I'm blaming Dean for this one. Apparently this is what happens when you spend too much time with someone who is comfortable with his sexuality, his masculinity, his desire to see other men naked. You start thinking about him liking other blokes. And then you start thinking about what it would be like to like other blokes. And then you start thinking about liking other blokes. And then you actually start liking other blokes. And then you start liking Harry. Beause, let's face it, he's the most fanciable bloke around. Always has been, really. I just never thought about it before, because I was busy thinking about birds. But then Dean came along and turned everyone a bit gay with his complete okay-ness about liking other blokes. He even got Seamus to kiss another bloke once. Just the once, though. Seamus is a hard bloke to bend. But the point is that once Dean came out, everyone in our dormitory went a bit boy-crazy. Dean was so much happier than any of us, and he was okay with, even proud of, who he was and what (and by "what," I mean "who") he wanted. And we all thought to ourselves – hey, maybe fancying other blokes isn't the worst thing in the world. And we all know how it went downhill from there.

The catch is that none of us knew that we were all thinking the same thoughts. Dean thought he was the only shirt-lifter, and I thought I was the only one having doubts, and Neville thought no one would ever find his queer porn, and Seamus thought we wouldn't be able to get him to admit that he enjoyed snogging George, and Harry thought he'd shut the door and cast the proper charms before wanking. Well, we were all wrong.

It started in our fourth year. Dean came back from the summer holidays with a big grin and a big secret. It didn't take us long to force it out of him. Seamus pinned him to the ground and threatened to piss on his face if he didn't tell us what had him so annoyingly giddy.

"I met someone."

Seamus didn't believe him. "That's not something you'd keep quiet about."

"Sure it is."

"I've got a full bladder, Thomas. You'd better hope you're telling the truth."

"I met a bloke."

It didn't even register with any of us right away. Harry and I were still unpacking our trunks, and Neville was wrestling with his pajamas. Then Harry went quite rigid, and I looked up, thinking there was a problem, and then Dean's words sunk in.

"A bloke?"

"A bloke."

Seamus rolled off Dean and sat on the ground next to him, clearly shocked. Harry and I left silently, dragging a half-naked Neville with us, so we never got to witness Seamus' first reaction to finding out that his best mate was bent.

After that, though, there was a quiet, constant commentary in my ear about which blokes were cute, and which blokes were most likely to be poofs, and which blokes were fantasy worthy. Dean never shut up about his "preference" once we knew about it. It was a bit annoying, actually. Not even Seamus was that relentlessly horny.

That summer, every time I left Grimmauld Place to explore London, I could hear Dean's voice in my head, strategically critiquing every bloke I passed, picking out the gay ones and, one time, even imagining one of them snogging Dean. It was then I knew that I had a problem. I was fantasizing for Dean. That's not normal, right? It was bizarre. So I tried to start fantasizing for myself. I picked Hermione. She was around, we were friends, and it was convenient and easy.

Then George came out. Or, rather, Fred caught him wanking to a picture of two blokes shagging and ran around telling everyone, crying with laughter, and setting off Mrs. Black's portrait about ten times. George was humiliated, of course. How could he not be? But he wasn't ashamed. I mean, he was ashamed that every member of the Order knew about the contents of his porn collection, but he wasn't ashamed that he liked blokes.

I had always thought that being gay was something bad, something that no one would ever admit, something low and despicable. That's how Percy talked, anyway. Back when I used to listen to what he said. Then George came out, and Charlie admitted that he'd snogged a few blokes in Romania when there weren't any birds around, and Percy wasn't around anymore, anyway. So right when I thought I had gotten the hang of not having Dean's prowling commentary in my head, someone else announced that he like blokes, and I was back at square one. I have to say, though, that I'm quite glad I never fantasized for George. My mind stuck to Dean, thank Merlin.

