The Rediscovery of Magic

Frannie had never expected to see a Quidditch match in person. She had heard all about Uncle Augustus who had been a Chaser in the Italian National Team that went to the World Cup in 1869, but considering the Family's position on all things wizarding, she was amazed to be sitting in the stands at a match between the Moosejaw Meteorites and Puddlemere United. Sandwiched between her fake brother Ray and Benton Fraser on one side and a large group of teenage witches and wizards (including Harry Potter) on the other, she took it all in.

The players were zooming around on fancy racing brooms the likes of which she had never seen. Once, when she was a child, maybe three or four years old, she had seen Ma fly on her broom to take her older sister Maria to see a doctor because she had had some kind of seizer. Pop had nearly thrown Ma out of the house for using magic. They had argued for days over that one. Always ending with Pop yelling about Great Aunt Lucia rolling over in her grave.

Beyond the 'Broom Incident' and some unintentional slips of wandless magic that she and her siblings had had growing up, Frannie had never seen magic, at least, not as far as she had known. Recently she had found out that an awful lot of the things she had thought were Muggle, were actually magic, including her friend Fraser.

That is how she had come to be here. She was visiting Ray and Fraser who were currently staying at the Lou Skagnetti School of Shamanism, Witchcraft and Wizardry. Fraser, like her, had been raised without access to a magical education and he had decided to rectify the situation. Secretly, Frannie was considering doing the same thing, even if that meant going against the family.

The match drew her attention back to the present as the Puddlemere United Keeper was hit square in the chest with a bludger and fell a good forty feet to the tundra below. Play stopped as he was taken off to see a mediwitch and the Reserve Keeper took to his broom, flying right past their seats to reach his position at the end of the stadium. Wow! He's a looker. She was so busy watching him, she missed whatever the boy who sat next to her was saying. The commentator announced the new player's name as Oliver Wood and Frannie was sure it was a name she wanted to remember. . . .

At the close of the match, during which Frannie had not stopped watching Oliver, she was surprised to see him flying right up to the box in which they were seated. He hovered across from them looking at the kids beside her smiling genuinely, like they were friends, not just fans.

"All right Harry? Ron? Ladies?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as he addressed Ginny and Hermione. They all answered at the same time at varying decibels. "Tough luck getting seats right next to Malfoy huh?"

"Actually, he's sort of with us. It's a long story, and not a very interesting one," said the boy next to her, who she now remembered was named Ron.

"Shut it Weasley!" threatened Malfoy, sending a venomous look his way.

"And is this lovely creature with you as well?" Oliver inquired looking at Malfoy's Muggle girlfriend.

"She's with me," Draco snapped possessively, clutching Christina's hand. Christina just rolled her eyes and pffted, blowing a breath out through puckered lips, causing all of them to laugh.

"Oh, and this is Francesca Vecchio, Ray Kowalski and Benton Fraser. They're with us too," Harry added. Oliver's face fell as he looked at her.

"Vecchio? I thought you had all left, gone to live the simpler Muggle life," he said solemnly.

"Well, yea, we did, but um, some of us are considering coming back," Frannie stuttered, having been unprepared for both his change in demeanor and the clarity of his eyes.

"Then, welcome back. I hope this means that history is history," he said cryptically before moving down slightly and greeting Fraser and Ray. She missed whatever he had said to them while puzzling out that thing about history. "Well, in honor of the Puddlemere victory, as well as seeing my old friends and meeting some new ones, I'd like to invite you all down the pub for a pint on me. Yes, even you Malfoy. If a Weasley can vouch for a Malfoy, who am I to argue?" he laughed. He flew off to change and they joined the crowds that were making their way out of the stadium.

Half an hour later, Frannie and the kids made their way to the pub (Fraser and Ray having begged off claiming to have an early morning). It was more like a restaurant that just happened to served beer than a bar. It was also peopled with an assortment of odd looking people and some who Frannie was sure weren't exactly people. She was just getting used to the noise when Oliver spotted them and sauntered over greeting them jovially.

