Magical Mugwort

The morning sunlight that penetrated my curtains made me cringe. I rolled over in bed, trying to avoid the reality that I was indeed awake. Everything was still so fuzzy around me. Fuzzy and warm and starting to register a bit of a pounding in my head...

Groaning, I reached over and found my arm landing over a prone body. Blearily opening my eyes, I found myself staring at the still sleeping man. Oliver Wood.

And in that instant, memories of the previous night came flooding back to me. It had certainly been a wild night, and it would have been hard to believe I had consumed so much alcohol if I wasn't feeling the effects of it now.

I watched Oliver for a few moments, how his naked chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. His brown hair was stuck in odd angles, and one of his arms was thrown above his head, the other stretched out on the pillows above my head. I smiled then, blinking the sleep out of my eyes to see the little love bites I had left on his neck. Oliver had had an amazing stamina, even when under the influence.

Realizing I probably looked a sight, and I desperately needed some aspirin, I slowly climbed out of bed. When my feet touched the floor, I realized how stiff my muscles were.

Oh, yeah, I smirked with a grimace. After those positions, it's no wonder I'm a bit sore.

I stumbled towards the bathroom and managed to get into the bath without killing myself. After a lengthy soak and popping several aspirin, I found my robe and wandered back towards the bedroom with the intention of offering breakfast to the satisfied male in my home. When I reached the bedroom, I was surprised to find the bed empty.

I stood for a few moments, just looking. The bed was rumpled, the sheets practically thrown around the room, and was that my bra hanging from the ceiling fan?

Wondering briefly if Oliver had already left and thereby keeping in accordance with our “no strings attached” policy, I padded out towards the living room. The world was too damn bright, even for... I checked the clock. Almost noon.

As I moved towards the kitchen, Oliver appeared, dressed only in his boxers. “Morning, beautiful.”

I grinned. “We already missed the morning, you know. Check out the time.”

Oliver glanced at the clock and shrugged, running a hand through his hair that would remain disorderly until he showered. I thought it was very cute. “Ah, well. Mornings are overrated, anyway.” He approached me and gently kissed my cheek. “Are you doing all right, Maggie? That was a...” He paused, searching for the right word. “That was a hell of a night.”

“That is was,” I returned his smile. “I'm doing just fine now. How about you? You worked yourself into quite a workout.”

“Please. I play Quidditch. If I can't keep up with you in the bedroom, then I may as well turn in my broom right now. Although...” He brushed my hair out of my face and gave me a wicked grin. “I'll admit it, darlin', you gave me a good run there. Such a... energetic lass you are.”

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I kissed his chin. “I told you I know how to handle things.”

“I'll never doubt you again.” For several moments, we just smiled at one another, soaking in the morning after and the lack of awkwardness. It was nice.

Finally Oliver spoke again. “I hope I wasn't too rough with you,” he said, the look on his face suddenly unsure as he touched the marks on my own neck. “I wasn't trying to hurt you.”

“I know. And no, you didn't do anything that I didn't ask for,” I replied.

He hesitated, still eying the marks uncertainly. “I'm not quite sure what got into me last night,” he confessed. “I don't normally become so... aggressive.”

I chuckled. “I find that hard to believe, Mr. Dominant. But either way, relax. I enjoyed it. So did you, if I read you correctly.”

“Of course.” He kissed me, a gentle kiss. “Would you like some breakfast, Maggie? I'd love to cook for you.”

Surprised, I raised an eyebrow. “That would be fabulous, though technically it's lunchtime.”

Oliver grinned. “Either way, I'll make us some breakfast, you can relax, and then I will be out of your hair by this afternoon.”

I smiled as he winked at me and headed into the kitchen. I watched him for a few moments, just thinking. If I had met up with him earlier, if I had chosen to see him first instead of the Weasley twins, how different would things be right now? Oliver seemed to pick up on my mood instantly, to know that this was just what it was: one night of stress relief, and there was nothing else to it. Muggles, I had found, were well in tune with the one night stand, and thusly much easier to deal with.

It was actually very sweet of Oliver to offer to cook for me. The last guy who had done that had been a very nice guy I'd met the first couple of weeks after I'd moved to London. It had been a very nice welcome to the British Empire, but it wasn't something I was used to. I guess there are just certain men who had the decency to respect you enough to have a nice, casual morning, throw in a little breakfast, and then you two can go your separate ways without worry. That, I believed, was the essence of a good break up. That was also why I avoided the tempestuous hazards of real relationships. They never ended as easily as a good one night stand. Or even a bad one.

