The first thing Hermione noticed when she woke up was her headache.

The second was that her cheek was resting on a man's chest, and that his heartbeat matched the throbbing in her head.

She came to understand that she was pressed between this man and the back of the couch, and she lifted her head slowly, studying his face.

She knew it was Harry, remembered talking and kissing, remembered him dropping his glasses onto the table ("I don't need them when you're this close," he had told her), sliding down his body and pressing her face against his chest ("Your heart is incredibly loud," she had drunkenly announced) and then echoing its beat, "Thump thump, thump thump," his hand stroking her hair.

They must have fallen asleep like that.

He sniffed, shifted, opened his eyes, and froze.

"Hey," she said cautiously.

"Hey." He gave a little smile. "Thanks for sharing your crashing spot with me."

It wasn't the first time Hermione had stayed at Harry's place after a night out; she would usually curl up on the couch under the blanket that she had given him as a Christmas gift shortly after he started renting the flat. It was, however, the first time that Ron wasn't with them, sprawled across a few cushions by the fireplace. They both felt extremely aware of his absence.

And, in the next moment, they became aware of another key difference between this morning and previous sleepovers.

They were both in their underwear.

Hermione clumsily slid her body over Harry's, hopping off the couch and beginning to search for her clothes and her wand. She grabbed her shirt first, pulling the damp fabric over her head.

Her wand was next to Harry's glasses on the table; she reached for it before noticing that Harry hadn't moved, was staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling?" she asked cautiously.

He rubbed his forehead. "I have an awful headache. You?"

"Same." She had found her jeans, was performing the charm to dry her clothes; surprisingly, letting them stay crumpled on the floor hadn't done much overnight.

"Water?" he asked finally, standing up and stretching, retrieving his glasses. Hermione looked away.

"Yes, please."

He shuffled towards the kitchen, getting her a glass. He filled it, handed it to her, and retreated briefly to his room, emerging moments later in a pair of joggers.

Hermione ducked her head again. She had seen Harry just like this before, hungover, shirtless, wearing nothing but tracksuit bottoms.

So why did it feel different? Why did her cheeks feel warm? Why did she care what her hair looked like?

"So," he said slowly. "Do you—do you want to talk about it?"

She sat down heavily at the table. "Not yet," she said. "I think I need to eat something first."

He frowned. "Of course."

"I'm not trying to be dramatic, Harry," she said quickly. "I just—my head hurts, and so does yours, and I don't think either of us are in the right shape to talk about—what happened."

He nodded, and wordlessly began preparing breakfast.

Both of them were too hungover and confused and nervous to carry a conversation. They ate without speaking, did the washing up silently. Hermione retrieved her toothbrush and hairbrush from under the sink—Ron mocked her for being so particular, but always complained about his breath and the state of his hair after a night on the floor at Harry's—and washed her face, carefully wiping the last traces of makeup from her face, trying not to think about what she must have looked like by the end of the night, or what Harry thought about her smudged eyeliner, her frizzy hair.

Harry went in after her. While she waited, Hermione settled on the couch. But she couldn't stop thinking about what they had been doing a few hours before—his hands sliding down her sides; her mouth against his collarbone—and so she moved quickly to sit in a hardback chair.

Harry finally came out; he hesitated, then sat down on the couch, his knees practically touching hers. He twirled his wand absentmindedly, studying her. "So …" he finally said, letting the word hang between them.

Hermione looked down at her hands. "So."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"I didn't—" Harry started, then swallowed. "I didn't mean for that to happen." He shifted. "Not that I—not that I think it was a bad thing," he added quickly. "I mean, I don't think it was—it wasn't the best choice, given the circumstances—"

"Which circumstances?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Just that—I know you were upset about Ashton. I didn't mean to—"

"I wasn't thinking about Ashton at all," she said quickly. "I mean, yes, at the beginning of the night, but not—I wasn't thinking about him at all."

"Hermione, you were really upset about him getting engaged, and—"

"I wasn't really upset about him getting engaged," she said. "I was—I was more upset that he'd been right."

"Right about what?"

She sighed heavily. "When I broke up with him, he told me that I was too rigid. That I didn't allow for any mistakes or flaws. And that my standards would make it impossible for me to find someone I could be compatible with."

Harry looked shocked. "Hermione, that's—that was really unfair of him."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter; we don't need to get into it right now. But my point is, I just was thinking about what he said, when I found out he'd gotten engaged—and I just had a moment of doubting myself. But—I know what it looks like, what it seems like, but that isn't why I—why we—ended up kissing."

"So … why do you think it happened?"

She snorted. "Because we were drunk!"

"We've gotten drunk together before, and nothing like that has happened."

"True, but we've never been, you know, on our own like that," she countered.

