on the half-open wooden door.

"Margaret!" Hermione whispers sharply, beckoning her over.

She was already clad in jeans and a full-sleeved jumper even though it was nearly four in the morning. Her hair was dampened as though she had just taken a shower, and her luggage ready by her bed on which she sat; her wand lighting up the letter she was writing speedily.

Out of the other three beds in the dorm room, one was empty and the other two had their curtains drawn around them. Once they were both sat on Hermione's bed, Margaret draws her wand, casting "Muffliato" at the other two occupants of the room, Lavender and Parvati.

"What's that spell?" asks Hermione, briefly breaking out of her worried state.

"Kind of a muffling charm."

"I've never heard of it before..." Hermione says slowly, looking suspiciously at her dorm mates' beds.

"Does it matter right now?" Margaret asks impatiently. She was still bitter about the comment Fred had made even though she told herself to not let his words get to her.

"Right," says Hermione, fixating her anxious gaze on Margaret. "I know something's happened to Mr Weasley. I heard McGonagall come in and say something to Ginny urgently before escorting her away. And I couldn't sleep after that... What's happened?"

"Mr Weasley was attacked by a giant snake while on one of his works of the Order," Margaret says, sighing. No matter how many times she said it, it still made her feel immensely guilty. Hermione gasped, dropping her quill to cover her mouth with her hands. Margaret continues, "Ginny, Ron, Fred and George have been sent to Sirius's place along with Harry."

"Wait – Harry?"

"Yeah, he kind of had a vision while he was asleep," she briefs. "He's the one who raised the alarm..."

"He told Ron and McGonagall?"

"And Dumbledore too, yes."

Hermione stayed silent for a few seconds, biting her lip in thought. When she looked up again, she seemed to be thinking very carefully of what she was about to say, "I thought... maybe you'd have... I dunno-"

"Raised alarm? Warned them?" Margaret offers flatly before looking out of the closed glass window on the side and shaking her head. "There are some things out of my control... some things that, if I change them, no matter how horrible, could set off something much worse. I'd rather not find out how much worse..."

Hermione stared at her friend for a few moments as though she saw something beyond. Then she gave a single nod which was enough to tell Margaret that she understood as far as she could without knowing the future itself.

"I'm writing to my parents to let them know that I'd be staying with the Weasleys. I'm not a big fan of skiing anyways," she tells her, changing the topic and looking down at the letter that she proceeds to sign and fold up. "I'm guessing you – er – teleported?"

"Yes. Although you'll have to take the Knight Bus to London; I haven't yet tried side-along teleportation," Margaret says.

"I figured as much," Hermione says, sighing. "Are Harry and Ron okay?"

"They're really worried, and since Harry saw it happen, he's probably going to blame himself."

"Are... you okay?"

Margaret looks back at her, her brows furrowed. Then she gives Hermione a small smile.

"I will be."

Margaret was in no rush to endure the accusatory looks she was sure she would get until Mr Weasley was deemed stable. So, she went with Hermione to the owlery to post the letter to her parents using Hedwig, partly because no other owl looked ready to fly in the snow, and telling her to return to Grimmauld Place after so that Harry could look after her. Hedwig hooted happily before taking off into the chilly night.

When Margaret reappeared back in the gloomy dining room, she ended up crashing theatrically into the ancient piano, which made dramatic, out-of-melody sounds to announce her arrival. Cursing under her breath she looked around at the room's occupants who had been shocked out of their half-dozen states.

Before she could apologise, the door opened and Mrs Weasley walked into the kitchen. She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her she gave them a worn smile.

"He's going to be all right," she tells them, her voice weak with tiredness. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now..."

Fred fell back into his chair, his hands covering his face and his shoulders dropping in relief. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother, and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his butterbeer in one go.

"Breakfast!" Sirius announces joyfully, jumping to his feet. "Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!"

But Kreacher did not answer the summons; what little smile had lifted on Margaret's lips, vanished.

"Oh, forget it, then," mutters Sirius, counting the people in front of him. "So it's breakfast for, let's see, eight... Bacon and eggs, and some tea, and toast."

