Dumbledore, Please Explain Your Twisted Logic!

Disclaimer: I own close to 0% of this story. I would 'fess up and say I own the perverted parts, but I'd rather keep blaming it on Marquis de Sade, the filthy pervert. ;)

Chapter Seventeen

In Which a Triangle Breaks Off at One Side

Hermione did not have a good weekend. When Harry and Ron ran outside to make snow forts with the other Gryffindor students, she trudged over to the library to decipher a particularly difficult curse in an ancient Arithmancy text. It was a shame to pass up such a lovely time with her friends, but it was of vital importance that she figure out how exactly this spell worked, as it was a central idea in her project. Sadly, though, ten hours of reading, rereading, copious deciphering, and constant brain-racking yielded no results. The curse remained as indecipherable as ever, and she went to bed in a foul temper. The next day she went to the library again while Harry and Ron went down to the Kitchens to visit Dobby and pick up some treats. After a few hours of studying, Hermione finally thought she was making a bit of headway, but she had to put her project on hold so she could write an essay for Transfiguration and a recipe for Potions.

At 10:00 at night, Hermione limped to the Prefects' Bathroom, her legs stiff from sitting all day. She brushed her teeth (for two minutes, just as her parents had taught her), then flossed and used germ-killing mouthwash. Then she washed her face and surveyed herself in the mirror.

Her hair. Ugh, her hair! She hated it. She had spent a whole hour this morning trying to straighten it as it dried, and once again she had gone out in the hallways looking like a gigantic fur ball with a body. How many hours of her life had she wasted trying to fix the one thing about her that was unfixable? And yet the more she realized she could do nothing about it, the more she stubbornly tried. To think, she could be gorgeous if only that one thing about her could change--if she could only have different hair!

Maybe, she mused, a trim would help. I haven't cut my hair since last year--since before the final battle, that is! Gosh, that was an age ago!

So Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket and, whispering a few specific incantations, led it around the edge of her hair. Four inches of hair fluttered to the ground and made a wispy ring around her feet. She waved her wand, and the trimmings vanished.

As Hermione examined her new appearance in the mirror, she came across a horrible realization: It takes more than skill with magic to make a good hairstyle. Yes, Hermione's hair was as hideous as ever. Scratch that, it was worse than ever. Hermione was no great shakes at styling and grooming like Parvati and Lavender--she could make herself look presentable like any other girl, but sexy and stunning was out of her league--and her aptitude at magic had not translated into the trim. With less weight at the ends, her hair poufed out more, making her look more like a yeti than a brainy Gryffindor girl.

"No!" Hermione cried, banging the sink feebly with her fist. She turned quickly away from the mirror and pattered sadly over to the edge of the tub and sat down on the marble rim. There, she wept quietly into her hands and tried not to touch her bushy hair.

Hermione had been crying for quite some time when she heard a familiar voice behind her ear. "You okay?" said the person, a forlorn teenage girl who sounded as though she enjoyed Hermione's misery.

"No, I'm not, Myrtle," Hermione sniffed. "I'm hideous, I'm ugly. That's how I am."

Moaning Myrtle put a translucent hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she tried not to shudder at the icy draft that shot through her. "It's your hair again, isn't it?" Myrtle said sympathetically. Hermione only nodded, feeling too miserable to speak. "You think it's so hideous that no boy will ever look at you except to laugh at you."

"Either that," Hermione hiccupped, "or they'll consider me some strange fetish doll with which to play if they're feeling especially kinky."

"Strange fetish doll?" Myrtle asked curiously. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Malfoy tried to cum in my hair," Hermione said forlornly. "He wouldn't have found me so sexually satisfying if I hadn't been so unsightly."

"That's got to be a downer," Moaning Myrtle sympathized. "But you know what? Boys are stupid. So are girls, for that matter. Even if you looked stunning, they still wouldn't look twice, because they can't see a good thing even if it hit them in the eyeballs. Boys like the cheap whores, and girls like the narcissistic dickheads."

"Thanks, Myrtle," Hermione said sarcastically. "That really makes me feel so much better."