So, that was me thinking about Dean liking other blokes. Then fifth year started at Hogwarts and Dean was back in my ear, going on and on about how much he missed Oliver Wood's bulging biceps. And Harry was head over heels in love with Cho. And Neville was spending an alarming amount of time hidden behind his bed curtains. And Seamus was clearly trying his best to ignore Dean's endless one-man gay pride parade, but failing quite spectacularly. And then we played Slytherin in Quidditch, and I was absolute rubbish, and Harry saved the day, but he and the twins got banned. So George was upset. And Seamus was furious. And Dean made some comment about how they should go mope together. And Lee pulled out his firewhisky. And then, somehow, Seamus ended up in George's lap on the couch in the common room, and Dean was so shocked that he passed out. Or maybe that was the alcohol.

That's four friends, then, that had, at the very least, considered being with another bloke. I was beginning to feel a bit outnumbered. And then Harry kissed Cho, and I felt better. Then there was that whole thing with my dad and the snake, and suddenly we were back at Grimmauld Place. And there was Sirius. Never married. I mean, he had spent a rather significant portion of his adult life in prison, and was thought to be a mad murderer, but still. I had my suspicions. And then I realized that I was doing it again. I was picking out blokes and trying to decide whether or not they were gay. I decided I really needed to spend less time with Dean. But I thought about him, and George, and Seamus, and Sirius. And I thought about what it would be like if I were trying to pick out bent blokes for myself, and not for Dean. Would I like the same kinds of blokes as Dean? Or George? What would it be like if I had to come out to them? How would they react when they found out that another one was bent? What would Harry say? Would he be as calm as Seamus about being best mates with a shirt-lifter?

School started again and Dean became really friendly with a sixth year in Hufflepuff. I saw them snogging once, behind a bush outside the castle. Harry and Cho. Dean and Mr. Hufflepuff. Ginny and Whatshisface. George and Lee. Damnit. There's another one. Bloody Lee. He was the last straw. My brain was out of my control, and I started thinking about what went on between blokes who fancied each other. The most I'd ever seen Dean and his boyfriend do was kiss. What would it be like, kissing another bloke? I'd never even kissed a girl, so I didn't know how to compare and contrast it with that, either. So I was just left wondering. Thinking. Imagining. Fantasizing.

Then Fred and George left Hogwarts, and Lee was alone for the first time since he'd stepped foot in the castle. It was sad. He was clearly lonely, so sometimes I sat with him in the common room at night and did homework. And I thought about how he liked blokes. And how much I had been thinking about liking blokes. And Dean was pulling me aside, asking if I was trying to steal my brother's boyfriend away. Of course I wasn't, but the fact that Dean thought I was capable of fancying blokes was disconcerting. As far as I knew, he had always been right when he picked out the gay blokes at Hogwarts, or in Hogsmeade.

And that was how I started liking blokes. Of course, I didn't tell anyone. And I didn't really like any specific bloke. But I thought about Dean's arse when I wanked sometimes, and that was proof enough for me.

I was a bit distracted from all that towards the end of the year. There was the trip to the Ministry to save Sirius, who died alone, and I'm quite sure he was gay. And there was Harry, who was miserable and heartbroken. And I wanted to help him. I wanted to comfort him. To hug him. To kiss him. To snog him. To shag him.

It was a problem. Dean may have bent me, and he may have gotten Seamus drunk enough to briefly snog another bloke, but Harry was straight and that was that. So I went back to Hermione. She was always a safe choice. And her breasts had come along quite nicely, too. I may have thought a lot about Dean's arse, but I thought about Hermione's breasts just as much. And then Fleur came along and every time she walked into a room, I was completely floored. I thought maybe I was saved. If I was so affected by Fleur, I couldn't possibly be that gay. Besides, Dean, self-proclaimed King of the Queers, had been dumped by the Hufflepuff and started dating Ginny. The traitor. But, in any case, it gave me hope that I could still end up with a woman, preferably Hermione.