Margaret quickly followed Harry, who had hurried over to the counter to help, and went into the pantry to take out some pancake mixes and a bag of chocolate chips. Sirius seemed to have up his storage of chocolates. When she returned, however, she saw that Harry had barely taken the plates from the cupboards when Mrs Weasley lifted them out of his hands and pulled him into a hug.

Margaret turned away as Mrs Weasley released Harry to turn to Sirius and thank him for looking after her children through the night. Sirius said that he was very pleased to have been able to help, and hoped they would all stay with him as long as Mr Weasley was in the hospital.

"The more the merrier!" says Sirius with such obvious sincerity that Mrs Weasley beamed at him, threw on an apron, and began to help with breakfast.

Margaret had a sinking feeling that the woman was avoiding her for the time being, but she frankly didn't have the words, or the strength, to look Mrs Weasley in the eyes. So she continued mixing the pancake mix in a bowl, turning away from the counter to work on the table instead when Harry pulled Sirius into the pantry to speak to him.

"Margie," calls the familiar voice of Ginny. The Weasleys all sat down on the table again, lighting up more candles to drive away the gloom. All of them looked much more relaxed than they did a few moments ago. She gives her a weary smile, "We're sorry."

"Yeah we should've kept our calm," George adds sheepishly as he rests his elbows on the table.

Margaret waves her hand dismissively, giving them a genuine half-grin, "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I understand completely. If anything, I should be the one sorry... If there was anything I could've done, I swear on my life I would have."

The four of them smiled at her but said nothing. She had said the words on her part, and they on theirs.

"So, Hermione knows?" Ron wonders aloud.

"Yeah, she'll be arriving once holidays officially start, which is today and tomorrow," Margaret replies, watching with slight amusement as his eyes widened.

"She's coming here? What about the skeeving trip with her parents?"

"Skiing," she corrects. "And she wrote to inform them of the situation. She'll take the Knight Bus to get here."

"Oh, can you imagine Umbridge's face when she sees that Harry's gone?" Ginny pipes up.

"Prolly throw a fit," says Fred, smirking slightly and leaning back in his chair. "Wonder what Dumbledore'd tell her..."

"She'll notice all Weasley siblings gone too," Margaret adds, her focus on the mix so that she wouldn't end up making the consistency too thin. Adding the chocolate chips, she says, "I can't say she'll be too happy."

"Speaking of siblings," says Ginny, perking up with a sudden thought, "Hermione told me you had a twin?"

Margaret froze.

"A twin?" Fred perks up, exchanging a surprised glance with George before looking at her. "Is that true?"

"You never told us you had a twin, Margie," George adds, eyebrows raised. "Is she cute?"

"He," Margaret says but her voice gets stuck in her throat so she clears it uncomfortably before repeating, "He."

Mrs Weasley glanced over her shoulder, slowing down in her action of making scrambled eggs.

"Ah, is he cute?" Ginny asks this time, as George's shoulders slump in disappointment. Fred chuckles; patting him on the back.

Ron, on the other hand, scrunches up his nose, "Can we not? You're my sister, that's her brother... And weren't you dating that Michael already?"

"Merlin! I'm just asking, Ronald," Ginny shoots back before turning to Margaret again, "So? Is he cute?"

Margaret lifted her head but did not look at any of them directly, her eyes moving from one spot in the room to another. She gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Yeah, I suppose he was..."

"He... was?" Ginny asks slowly, before gasping. "He'd be in your world... Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Margaret's lips lifted in a small smile but she did not look at Ginny, staring at the side absently.

A beat of silence passed. And she suddenly felt all right with them knowing. She did not know where the sudden trust had come from, or if it had always been there. Either way, she was not going to lie and feel even guiltier when she didn't have to.

"No, he isn't," she says shakily; taking a deep breath before continuing, "Markus... passed away when we were fifteen."

The spatula fell out of Mrs Weasley's grip and crashed to the floor, the sound ringing in the silence. It snapped Margaret out of her thoughts and she tensed.

"That wasn't probably what you were expecting," she says hurriedly, her voice cracking, "this is such bad timing... I didn't- well, don't worry about this – about me, it's not, er, not such a..." she trails off.