"It's true, though!" Myrtle said, her voice gaining the edge of a sob. "I had a crush on this one person throughout my entire life at school, and did that person once look at me? No. I didn't sell my body enough, and I didn't act girly enough, because I wanted to be a normal human being instead of a skank. But it didn't matter that I was nice and that my hair looked a sight better than yours!" She was crying by now.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione whispered, though she was secretly annoyed that Moaning Myrtle had stolen the spotlight of misery. "I, um, wish that you had gotten together with your crush."

"Wish away, then," Myrtle said sourly, "'cause I'm dead. And a fat lot of good that'll do me now."

And Hermione, though still annoyed at Moaning Myrtle's moaning, realized that the ghost helped put her life in perspective. Though she, Hermione, had hideously bushy hair, at least she wasn't dead.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best comfort in the world, but at least it was something...

**********

Harry Potter went to play practice that Monday with a parcel under his arms. He told nobody what was in it, although Ron sucker-punched him in the shoulder and Hermione tried to beg it out of him. Ginny, however, didn't ask--she and Harry had had another fight the night before, and they weren't speaking to each other. Miraculously, they were still together. Harry had thought of cutting it all off with her during the fight, but he had chickened out at the last moment, and Ginny stubbornly refused to initiate the breakup. And so their relationship continued, irritably and brokenly, but still strung together by Merlin knows what. Certainly not by semen--the two of them hadn't had sex in over a month.

Harry wasn't in the best of moods. He smiled every single time he squeezed the package closer to him, but other than that his circumstances were pretty bleak. Not only did he and Ginny stand on different sides of the stage at the beginning of practice, but today also began the dreaded week: Blocking for Act Four. And Act Four included Scene Three, which was the dreaded nude scene.

Before Scene Three, however, came Scenes One and Two. Scene One included a huge musical number with lots of lighting effects and intricate choreography, so it took a good two hours of practicing before Dumbledore decided to move on to Scene Two. Harry prayed and desperately hoped that Scene Two would take up the last hour of practice, thus postponing his dreaded nude scene until Wednesday.

One must remember, however, that Harry had always been susceptible to rape by Misfortune, and once again Misfortune violated Harry in this manner:

"What a short scene!" Dumbledore commented after ten minutes. "Miss Granger and Master Goyle, you performed to perfection. I'm not quite sure how you two do it, but you're an even better pair than I envisioned when I was writing the script."

Harry scowled severely at Hermione and Goyle, who grinned and thanked the professor. Then Dumbledore clapped his hands together and, rubbing them enthusiastically, said, "Now for the scene we've all been waiting for!"

"NO!" As soon as Harry found it within himself to protest, he let out this harsh shriek. "I'm not doing it, Dumbledore! I've said time and time again that I don't want to, so I'm not going to!"

"But my dear boy," Dumbledore coaxed him, "Mr. Lovegood went to all the trouble to make sure the parents couldn't protest the nude scene, and I even got your aunt and uncle to sign a form giving you permission."

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

"And that was a real pain, let me tell you. Those relatives of yours make me sick. They make mine look like Father Christmas and his band of elves."

"I dunno, Father Christmas can be pretty damn annoying too, though," Ron muttered, "especially in those Muggle commercials around Christmastime."

"You took all the trouble to go to the DURSLEYS, just to make my life more miserable?" Harry yelled at the old man, pacing back and forth across the stage. "As if I hadn't had enough misery already! I've grown up an orphan with an aunt, an uncle, and cousin who hated my guts! Every single year I was at Hogwarts, I nearly died, and half the time you could've stopped it! I watched classmates and close friends as they were murdered in front of me! I had to kill fucking Voldemort himself! And now you have the gall to stick me in a nude scene? I don't understand how you sleep at night!"

Dumbledore stood quietly throughout Harry's tirade, though he winced when the distraught teenager pulled the death card. When Harry finally stopped to catch his breath, he turned to Luna and said, "Miss Lovegood, Harry has just told me that he'll be miserable when the two of you are nude together onstage."

"You want to know miserable?" Harry retorted. "Miserable is not going starkers with Luna, but flashing your bits for five hundred people to see!"

"That doesn't sound miserable to me," Dumbledore disagreed respectfully. "I wish I was younger so that I could do it myself."

