Harry, love, calm down. Let's review the facts…" she began in that soft, barely-over-a-whisper voice she had, pleading for him to be rational. But, in his current situation, Harry was in no way capable of being rational.
"What is there to review, Hermione!?! I bloody got turned on by bloody Ron Weasley! And in the bloody shower for Merlin's bloody sake!" he ranted, running a hand through his soapy locks.
Hermione smiled sympathetically and offered him the rest of her cigarette. He eagerly grabbed it and greedily sucked in the calming smoke.
"Thanks, Mione. Sorry about my outburst," he murmured, feeling his face flush with an embarrassed heat. After all, she didn't deserve to be snapped at, especially when he was the one invading her private time, one which they all had so little of.
A few moments passed in silence, where Harry finished off the cigarette and began his restless pacing once more.
"Harry…" said Hermione softly. "It's okay to get turned on by another guy. It's nothing to be ashamed of." He stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her.
He would have been stupid, blind, idiotic, retarded and utterly insane not to notice that Hermione had matured into a beautiful woman.
During the War in sixth year, she had chopped off her wild, crazy curls on Moody's orders. Harry remembered that day clearly, and he replayed the endearing memory in his minds eye.
"Hermione, it's just hair. Don't get so sentimental about cutting it," snapped Ron from behind his magazine, a deeply irritated frown marring his forehead.
"Shut the hell up, Ron!" wailed Hermione as yet another curl floated down to her lap. Harry grasped her hand, offering a comforting smile.
"Don't worry, Mione. I bet you'll look smashing in short hair," he laughed, tenderly whipping away a crystal tear from her cheek. She smiled weakly, sniffling slightly as she heard the gentle 'snip' sound of the enchanted scissors, followed shortly by another lock of dark brown hair.
"And besides, you heard what Moody said. Long hair is only a distraction during war," grumbled the redhead from the corner, lifting his magazine so that it covered his face completely.
"I know. But still, I wanted to grow out my hair like my m-mother…" trailed off Hermione, her voice braking as she was convulsed in stifled sobs at the memory of her murdered parent.
Ron looked up with eyes wide and filled with concern, immediately dropping his magazine and standing up, all annoyance evaporating into oblivion as he saw her burst into tears.
"Oh, My' O… It'll be okay…" whispered his voice as he embraced his weeping best friend, while Harry soothingly rubbed her back.
After a while, her crying subsided, and she looked up with a half hearted smile on her face, cheeks streaked with wet paths made by her tears and bottom lip still trembling.
"Do you think I would look good in a bob?" she asked with a contemplative twinkle in her eyes.
"You would look lovely in a bob!" exclaimed Harry enthusiastically. She perked up.
"Really?"
"Um… but what does a bob look like?"
He smiled at the memory, but determinedly continued to study her every feature, hoping, praying, that he would feel some pull, spark, anything for her. If he wasn't attracted to such a beautiful female being, the only other option was…
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and continued to scrutinize her. Hermione, being the astoundingly clever witch that she was, knew what he was attempting and crossed her long legs, putting on a seductive, irresistible look on her face.
It was a test.
Her figure was slender and curvaceous, with inviting smooth skin of a pale, sophisticated tone. Everyone who was of great importance in the War was unnaturally pale, the result of being in hiding for two long years. Sunshine was something they seldom saw.
Her large, glittering brown eyes had long since darkened during the war, from their original amber hue to an almost black, as if they were haunted by the evil things they've seen. But they still held that certain warmth, challenge and know-it-all sparkle that the innocent Hermione had.
Her full, crimson stained lips curled into a smirk, and she slowly ran a dainty hand down the length of her thigh.
Harry waited for a response.
A tightness in his pants.
A bit of sweat…
A stray butterfly in his stomach…
Nothing.
"Gods, Mione! This is all wrong!" he cried, flopping down next to her and burying his face in his hands. Hermione dropped her seductive act and encircled Harry's bare shoulders with a comforting arm.
"Hey… Maybe, you're not attracted to me because you see me like a sister?" she suggested wisely. He looked up with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
"Mione, with your looks, even if I were your brother, I wouldn't hesitate for…," he replied with a shadow of a smile, laying a spinning head on his friend's shoulder.
Hermione smiled at the compliment.