"Well, if it isn't the Gryffindor contingent, and you too Malfoy? Christina, lovely to see you again," he oozed, tugging her hand up to his lips while simultaneously smirking at Malfoy. Turning to Frannie, "Miss Vecchio," he nodded. "So, the first round's on me as long as you promise to catch me up on all the juicy Hogwart's gossip." He led the way to a large table in the back and they all sardined in.

The Butterbeer and conversation flowed swiftly. There were a lot of jokes Frannie didn't get, either from not having been at school with them or from her general ignorance of all things magic. Still, it was an enjoyable few hours. Eventually, the students started getting up to return to the school. They did not have classes now, but as they were under the care of Headmaster Tiberius Pinsent, they still had a curfew.

"You don't have a curfew, now do you Miss Vecchio?" Oliver surprised her by asking.

"No, but I, don't have my own broom, I, er, Ginny's my ride back."

"I could see you back, if you would like to stay a while longer," he stated. Although he did not seem to be hitting on her, there was an urgency to the request that Frannie didn't seem to be able to refuse.

"Oh, I . . . sure, that sounds nice, thank you." She could hear Draco sniggering behind her. He must have made a rude comment as Christina could be heard reprimanding him as they walked out. Having stood up to let the others out, she resumed her seat, across the table from Oliver, smiling nervously at him.

He leaned far forward and whispered, "I reckon, we better find a more private spot for this particular conversation, love." He stood and extended his hand to her to help her to her feet. Keeping her hand, he led her out in a different direction from where they had come in and Frannie realized that there must be a hotel attached to the pub. That meant that he was leading her to his hotel room. She stopped, pulling her hand from his, anger taking over.

"Look, fella, I don't know how things go here in the Magical Kingdom, but in the rest of the world, you'd at least have to buy me dinner, hair bottle.'

"Pardon?"

"Oh no! Don't play all innocent on me. I've seen innocent done by the master, and if I can see through Fraser's straight man act, I can see where your headed, you . . . you junior Bossinova you!" As she said this, she poked him in the chest with her index finger to make her point.

Shaking with laughter, he responded, "Sorry, I think, you've lost me. Bossinova?"

"Don't you laugh at me you Don Juan Valdez! You . . . you, uh!" She gave up and stormed off back through the pub in hopes of catching one of the Gryffindors even though they must be long gone now. He followed her, both of them reaching the front door at the same time. He opened it for her with an exaggerated flourish and she scowled at him, stalking outside.

She looked around the walk in front, seeing it utterly empty. She could feel him standing behind her, not laughing, but still amused. She wheeled around to confront him, but caught her foot on a stone and went down like a sack of potatoes, or she would have, had he not caught her and pulled her up again. Now they were standing in the dark, clinging to each other, both breathing rather harder than the situation warranted.

He bent his head down and looked her in the eye, the somber tone from earlier returning to his voice. "I'm afraid you must have misunderstood. I was merely trying to provide a quiet place to talk. I wasn't trying to pull you. I would never have made such an assumption, considering history."

"There you go again. What history?"

"You mean you don't know? I'm a Wood you're a Vecchio," he asked incredulous.

"And?" she replied.

"You really don't know?" he repeated. She gave him a clueless look. "Hell's bells, woman! You can't seriously tell me you don't know about Hamish Wood and Lucia Vecchio?"

Her hand flew to her mouth, "Oh, God, you're a Wood Wood! Huh . . . wow!"

"Aye, wow indeed!"

***

Oliver had finally convinced her that they ought to talk privately by dragging her into the middle of the pub and starting their discussion again, quite loudly, in front of everyone. She had been about to walk out on him again until she realized he was apologizing. Slapping her hand over his mouth she exclaimed, "All right, you win, just be quiet okay!"

On reaching his room Oliver had, again, started apologizing for a wrong committed by one of his ancestors, Hamish Wood, against her Great Aunt Lucia.

