"Harry? Oi! Open up, you wanker!"

Harry rolls over. He thought that steady beat was just his head, throbbing. But no, it's Ron, banging on his apartment door.

He's still naked.

"Harry!" Ron bellows. "I know you're in there!"

Harry gets up and pulls on his boxers and a pair of slacks. Rubbing his eyes furiously, he stumbles out of his bedroom and to the door. He opens it and Ron walks in. "Didn't you hear me the first five minutes?" he asks. "One of your neighbours came out to tell me to keep it down."

"Sorry, I was sleeping." Harry rubs his hands through his hair. "What time is it, anyway?"
Ron studies his friend. "Half past twelve," he says. "You were sleeping? Harry, you never sleep past nine. What's with you?"

"I'm just tired."

Ron raises his eyebrows, and Harry looks away. "You look a mess, mate," he says.

"Thanks." Harry coughs. "So – um, how were, um, Anne and Charlotte?"

Ron's eyes gleam. "Oh, fantastic! And they both gave me their tele-thingy numbers." He frowns. "You'll show me how to use that properly, won't you?"

"Sure," Harry says.

Ron looks down at the carpet. "You've got muddy footprints all over the place." He crouches down. "Hang on a minute. There are two sets of footprints here."

Harry gulps.

Ron follows the footsteps out of the main room, down the hallway, and into Harry's room. Harry follows him, breathing heavily. "Looks like you got lucky too, eh?" Ron calls to his friend.

"It was nothing, Ron, I –"

Harry stops. Ron is standing at the foot of his bed, holding up a lacy black bra.

Harry swallows. He remembers unclasping it and watching her slide it down her arms and pressing her chest to his. And he remembers kissing his way down her neck, and the moan she let out when he kissed her breasts.

"You call this 'nothing'?" Ron asks, shaking the bra at Harry, grinning. "Who was it? Who's the lucky lady? Tell me!"

Harry shakes his head.

"What?" Ron asks, dumbfounded. "You're not even going to tell me who she is?"

"I – I can't," Harry stutters, for way of explanation. "I just – I can't."

Ron frowns. "Do I know her?"

Harry laughs. "I'm not saying anything."

Ron furrows his brow. "You don't – don't regret it or anything, do you, mate? You seem kind of … uptight about it."

Harry blinks. He remembers holding her hips as he slid inside of her. He remembers her wet hair dripping on his chest. He remembers how her body felt pressed against his – warm and right. He remembers looking into her eyes as his legs felt like they were losing circulation, and he remembers thinking about how beautiful she looked, with her damp hair pressed against her sweaty face.

No, he didn't regret it. Not one bit.

But did she?

She was so angry this morning – did she think it was a bad move? Did she regret it?

Ron's laugh snaps Harry out of his reverie. "Well, whoever she is, she's clearly got you gagging for more."

Harry nods slowly. He wants her right here, right now.

Yes, he's definitely gagging for more.