A/N: This is now the revised version of this story, as it appears on Fiction Alley. Enjoy :). And thank you as always for the lovely reviews.

Prologue: "Mission - Snog-a-lot"

In the grand tradition of angsty teenagers, Harry Potter lay in his four- poster bed, unable to sleep and thinking philosophically (as much as a seventeen year old can) about his love life. And he came to the conclusion that it, quite simply, sucked.

And indeed, it did. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, lived a life devoid of all the pleasantries associated with love, lust, and quick shags. Of course, this was all Cho Chang's fault, though Harry, ever kind-hearted and noble, wasn't apt to admit it to himself. He refused to see himself as the Rebound from Hell, though he didn't exactly look back on his relationship with Cho lovingly. The Rebound from Hell happened during Harry's fifth year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Cho, fresh from suffering the death of her boyfriend Cedric, was looking for some attention, a shoulder to cry on, and a little nookie. And who better to fulfill her needs than the Boy Who Saw Cedric Diggory Die?

Harry had been enamored with Cho Chang since his third year, when the little floozy tried to throw him off during a Quidditch game by smiling and winking at him.

So, Harry's fifth year was filled with awkward kisses (salty from Cho's crying over Cedric); public arguments in cafes over Harry's nonexistent relationship with Hermione and Cho's questions about Cedric; and Cho's yanking Harry up and down like a yo-yo.

Sixth year was no better. Harry gave up on girls, essentially, not wishing to deal with their perplexing emotions and mood-swings. He still noticed them, of course, but when they would give him the eye or come over to flirt with him, he would go all cold and find a way to high-tail it out of the area as soon as possible. It was awkward, but not having to deal with another wayward crush made his life decidedly easier.

After a while, the girls of Hogwarts caught onto the idea that Harry simply wasn't interested, and they ceased trying to gain his favor altogether. All in all, this left Harry with the status of being 'permanently romantically unattached,' which meant that, aside from Ron and Hermione's company, he was alone much of the time.

Thus, in his seventh year, Harry, having grown into his lanky figure and now sporting a rather attractive physique, finally came to the realization that his love life sucked, though it was in part due to his own desire to cut himself off from things.

Further pondering his love life, Harry shifted in his bed, finding the bed sheets hopelessly twisted around his legs. He hated nights like these, when he just couldn't sleep. Whether it was the thoughts that kept him up or if he delved into his thoughts because he couldn't sleep, he didn't know.

Nonetheless, he settled back into his meandering thoughts. It all seemed rather hopeless. When he wasn't interested in dating anyone, every girl in the school (and many hundred that he didn't even know, through owl post) threw themselves at him. Now, when he was ready to "jump back in" (so to speak), there wasn't a girl willing to get within a ten mile radius of him.

Sure, it was of his own doing, but he was feeling increasingly lonely. Sure, he had Ron and Hermione, but it's not like he could snog either of them. Or, at least, he certainly didn't want to. Especially considering that they seemed to be currently snogging each other, and the idea of a threesome was rather. um, unappealing to him.

Harry felt pathetic picking over these silly details. He should have other, more important things on his mind - like how and when Voldemort was going to kill him. It wasn't like he needed a girlfriend, or anything; he just wanted to connect with somebody after being lost in his dark world for so long. He'd bombed out miserably with Cho, hadn't fancied anyone since, and was lonely as a result. He wanted a girlfriend, or at least someone with whom to snog a bit.

Harry pondered his dejected situation quite often, especially when he couldn't fall asleep, which was nearly every night. He was rapidly becoming a full-fledged insomniac, not exactly because he couldn't physically sleep, but because he didn't want to. Though he'd practiced and strengthened the skills necessary to excel in Occlumency, he was still anxious that Voldemort would creep into his subconscious once more. Even if his mind wasn't invaded by the Dark Lord, Harry still had chilling nightmares when he slept.

Harry was never much the "great thinker" (that was Hermione's role), but hundreds of sleepless nights had left Harry the time to develop several interesting, albeit potentially crack-pot, theories on his life.

Firstly, he decided, the "Boy Who Lived" could never live a normal life, if he were fated to live at all. He was destined to save the world or die, or both, so either way he wasn't exactly suited to most social company. These incredibly dark thoughts controlled him at times, though his friendship with Ron and Hermione would always save him from going over the edge. This didn't mean that he didn't occasionally go on bitter ranting binges, where he would hurl hurtful statements at them. He may have grown up a good bit since fifth year, but he was still apt to hold his emotions in until they boiled over and he exploded.

They always seemed to stick by him, though. Nonetheless, with the onset of their romantic relationship, they had grown apart slightly. Harry stopped telling them some of the more intimate thoughts that swirled around his head. There are just some deep, disturbing thoughts that you don't share with friends, even best friends.

Moreover, the only person Harry ever felt he could really talk to was dead. Sirius had been the closest thing that Harry had ever had to a parent. Sure, Mrs. Weasley was a parental figure, but not like Sirius had been. And Harry certainly couldn't ignore the fact that he wasn't her child. He wasn't anyone's child anymore. He was fast becoming a man, a man with very little hope for his future.

His friends loved him, sure, but it wasn't the kind of love that he reckoned he needed - the unconditional kind that survived through the worst storms, or in his case, wars. There wasn't anyone with whom Harry could let go of the walls he had built up, and just be himself. He needed to find someone who truly understood him, and the position that he was in. Well, for the time being, at least, he would settle for someone to snog.

The question remained: with whom could Harry mess about?

Harry considered his options. Anything below sixth year would be considered pedophilia, (well, the sex anyway), so that left him with a small handful of sixth and seventh year girls. Hermione was out of the question (unless he could magically banish the image of Ron and Hermione fooling around under the Invisibility Cloak from his head). Her roommates, Lavendar and Parvati might be possible, but neither of them were exactly known for particular substance or fidelity. Ginny was an ever-present option in Harry's mind, though Harry reckoned she was completely over him and wouldn't appreciate "emergency love life resuscitation sex" if she weren't.

But Harry needed to find someone, after all, he didn't want to die a virgin. That was the very thing - Harry was very inexperienced and had almost no clue what he was doing, even with himself. He was determined, nonetheless, to figure things out; for if he didn't succeed, he would subsequently be the only red-blooded seventeen year old boy at Hogwarts and possibly in the whole of England who hadn't shagged his socks off. In fact, he was most likely the only boy in the UK who had barely reached 2nd base with himself. It was really quite embarrassing.

And considering that Harry was English (where 16 is legal), this fact was particularly pathetic. So, the mission was a complicated one. Harry needed to find a suitable girl with whom to hook up so he could give kissing another go (snogging Cho had been truly heinous, on so many levels) and so he could be devirginized. Of course, for Harry, this was a real contradiction. Snogging randomly was one thing, but sex (especially virgin sex - awkward glances, movements, and leakage) hinged upon trust, and Harry didn't trust anyone.

So, Harry decided to detour from loftier goals, and stick to the "Snog-a- lot" plan. It's truly scary what one hormonally-crazed insomniac can come up with.


End Prologue