She sighed, tucking a strand of shimmering brown hair behind her ear before gently kissing her distressed mate's temple. Her lips lingered on his skin longer than necessary.
"Another test, Harry, love… Are you up to it?" she asked, and Harry could hear the smirk in her tone. He raised his head and locked eyes with her, silently pleading for her help.
She smiled, her seductive act springing up again as she slowly ran her fingers up his forearms.
She swung her leg over his thigh so that she was straddling his lap, wrapping her long legs around his waist.
"Feel anything?" she breathed as she trailed hot, feathery kisses down his neck and collarbone. He didn't answer, because he was still waiting. For something. Anything.
She tore away from his skin and began to slowly unbutton her blouse, revealing inch by inch the milk white skin of her chest.
Suddenly, she stopped, and stared down at him with parted lips. He stared backed at her.
"Harry…" she whispered, grasped his hand and guiding it up over her stomach.
"Yes, Mione…" he answered in a normal voice, the only difference in his demeanor the slightly rosy tint on his cheeks.
She leaned closer to his face until their noses were touching.
"If you are even slightly straight, you won't resist this…" she said and fiercely kissed him, pulling up his hand to cover her breast at the same time.
What did Harry feel? He felt Hermione's lips on him and his hand on her boob. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He had fantasized about groping Hermione's breasts before, during some particularly boring Transfiguration class. He even daydreamed about what it would be like to kiss those pouting lips of hers at the same time.
He expected to feel aroused, turned on, excited… Something a guy feels while fondling a girl's breast. He expected his senses to dull, for the instinct to bang this chick here and now to kick in. But all he felt was someone's lips over his, and his hand on a soft, round thing which for some reason didn't feel all that great. It felt weird.
Abruptly, she pulled away and regained her cool composure, distractedly buttoning up her shirt as she glanced down at his pants to see if she got a reaction out of him.
She smirked, and slid off of his lap all the while fixing her hair. He looked over at her miserably. She looked even more stunning with slightly smudged lipstick and an attractive flush to her cheeks.
She was beautiful… It was a mere observation. But he didn't want her in that way. It's not that he didn't want Hermione. He didn't want her as a woman. What in Voldemort's hell did he want?!
"Hermione—"
"Think about a chest. A broad, muscular chest with rivulets of water cascading over it's smooth skin," began Hermione in a whisper, standing up and disappearing down the dark hallway on the opposite side of the common room.
He was startled by the random question, and not a little embarrassed, but he tried to imagine it all the same. After all, nothing Hermione said, no matter how strange it was didn't have a wise purpose behind it. The first thing that popped into his mind was a woman's chest, with huge breasts and a flat, curvy stomach.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, the breasts began to shrink and stretch to form a broad, masculine torso, and that curvy stomach began to develop a six pack.
He imagined the water running over that chest, his hands roaming over those delicious muscles—
"MERLIN'S KNICKERS!!" he yelled as he felt a tightness in his pants, and a knot forming in his stomach.
At that moment, Hermione appeared with a mound of colorful magazines in her arms as she flounced over to the couch.
Her knowing gaze flickered to the bulge in his trousers, and she grinned widely as she dumped the magazines onto the coffee table.
"Well, well… Which theme did you pick? Sweaty Quidditch boys in the shower, or maybe the cute, shy prefect being caught taking a bath? Hm?" she teased, and he felt a heat overwhelm his face as he crossed his legs to hide his erection.
"Shove off!" he growled, folding his arms and dropping his head. Still smiling, she threw him a black, button up men's shirt and he caught it, a surprised look on his face.
She raised a naturally arched eyebrow at him as she slid into an armchair, leafing through a random magazine with a comically interested look on her face.
"Can't have you waltzing around my room half naked, you know," she said with a smile. "My boyfriend might come in any second." He laughed and pulled the shirt on, noticing that it was a bit too large on him, and turned a curious gaze onto the magazine she was looking at.
"Where did you get the shirt and magazines, anyway?" he asked as he reached for a mag.
"The shirt belongs to Blaise, and the mags are Terry's. Harry," she added in a warning tone, looking up at him sharply.
He returned her intense gaze nervously.
