Harry woke the next morning with a pounding headache. He stretched, trying to ignore the stabbing pain as he did so.

Harry barely remembered last night. He remembered drinking. A lot. But the events of the night were blurry and Harry barely wanted to recall them, lest he embarrassed himself while drunk. With Fred and George, that was always a possibility. Harry grimaced at the thought.

He walked quickly down the Burrow's stairs and into the kitchen, hoping that no one there noticed his rather obvious hangover. Luckily, only Ginny was in the kitchen, and she didn't even seem to nice Harry's arrival. She was sitting at the table, absentmindedly picking at a piece of toast. She looked incredibly, with dark circles under her eyes and a look of concentration on her face.

Harry vaguely remembered talking to Ginny the previous night. He hoped that he hadn't made a fool of himself in front of her. Harry blushed lightly; it would be quite ironic if he was now embarrassing himself of her instead of the other way around.

"Hello, Ginny," he said, sitting down at the table across from her.

Ginny looked up at him sharply. She stared at him with open accusation, and yet with apparent confusion as well. She didn't say a word, instead going back to her breakfast.

Harry looked puzzled. Had she not heard him? Or was she angry at him for some reason?

"Ginny?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

'Harry Potter," she said in a quiet, seething tone "if you think you can just come down here and act as if nothing has happened..." She stopped, seeing the astonished look on Harry's face.

"Ginny, what on earth are going going on about?"

The realization hit her swiftly – he didn't remember. Harry didn't remember last night.

She felt like crying and screaming at him all at once. Here she was, spending all of the night awake and turning the events over and over again in her mind. And apparently Harry had been passed out somewhere, blissfully unaware of what he had done.

He had no idea that he had brought back feelings that Ginny had tried so hard to get over. He had no idea that when Ginny finally drifted off to sleep that night, her dreams had been full of Harry, and a continuation of that night. He had no idea that she had agonized over this encounter, wondering again and again what she would say when she say her in the morning.

He didn't remember.

And now he was staring at her, the look of confusion on his face almost comical. Almost.

"Ginny? What are you talking about?" He asked again, wondering what had caused her to go so pale.

Ginny had no idea how to respond. Should she tell him about last night?

No, she decided, she couldn't do that. It would just make this thing even more embarrassing and awkward, and Ginny knew she would never be able to retell the story without blushing tremendously.

The sound of Harry's voice last night made her blush even now. It was so deep and husky, practically growling as he complimented her again and again. Did he mean what he had said, or what it the influence of the alcohol alone? He would have to be pretty drunk not to remember what had happened the next day. It was likely he didn't mean anything at all.

"Uh, never mind, Harry," she told him hastily. "Forget about it."

Before she could say anything else she would regret, Ginny got up from the table and left the room.

Once again, she left Harry Potter alone, his mind reeling at the implications of what she had said.