It's not what? Not such a big deal?

Clearing her throat again, she turned her back towards them, levitating the pancake mix to the counter. "Anyone fancy a pancake?"

Fortunately, Sirius and Harry appeared out of the panty at the precise moment.

"Oh I want pancakes," says Sirius, smiling at her. "Need some help?"

"Yeah; could you grab a plate, please?" she asks before he could notice the looks on the Weasleys' faces; that Harry seemed to have noticed already as he frowned at them.

Mrs Weasley's lip was quivering, the morning too stressful for the mother; Ginny was frowning deeply whilst Ron was pretending to be intensely interested in the wood of the table Fred and George had both lost some colour in their faces, and they exchanged a look that only they understood.

For now, Margaret could ignore her past, their futures and the terrible present, and focus on cooking instead. Just a little comfort for the time being.

of the morning, even Margaret, who fell asleep within moments of getting into bed in the room she shared with Ginny and Hermione over the summer. Their trunks arrived from Hogwarts while they were asleep.

Margaret was the first out of bed, having taken a shower and gotten dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of jeans and boots, and a cream trench coat and a grey beanie to top it all off. She met with Tonks and Mad-Eye who had arrived for lunch and for escorting them all across London to St Mungo's.

"Wotcher, Margie," Tonks greets, her short hair bright pink again as she envelops Margaret in a hug which the girl returns joyously. "How've you been?"

"I've been all right," she responds, smiling. "How's being in the Order treating you?"

"Ah, it's been tough getting work, but a lot o' fun when I do," Tonks tells her as they walk into the kitchen. "I've been allowed to help out here and there, y' know how it is" – she morphs her face to look a bit like Mad-Eye's, making her voice go all deep – "You're still young, Nymphadora! It's a perilous task, Nymphadora!"

She morphed her face back to normal as they sat down at the table and Margaret suppressed her chuckles when Mad-Eye appeared out of the door. He was wearing a ball-hat at an angle to cover his magical eye, looking exceptionally hilarious.

"Back at the impressions, are we?" asks he in his rough voice.

Tonks looks over her shoulder with a mischievous grin, "Who said I ever stopped?"

"Be ready in fifteen after lunch," says Mad-Eye, his gruesome expression forever down-turned. "The quicker we leave the better."

Margaret turns back to Tonks as Moody leaves the room, "Hey, I was wondering if you'd be free anytime this week to go Christmas shopping with me. I don't think anyone'd let me go alone."

"I'm free later tomorrow if you want to go," Tonk replies thoughtfully. "Do you want to go to Diagon Alley?"

"I was thinking of Muggle London, actually," Margaret says, smiling. "I grew up as a Muggle, my parents were both Muggles. Wanna stay true to the essence, y' know?"

Tonks smiles, "You know what? That's an excellent idea. There're some Muggle things that put even magic to shame. Brilliant, Muggles are..." The nodding, she adds, "Heck yeah, I'll go with you."

"Let's go later tomorrow, then," Margaret agrees.

"Alrighty, I'll come pick you up."

Margaret gave a smile in response as the door opened again and Mrs Weasley entered the kitchen. She took a glance at the two before telling Tonks that Sirius was asking for her. Tonks departed the room at this, leaving Margaret alone with Mrs Weasley who walked briskly to the counter and enchanted cutting boards and knives to start working.

The atmosphere of the gloomy kitchen seemed to turn awkward as neither of the two occupants said anything.

"Margaret, dear?" calls Mrs Weasley suddenly.

The piano keys made a distressed sound as Margaret's hand slipped from the lid. She adjusted it on top of the certainly broken keys before looking up anxiously.

"Yes?"

Mrs Weasley sighed, turning around to face the girl with a tired but earnest smile. "I wanted to let you know that none of us blames you for anything."

Margaret took a deep breath, feeling the repressed guilt rising up again as she looked down at her feet.

"We all know that often something... bad... prevents something much worse," Mrs Weasley continues gently, her voice laced with exhaustion. "Arthur will be all right, and I'm sure you knew that too. That's all that matters."