"Oh, I'll bet you do!" Harry ground out, coming to a stop. "In fact, I'll go as far as to encourage you, out in the open for everyone to see! And when everyone laughs or says 'EEEEWWW!' you'll know how I feel."

"My dear boy, don't be ridiculous," Dumbledore said, faintly impatient. "You're young and virile, and if I've been keeping up with this school's gossip properly, you're hung like a horse. Nobody is going to say 'ew' when they see you in your full glory. Perhaps 'ooh!' but not 'ew.' You sell yourself way too short, my boy."

Harry snarled at him and turned to face Luna. "What do you think, Luna?" he asked angrily, his hands crossed across his chest in an unconscious effort to keep his clothes firmly against his body. "This is totally unfair, isn't it?"

"Well, I've heard your penis is big," Luna said. "And that may seem pretty unfair to all the boys out there who can't boast the same measurements."

"That's not what I meant!" Harry said angrily. "I shouldn't have to strip if I don't want to, should I?"

"No comment," Luna said quickly, a grin spreading across her face.

"Look, you have to strip, too," Harry said, advancing towards her. "Doesn't that make you mad? Don't you think Dumbledore is exploiting us in order to draw in a larger audience? Don't you feel violated in the slightest bit?"

"No," Luna replied. "I don't."

Harry whirled away from her and swore vociferously. "Ah, fuck all."

Dumbledore stepped lightly forward and said softly, "If it makes you feel any better Harry, I'm saving the nudity until the opening night. For now, you shall merely practice in your underwear."

"Believe it or not," Harry replied, "that doesn't make me feel better at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dumbledore said, though he didn't sound very sorry. "Maybe a good night's sleep will make it all better. Now we must really get practicing, so everyone in position!"

The crew scrambled into place while Luna and Harry positioned themselves in the middle of the stable set. Then the scene began. Luna and Harry went through their lines as Ravenclaw and James the stable boy. Then Luna came to her final line: "...but phy'cal is the bond of one from two!"

Luna proceeded to unzip the dress she wore as part of her costume. She worked it down her chest and over her hips, then down her legs, all the way to the ankles. Then she stepped out of the dress and stood erect before Harry.

For years Harry had looked at Luna's face and loved it--who could fail, after all, to love the symmetry in her slim features, each side complete with a wide blue eye and a dimpled cheek and two halves of a small, red lip, all framed by the best straggly blond hair Harry had ever seen in his life? But never before had Harry seen what was underneath Luna's robes. He had never seen the full extent of her cleavage: Before he had seen hints of her breasts, but now he saw clearly the soft globes they formed before they disappeared into the bra at the nipple. He saw two freckles on her left shoulder, right at the spot where it met her upper arm. He saw a rabbit-shaped birthmark on her smooth thigh, one inch below the pure white panties she wore.

The greatest marvel, Harry found, was Luna's musculature. She was not overly built, but at the same time it was apparent she kept herself in good shape. Her arms were small, but the muscles looked strong enough to squeeze the breath out of Harry. Her legs were not much larger, but they curved gracefully and compactly to her feet, which looked more than capable of carrying her for a couple miles of running, if she ever had the whim to do so.

Now squeezing and running weren't really that sexy by themselves, but when Harry imagined her legs running beside his--both pairs bare in the wind--running and running without rest until they reached some faraway place and hugged each other tightly, her naked arms clutched around his ribs, well...! That most definitely turned Harry on.

"Master Potter, you are waiting way too long to talk off your clothes," Dumbledore criticized him. "You have ruined the pacing of the scene."

Harry gazed longingly at the professor, silently imploring him to let him keep his clothes on. But Dumbledore frowned at him and stared keenly until Harry realized that it was no use.

With a sigh, Harry began undressing, trying to distract himself with the lovely Luna Lovegood and her gorgeous breasts. It was working until he lifted his tunic fluidly over his head, causing half the people in the room to sigh with lust (the other half was already tied up with Luna, and those who were bisexual were having a field day). This shook him up a bit, so he didn't touch his leather britches, much to everyone's consternation.

"What about your trousers?" Susan whined. "Luna got down to her underwear, why can't you?"

"Yeah, we want to see it all!" cried an overexcited Orla Quirke.