So sixth year came and went, and I dated Lavender, which was weird, and Harry dated Ginny, which was annoying in every possible way. But I had to pretend that it didn't bother me, because she was my sister, and he was my best mate, and if I let on that I, too, was a bit in love with him, then all hell would break loose. I had made some progress with Hermione, but I had fucked up quite a few times, too. I didn't know what I wanted. Some days I wanted Hermione, some days I wanted Harry, and some days I still thought a lot about Dean's arse. It wasn't anything I could control, which bothered me. It was confusing, trying to figure out if I should seduce Hermione or seduce Harry or sit back and do nothing. I had settled on Hermione again, when Dean told me that he'd found a Muggle porno mag with naked blokes. He asked if it was mine. Of course I said no, and tried to convince him that I was straight, but he didn't believe me. Turns out the magazine belonged to Neville, which distracted Dean from his suspicions about me. Neville said he had been curious. Our dormitory was hopeless. Harry was the only one who seemed to have avoided Dean's extraordinary swaying power.

More importantly, Harry was happy with Ginny, so I tried to focus on Hermione. But then we all had to focus on Voldemort, and another year passed. Well, not just another year. It was quite a year, let's be honest about that. Most important year of my life. Of anyone's life. Of wizarding history. And it was all about Harry. And Hermione kissed me. And Fred died. And George and Lee moved in together. And Harry and Ginny couldn't keep their hands off each other. So I slept with Hermione. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I don't think she enjoyed it very much, which made me feel terrible about how much I had enjoyed it, but she said we would get better at it. So we worked on it. A lot. And she never seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. Harry and Ginny were shagging, too. I tried my hardest not to think about it. About my sister. About Harry. About Harry naked and kissing a skinny, freckly red-haired someone.

I can't lie. Sometimes, I thought about Harry when I was with Hermione. And once or twice, or maybe quite a bit more than that, I accidentally started to say his name. I called her "Harmione" many, many times. She never said anything about it, though. I'm not sure she noticed. Harmione is close to enough to Hermione.

Hermione and Ginny went back to Hogwarts, and Harry and I moved into a flat in London together so we could do Auror training. Living with Harry was down right torture. He was constantly taking a shower, constantly parading around in loose towels, constantly wet and dripping. I was looking forward to the Christmas holidays when our girlfriends would come home. Then I could go back to shagging a bird. Then I could stop thinking about Harry's shimmering abs whenever I wanked.

But then it happened. It was October. I had gone to Diagon Alley to see George and Lee. And when I came back to the flat, I could hear that Harry was rather enjoying himself in his bedroom. The bed was creaking and he was grunting and all the blood in my body rushed to my cock. I had never heard him wank before. I had heard everyone else. Sometimes we were sloppy about privacy in the dormitory. We were all boys. We knew what was going on behind the curtains. But Harry was never sloppy. I knew that Dean growled for a good minute before he came. I knew that Seamus could scream loud enough for all the girls' rooms to hear him. I knew that Neville cursed like Charlie when he wanked. But until then, I knew nothing about Harry.

I stepped closer. His door was open an inch. Not even. Half an inch. At most. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was disgusting. I knew it was horrible in every way. But I couldn't help it. I can only think with one head at a time, and the one in my pants wanted to see Harry wanking. So I went to his door as silently as I could, and peeked through the crack.

He was on his hands and knees, and his arse was on full display for me. I was so startled that it took me a few seconds to realize that there was something in there. In his arse. And I could see his muscles contracting around it. That tight, pink circle relaxing and clenching around the base of it. I had never seen anything so beautiful. He was groaning into his pillows, clenching his sheets, undulating, sweating, swearing, shouting. Then he flipped over on his back, reached down, and started fucking himself with the thing shoved in his arse. One hand there. The other around his cock. And then he said my name.

My own hands were a bit busy, too, by that point. I was gripping the wall, trying to remain standing still, because my legs had pretty much given out. And my other hand was in my trousers. I hadn't even noticed what I was doing until he said my name. I froze, thinking he had seen me, and I realized that I was wanking, and I panicked. I opened my mouth to say something, anything. And then he said my name again. Whispered it. And I saw that his eyes weren't even open. And then he moaned my name. I nearly came in my trousers right then. I was in pain.