"No matter what, I'll always stand by your side. I'll always love you. You're my best mate 'till the end," she said seriously. "If you feel anything when you look at those magazines, don't freak." She added, and despite the strange note in her voice he felt himself smile, a bit embarrassed but also touched by her words.
He reached over to grasp her hand, and then he turned to the magazine lying innocently on his lap. He opened to the first page and—
"MERLIN'S KNICKERS!!!"
Whatever he was expecting in that magazine, it wasn't what he saw.
It was of a guy.
Not just any guy.
A guy in a leopard print thong with the biggest…
Oh God.
The tightness in his pants returned painfully fast, and he suddenly felt VERY hot.
He tried in vain to tear his eyes from that… package… as he choked out in a hoarse whisper, "Mione, what were you doing with these magazines?!?"
Hermione sat daintily on her sofa, ankles crossed and her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked the very personification of class and elegance. A wide, cattish smile lighted up her face.
"Why, Harry, do you not like the pretty pictures?" she purred, teasingly swinging a picture of another beautiful guy in front of his face.
Beautiful guy?!?
He threw the magazine he was holding over the edge of the couch as if it were a possessed object, burying his head into a pillow and letting out a scream of frustration.
Hermione immediately sobered, gathering up the magazines and shoving them under a couch so that Harry didn't have to look at them.
"Do you want some tea?" she asked softly. Harry, looking up from the pillow, eyes wide and miserable, glared angrily at her.
"Hermione, do you always think that tea will make everyone feel better?! No, I don't want any bloody TEA!!" he yelled.
"Alright, love, I'll go get some," she said and walked back into the hallway.
She came back in a few minutes later, carrying a silver tray with a porcelain tea set perched on top, to find Harry staring blankly at the wall, eyes blurry and dazed, and mouth hanging slightly open, as if he were looking at a very horrific painting.
She quietly went up to him, and meekly sat down.
"I'm gay," he said simply. She nodded her head, as if she knew all along, and placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"It's not a bad thing," she said softly. He chuckled darkly.
"The Boy Who Lived Finally Comes Out of the Closet!! That'll be next week's Daily Prophet title," he said with an ironic smile.
Hermione rested her chin on his shoulder, playing with the dark locks at the base of his neck, humming soothingly.
"Hermione… What would I do without you? You're the most understanding, tolerant person I know," he said, shifting in her arms to place his nose in the crook of her neck.
"I mean, what friend would make out with you to see if you were gay?" he continued, tone turning glum at the last word.
"Harry, love, you know I'll adore you gay or not," she said laughingly. He chuckled against her neck. Then he sighed deeply.
"As if I'm not queer enough," he murmured. Hermione gently grabbed his chin and directed his gaze onto her face.
"Hey, normal people are boring. Trust me, people, especially magical folk, are strongly attracted to strange and unusual things. You're special, Harry."
He laughed.
"You make it sound like I'm retarded or something," he said with a grin.
"Well, aren't you, Potter?" mocked a smooth, melodious voice from behind them. Harry whirled around, and felt a blush rise to his cheeks.
Leaning elegantly against the elaborately carved column arched over the entrance, was a handsome young man of a slender, willowy build. He caught his bashful gaze and held it with his ridiculously full lips stretched into a smirk.
The man was shirtless, revealing an alabaster, toned chest sprinkled with red glitter. His black woman's trousers were slung low on his waist, held up only by a leather belt. There was a curious, silver necklace around his neck with a small, ruby pendant that sparkled brilliantly. He had glistening, shoulder-length black hair that fell attractively into one of his vibrant blue eyes.
There was absolutely no mistaking Blaise Zabini.
"Getting a bit too cozy with my gal, aren't you, Potter?" he asked as he walked, more like floated, towards the couch he and Hermione were sitting on.
"Kid, be nice," cooed Hermione as her boyfriend slid into the seat next to her, slipping his muscled arm around her waist.
He winked at Harry before swooping down to kiss Hermione tenderly on the lips. He frowned slightly as he pulled away.
"Who have you been kissing, Mia?" he asked in a deceivingly casual tone, eyes boring into hers. She returned his demanding gaze calmly and smilingly.
"I was helping Harry, you see," she began, and Blaise glanced briefly at the fidgeting Harry, who cowered under his stare.