A knock at the door disturbed my thoughts. Lazily tying my robe tighter around my waist, I called, “I'll be right back, someone's at the door.”

I padded barefoot towards the door as I heard Oliver continuing to shuffle around in the kitchen, the small sounds of him opening my refrigerator and removing what he needed. I was looking forward to a nice breakfast that I didn't have to cook.

As I reached the door, muttering, “Coming, coming,” I instinctively smoothed back my hair. Who knew who was on the other side?

Opening the door, I found myself staring up at George Weasley. It took me a moment to realize which one I was looking at, and I was reasonably certain I had guessed correctly. My stomach clenched at the sight of him.

“George.”

He nodded once, a look of anxiety on his face. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a green shirt that showed off his figure admirably. For once, however, I was unmoved.

“Maggie.”

I just looked at him, a familiar feeling of betrayal and anger rising back inside of me, though I kept my face carefully neutral. “What are you doing here, George?”

He leaned against the doorframe, his expression one of contrite repentance. “I wanted to see you,” he replied. “Wanted to try and talk with you.”

Folding my arms over my chest, I raised an eyebrow. “What's to talk about, George? Haven't we already been through this mess? I don't have any interest in what you have to say right now, unless you've come to tell me that you found the video.”

A look of shame washed over his face and he looked away.

“I thought not.”

I started to close the door, but George immediately held up a hand, keeping the door open. “Please, Maggie,” he said a bit desperately. “I'll say I'm sorry for the rest of my life if you want. Just let me talk to you for a minute.”

His desperation should have moved me, perhaps. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss seeing him or Fred. The two of them had filled up so much of me. I had looked forward to seeing them every day, loved the time we spent together. And the sex had been amazing. Even now as I looked at the ragged expression on George, I remembered quite well how his hands had felt on me. Not to mention everything else.

But no matter what I missed or how else I felt, it didn't erase what he had done. No one had ever videotaped me without my permission. Ever. Nor had anyone let out said video before. And a magic one at that! I figured that if certain wizards got their hands on it, I might just find myself a very popular little lady. Which wasn't without its appeal, but I could snag a shag on my own, on my own terms.

Like Oliver. I didn't hear him at the moment, but I knew he was still puttering around. I thought vaguely of last night. There was definitely something about Quidditch players, present and former. He had a stamina that nearly equaled my own. He was a different lover than what I knew Fred and George to be, but that was not a slight on him at all.

“George,” I began, still looking at him impassively. “What part of 'I don't want to talk to you until this issue is resolved' do you not get? I'm pretty sure I made myself clear before.”

He looked hurt, but determined. “Did you get the flowers I sent?” he asked.

I blinked. “You would know I did and that I sent them back. Just like the chocolates. Just like the jewelry. Sending me gifts is not the way to get back into my good graces, George. You should know this. So should Fred. I can't be bought. Now I will thank you to go away now. I'm busy.”

Just as I started to close the door, George put up a hand again. I thought I saw the glimmer of tears in his hazel eyes. “Maggie, I miss you,” he blurted out. “I know I'm a complete tosser, the world's biggest arse. I don't think I could have fucked up any bigger than I have. You are an amazing woman, Maggie, the most amazing I've ever met. I don't want to lose that.”

His passionate plea was nice to hear, but it didn't change things. It didn't change that out there, at that moment, was a porno starring me. I watched the way his eyes were pleading with me, the way his lips were near trembling. So soft, those lips.

Shaking my head, I said, “I'm sorry, George. There's nothing else to say--”

At that moment, I heard Oliver call out, “Oi, Maggie! Where do you keep the frying pan?”

I watched as George froze, a look of horror coming over his face. I let the recognition set in on his face.

“What the hell...” he whispered. “Is that... is that Wood?”

Before I could answer, I heard Oliver enter the room. I glanced over my shoulder, still marveling at the man who was dressed only in a pair of boxers. His finely tuned chest moved easily. What I had done to that body last night...

“Maggie, where is the—oh.” Oliver paused, looking at me and George. “Morning, George.”

I looked back at George, who was staring at Oliver as if he had grown a second and third head. “Wood... what the bloody hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

“George,” I said calmly, putting up a hand.

He brushed my hand aside, looking as if he intended on barging into my flat. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded again, looking between me and Oliver.

