at the old ceiling would do her no good, Margaret studied the room from her position on the bed, fidgeting with her hands to ease the overwhelming sensation that came with her powers surfacing to find a release.

She tried to use two to three minutes to sit up, close her eyes and meditate, just focusing on her breathing and reassuring herself that no matter where she was, she will be fine.

When she finally felt like her powers weren't going to explode outwards from her very being, she got back up on her feet, unwilling staring at the spot where the Weasley twins had apparated.

Margaret herself wasn't too unfamiliar with the concept of apparating, or what she liked to call it, teleportation; something that she was learning to do. Her powers, or at least the ones she was aware of, were the three tele's: telekinesis, telepathy, and teleportation.

She sighed deeply to herself, spotting the glass of water on the other bedside table.

A few tentative steps later, the electricity shooting down her spine eased with movement and she picked up the glass, hesitating only for a second before emptying it. Besides the glass, she found her silver necklace with the emerald locket intact in the centre of it and she quickly slipped it on with a breath of relief.

She couldn't lose it, no matter where she was.

Margaret spent the next few minutes looking around the room, not touching anything as the other two poster beds seemed to be occupied by two girls. If Margaret was judging from the many scrunchies and empty unfamiliar candy packets on one of the beds, and books and neatly folded clothes on the other; they belonged to Ginny and Hermione respectively.

Margaret turned her head, almost forgetting about the sting on her neck. It reminds her of its presence by sending painful waves down her shoulder. Margaret flinched.

Walking up to the small mirror on the sidewall, she moved her hair back to examine her injury. She gasped when she caught sight of it.

The skin just below her ear and next to her hairline was red and raw with a scratch about two inches long, running through the middle. That wasn't what surprised Margaret. It was the shape of the scar.

Lightning.

A single zig-zag of red, so small but oh so very painful.

What scared her was the fact that she had no idea how she got it. She had absolutely no idea where these people had found her because if she really was where they claimed she was, it was a long way from that blasted town in Canada.

If she was perfectly sane, which she doubts she was at this point, then she'd find a way to get out of here. She knew she couldn't stay here for long, not in this room at least.

So, she moved her medium-length hair over her left shoulder, running her hand through it to make it look more presentable; all while ignoring the sting the scratch caused. She quickly made her decision before she could convince herself otherwise.

She found her trainers on the side of the bed and slipped them on expertly.

Then with extreme caution, she pulled the door open; only half surprised to find it unlocked and when no alarms or red lights went off.

Stepping out slowly, she looked around the floor she was on. When she found no visible cameras on the ceiling or on the mouldy decorations around, she sighed.

Then without further ado, she used small energy blasts to levitate herself down the stairs, uncertain if her jelly legs would hold her up. She descended past many doors that she does not try to open and pairs of long, moth-eaten curtains that seemed as if they were alive with their constant buzzing. Margaret steered clear of them, not wanting to encounter any angry doxies.

Soon enough, she couldn't help but feel as if she was twelve again and she and her family were walking through Horror Night House on Halloween.

Only this time, her father wasn't holding her and her mother's shoulder protectively and her brother wasn't about to crush her hand in his death grip. She quickly shut off her thoughts about them, swallowing thickly and proceeding down the creaky stairs, now on her feet.

The large staircases were dark as ever and even though she had read about them, Margaret barely manages to hold in her yelp of surprise when she spots the row of shrunken house-elf heads mounted on the wall. She stumbled back slightly, startled.

They looked so real to her, making her nearly reach up to touch one before she scrunched up her face in disgust and hurried off.

She did come across another pair of long moth-eaten curtains, behind which she could hear soft snores. But she was not in the mood to risk her eardrums, so she breezed past that as well.

Once downstairs, the telekinetic girl followed Mrs Weasley's directions to the kitchen. The wooden floor creaked underneath her trainers and the high ceiling loomed over her gloomily as ever, but her curious eyes continued to drink in all the intricate details of the architecture and the furniture.

Margaret did not miss the occasional buzz her powers gave under her skin that did not feel destructive for once and she wondered if she had really found people who were somewhat as odd as her.

However, that thought vanished as soon as she entered the kitchen and Mrs Weasley shrieked loudly.

"Fred - George - NO JUST CARRY THEM!"

The people sat on the long table looked in the direction of the noise and a split second later, dived away from their chairs. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with the knife, to hurl through the air towards them.

As the stew skidded the length of the table with a loud screech, Margaret's hands reach forward on their own accord and dark-scarlet wisps escaped from around her fingers.

