Magical Mugwort

*Author's note: I have been working on this for a very, very long time, and it's still not done. A lot of what I have is for later in the story, which means I'm writing in spurts. Good news: I do have a few new things to add. Bad news: it's turning out far longer than I anticipated. This will probably split into two different stories. I hope anyone who's read the first bit will hop on back to check out the new stuff. Feedback and critiques are welcome.

*As always, the characters are not mine, I make no money off it, and I can only wish I did.

Almost immediately after Fred and George had departed, an owl had come barreling towards my window with such speed I had to throw open the window so the poor creature wouldn't hurt itself. The owl did, in fact, bear a letter from Ginny. I dreaded opening it, but at the same time I was anxious to clear myself with her.

In her letter, Ginny apologized for not turning the video directly over to me, but she wanted to make sure that her brothers owned up to what they did. She did not, and she repeated this several times, blame me or have any ill will towards me. She went on to say that neither of her brothers deserved me, and that nearly brought fresh tears to my eyes once more. Making quite certain that her brothers had returned the video to me, she asked that I reply immediately or else she would send another Howler to them, and include several dungbombs.

At the bottom of her note, she added that now more than ever, it was important to continue with the prank we had come up with. She suggested I contact Lee Jordan myself and discuss the details, to use her owl if needed, and she would continue on her end of the prank.

I immediately drafted a reply to her, still a bit shaky with the emotional turmoil of the day. I assured her that I had the video, that the twins had effectively prostrated themselves before me, and to an extent all was forgiven for now. I couldn't help but apologize that she had to see the video at all, and told her that I hoped she wouldn't think less of me. Regardless of what Fred and George had said, I did not want to be on her bad side.

While I had the owl there, I quickly drafted a letter to Lee Jordan, introducing myself and telling him that Ginny suggested I contact him. I told him that if he would like, we could meet soon and discuss things in person if he was available.

As I sent the owl off, I stared at it for a long time, just letting my mind wander. I had a chance now to make up for the bitch I had been. I knew that both Fred and George were remorseful for what had happened. Hell, all that Fred was guilty of was watching the stupid thing. I couldn't truly hold any blame against him for that. George, I knew, was regretting what he had done. It was over now, done.

I smiled a little as I thought of what could go on now. I believed that all three of us were fortunate that we all appeared to have a little maturity at times. As strange as it was to me, I honestly cared what they thought about me. It was a very unfamiliar sensation. At the same time, however, I had realized that I wanted this... thing... between us to pull through. Part of me believed there was too much potential to give up on. Admittedly another part of me believed it was too much trouble. Still, I couldn't ignore the little voice that urged me to follow through and see where it went.

That damned little voice always seemed to get me into trouble.

The late September air was quickly turning into a fierce autumn, spiraling towards an early winter. It seemed the weather had decided the mild climate had gone on for too long, and was now making its displeasure known. Before you could breathe, the temperature had gone from mild 70s to chilly 50s. All over London people were suddenly bundling up and fighting against the strong winds that were blowing in as well. The weathermen assured us that the turn was only temporary, but the one thing that was certain was that the weather was always unpredictable.

Hugging my black wool jacket close to me, I made my way against the blustery wind towards the park that was just around the corner from my flat. Even though the sun was playing peekaboo with the gray clouds, it felt as if the sun had already given up on sending any warmth our way. And yet tomorrow would probably be back up in the seventies.

I watched as a red doubledecker bus loudly drove down the street, the passengers on the top level holding their jackets shut tightly. In another couple of months, no one would be riding that top level. I absently thought about Andy, wondering how he was doing at Hogwarts. For an instant I wished that I was there with him, getting a chance to experience life through his eyes, in the magical world. More than once I had wished I could do what he could. After all, he could do most of what I could. Same blood ran through our veins, yet we led completely different lives.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I turned into the park and automatically began scanning. The park stretched for the entire city block, surrounded by black iron fence and tall lampposts. There were benches everywhere, somewhere in the crowded reserve was a pond where children would feed ducks in the warm weather. A small playground was located nearby, complete with a few brave older children and their nannies. The tall trees had been trimmed to make certain they would not fall onto the busy street nearby. Still, I knew that there was also serenity to be found within this park. I preferred the parks closer to the outskirts, but being near central London was not about being near to parks. It was about the life of London.

I could already smell the early vendors, eagerly setting up to sell lemonade, tea and biscuits, and whatever else they had in their carts. It made me smile, reminding me of simpler times when I was growing up.