Oliver shuffled, slowly padding forward. “Look, George,” he began.

“You're supposed to be my mate, Wood!” George exclaimed. “What are you playing at, having a go at Maggie the second my back is turned?”

“George...”

I cast a look at Oliver, who was frowning slightly. “Look, mate, from what I understand, you and Fred are on the outs with Maggie here,” he said. “Didn't seem as if I was doing anything behind your back. Besides, I would have been daft to pass up an invitation from this beautiful lass.”

George turned his wild-eyed look at me, accusatory. “You...” he flustered, his brow furrowed. “You been chatting up Wood here, have you. Didn't waste a second, did you.”

I pinned him with a hard stare. “Look, George. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a bit of a free spirit. There's nothing concrete about anything between you and me and your brother. You know this. And right now, there is definitely nothing binding me to either of you. I make my own choices, just like you.”

He looked deeply hurt, bowing his head. He was quiet for several very long moments. When at last he spoke, he looked me square in the eye. “Maggie, you're right. You don't belong to anyone, least of all me or Fred. You're free to chat up anyone you like. But our mate?” He shook his head. “That's a low blow, Maggie, and you knew it.”

“So was what you did,” I countered.

George clenched his jaw, as if willing himself not to yell or punch the wall or Oliver. At last he looked up and pointed at Oliver. “You and me are going to have a chat later, mate,” he said warningly. “We'll have a nice long chat about how you don't shag your best mate's girl.”

Oliver seemed to pause. “Right, then,” he answered. “Looking forward to it.”

“Time to go, George.” I started to close the door, part of me feeling nastily guilty about the deeply hurt look on his face. “I'm sorry.”

This time he didn't resist when I shut the door. When it latched, I released a long breath and leaned against the door. That had not been what I was expecting when I got up this morning. Rather nasty surprise. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that George would show up. After all the gifts that he and Fred had sent, I figured a personal appearance was bound to occur. Still, it was a little nerve-wracking.

A hand touched my elbow. I looked up at Oliver, who was looking at me with concern. “Are you all right, Maggie?” he asked.

Releasing a breath, I nodded. “I'm fine. I'm sorry you were here for that.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my head, his body warm. “Nah, it's no problem. You said that things were off badly between you. And Fred as well?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Oliver tilted my face up to look at him, a small smile touching his lips. I found myself gazing deeply into his glittering eyes, the charm of him washing over me. “I know something that can make it all better, though.”

“Oh, really. And what would that be?”

He smiled mischievously, then leaned down and captured my lips with his own. I sucked in a breath as I tasted the sweetness of his lips, followed by the warm wetness of his tongue. Sighing happily, I relaxed an inch at a time, running my fingers through his dark hair. I loved the way his arm muscles flexed when he held me. It was quite the pleasure.

As we parted, I sighed. “Mmm. That does help a bit.”

He gently brushed fingers over my cheek, gazing into my eyes. “Glad I could help.”

Holding him close, I nodded. “More than you know.”

An yet, even as Oliver stroked my hair and I touched his bare back, I couldn't ignore the sudden guilt that was now sitting in the pit of my stomach. George couldn't have picked a worse time to come by. I didn't like the way guilt felt. I didn't feel it often and I didn't feel it easily. That wasn't to say I was a heartless bitch. I just tried to live my life without regret. And seeing the pain on George's face was a regret, even knowing what he had done to me.

Oliver kissed the top of my head. “Ready for breakfast, luv?” he asked.

I nodded, smiling. “Most definitely. I'll come help you.”


Some time later, after a very satisfying breakfast and a lively conversation, Oliver and I had both finally found our clothes. It had been a very relaxing morning, in spite of the unexpected visitation earlier. Now Oliver was preparing to leave, and that would be the end of this.

I found myself watching the way he moved, how lithe his body really was. I figured he was probably the sort who had a girl in every port, so to speak. Or perhaps a girl in every Quidditch ring. For some reason he had found me attractive, and that was not without its appeal.

Oliver picked up his jacket and turned to face me. He smiled then, and it was a relaxed, gentle smile that I felt certain showed who he really was. “Well, Maggie,” he said, taking my hand. “It's truly been a pleasure.”

“I should say. I don't often have gentleman callers who cook me such a fantastic breakfast,” I replied.

“Well, I sort of figured I needed to make amends for these,” he said, motioning towards my neck. “I still feel rather bad about that.”