Then he came. Everywhere. I had never seen anything like it. I starting coming after him, and his orgasm still lasted longer than mine. His face was beautiful. His body was incredibly sexy. And I was leaning against the wall, panting. And he opened his eyes. And saw me.


"I –"

"What are you doing?" He was panicking, frozen, still holding his cock.

"I was just… I heard… I wasn't – I didn't – I – sorry!"

I closed his door and went to my room to change into less sticky clothes. He had moaned my name. While wanking. I was already half-hard again. I tried to will my erection away. There were more important things to think about it. Like the fact that this meant that Harry was a bit bent, too. That Harry hadn't escaped Dean's elaborate gayification efforts. That Harry thought about blokes while he wanked. That Harry thought about me when he wanked. It was no use. My cock was aching for another Harry-fueled release.

Before I could decided if I wanted to toss one off right there, or go and talk to Harry about how we both fancied each other, there was a knock on my door. I looked down at myself. There was no way to hide my little problem. It was not so little.

"Er," I answered stupidly.

He opened the door without waiting for permission.

"I'm, um." I picked up a shirt from the floor and held it lamely in front of myself. "I'm just cleaning up."


"I'm sorry. I didn't… I shouldn't have… have done that."

He wouldn't look at me. All I wanted to do was throw him on the ground and shag him senseless. Or at least snog him senseless.

"My fault," he muttered. "I should have been more careful. I thought I'd closed the door. And put up the charms."

"It happens to the best of us."

I needed to tell him that it was okay, that I thought about him while I wanked, too. My brain wasn't that fast, though, and he turned to leave.



"No. Don't… don't go."

He looked up at me and his intense green eyes sent a shiver down my spine. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from groaning out loud.

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I – I… well, you were there." He gestured vaguely to the wall that separated our rooms.

"I was."

"So you're not mad?"

"No." I dropped the shirt and went over to him. "I'm not mad. I'm bloody-well turned on."

"Turn… turned on?"

I nodded and glanced down at the bulge in my trousers. "I thought you were straight."

"I thought you were straight!"

Fair point. I hadn't ever let on about the fact that I fancied male arses.

"I'm… well, I'm with Hermione."

"And I'm with Ginny."




Oh. Right. Hermione. Ginny. We had girlfriends. We couldn't be standing this close to each other, talking about my erection. Or not talking about my erection. He pressed his palm against it and I nearly choked on air, which is pretty pitiful.

"I'm sure they'll understand," he said, squeezing me through my trousers.

"How's that?"

When he couldn't come up with anything to say, he took a deep breath and took his hand away. "I don't know. I guess they wouldn't understand."

"Probably not."

He looked back up at me and licked his lips. I gulped.

"I really want to kiss you," he said.

"Fuck." I forced myself to take a step back from him. "I think… you should go. Before anything happens that we'll regret."

He left without saying anything. Left my room. Left the flat. Left London for all I knew. I didn't see him for a few days, except at training, where he steadfastly avoided me. It hurt, a lot. He was my best mate, and I missed him. But I knew it was for the best. We couldn't do that to Hermione and Ginny.

When he finally came back to the flat, he pretended like nothing had happened. Life went on as normal, and I never caught him wanking again, no matter how many times I tried to come home unexpectedly. I was lax about my own privacy while wanking, and I even moaned his name a few times when I knew he was within earshot of my room. Nothing ever happened.

Then Christmas came and I went back to the Burrow. Harry came with me. Hermione and Ginny were there. We shagged our girlfriends like proper, straight boyfriends. It really seemed like things would go on like that forever. And it wasn't so bad. Hermione was finally enjoying sex, thanks to a tip she had picked up from someone at Hogwarts. She wouldn't tell me who, but I had a creeping suspicion that it was Ginny. Harry's sex life fascinated me. He knew about the clitoris before Hermione did, which was a first, and he knew about anal penetration, which was a bit scary, but definitely something I had thought a lot about.