"Do I have to?" Harry moaned. "Dumbledore, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied. "Now are you going to take off your trousers, or must I remove them for you?"

And so with bad grace Harry removed the leather britches and stood onstage in his boxers. Luna grinned and eyed him up and down, while Ginny stomped into the dressing room to sulk.

Harry was one hot young man--even he himself would see no point in denying it. The remnants of a fine summer tan painted his firmly-muscled body, a body he had gotten from working out on top of doing Quidditch (contrary to popular belief, Quidditch was good exercise for the legs only, though that was enough to make a performance in bed thoroughly satisfying). And yet Harry didn't think it'd matter any more than if he was paunchy and overweight, for he still felt intensely humiliated as he stood onstage in his underwear. He and Luna recited their lines as they had done in all their other scenes, but Harry's concentration was shot by all the whispering and muted catcalling that tumbled around from every corner of the Great Hall. He stumbled over an easy line that he had memorized three weeks ago. He stuttered two lines later. By the third mistake, Dumbledore stopped the scene and said, "Whatever is the matter, Harry?"

"Geez, I wonder!" Harry shot back, suffering from a blush that extended beyond his cheeks and flushed his entire body red.

"We'll have to start over from the moment when you two take your clothes off," Dumbledore said. "And this time, try to concentrate."

"Have you ever tried concentrating when you're standing practically naked in front of fifty of your classmates?" Harry wailed. "It's not as easy as it looks!" His nerves were too frayed to speak calmly, and yet the more agitated he got, the more everyone stared at him, which only made him even more agitated in turn. It was a cycle that had spun out of control.

"My dear boy, it's only a bit of nudity," Dumbledore said reprovingly. "And I'm not even making you get nude just yet. Now either get used to the idea, or I'll make you walk around in your underwear the entire week. It won't be a hard ruling to enforce, let me tell you--I have half the Hogwarts population willing to keep an eye on you, no pun intended."

Harry opened his mouth furiously but found himself unable to reply to such a ridiculous pronouncement. Dumbledore had always been a forthright being, acting as he saw fit, no matter how unfavorably everyone else reacted. But in the past year or so, the old man had really been getting out of control. First he had overhauled Charles Durdge's classic, which took a tremendous amount of ego itself. Then he has cast the students in roles they all hated. Now he was trying to get two of them to strip in front of all their classmates. There was something incredibly wrong about all this, but Harry didn't know how to stop it. His whining obviously wasn't doing the trick.

By the end of the hour, Harry was in a foul mood. Dumbledore made him and Luna go through their lines ten times before he realized it was time for dinner, so he ended play practice for the day. Harry bolted for the dressing rooms, where he changed back into his school uniform in thirty seconds flat and ran from the Great Hall, the parcel tucked under his arm.

Luna picked up her school robe, wrapped it around her scantily clad form, and ran after Harry. They met up a floor above the Great Hall, where Luna took Harry's arm and pulled him into a nearby classroom.

"So, Harry," she said gently, "how mad are you right now?"

"Very," he muttered, pouting at his feet.

Luna sent a ball of light from her wand to illuminate the chandelier above them, and the room filled with a whitish glow. Then, pocketing her wand, she steered Harry's head by the chin until she was looking at him eye-to-eye. "Hmm," she said critically, "those Skeezers got to you again. So did the Gnarls, it seems."

"You bet the fuck they did," Harry said sullenly. "I never imagined that anything in Hogwarts could be this much torture."

"How do you mean?" Luna asked curiously. "The final battle took place on these very grounds, and Voldemort cast a sustained Cruciatus on you. Certainly that's the greater torture."

"Oh, go ahead and think that if you wish!" Harry said with a humorless laugh.

"Maybe Dumbledore was being a weeny bit pushy about it," Luna conceded as she stroked Harry's cheek, "but he was right about one thing. It is just nudity."

"If you're trying to make me feel better, you're not," Harry said, brushing her hand away.

"I'm just saying," Luna said, insistently putting her hand back on his cheek, "it could be worse. Voldemort could have tortured you even longer during the final battle, and he could've even killed you."

"You know what? I rather wish right now that that had happened!" Harry said desperately. "Then I could be in heaven while everyone else in Hogwarts suffered in this hellish play."