"On our own? Hermione, we were at Ron's birthday party."

"True, but everyone else was gone by the end." She frowned. "I certainly hope everyone was gone. Did you see when Luna left?"

Harry ignored the question. "So you think we snogged because we were drunk, and because nobody else was around."

"We know we were drunk, and I'm pretty sure we were the last people there from Ron's friends. So, yes."

"OK, fine."

"You think there was another reason, Harry?"

"I just—do you think seeing Ron and Ginny had anything to do with it?"

"Seeing them with other people?"

"Yes."

"I mean—did it bother you?"

Harry shrugged. "Ginny's had other boyfriends since we broke up."

"And Ron has brought girls around before." She hesitated. "Did it—does it bother you that she's back with Dean?"

"No," he said firmly. "Definitely not."

She threw up her hands. "So then why did you suggest that you kissed me because you were bothered about Ginny?"

"Well, I meant more that, um, that for you, seeing Ron on his birthday, acting like that—"

"So you're still thinking that I kissed you because I was sad about one of my exes?"

"Well—"

"So far, Harry, your two guesses about why we snogged is that, first, I was heartbroken over Ashton, and then, that I was heartbroken over Ron."

"I just feel—I feel weird that we kissed when we were drunk, and I'm just trying to figure out what other factors there were that might have led—might have caused it to happen." He closed his eyes. "And I don't want you to think that I was, you know, intentionally taking advantage of the situation."

Hermione blushed angrily. "So you think the only reason I'd want to kiss you is because I felt bad about another guy? And because I was too smashed to know what I was doing? And on top of that, you feel that I would think so poorly of you, to think that you'd take advantage of my emotional vulnerability?"

"I don't know, Hermione! I just—I mean, I'm just trying to figure out how it happened."

"I kissed you because I wanted to, Harry. I was drunk, yes, and I'd had a weird day, but I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to know what it would be like." She looked away.

"I guess I did, too," he admitted after a moment.

"Really?"

"I think so. I mean—don't get weird about it, but when we were younger—I mean, I didn't think about it much, but I did occasionally—just occasionally, truly—think about whether, you know, what it would be like to …" He trailed off.

"Me too," she admitted.

"Really?"

"Of course! It's completely normal."

"Right. School kids developing crushes on their friends that come and go. Absolutely normal." He cleared his throat. "But, to be clear, I didn't—I never thought about it when you were with Ron."

"Nor I, when you were with Ginny."

"Or Ashton."

"Or Jane."

"Just when we were younger—you know, figuring things out—" Hermione waves her hands. "Hormones raging. Just, you know, fantasies."

"Right. Curiosity, really."

She smiled triumphantly. "So, there you have it. Under the influence of alcohol, we allowed ourselves to see what it would be like to kiss each other, which we never would have done when we were sober, or when we were dating anyone else. And we just—we haven't both been truly single in ages, so it makes sense that we'd, you know, it would happen when we're both available."

He shrugged. "That makes sense, I guess."

"It definitely makes sense," she agreed. "And like you said, it's completely normal for people who have been friends during the key years of their development to speculate about the possibility of romantic intrigue." She cleared her throat. "Given our history—the fact that I dated Ron, your best friend, and you dated Ginny, one of my closest friends—it's not surprising that it hasn't happened before now."

He nodded slowly. "So maybe we just, you know, needed to get it out of systems?"

Hermione smiled warmly. "Exactly!"

Hermione left shortly after that, stepping out of Harry's flat to Apparate to her own ("I need to feed Crookshanks, and I have loads of chores to do").

Before she'd left, she'd kissed him on the cheek. There had been a moment where he grasped her waist, more firmly than he normally would, and she'd hesitated, her mouth brushing his skin, her breath in his ear. And then she'd pull away, refusing to look him in the eyes.

"See you, Harry."

Harry stood at the door for several moments after she left.

He thought about the way she'd looked at him in the club, when she'd pulled him close to her the first time.

He thought about the way she'd looked at him when she was unbuttoning his shirt, and again when she'd taken off her own, pressing her chest against his.

He thought about that phrase, getting it out of your system, and then he thought about the other phrase people he'd heard people use, scratching an itch, and then he was thought about itchy jumpers, and suddenly he was thinking about the way she had tickled his ribs, had run her fingers along his stomach, the friction he had felt when she rubbed herself against him.

Harry hurried to his room to grab a shirt. He returned to the door, tugging on his shoes and cloak, and before he fully grasped what he'd done, he was knocking on her door, trying to catch his breath.

She opened the door. "Harry! What's wrong? Did I forget something at your place?"

"No, I just—I don't think we finished the conversation."

She frowned. "What do you mean?" she asked, allowing him inside.