And then Harry went back to the flat before the Hogwarts holiday was over. And Ginny was moody as hell and ignoring me at all costs. I asked Hermione about it. She said that Harry and Ginny had broken up. She wouldn't say why, but she asked if I had known that Harry was bisexual. I didn't even know what that meant, but when she explained it to me, everything (and I do mean everything) seemed to click. My life shifted and fell into place. Nothing was confusing anymore. A world of possibilities had just opened up.

"So? Did you know?"

"About Harry? Yeah. I knew. Found out recently."


"And what?"

"And… why didn't you tell me?"

"I – when – I don't know."

She looked at me for a long, long time. I could tell she was thinking, trying to work out the puzzle. Her expression was starting to freak me out, and I was just about leave the kitchen when her eyes narrowed.

"Are you bisexual, too, then?"

One second passed, but it seemed like a year. I couldn't think. I couldn't breath. I couldn't come up with anything to say. Should I lie? Why would I lie? Should I tell her the truth? Would she be upset? Would she figure out that I was in love with Harry? Would she think I wasn't in love with her?

"No. No, of course not. I love you."

She rolled her eyes. "I know you love me. That doesn't mean you can't be bisexual."

"Oh. Okay. Well, then… yes. I am."

Hermione is a very strange girl. She told me to go home to Harry. Told me to make sure he was happy. Then she said that she trusted me completely, knew that I loved her, and wanted me to be as happy as I possibly could be. I told her that I didn't understand, and she said that I should go home to Harry, and that she wouldn't ask any questions.

She left the kitchen before I could ask any of my own questions. Was she actually giving me permission to go shag Harry? To my blindly hopeful brain, that's what it sounded like. I didn't want to ruin things between us by misinterpreting her instructions. But the head on top of my shoulders stopped thinking and I went back to the flat.

Harry was sitting on the couch, drinking butterbeer. I knocked the bottle out of his hand and it spilled all over the cushions, but neither of us cared. I don't even think we noticed until later. I kissed him hungrily, taking in his scent and taste and letting myself drown in Harry. Before I knew it, his hands were on my bare arse and he was pushing me onto his bed. He had never given a blowjob before, but he was damn enthusiastic about it, and that made it all the better. I returned the favor as best I could, and then we lay in his bed until we fell asleep.

It wasn't particularly romantic, but it didn't need to be. We knew how we felt about each other before we finally said it out loud the next day. He asked about Hermione, and I told him that I was still with her, but that I wanted to be with him, too. Then he told me that he had accidentally said my name when he was shagging Ginny. I told him about the "Harmione" problem that I still had.

Hermione and Ginny went back to Hogwarts, and Harry and I spent a lot of our free time buried balls-deep in each other arses. Then Hermione graduated, and we shagged brilliantly. She still has incredible breasts. We moved into a house with Harry, who somehow managed to win Ginny back. She won't talk to me about the fact that we're both sleeping with the same man, but she doesn't seem too upset about it.

So that's how it happened. Dean turned every single bloke in our dormitory slightly gay, and I ended up being able to have mind-blowing sex with both Hermione and Harry. I thought things would be weird between the three of us, but our friendship hasn't changed a bit. Well, that's a lie. Obviously, it's changed a lot. But we're all still friends. And I think they sometimes talk about me when I'm not around. And sometimes I say "Herry" when I'm with Harry, but he doesn't seem to mind.

And now we're all engaged. I mean, I'm engaged to Hermione and Harry is engaged to Ginny. We've just bought two flats in the same building. We haven't quite worked out specific details about who's allowed to do who once we're married, but I have absolute faith that it will all work out in my favor. Who would ever deny me Hermione's breasts? Or Harry's arse? Yes. The future is looking quite good from where I'm standing.