The Girl Who Saw Tomorrow » Harry Potter

1.2 | The Wizarding World

The next day, Margaret was up at the crack of dawn.

As she saw Ginny and Hermione in their respective beds fast asleep, she wondered why couldn't she be more like a normal teenager who slept like a baby until someone woke them up. Wide awake now, she had no other option but to stretch and sit up in her bed.

Margaret's usual crow's nest of bed hair wasn't present at the moment. Instead, it was tied into two perfect french braids, courtesy of Ginny.

She took out the scrunchies and used her fingers to undo them as she walked to the adjoined washroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, ignoring how sick she actually looked and admired the beach waves in her hair.

If everything else wasn't perfect, at least her hair could be.

Last night, the three girls were up long after Hermione came back and filled them in on all that the Order members had said, and speculated on what they didn't say. Margaret only felt slightly guilty for withholding information they so desperately wanted but reminded herself that the adults have not told them everything for a reason.

The two Gryffindor girls were kind enough to then spend some time sorting out their clothes and keeping aside some day-wears and some pyjamas that they thought would look great on Margaret. The only problem was that she towered over both of them by solid three inches.

Either way, a pair of Ginny's brand new pyjamas and an oversized t-shirt fit her good enough to sleep in. She borrowed a pair of Hermione's lose jeans and a white blouse for a go-to outfit until she was able to go buy her own clothes.

While changing into the said outfit for the day after taking a shower, Margaret wondered how she was going to pay for her stuff here. Whoever sent her here doesn't seem to have thought about it.

The telekinetic girl left the room as quietly as possible, her schoolbag over her shoulder, the only belonging she had with her in this strange place. Silent as a snake, she descended down the staircase, ignoring the house-elf heads on the wall.

Everything seemed to be going perfectly until she passed by those long-moth eaten curtains and Mrs Black suddenly decided that 6 AM would be an excellent time to wake the whole house.

The curtains opened dramatically and the painting started yelling.

"STAINS OF DISHONOUR! FILTHY HALF-BREEDS IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! MUDBLOODS, CHILDREN OF FILTH!"

"Holy Jesus," Margaret says quietly, a hand on her chest due to the fright the bloody talking painting gave her. She looked closely at the picture, wondering if that was a high-definition television or an actually moving painting.

"What are you looking at?!"

Margaret jumped back as the previously raging painted lady suddenly narrowed her artistically realistic eyes at the girl.

She couldn't help but ask. "Are you talking to me?"

"Do you see anyone else around, girl?" the painting snaps before narrowing her eyes again, seemingly trying to come closer to the other-worldly girl. "It's not possible..."

"What?"

"What's your name, girl?"

Margaret tilted her head slightly wondering why this painting lady was still acknowledging her in a normal tone rather than trying to tear her eardrums apart.

"My name is Margaret," she replies after a moment, quite taken aback when the painting lady gave her a dumb look.

"What is your last name, you fool," shouts another painting down the hall that Margaret hadn't notice before. She glares at the old dude in it.