"Believe it or not," Luna said, "but you're the only one who still hasn't come to terms with play. Everyone else has gotten used to their roles, and they're all managing to have a good time."

"That's because none of them have to get naked!" Harry argued. "They don't have to go starkers in front of all their classmates and every single parent, but I do."

"So do I," Luna said.

"And you're fine with it," Harry said. "I don't know how the fuck you are, but somehow you just are. But I'm not. I didn't know I'd have to create a no-nudity contract for a dumbarse school play, and I don't know why the hell Dumbledore couldn't have chosen someone a bit more eager to do it than me."

"But Harry," Luna whispered, pouting a little, "if Dumbledore hadn't chosen you, then someone else would be getting nude onstage with me, and I wouldn't have liked that. The Heebripple would have been sad, too. He thinks we'll make the perfect couple, and he can't imagine anyone else in our roles."

At the mention of the Heebripple, the glare on Harry's face faded away, replacing itself with a glow in his cheeks. "The Heebripple, did you say?" he said, his eyes brightening. "Oh gosh, Luna, thanks for reminding me!" He pulled out the parcel from under his arm and handed it to her. "Happy seventeenth birthday, Luna."

"You found out when my birthday is!" Luna said happily. "Nobody's bothered before, except for Daddy and Dumbledore."

"Well, I found out," Harry said. "from McGonagall, actually, and I decided I wanted to give you a present, so... there you go."

Smiling from one ear to the other, Luna unwrapped the parcel and pulled out a strange contraption that looked like a megaphone with wobbly bells adorning the wide end. The bells rang at an odd, piercing pitch when Luna moved the megaphone about. "Oh, Harry!" she gasped, and he was privileged to see one of the few times when Luna looked truly surprised. "You got me a Heebripple Communicatizing Device! I had no idea you knew about these."

"I had to a do a little bit of research," Harry admitted, grinning, "but I thought it'd be perfect for you, so, well... I bought it."

"Thank you!" Luna threw her arms around his ribs in a tight hug, reminding Harry of his earlier fantasy. "Thank you, thank you!"

Harry was loving this: He had never felt so good after giving a present before. For Ginny's birthday and Christmas gifts, he always gave her jewelry, going by the old standby that diamonds were a girl's best friend. Indeed it seemed to be the case, because Ginny was always delighted to get another sparkling bracelet or an elegant necklace or a breathlessly ornamental ring. Harry, however, felt a little inadequate at going with the same present every time. Once he thought about buying her a broomstick repair kit, but he was afraid she might not find use for it, so he bought her a necklace instead. Last Christmas he thought of building her a small getaway at Hogwarts, a shelter of sorts where the two of them could sneak away to have some alone time, but he was worried she might consider it too big a gift, so he opted for a bracelet instead. He had gone the safe route, and Ginny had been happy--she had worn the jewelry, after all, plenty of times. Every other girl in Hogwarts complimented Harry on his romantic choice of gifts. But it still didn't ring true with Harry.

But now, when he saw Luna's wide eyes (wider than normal, that is) and her gaze of childlike wonder as she inspected the present closely, fully engrossed in it to the point that she even forgot Harry was there, it all rang so true that every bit of jewelry he had ever bought now seemed as romantic as so many cow pies.

In a minute or so, Luna was done inspecting her marvelous present. She turned back to Harry with a grin, and for a second they stood in silence. Harry wasn't sure what to say, so he stayed quiet and waited for her to speak.

"You will come to enjoy the play, won't you?" Luna implored sweetly. "I don't like seeing the frown on your face."

"Nah, it'll be torture," Harry replied, unable to suppress a grin as he gazed into Luna's eyes, "but I suppose I can at least get used to it. I mean, at least you're up there with me. At least I'm not performing all on my lonesome."

"No, you're not," Luna agreed. "And you get to pretend to have sex with me. That's also a plus."

Harry's throat went dry as he scuffed his feet against the floor. "So," he said hoarsely, "You don't feel uncomfortable simulating sex onstage?"

"No," Luna said.

"Of course not," Harry said, chuckling a little. "You aren't embarrassed by anything. I'd almost think you wouldn't mind doing it onstage for real!"

