The Girl Who Saw Tomorrow » Harry Potter

1.1 | Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Deciding that staring up 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.