A/N: Chapter named for the song 'Swell' by Thomas Cunningham. Please R&R! And I also want to point out that you still don't know who the characters are in this, so don't make any assumptions. ;
Recommended Soundtrack: If Looks Could Kill by Camera Obscura
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Swell
She woke up, her head pounding furiously against the beam of sunlight trickling in through the slats between the shades. She refused to move, knowing that as soon as she did, a familiar feeling of nausea would erupt in her belly, and when she realized that she was on the couch, she knew she was too far away from her little closet of potions to get there before the churning in her stomach overtook her.
However, along with the realization that she was sleeping on her couch instead of her warm, cozy bed one flight up, she was also naked. And there was a naked man face down, snoring on her floor.
"Oh god," she moaned. "What have I done?" She ripped away the cerulean blanket that was covering his rear, and wrapped it around herself, although she got a feeling from their current state of dress, or lack thereof, she'd lost all shyness and morals the previous night, and it was unlikely she now had anything to hide from him.
She plopped a pillow on him to give him some sort of dignity, however, this awakened him with a loud grunt and moan, both of which were very, very familiar to her. She attempted to make a right break upstairs without talking to him, hoping he'd get the message and leave before she got out of the loo, but she nearly tripped over a high stack of medical journals discarded at the end of the couch and missed her window of opportunity as he rolled over and gave her a bleary-eyed, yet charming smile.
In her mind, she was grasping at straws for excuses to get him out of her house with the least amount of communication possible, but she was quickly coming up empty-handed.
"Ahh..." she said, "I'm late. Very, very late." Which, by the glance she'd just taken at the large, ornate clock hanging on the wall, was not a complete lie, "So you have to go."
"Or," he drawled still on the floor, and she realized that she needed to immediately extinguish the butterflies that had erupted in the pit of her stomach at the sound of his low, sexy morning-after voice, "You can come down here and we can pick up where we left off."
"No!" she said, almost immediately, and stung, with a small shrug, he began to pull on his boxers and dark blue jeans. She sighed, not meaning to have sounded so rude. 'Oh well. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again anyways.' She tried to search her mind for polite goodbyes, but seeing as she had never put herself in this situation before, she was at a total loss for words.
"I think this is yours," he said with a cocky smirk, emerging from underneath the couch with not only his black button-down that had been discarded, but also her bright purple bra that had been thrown aside with it.
Blushing furiously, she snatched it from his outstretched hand and tucked it underneath the blanket that was giving her her only source of coverage, "Well, I'm going upstairs to get ready, and when I get back, you won't be here. So it was nice to meet you..." she paused, realizing that she couldn't remember his name.
"Harry," he said, as he jumped over the back of the couch to shake her trembling hand, a far cry from what had happened the night before.
"Ginevra," she said with a tiny, nervous giggle. With a final wave, she departed up the stairs.
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Okay, so now we know for sure it's Harry and Ginny. And if you were astute, you would've noticed that Harry was alone in a bar on his birthday. This will be explained later...