"Mmm, I'd draw the line there," Luna said, realizing his attempt at jest. "Not that I'd be embarrassed, but sex--real sex, that is--should be saved for somewhere a bit more private."

"Ah, a bit more private," Harry said, amused at her choice of words. He took a seat on a nearby desk and said, "So tell me more about your views on sex."

"Oh, goody!" Luna said, clapping her hands together. "I love talking about sex! Okay, so first of all, I think sex should be saved until marriage."

Harry nearly slipped off the desk. "Really?" he said quickly, shocked by her reply. By the way she talked about sex and treated sex, he found it difficult to believe that she was saving herself for marriage. And unless he was wrong, he was pretty sure she and Neville had made love during their time as boyfriend and girlfriend last year.

"Of course," Luna said, her eyes going wide. "You should not have sex until the marriage of the Cockmice. As I've already told you, the Cockmice are naturally attracted to semen, and when it films around the head of the penis, they hold a party and dance on your nerve endings. And if you feel very strongly for the person who has incited the film of semen, then the Cockmice sense it with their Perundulators. This sends them into a frenzy, and immediately the oldest unmarried Cockmouse of each gender bonds in marriage. When this happens, you know you're ready to take the final plunge in your physical relationship."

"Oh!" Harry breathed, shocked at the answer and pleased by its explicit terms. "Wow. So... yeah! But what if you can't see the Cockmice?"

Luna laughed a little laugh and shook her head at Harry. "Don't be silly, Harry," she crooned. "Cockmice are one of the easiest animals to sense, even more so than the Dibblesnitzersnooj, and that's saying something. And even if your eyes aren't good enough to see them, you can at least feel them: Here--" she touched a hand to his chest, inciting a warm shiver-- "and here--" her hand slid down his stomach and came to rest on his crotch. She kept her hand there for not even half-a-second, but it was enough to make Harry heave an audible groan. Luna grinned happily, as if the groan was just what she was looking for, and she gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the super-duper birthday present," she said. And she left.

For a moment that lasted a lifetime, Harry stood in the middle of the empty classroom, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. He let another groan and tried to figure out just how Luna could turn him on so severely without touching him. Okay, so there was that one last touch, but it was only for a second, and he'd practically been creaming him pants before that.

Speaking of creamed pants, he needed to get up to his dormitory pronto, because, well...

"Oh, fuck, she is so hot!" Harry breathed to himself as he sprinted from the classroom. He hurtled through the halls of Hogwarts, taking every staircase two steps at a time until he finally reached Gryffindor Tower. From there it was only another minute before he was in his dormitory. He thrust his arm under his mattress and pulled out his porn and his jerk-off towel and threw them both haphazardly on his bed. Then he leaped onto the mattress and worked his pants down his hips. It was hard going at first until he remembered to undo his belt and unzip his jeans, and from there it was only a matter of seconds until he was in full jerk-off mode. The porn lay forgotten in the middle of the bed as he bent double over the towel and recalled to mind today's play practice, when Luna had stripped off her robe with such ease, such assuredness. What he wouldn't give to have such confidence in himself! What he wouldn't do to win a woman like that: a sexy woman who'd complete him in a way that no other sexy woman could! Oh, what a personality she had! What brains! What boobs! What arms and legs! What an arse!

When Harry's thought train sped him to Luna's pubic triangle, his frenzy reached its outcome. With the hot liquid came a sigh of unconquerable satisfaction that started from the bottom of his stomach and exhaled itself through his entire chest and out his tingling throat.

"So!" This sound came from the doorway in a sharp and startling snarl. Harry whipped his head in the direction of the noise and saw, to his horror, that he had forgotten to draw the curtains. To complete his misfortune, the person at the doorway happened to be the last person he wanted to see at the moment: Ginny Weasley.

"So!" she repeated, her hands on her hips and her face red with fury. "I come up here to see what's keeping you from your dinner, and what do I find? You wanking to a porn magazine! No wonder you haven't slept with me in a month!"

"No, I wasn't--" Harry was about to say he wasn't wanking off to his porn magazine, but he realized it'd be worse if Ginny knew he was wanking off to the memory of Luna Lovegood.