“Stop that. Do not go feeling bad about that, okay? And if you say that one more time, then I will beat you.”

“Would you, now?” That wicked gleam entered his eyes once more. “I suppose you could talk me into staying a wee bit longer...”

Laughing, I nodded. “See, I knew that you liked it.”

He held my hand and smiled. “Really, Maggie, it's been a privilege. You're an amazing woman and any man is a damn fool to pass that up. I am sorry that you're having troubles with Fred and George.”

I shrugged. “Such is life, right? With the pain comes the pleasure. Or is it the other way around?”

“Sometimes both together.” Oliver nodded slowly, still gazing at me. There was affection in his eyes, I decided. But then it was a look I myself had mastered, to make sure that the person leaving in the morning didn't feel completely used. “Nevertheless, it's a shame. They're both good lads, and I hate to see you in any pain.”

“Remember, though, if I wasn't having my issues with them, then you wouldn't be explaining to your teammates why you're covered in bruises and bitemarks.”

He laughed. “Yes, yes, there is that.”

I paused, just taking in the moment. “It was fun, Oliver. Really. I think you gave me exactly what I needed last night, and I appreciate that.”

“And you for me as well.”

“Good. That's the way it's supposed to be. What's wrong with having a little fun and just going on with your life?”

Oliver smiled, but now there was something different in his look, something thoughtful. He gently stroked my shoulder, over and over. “Sometimes that is the easiest, isn't it,” he said. “I know what you mean. It's hard, isn't it.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Opening up to people. Having to constantly watch yourself, make sure that no one gets too close or they might know the real you and then they'd have a bit of power over you. That's what's really frightening in life. Never knowing who to trust and who you can be yourself with.”

His words shocked me. When the hell did he get insightful? I was not enjoying where this was going. I had been fully prepared just to usher him out and say good-bye.

Deciding to alter the conversation, I shrugged and gave him a gentle stare. “Very true. But I wouldn't think you'd be arguing after everything that's happened.”

“Oh, not arguing at all. Don't get me wrong, Maggie, I don't regret anything we did last night.” He paused. “Do you?”

“I don't regret much in life at all, Oliver. Last night is definitely not something I regret.”

“Good. Otherwise that might have defeated the whole purpose.” Oliver studied me for a moment, as if assessing me. “You were amazing. You know that already, though.”

“I didn't know I was amazing to you.” I smiled, touching his waist. “So is it back to Quidditch for you, then?”

He nodded, fiddling with my hair. “Yes, I head back day after tomorrow. I can send you tickets to our matches, if you like. Give you the chance to see a real game.”

“I'd like that a lot. I've never seen a professional Quidditch match.”

“Well, then, it's settled. I'll send you tickets as soon as I get back.” Oliver gave me a lopsided grin that was really quite adorable, and the affection came back into his gaze. It made my insides do a little flip-flop. “Take care of yourself, Maggie. These days, you need all the friends you can get. And I'll always be around if you need one.”

Discomfort officially set up residence in my stomach and made me squirm. I nodded once, smiling still. “Thanks, Oliver. And likewise. You know you can reach me if you ever need it.”

“Excellent.” Oliver kissed me then, a sweet and gentle kiss that was meant to be reassuring but somehow only left more knots in my stomach. When he finally pulled away, he brushed a thumb over my lips. “Think about what I said, yeah? You never know. It might come in handy someday.”

“I will.” I studied his face for a few moments, as if to memorize the angles of his face and the way his eyes sparkled, the way his face just radiated charm no matter what he looked like. Yes, he was a very, very handsome young man, and it had been a good time. “It was really good spending this time with you, Oliver. I mean that.”

“Likewise. I hope we see each other again, Maggie.”

Shrugging, I smiled. “You never know, right?”

Oliver nodded, still giving me his patented “I can make your knees weak with this smile” smile. “Well, hopefully it's sooner rather than later. Be seeing you, Maggie.”

“Be seeing you, Oliver.”

We kissed each others cheeks, and he gave me one last blast of charming smile before leaving my flat. As the door closed behind him, I released a heavy breath I hadn't thought I'd been holding. In the suddenly quiet flat, I began to reflect that if a young man like Oliver Wood had enough insight to be able to offer me some advise, then perhaps I'd better at least consider it. It was a strange feeling, to want to listen to advise but at the same time feeling resentful for it.

Sighing heavily, I locked the door and knew that there was a room needing clean up with my name on it. One mess to deal with at a time.