The cauldron, breadboard, the knife, the iron flagon and for some reason even the butterbeer that had spilt from it, paused in midair as if the time had slowed down, all surrounded by a glowing scarlet aura.

A moment later, as Margaret turned her hands outwards in a downward direction slowly, the butterbeer went back into the jug and the utensils sat themselves down straight on the middle of the table. When she was sure that nothing would topple over again, she let her reign on her powers lose and the red aura disappeared.

"Uh..." an open-mouthed Nymphadora Tonks begins unsurely, glancing at her equally startled companions and then at the new occupant of the room.

Margeret started fidgetting with her fingers to avoid everyone's gazes, seemingly having found her shoes to be intensely interesting to look at.

"M-Margaret! I knew you'd come," says Mrs Weasley with a slight stutter. "Sit down, dear. Dinner's almost ready." Then she turned to the twins with the look of a mother dragon. "You two, just because you are of age does not mean you are allowed to use magic for every tiny little thing! Your brothers were never this troublesome!"

As the twins started apologising and arguing that they were just trying to save a bit of time, Remus approached Margaret with a sympathetic look.

"Sorry about that. They like to cause some trouble. Thanks for uh..."

"Yeah, no problem," the other-worldly girl mutters quickly, keen to avoid the awkwardness.

As Lupin motioned for her to take a seat beside Ginny, Margaret wondered how and why did her powers show up in the way they did. Sure, she had trained herself to use them but the most she had done was clean her room or make objects around her float for fun.

She didn't even know she could control liquids like that...

"Blimey!" Ron exclaims. "That was so bloody cool!"

"You shouldn't perform underage magic, Margaret," warns Hermione. She seemed genuinely concerned as her eyes unwillingly flickered to Harry, but her features held a hint of fascination when she looked back at Margaret.

"That wasn't- I didn't-"

"Nevertheless, you saved us a lot of work," Ginny interrupts. "Anyway, I'm glad you decided to come. You are going to love mum's cooking, it's impossible not to."

"I saw some scrunchies, I hope you don't mind me borrowing them," says Margaret, desperate to hold on to the normal conversation. She felt extremely stupid and embarrassed to have used her powers in front of a large audience, not to mention, strangers.

So much for keeping her powers a secret...

"Take as many as you want! Oh, I love your hair," squeals the youngest Weasley, reaching up to touch Margaret's straight dark hair. "Can I braid it later? Hermione never lets me braid her hair."

"That's because my hair is unmanageable, Ginny," the bushy-haired witch rolls her eyes.

The food levitated over to them just then and Ginny took it upon herself to help a large serving of everything onto Margaret's plate, and she had to stop the overexcited girl from overflowing the plate any further. From Ginny's mischievous smile, Margaret vowed to never let her serve anything ever again.

Any doubts that Margaret had on their identities started to fade entirely when Tonks began changing her nose between mouthfuls; screwing up her eyes each time, her nose swelling to a beaklike protuberance, shrinking into something resembling a button mushroom, and then sprouting a great deal of hair from each nostril.

Apparently this was a regular mealtime entertainment because after a while Hermione and Ginny started requesting their favourite noses and Margaret couldn't help but chuckle at some too, especially when Tonks obliged the request for a pig-like snout and Harry looked like he had seen something extremely disturbing.

Meanwhile, Mr Weasley, Remus and Bill were having an intense conversation about goblins.

"I think it depends on how much gold they are offered," says Bill.

"No, they won't bargain for gold this time. I'm talking about the freedom we've denied them for centuries," says Lupin, shaking his head.

"I don't think they'd join You-Know-Who. They've suffered loses-"

Loud laughter from the centre of the table drowned out the rest of Mr Weasley's words as Mundungus Fletcher narrated a story in that weird accent of his.

Margaret couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the man, putting down her spoon in the empty custard bowl. Her mind racked through information, connecting dots on the timeline and she glanced at Mad-Eye Moody across the table.

Moody being as alert as he was, met Margaret's eyes a split second later, his normal eye narrowing as his artificial one seemed to be stuck glaring at the ceiling. Nevertheless, Margaret avoided his gaze after a moment.

She didn't understand why she was brought here.

Millions of people in her world had read the books, many who were much more capable than her and with much less baggage. She did not know what her mission here would be. If it was helping out in the war, then she hoped that she could save the people who did not deserve the untimely deaths they got.

This time, her eyes found the twins.

She doesn't know which one of them was Fred but her gut told her it was the louder one, the one who seemed to be enthusiastically telling something to Mundungus while George nodded along before taking over the story but less animatedly, looking like he was explaining the details.