As soon as I set foot inside the park, I felt the tranquility settle over me. Even in the middle of this hectic city, there was still peace to be had. I glanced towards one of the benches, and saw my quarry. I smiled inwardly, and immediately set pace to meet him.

George sat on the bench, hunched over with hands in his pockets. His beautiful red-gold hair shone in the air, always a contrast to his paler skin. He wore a jacket, but a light one. Blue jeans, sneakers, casual all the way. I took a moment to really study him before I approached. His face was set in easy lines, but I could also see the hint of tension in his shoulders. His eyes were casually looking around the park, not at all seeing me yet. It struck me how much I had really missed seeing him these past few weeks.

Stepping forward, I said, “You look as if you're expecting someone.”

He turned at the sound of my voice, and immediately stood up. A lopsided smile graced his face as he looked at me. “Yeah, I am actually. But I expect she'll be showing up shortly. Wouldn't want her to see me chatting with someone as lovely as you. I expect she might be jealous.”

I laughed, and then snerked. “Do you really expect her to be such a jealous person?” I asked, stepping forward.

George shrugged. “Maybe not her so much as me,” he admitted. “I suspect that she's already quite had enough time to not be petty enough to be jealous anymore.”

“She sounds like an interesting person,” I said, pausing when I was a couple of steps from him. “Or would that be a bit of a loose girl? I hear those expressions get a bit wrapped up.”

The smile remained on his face, but it weakened a bit. “I'd never call her that,” he said, tone turning a bit more serious. “Insatiable, maybe...”

Laughing again, I stepped forward and gave him a hug, having to stand on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck. When he wrapped his strong arms around me, I readily admitted to myself that I had missed the way they felt. But I didn't need them. I never needed anyone.

“How are you, George?”

His breath was warm against my hair. “A sight better now that you're here, luv,” he said. “Nearly tore me to pieces waiting for you.”

“Yes, I can see you falling apart.”

As we slowly pulled apart, George gave me a wry grin. “You've no idea what's going on in this head. I could very well be falling to pieces and you'd never know.”

“You're made of stronger stuff, George.”

He gazed at me for a long minute without speaking, the wind ruffling his hair. There was something deeper in his eyes that surprised me a bit. “You might be surprised to know I fall to pieces quite easily when it comes to you, you know,” he said at last.

The serious tone of his voice made my smile falter. “Well, if it's that painful, then I could leave.” I gave him a rueful smile.

His eyes widened and he abruptly pulled me close again. “Not what I'm saying at all! Sweet Merlin, it took me this long to see you again. I'm not waiting another month.”

Chuckling softly, I sighed deeply against his chest. It felt nice to be so close to him again. Shedding my inner defensive walls was strange and a little frightening, but I was trying to see if I could open up to someone and not freak out. So far, so good.

“You know, George,” I said, slowly pulling back again. “It's all right if you want to be angry with me.”

George frowned slightly, hand still resting on my waist. “Angry with you?”

I gave him a look. “You know exactly what I mean. I know damn well that you were quite angry about finding Oliver Wood in my flat.”

“Ah. That.” He shrugged, his eyes tightening just a bit. “What happened, happened, Maggie. Not much more to say than that.”

Raising an eyebrow, I snorted. “George,” I said calmly. “I know you must think I'm a terrible person for having Oliver over. And it's all right if you do.”

His eyes were still tight as he tried to shrug off the conversation. “Maggie, you're your own woman. I can't ever tell you what to do or who to see or how to feel. I'd never try to. Am I floored that you shagged Wood? Well, yeah, a bit. But I understand why you did. I don't hold that against you.”

I searched his face for a few long moments. I had to fight with a few things I wanted to say, but at last I decided to be as honest as possible. “I'm sorry that it hurt you, George. That wasn't what I wanted to do,” I said. “But I won't apologize for sleeping with him. I think you know a little bit more about me by now to realize that I like men.”

“For which I am eternally grateful,” he smirked.

I shared the smirk. “I try to make it easy on everyone and make sure no one gets hurt. Somehow... things are different with me and you and Fred. On several levels, actually. Most of the time I'm not even understanding what's really going on between us all. But apparently it's something of enough value that we've fought and mended fences and somehow we're standing here still speaking to one another.”

“Bit of a cock up, isn't it.” George reached out and brushed a finger down my cheek. “Believe me, it's strange on me. And Fred, as well. This isn't the normal thing we do. I hope you don't think that we go around blithely seducing young women as easily as playing Quidditch.”

“If you did, it wouldn't matter,” I replied, reaching for his hand and twining my fingers through his. “You're just as free to make your own choices as I am.”