"Kiddo, he finally realized…" she trailed off, a knowing twinkle in her eyes as she twirled her hand in front of her, as if magically pulling her meaning out of thin air.
A look of realization suddenly dawned onto Blaise's face, and he shot Harry a saucy grin and a sultry wink.
"Hey, Potter, if you're ever interested in a casual rendezvous…"
"Kiddo!" cried Hermione laughingly, smacking her lover playfully on the shoulder. He laughed liltingly, a sound that echoed through Harry's head even hours later. There was just something magical about Blaise's laugh.
"Hey, don't stress over it, Kim. Being gay is nothing new in the Wizarding World. Since it's not weird to be with a Veela or a Vampyre, how can it be weird to date another guy?" comforted Blaise, seeing the distressed look on the Griffindor boy's face.
At the nickname and soothing words, Harry immediately relaxed. He smiled gratefully at the two, thinking how incredibly lucky he was to have such great and understanding friends.
The nickname 'Kim' was something only Blaise called him. He once asked Harry what his middle name was, and Harry replied 'James.' So, Blaise, the kind of person who always has to maneuver everything to fit his own taste, called the raven haired boy 'Jim'.
'Kim? Whose Kim?" asked Hermione one day upon hearing the nickname. It turned out she had heard wrong, but for some odd reason the name struck Blaise's liking.
It wasn't that surprising, since nothing about Blaise wasn't odd or strange. Like, for instance, his very unique fashion sense, which consisted of a cross between 70's glam fashion and woman's vintage clothing.
"So…" began Harry, his discomfort coming back full blast as he wracked his brain for a coherent thought.
"So you're gay," said Blaise, sounding almost gleeful. Harry swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze in embarrassment.
"Yeah, I guess." Hermione, who had pulled out her wand and magicked another cup of tea for Blaise, smiled kindly at Harry as she offered him a crumpet.
"Harry, don't think about it as a negative thing. Think about it as a new experience. I mean, this is a complete turn in your life, think of the possibilities!" she chirped optimistically, and Harry new from experience that she wasn't just saying that to make him feel better. Hermione absolutely loved things involving new experiences. Things one could learn or conjure up a lesson from.
"I'll try."
At that moment, the entrance opened once again, and a very frazzled looking girl bounded in, a flurry of tousled red curls and fluttering parchment. She was followed closely by a tall, redheaded man who looked both annoyed and bewildered at the same time.
The girl was carrying in her arms a mound of paperwork, books, charts and maps, topped off with a dangerously tilting ink bottle and quill set smack dab on the top.
She looked wildly around, and upon spotting the small party settled on the couch by the blazing blue fire, she sauntered over, shedding loose papers in her wake, round blue eyes tired and impatient.
The man followed after her, eyebrows fixed into a scowl.
"Ginevra, Ronald! What's all of this?" asked Blaise, standing up to assist the small redhead with the load. She gratefully dumped the whole pile onto the shirtless Slytherin, plopping down onto the seat next Harry.
Blaise tittered from side to side, trying to regain his balance, and then proceeded to unceremoniously dump the work onto the floor.
Ginny either didn't notice, or chose to ignore it, as she tiredly slumped against Harry's side, relieving a long sigh as she allowed her arms to go limp by her sides.
"Merlin, Harry, what happened earlier? You rushed out of the shower like you've seen a ghost! Which would be weird, since nobody is even afraid of ghosts…" said Ron, sitting down on a sofa and running a pale hand through his fiery locks.
Harry smiled sheepishly.
"I'll tell you later, Ron."
"Mione… I'm not cut out to be Head Girl. I can't keep up with all of the disgusting, ridiculous, disturbing amounts of work!" she wailed, running a hand through her thick spirals of crimson hair.
Hermione smiled soothingly.
"Yeah, being Head girl is a lot of work. One of the reasons I declined the job back in my seventh year. With the war and all, I didn't have time…" she trailed off, smile dropping as she lowered her gaze onto her lap.
"Mia…" soothed Blaise as he once again slid into the seat next to her and pulled her onto his lap. She smiled and sank her fingers into her hair, something she was very fond of doing.
Ginny smiled dreamily at the display of affection shared between the former Slytherin and Griffindor, and then regained her original frown as she remembered what she came for.