"Oh you weren't, were you!" Ginny cried. "Then what exactly do you call that sticky stuff on your towel?"

"I call it semen," Harry said mulishly, scowling at her with a sullen crease in his eyebrows.

"And I call it the end of our relationship," Ginny retorted.

"So we're through?" Harry said, his heart suddenly beating double-speed at the thought. He had wanted this for the past few months, but he hadn't wanted to be the one to cause the final, painful breakup.

"Yes."

"Thank Merlin!" Harry breathed before he could stop himself.

"Oh?" Ginny said, her voice rising an octave. "Well, I'm happy, too. Happy as all fuck! Now I can go date someone who isn't the worst fucking thing that ever happened to me."

"My sentiments exactly!" Harry returned fiercely. "Tell you what: I'll get together with someone who's a thousand times hotter than you and a million times cooler than you."

"And I'll hook up with someone who isn't a one hundred percent arsehole coward," Ginny said.

"I'll get together with someone who doesn't have a used tampon fetish," Harry continued.

Ginny blushed magnificently at this low blow and hissed, "And I'll get together with someone who values me above a random porno pinup."

"And I'm going to shut up, because this is just juvenile," said Harry, also blushing.

"Just the word I was looking for!" Ginny cried as she strode backwards towards the door. "You're juvenile, Harry. You're afraid of rejection. You played with that porn of yours because you were afraid to break up with me and find someone else to be with. The funny thing is you actually did more harm than you would have by just ending it."

And like that, she was gone. Harry blinked once and sat in silence, his penis hanging limp outside his jeans as a final bead of semen dripped from the head. Then he slammed his fist against his pillow and yelled, "DAMN it!"

She was right--she was fucking right! He was a coward to sit here jerking off instead of handling his relationship problems like a man. It didn't matter that he had stood up to Voldemort and, at the age of sixteen, saved the entire world: In that he was one of the world's greatest men, but in this he was still a child. After his training for the final battle, it seemed that he was ready for anything that came his way, and for many months he literally felt on top of the world. With a girlfriend he loved, a life he could now live, and another million reasons to be truly happy, he couldn't imagine any being in the Wizarding World who was more self-assured than he. But now he was a miserable as any average schmoe, and he hated himself for letting it happen.

Okay, stop it, Harry told himself sternly. I can deal with this--it wasn't with this attitude that I defeated Voldemort. This is just another problem, and I can defeat it, too.

It was with this change in mentality that Harry burned his towel and porn magazine with a quick "Incendio." Then he swore to himself that he wouldn't touch porn, or even masturbate, until he'd properly earned his sexual privileges from a willing and worthy woman. Surely that couldn't be harder than fighting the most powerful Dark wizard of all time--could it?

He was about to find out.

A/N: One of my pet peeves in reading fanfiction is when Harry gives Ginny/Hermione/Another-Significant-Other jewelry for a present. It's just such a dull thing to put in a fanfiction, and if it must be done, then do it in a line or less, because jewelry's nice and sweet, but Harry has a ton of money, so it's not like he worked his arse off for that diamond necklace or silver bracelet. There was one fanfiction I read, however, in which Harry kept giving Ginny piece of jewelry after piece of jewelry (the fanfiction itself was pretty damn long: 393,000 words, plus a 572,000 -word sequel), and she kept being so pleased with it, and I just felt like yelling at Harry and the author: "BE MORE ORIGINAL!"

Also, you know the huge book Goyle was reading in Chapter 8, from which he gave Draco the idea to eat poop as a sexual pleasure? I said I was going to use that book later, at which time I'd disclaim it. But, as it turns out, its scenes have been cut from my plans as being redundant, so now I must disclaim it. For those of you who didn't guess already, it's Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. It's this huge freaking thing that's dense as crap, but not a bad read if you don't mind being confused half the time, and it's full of odd and graphic sexual kinky stuff, which can either help you along or make you put the book down forever. At the least, though, it's a great book to put on your bragging list. All your English professors will be like: "You read Gravity's Rainbow?!" And then they'll give you a special smile that'll make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Thanks, Lisa725 for being my wonderful beta! And don't forget to review, even if it's just a short little note, just to let me know you stopped by to read my chapter.