George watched me for a few seconds, obviously a question burning in his mind. “So why Wood?” he asked at last.

Somehow I knew that question would come up.

“Did he offer to show you his professional broom?” he asked, suddenly grinning. “Or maybe he asked you to polish it for him.”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “Nah. He owled me, asked me to meet him for dinner as he was leaving town in a day or two, and I accepted. Simple as that.”

George studied me for a few moments, trying to act nonchalant and failing. “And are you two the best of friends now? Plan on becoming a big fan of Quidditch?”

I met his eyes and didn't back down, but I kept my voice carefully neutral when I answered. “He's offered to send me tickets to his games. I think we may be friends, but Oliver's like me, you know. He doesn't see the need to make every liason a lasting relationship.”

“And you think I do?”

The conversation had turned in a direction I wasn't really prepared for. As I searched his brilliant eyes, I swore I saw a spark of some vulnerability in there. Sure, he wore his confident face as he always did. But I had seen him wounded, and there was still a bit of that in there somewhere. I doubted anyone else could see it.

Squeezing his hand, I said, “I think that you prefer honesty above almost anything else, if only in your love life. I can't fault you for that. Honesty is crucial. You know exactly where I stand.”

George nodded slowly. “And you know where I stand.”

Right on a precipice of a happy menage a tois with himself, me and his brother. Too crude to say aloud, though.

“Good times for all,” I said, gently swinging his arm.

“For better or worse,” he added playfully. “Though if it's all the same to you, I'll be asking Wood to make sure he has plenty of away games to handle.”

I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, George, I hardly think that Oliver would be keeping tabs.”

George raised an eyebrow and gave me a look. “Maggie, I think you underestimate your appeal, darling. If there's one thing you've taught me, it's once a bloke's had a taste of you, there's nothing else for it.”

I opened my mouth to refute him, but was abruptly silenced by the intense look in his eyes. He gazed at me with a look that was part curious, part seductive, and part vulnerability. It surprised me to see so much in his expression and I had nothing to say back to it.

A curious fluttering in my chest surprised me. I didn't know what to think about what it made me feel, and I wanted to squirm.

Instead, I gave George's hand a tight squeeze and reached up to brush my fingers down his cheek. Smooth-shaven. George shuddered just a bit at my touch, and turned his face to kiss my hand.

“If I didn't know better, I'd think you were accusing me of bewitching every man I come across,” I teased at last. “Which, of course, is impossible, as I can't do magic.”

George pressed a hand to mine, keeping my hand to his face, and chuckled. “Ah, but you can, luv. You just don't need a wand to do it. Your hands, your eyes, your lips,” he touched each part of me as he named it. “I think you have one of the most potent types of magic I've ever seen.”

As his fingers hovered over my lips, I kissed the soft pads of his fingertips. Smiling, I just shook my head. “Well, if that's the case, then I suppose all the whispers behind my back are semi-correct after all.”

“What whispers?”

I smirked. “The ones that tend to call me a witch of a different nature. Apparently I've been known to cause a bit of a disturbance.”

George grinned, pulling me a little closer to him. He shielded me nicely from the cold wind. His brown eyes searched mine as he spoke. “You really can't help that, you know. I've seen the way eyes are drawn to you whenever you enter the room. I tend to think it's more the fact that everyone wants to be with you.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Or, it could be the fact that I won't shut up and I drive everyone insane. Nobody forgets someone who gets in their head.”

“Speaking of getting inside peoples' heads...”

“Yes?”

George pinned me with a curious look for several moments, as if he were trying to weed out a secret. At last he said, “I know you're a Squib. But you haven't decided to try to be naughty, have you? You haven't been toying around with spells and dreamwork?”

Leaning back to really see his face, I snorted and gave him a look of disbelief. “Um, no. It's fairly pointless for me to attempt spellwork when I have no power, m'dear. You know this. Trust me, if it didn't work when I was six and was trying to transform my teapot into a kitten, then I'm fairly certain nothing would happen now. I certainly haven't tried for years.” I gave him a funny look. “Why? What's this about?”

George shrugged, going for nonchalance. “Nothing terribly important.”

A sly grin touched my lips. “George Weasley. Are you trying to insinuate that I am somehow responsible for appearing in any dreams you may have had?”

He didn't bother to try for innocence. He merely raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “I don't know. Maybe you convinced someone else to do some spells for you. Anyone'd be hard-pressed to resist that silver tongue of yours.”

“What, this one?” I flicked out my tongue teasingly.

