Past Forgotten

PAST FORGOTTEN

THREE

[any moment]

was that him? yes it was

was that me? no it wasn't,

just a trick of the woods

just a moment,

one peculiar passing moment

must it all be either less or more

either plain or grand?

is it always "or?"

is it never "and?"

[moments in the woods -- "into the woods"]

The telephone rang -- one, two three.

Hermione groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow to hide from the too-bright sunlight spilling over the windowsill and onto her face. Her head ached like nothing she had ever experienced, no doubt as a result of the excess of alcohol she had consumed the previous night.

Four, five, six, seven.

The rings seemed to penetrate her very being, reverberating insistently through her head, driving Hermione mad.

Eight, nine, ten, eleven . . .

"For Chrissakes, stop, stop, STOP!" Hermione sat bolt upright in bed.

The repetetive sound halted mid-ring after seventeen.

The force of the hangover hit Hermione once more, and she dashed off to hang her head over the toilet.

Thirteen retches, four toilet-flushes, a quarter of a bottle of painkillers and one shower later, the telephone began to ring. Hermione flung open the toilet door, reaching her hand outside.

"Accio telephone."

The appliance flew into her hand obediently, and she clicked the "talk" button.

"Hullo?" she croaked.

A deeper voice on the other end answered her. "'Mione? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" she replied, somewhat irritably.

Oliver Wood chuckled nervously on the other end of the line. "Listen, about last night -- "

"Last night?" Hermione groaned, remembering the bottle-and-a-half of wine she had consumed the previous evening. "Oh, gods. I don't want to talk about last night. I don't want to so much as *think* about last night."

"Oh." He was silent for a moment. "Well," he continued, after a very pregnant pause, "I just wanted to sort things out. You just caught me by suprise, y'see, and -- "

"What?" She thought for a moment, before the sudden realization dawned on her. "Oh. That. Listen, Oliver, I didn't mean to do that. Or anything like that. It's just that -- that -- "

"That what?"

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, searching for words to express what she was thinking. "You know, when one drinks too much -- as I did last night, obviously, judging from the immense hangover I woke up with and blurred images of what happened last night -- one does things that one does not necessarily intend to do. Sometimes -- things, they -- they . . . " She opened and closed her mouth a few times, speechless. "Last night, I didn't know what I was doing and thoughts that may have occurred, even just once, became actions and I really didn't mean to -- to -- "

"Kiss me?"

She nodded. "Mmm. That's the one."

"So you . . . find me attractive?" His words were laced with humor, and she could practically see the impish grin spread across his face.

"Oliver, stop shitting about and just tell me why you called," she replied quickly, changing the conversation.

He chuckled amiably. "Well."

"Well?"

"Well, I actually called to see if you would be available to grab lunch this afternoon. As a casual, between-friends thing. Like last night." Hermione inhaled sharply, and he quickly revised his statement. "Like last night. Except without the wine."

She smiled despite herself. "Well . . . I might be available."

"Fabulous. Then I'll pick you up at your place in twenty minutes." He hesitated. "Is twenty minutes okay?"

"'Tis twenty years 'till then."

                    * * *

"You're joking. You were *seventeen* before you'd had your first kiss?"

Hermione flushed scarlet, glancing nervously around the crowded deli. "There's nothing wrong with that. I'm just . . . a bit picky."

"And who did the honors?" Her companion raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Percy Weasley." Hermione shook her head violently as Oliver burst into incredulous laughter. "No, no. He's really quite sweet when you manage to tear him away from his work for half a moment."

"Gods. Percy Weasley." He ran a hand through his hair, disbelieving. "So you two . . . "

"Dated a bit, yes." She grinned, nodding. "After he quit his job with the Ministry -- decided he was fed up with being ordered around. Opened a rare-and-used bookshop in Hogsmeade, actually."

Oliver laughed again, and Hermione found herself distracted by the way the light reflected in his dark eyes. "So what happened?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, you know." She waved a hand dismissively. "We decided we were far better as friends than as lovers. Too alike to work together . . . Oh, but we still keep in touch," she added, noting Oliver's vague concern.

He nodded. "That's good."

"Yes." She finished her sandwich, then glanced back up at him. "So, I've told my story, now you tell yours. Who exactly was the first to woo the famous Mister Oliver Wood?"

He chuckled a bit at her phrasing. "Fourth year. Katharine Bletchley."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Bletchley? As in, Slytherin Keeper Bletchley?"

Oliver nodded guiltily. "She was . . . different. We had a lot in common, she and I." He smiled distantly for a moment, remembering, and unconsciously reached over and took one of Hermione's hands in his, stroking the back of it absently with his thumb.

The touch electrified her and she pulled back.

He jumped slightly at her sudden movement. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" Hermione shook her head violently. "No, no. I just . . . Percy used to do that when we were together, and it makes me remember . . . things." She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Oliver reached over and tipped her chin up gently. "Don't be."