Shagging Psychology

Of Late Night Conversations

SHAGGING PSYCHOLOGY

By: tweety-src-clt9

Of Late Night Conversations

"Why aren't we shagging each other, 'Mione?" I stupidly blurted out the question that has been plaguing my mind ever since I realized how brilliant, beautiful, and perfect my best friend was.

Here we are lounging about in our private common room that we shared in the Heads Dormitories. Hermione was randomly reading something, some sort of magazine that I haven't seen before, and I was a little intoxicated from a combination of butterbeer, elf wine, and some shots of Firewhiskey.

We would be graduating from Hogwarts tomorrow, Hermione, and I. We're one of the students who decided to come back for our final year. Ron was off touring with the Chudley Cannons as a second-string keeper, so the Golden Trio was separated for a year. I didn't really want to come back, but Hermione was persistent and eventually, she won me over. Besides, I reckoned it would be nice to experience a 'normal year' also known as a year without a crazy murdering dark lord after my head.

I was starting to get nervous and sweaty. I was terrified of Hermione's reaction to my slip up. I wanted to obliviate her. I wanted to find a time turner. I wanted to do anything to stop my stupid arse from blurting out my biggest secret.

I gulped.

The anxiety of waiting for Hermione's reaction was worse than walking towards my death at Voldemort's hand in the Forbidden Forest. What in the world possessed me to ask this stupid stupid question?

I could have asked, 'Why aren't we dating Hermione?' or something relatively tamer. But really? Did I have to word it as shagging? Now I'm going to lose my most loyal and dearest friend because of these stupid teenage hormones that make me horny for my best friend. I freaking hate myself right now!

Finally, Hermione looked up from her magazine with an elegant brow raised and her gorgeous chocolate brown eyes staring at me with a look of incredulity and confusion.

"Pardon me?" her voice was barely audible.

I took a deep calming breath. Gryffindor's charge ahead so I repeated myself, "Why aren't we shagging, Hermione?"

"What's gotten into you, Harry? Are you alright? You seem, er, delirious, or something. Maybe you've had too much to drink," her voice showed her concern for my well-being just like always and I felt like a total git. Here was Hermione being her typical concerned self and here I was secretly wanting more from her.

Why can't my stupid prick just want someone else? I was mentally berating myself over and over again. Hermione was too pure, too good, and too perfect for someone as damaged as me. Why can't I just settle for the many fangirls that I have? A lot of witches wanted to bed and be the girlfriend of the Man Who Conquered. So why can't I just pick one of them and leave Hermione alone?

Because you finally got your head out of your arse, the cynical part of my brain said to me in a voice that resembled Hermione's melodious lecturing.

"Oh... I see. Well, how do I phrase this?" to my surprise, Hermione seemed to be unaffected by my blatant question. Instead of panicking or smacking me on the face, she was tapping her fingers on her chin and thinking of a reply.

Here it comes, the bomb of rejection. I might as well go up to my room and curse myself for ruining the most important friendship of my pathetic lonely life.

I was already preparing myself for the worst-case scenario when suddenly, Hermione closed her magazine, stood from her position on the lounge chair, and took a seat beside me on the large couch.