"Anyway, I was chasing Blaise halfway across the school screaming my guts out, but the lump of course didn't hear me," snarled Ginevra at the shirtless Slytherin, who smirked apologetically. Only a Slytherin would make a smirk apologetic.
"I didn't hear you, Nevra," he said innocently. She rolled her eyes and reached down to the pile of work by her feet.
She dug around a bit, then triumphantly pulled out a packet of papers.
"Dumbledore wanted me to give you guys this. It's the forms you need to fill out regarding your future apartment in Hogsmeade. Since Hermione will be teaching BAT only twice a week, Dumbledore claims that you don't have to live in the castle. It's only a short stroll to the school from Hogsmeade, so… yeah," she said, shoving the packet onto Hermione's lap.
"Thanks, Ginevra," said Hermione, folding up the packet and putting it into her bag. Ginny nodded and stood up, once again scooping up her papers and heading towards the exit.
"Well, that's all. I'm off to a Prefect Meeting. And Ron, behave yourself while I'm gone. See you guys later!" And with that she flounced out of the room.
"Behave myself? Psh, I always behave myself!" protested Ron with a grin, and received snickers from his companions.
"Hey, Weasley, what was this about a shower…?" asked Blaise curiously, wiggling his dark eyebrows suggestively. Ron turned expectantly towards Harry.
"That's what I would like to know," he said, pointedly giving Harry a demanding look. The raven haired, ex-Griffindor sighed and a rosy blush tinted his cheeks.
"Uh… I'll tell you later," he said nervously.
"Well then, Weasley, tell us the story from your point of view," suggested Blaise, looking like he was a lot more interested in Hermione's neck than what the redhead had to say.
"Well, me and Harry—"
"Harry and I, Ron. Haven't you ever studied proper English?" scolded Hermione, who was wiggling under Blaise's hands, which were attempting to creep up her shirt.
"Kiddo!" she cried laughingly as his hands dove under her shirt. He smirked and gently kissed her throat.
"Hem hem," coughed an annoyed Ron. Hermione shot him an amused look.
"Please continue, Miss Umbridge," she teased, getting a snort from Harry. Ron glared at them all before continuing.
"As I was saying," he began. "Harry and I were having a very intense Quidditch match, one on one, and then we hit the showers in the locker rooms."
"With what? A baseball bat?" joked Blaise, receiving weird stares from Hermione, Harry and Ron. He shrugged.
"What? Continue, Weasley."
"…We hit the showers in the locker rooms. Suddenly, Harry zoomed out of his stall with a very distressed look on his face, pulled on his pants and ran out of there.
"I got out, too, and tried to follow him but I lost him. Then I bumped into Ginny, while I was wandering the school, who was screaming her head off at Blaise. I couldn't get a normal sentence out of her as she hurried on after the git, so I just followed her," told Ron.
And now I'm here, and Harry won't tell me anything." He concluded. Harry gulped under their stares. Hermione smiled soothingly.
"Harry… I don't mean to rush you, but Ron should know," she said softly. The said Weasley perked up.
"Know what?" he asked anxiously. Harry shot Blaise and Hermione a pleading look. The ex-Slytherin raised an eyebrow at him, as if asking… Harry nodded.
"Potter's gay," Blaise deadpanned. Ron stared. And stared.
And stared.
"…Excuse me?" he finally wheezed out. Blaise bared the points of his teeth in a wolfish grin.
"Potter's sexual orientation is homosexuality, he lusts after blokes, he lacks in straightness… I could go on, Weasel." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Very tactful, darling," she said dryly. Blaise had the decency to look minimally sheepish.
"Blimey, Harry!" cried out Ron in something akin to amazement. "Is that why you ran out of the shower? Because I…" he stopped suddenly and went pale, then red again in quick succession.
Blaise laughed uproariously.
Hermione offered everyone more tea.
Ron started rocking back and forth.
Harry dug a whole in the floor and crawled into it.
A/n: This is a one shot birthed from a particularly boring History lecture about Jagielloni. I have NO idea where it came from, nor do I wish to continue it. You tend to think up weird things while listening to thousands of pointless facts about an ancient, four hundred year old dead guy.
For some reason, I always fancy Harry being gay. I have no idea why. He's just gay. End of story.