"I mean, do you—" He paused, swallowed, then turned to her. "Do you really feel like you've, um, like you've gotten it out of your system?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "I don't know," she said nervously. "Do you?"

He hesitated, and then took the risk. "No. I—I don't think so."

She chewed on her lip. "No, I don't think so, either."

He breathed out heavily, trying not to show his relief.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "But maybe that's because—you know, all we did was kiss. I mean, we fooled around a bit, I suppose, but—I mean—if we're both admitting that, at some point, we've thought about, you know—and we only sort of—not that I think we should have done anything else yesterday, of course, but given that we were drunk, and there might have been other, you know, contributing factors—maybe this feels weird because we haven't fully, you know, addressed what's between us."

"Addressed it."

She waved her hand. "You know what I mean. We were attracted to each other last night, though we both acknowledge that there were other factors—alcohol, and seeing our exes with other people—that might have had an additional impact. And so, as a result, last night we just kind of, um, looked through the keyhole. That's why this—" She gestured between them. "—feels somewhat unresolved. Maybe if we just, you know, saw what's behind the door, we'd be able to move forward."

"So you think that if we shag, we'll feel better."

She flushed, taking a step away from him. "Don't say it like that."

Harry laughed. "No, Hermione, I'm sorry, I just—I'm not trying to make it sound bad, I just—"

"It was a stupid idea."

"No," he said quickly.

"You laughed. It was a stupid thing for me to say."

"Hermione, I laughed because—well, I don't recall any of the times I did think about shagging you—none of them involved you proposing it like that, is all."

"When you thought about shagging me?"

It was Harry's turn to blush. "I just meant, you know—look, it's not like I've thought about it a lot, but, um, when we were younger, and—well, I guess…" He trailed off. "I just, um, never imagined this scenario." He looked up at the ceiling. "I guess I would kind of skip the, um, conversation part of it. I mean, when I did imagine it—we kind of, um, got right to it." He cleared his throat. "So it just feels a bit surreal, to be talking about it now." Finally, he looked back at her and then, slowly, took a step forward. "But no, I don't think it's—don't think it's a stupid idea, no."

Another pause.

"So—how do we—should we talk through it?" She bit her lip. "I just mean, you know, should we—should we make a plan? For after?"

"For after?"

"Well, Harry, it sounds like we're in agreement that we're going to address it—" She smiled, just a little. "—but it also sounds like neither of us is thinking that this needs to be, ah, taken any further."

"Of course not," Harry said quickly.

"So—I just want to be sure that we don't, you know, that this doesn't become a thing. Ginny and Ron aren't exactly known for being even-tempered, for one thing, and our other friends—" She rubbed her brow. "Come to think of it, most of our friends are pretty shit at keeping secrets, aren't they?"

"Right. So—we don't tell anyone. Nobody finds out."

"And—and, you know, I don't think we should talk about it, either. We're addressing something from our teenage years, and so we shouldn't be bringing it with us into the future."

"Agreed."

"And—and I think, um, just the one time." She hesitated. "Right?"

Harry also hesitated, then nodded. "Right."

"Anything else?"

"No buggery until the second round."

"Harry!"

"I'm joking, Hermione." He took another step towards her. "Should we draw up a contract?"

"No, I don't think—" She looked up to see he was grinning. "Don't make fun of me."

Harry reached for her hand. "I'm done, I promise." He tugged her towards him. "Come here."

She allowed herself to be pulled closer. They stared at each other for a few seconds before leaning in at the same time, angling the same way, resulting in a clumsy, somewhat painful kiss.

"Ouch!"

"I'm sorry!"

"No, it's fine—"

"I didn't—"

They both laughed.

"Like I said, uh, in my head I usually just—skipped this part," Harry admitted.

She squeezed his hand. "Let's go."

"What?"

"Come on, Harry. I'm feeling bafflingly unanxious about this decision, and if I think about it too much, I'm going to get too nervous to go forward with it. So, if you want to fulfill whatever stupid fantasies you just confessed to having had as a teenager—"

"Right, off we go."

She guided him back to her bedroom, closing the door behind them. She walked him backwards until his knees hit the bed. He sat down, and she stood between his legs.

"So …" she said slowly. "You said you usually jump past this part."

"Um, yes." He swallowed. "But that doesn't mean I want to—skip it now."

She tilted his chin up and kissed him softly. "I think this is usually the part I'd dwell on," she confessed.

"Really?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "It's pretty common, isn't it?"

"I just meant—you, like, really fantasized about—about me, about us?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Didn't we already establish that this is something we've both thought about? Isn't that why we're here right now?"

"I just—didn't know that you'd had proper fantasies about it."

She laughed and tapped the side of her head. "This mind can be used for more than just solving riddles."

A/N: Unintentional delay between the revised first chapter and this one! My apologies. xoAri