She gazed at Fred longer, a blank look covering the anxiety she was starting to feel.

However, she didn't want anyone to catch her looking. So, she resumed staring at her empty plate instead, no longer looking up. Margaret nearly zoned out, but her reverie was soon broken when a row broke out between Mrs Weasley and Sirius.

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" says Mrs Weasley. "He's only fifteen and-"

"-and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," interrupts Sirius, "and more than some-"

"No one's denying what he's done!" Mrs Weasley says, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still-"

"He's not a child!" Sirius says impatiently.

"He's not an adult either!" Mrs Weasley exclaims, the colour rising in her cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear of who he is, thanks, Molly," Sirius mutters coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" Mrs Weasley argues pointedly. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" Harry interrupts.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" says Mrs Weasley, a finality in her tone with her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Are you implying I'm not a responsible godfather?" grits Sirius.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, Sirius! Which is why Dumbledore-"

"Don't bring Dumbledore's orders for me into this!" Sirius states loudly.

"Personally," Lupin interjects softly. "I think Harry should get at least the idea of what is going on generally from us rather than an unclear version from... others."

"Dumbledore might've had his reasons to not let Harry know everything," Mrs Weasley begins. "And speaking as someone who has got only his best interests at heart-"

"He's not your son," says Sirius quietly.

"He's as good as one! Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," says Mrs Weasley. "But it's been rather difficult to look after him from Azkaban, isn't it?"

Margaret cringed to herself, shutting her eyes close hopelessly. She never imagined witnessing this in person and for the first time that evening, she felt as though no one else at the table did either.

As Sirius started to rise from his chair, his face overshadowed by pure rage and something else that seems like pain; Lupin put a hand on his friend's arm.

"You're not the only one at this table who cares for him, Molly," Remus says sharply. "Sirius, sit down. I think Harry himself should have some say in this, he's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's going on," Harry says quickly, looking down at the table and Margaret gives him a sympathetic look. Somehow in midst of this, everyone seemed to have forgotten of her existence and Margaret was selfishly glad for that.

"Very well," says Mrs Weasley, her voice cracking. "Very well. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George - I want you out of this kitchen, now."

There was an instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellow together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"Mum, I want to!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouts Mrs Weasley, standing up. "I absolutely forbid-"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," Mr Weasley tells her wearily. "They are of age-"

"They're still at school-"

"But they're legally adults now," says Mr Weasley in the same tired voice.

Mrs Weasley was now red in the face. "I- oh, alright then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron-"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" Ron says hotly, meeting his friend's eyes unsurely.

"Of course, I will," Harry confirms after a second's hesitation, causing the two-thirds of the Golden Trio to beam brightly.

"Fine!" bellows Mrs Weasley, now entirely red in the face. "Fine! Ginny- BED!"

As Ginny once again started protesting, Margaret took that as her cue to finally say something.

"I'll come with you," says she, causing everyone's heads to snap at her. Margaret didn't need to hear their thoughts to know that they had, indeed, forgotten about her presence.

"Margaret but-"

"You can braid my hair? Like you wanted to?" she interjects, getting to her feet and scaling across the room towards the angry looking young Weasley who had moved to play with Crookshanks a while ago. Lowering her voice, she continues, "Your siblings will tell you everything anyway."

Fred and George were the only ones close to the two girls and nodded their heads simultaneously. Fred winked at Margaret and George shot his sister two thumbs up.

"Promise?" Ginny asks in a low tone.

"We promise," they whisper back in unison, causing her to nod once.

"Come on, Crookshanks. Margaret? Follow me," says Ginny before leaving the room, the half-kneezle following her out.

Margaret turned around once again, her eyes finding a confused but still furious looking Mrs Weasley.

"Thank you for dinner. Good night everyone."

The door shutting behind her drowned out the chorus of 'good night's and Margaret followed Ginny's humming up the stairs while massaging her temples lightly.

It had only been an hour or so since she became conscious of her surroundings and she already felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.

What have the forces of nature gotten her into?

book scene!

Margaret's in a sticky situation...

I really want to know; how would you react if you were unexpectedly, mysteriously, thrown into your favourite fictional world? Would you believe every one of who they claim to be? Or would you try to run away?

Let me know!

I hope you're enjoying reading about Margaret! Her adventures are yet to begin. Just trying to clear out the air a little bit before diving headfirst into Hogwarts and Horcruxes ;)

Love, A.