"Hold it! Wait, you are not your great, great, great, however many greats there are, grandfather anymore than I am my great, great, great, however many greats there are, Aunt. You don't need to say sorry for being born, jeeze!"

"Oh, well, thanks. . . ."

"I mean it. As far as I'm concerned, there is no blood feud. So, let's start over, okay?"

"All right."

Two hours later, over several more pints Frannie, sat on Oliver's bed trying to resist the urge to squirt Butterbeer out of her nose as she giggled at another of Oliver's dirty jokes. Finally regaining the use of her lungs, she asked, "A hag, a troll and how many sugar quills?"

"Thirteen, one for each hand, of course," he answered nonchalantly, leaning across her to grasp the empty bottle in her hand and clean up. Distracted by the gentle warmth of his breath on her cheek, she couldn't hold a gasp. Not moving from his somewhat intimate position, he turned his head to look at her, concern manifest in his expression.

Swallowing another gasp, she leaned through the gap and joined their mouths. With a growl, Oliver drove himself over her, plastering her down on the mattress and fitting himself over her body far more delicately than his growl would have made her expect. Intensifying the kiss and running his hand down her sides to play with the hem of her blouse, Oliver seemed to be settling in for an extended make-out session.

He was strong, gentle and athletic. Not only that, he was what she had always wanted- a wizard. The recent revelation that Fraser, the man she had been so sure she had been in love with, was a wizard, had made her realize that that had been the thing that attracted her to him the most. She needed the magic, like she needed to breathe. Remembering this, Frannie was suddenly completely unsure of her reasons for being in such an intimate place with Oliver. Oh God, he was a child! She had to be almost twice his age and they had nothing in common, unless you counted the blood feud. The blood feud- how would she ever face Ma if she had sex with a Wood. She could not do this!

With a strength she never expected to have, she pushed him away. "Stop, please, Oliver stop." He pulled away suddenly, as if he had jus awoken.

"What's the matter? I wasn't hurting you, was I?" he panted.

"Um, no . . . you were great, you were fine. It's me, I can't do this. I'm sorry," she explained, rolling off the bed and pulling at her blouse to straighten it. "I don't know what got into me, I. . . ."

"Well it certainly wasn't me," he mumbled sardonically.

"Excuse me?" she asked in an indignant tone, crossing her arms and waiting for his reply. Dropping his head to his chest with a little grunt, he peered through lash veiled eyes at her.

"I'm just, a little disappointed," he stated quietly.

"Oh, right, sorry." It was almost a whisper. Why was she feeling guilty for not having sex with him?

"Don't apologize, we are making too much of a habit of it. If it didn't feel right, it didn't feel right; no excuses necessary," he smiled softly. Her heart turned to complete mush. She was realizing that although he talks a good game, he is kinda' young. Maybe he was too young to be expected to handle this situation without voicing his disappointment. Of course, age and maturity don't always go hand in hand. He ex-husband, the pig, had been awfully whiny is similar situations and he had been ten years her senior.

He was still kneeling on the bed; awkwardly hiding the fact that he was still aroused by keeping his folded his hands in front of himself. She warmed to him again, realizing he was doing that to try to spare her discomfort. He really was sweet; trying to apologize for his great, great, great, whatever's behavior three hundred years ago, spending the evening getting to know her with no intention of making any kind of move on her, letting her give him blue balls because she was not sure of her own reasons for being attracted to him.

"Oh God, I'm am idiot!" she gasped as she rushed the bed and pulled him back down on top of her. "Forgive me for freaking out? Please."

"Uh . . . of course," he mumbled, quite startled to be back where he wanted to be.

"I know, I'm kinda' running hot and cold here, but, don't worry, I'm sure this time. So, kiss me," she commanded, tilting her head back to offer her neck, "right here."

"If you're sure?" he asked mockingly.

"I'm sure, oh boy, am I sure!"