Margaret had a feeling that Mrs Weasley's words had something to do with her confession about her brother. She almost heard the underlying meaning – she would not let something much worse happen when she knew what it felt like to lose someone to death.

Although at the moment, it did not matter. Margaret was just glad that Mrs Weasley seemed to understand. So she put on an apron and silently began helping in preparing the quick lunch, pretending that she had not seen the smile on Mrs Weasley's face.

The rest of them got ready after having lunch while Margaret made her Christmas list for gifts she wanted to buy for her new family. She pocketed it as they left.

Once out in the open, Margaret felt like her inner traveller was going to burst out and start dancing in circles. She had always wanted to visit London – honestly, who didn't? Granted, she did not imagine being dropped into the London of '95, but if possible, it was even better.

There was not much she saw but she did fall behind to buy a map of the city on the way to the underground station, much to Mad-Eye's chagrin ("Don't fall behind, Xenakis!") and did nearly lose them all when she got distracted by the street performers before Tonks pulled her away.

She was a bother to travel with if anything, but her excitement was justified. Everyone seemed riotously happy to be outside. The Weasley twins seemed to be itching to tease her but each time she made eye contact with either Fred or George, they looked like they didn't know what to say. Finally, she stopped checking out the English street style of mid-nineties and slid into the seat next to them on the rattling underground train.

"Those shoes look highly uncomfortable," Margaret says, gesturing at the platform shoes of a girl who stood a few feet away.

"Muggles," George comments from her right. "Never understand them."

"She's kind of early to the trend," she chuckles.

"Still don't understand them," says Fred. "What do you mean trend?"

Out of them all, she and Harry looked the most 'Muggle' and fit right in. While Ginny had managed to come a close second, in her thick winter coat, jeans and shoes; Fred and George were wearing thin, not fit for winter jumpers that were opposite – Fred's said G on it and George's said F, which had confused Margaret until she noticed their barely noticeable physical differences. Mrs Weasley was in dress robes, Tonks's pink hair made her stand out and Moody's hat had prompted several odd looks from the passers-by.

"Every decade has had – or will have, I suppose, some kind of a trend," Margaret explains. "This decade had many trends... Rachel's cut was one of them, I think. Platform shoes were another. And many more, depending on who's or what's famous, and what they do or wear."

Fred, who was sat on George's other side, had leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees to look at her the same way his twin was staring at her – utterly confused.

"Trench coats," Margaret says, smiling amusedly at the two, "will forever be trendy in London."

"Did you," Fred pauses to look around, making sure nobody was listening, "Did you put a spell on it to stay warm?"

Margaret glanced down at the semi-thick coat, realising that she was not cold at all despite the fact that it was snowing heavily outside. She shook her head.

"Oh no, I'm used to winters," she tells them, her eyes twinkling. "I grew up in Westmount, Quebec. We had absolutely chilling winters."

"Never heard of Westmount," says Fred, smiling at her enthusiasm. "What was it like?"

"Cold," she answers simply, grinning when the two of them chuckle. "But I loved it. It was great; especially when it came to ice-skating and ice-hockey."

"You played ice-hockey?" George questions curiously.

"Duh, I'm a Canadian," she says, grinning like it was an inside joke only she understood. "I was more into skating though; it was my favourite thing to do growing up. My brother, though, was obsessed-"

Margaret broke off abruptly and the atmosphere around them shifted. She tensed in her seat, cursing herself in her head for bringing up the one topic she swore to avoid in front of them. The train rattled on and the chatter of people around them went on, but the twins had looked away and their smiles had dropped.

Fred and George exchanged a determined look before opening their mouths to say something; although at the same moment, Moody swept up to them.

"Our station is next, get up."

Soon they were all following Tonks up the escalator and Margaret had a hard time keeping her cool. She turned around to look up as the exited the main building; on a blue and red sign on the side, the station's name read in white – Leister Square.

"Holy mother of chickens," she gives a breathless laugh, her breath turning into fog in the wintry air.

"That's a new one," says Ginny, smiling. She linked her arm around Margaret's to pull her along behind the twins, both of whom fell into step with the two girls.