George made as if to bite it. “Saucy wench.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. “You know, George, guilt is a wonderful creator of all sorts of dreams. It's funny the way our subconscious tries to muck with us when there's something we want and can't have, or something we have to face one way or another. I think your mind may have been just giving you a good what-for.”

He shrugged, easing me a little closer to himself. I willingly stepped closer until our bodies were nearly touching. “I also think that there's nothing like a woman in the fits of rage to produce an uncanny effect on the blokes in question.”

“What, Fred, too?”

“Can't speak for him all the time, but I can guarantee you a few nights where you've made some rather unpredictable appearances.”

I couldn't help but be intrigued. What on earth had they been dreaming about that had involved me so? It wasn't a surprise that they had certain private dreams about me; they had both told me as much early on. But what could have gone on that made George think I was somehow responsible?

Squeezing his hand, I played with the collar of his coat. “Well,” I said slowly, “maybe I could help figure out the mystery if you told me about the dream.” I met his gaze, quirking a smile at him.

George watched me for a moment, and then laughed. “I'm not so sure that's a good idea. You already wield enough power in those delicate hands; giving you any more is more like throwing an extra Snitch in the game.” He studied me carefully for a few seconds, an impish look on his face.

I shrugged. “Fine, don't tell me. But don't go blaming me for something that I have no idea what you're talking about.”

He seemed to be debating with himself. I just watched him patiently, albeit curiously. After all, his mysterious comments were piquing my interest.

At last, George exhaled, a sort of grimace on his face. “No. If you tell me you haven't been fooling about with that sort of stuff, then I'll believe it. Damned strange things, though.”

“You seem determined to keep me from knowing something. Why is that, George?”

“Let's just say I'm learning to be cautious when it comes to you.”

My eyebrows rose. “And why is that?”

He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me fast against him. I couldn't help but smile and raise my arms to wrap around his neck. “You may not be a witch, but I'm not convinced there's not some siren blood in you.”

Rolling my eyes, I replied, “It's just me, George. Just the way I am. Nothing special.”

“That's a bloody lie.” He leaned in a little closer, pausing before he came too near my lips, hesitating. I saw the conflict in his eyes, the desire there.

I raised myself up on my feet just a little higher so our lips were a mere inch apart. I could smell him so much better: sweet, masculine, an underlying hint of... was that gunpowder? I probably didn't want to know. But I was fascinated by his lips, and had a difficult time drawing my gaze back to his eyes.

“It's all right if you want to kiss me, George,” I breathed.

His eyes darkened a shade, and he slowly leaned in. As his lips touched mine, I felt something shiver deep inside. Soft, molding perfectly to my lips, his nose brushing my cheek. I had nearly forgotten what a divine kisser he really was. My heartbeat certainly hadn't; it began to speed up as our kiss lasted longer and longer.

George pulled me closer, and I pressed my body against his. The kiss intensified, and my heart went wild. I slid my hands up into his hair, relishing in the soft texture. The world around me had already faded into the background, and all I could focus on was his lips, his form, and the delicious way his tongue teased my mouth.

The past month was history. All I knew was that George Weasley was one hell of a kisser.

As we slowly came up for air, I took my time opening my eyes. When I did, I found George gazing at me with a semi-self-satisfied smile, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on me. At the same time, I could see that something had unknotted inside of him. The effect worked both ways.

“Well, then.” He cleared his throat.

“Yes.”

I took a step back to clear the air a bit; we were in public, after all. The cold wind whipped between us, and I instantly regretted the move.

“So. Would you like to go do something?” I asked.

George nodded. “Whatever you like. Oh!” He startled, reaching into his pocket. “Nearly forgot I brought it. Something from our shop.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “That sounds extremely dangerous. Just tell me it's not chocolate.”

Grinning in anticipation, George shook his head. “Nah. Better. Well,” he amended, “the best I can bring out in the Muggle world, anyway.” He pulled out of his pocket a deck of playing cards, and proudly showed them to me.

I stared at it, mystified. “A deck of cards?”

“That's right. And,” he reached into another pocket, and pulled out a black wand. “The wand to go with it.”

It seemed simplistic. “I don't get it.”

“Muggle magic tricks. I've got some great ones down. Almost like real magic.” He waggled his eyebrows.

This time I laughed. There was the real gag: irony.

“Very appropriate, George. Come on, then. Show me your magic tricks.”

“You'd be amazed what I can do with this wand.” He waggled his eyebrows.

I just looked at him, and lost my straight face. “Learned some new tricks?”

George grinned wickedly. “Some that I wager you might even appreciate.”

Excellent.