Undesirable (George Weasley)

2

Opening my eyes, I immediately threw up beside me. I enjoyed my cereal going down, but coming up was not the ideal version of a second breakfast. I laid on my side, clutching onto my head as the world slowly began to not spin.

I remember once, prom night, last year when I had drank hard liquor for one of the first times. The experience was fun for about an hour and a half, until the remains of the vodka and mixie found itself crawling back up from the depths of my insides. I threw up for hours, finally crashing only to be awoken in the morning to the worst hangover I've ever had. This moment, I was rank almost as bad, as I have never experienced passing out quite like this.

Not to mention the fact that I was now outside, in the dark, and had no idea where I was.

When the pain in my head subsided, I turned towards the only source of light that showed through the blanket of darkness. Picking myself up, slowly might I add, I walked half blind towards the building, making sure my feeling remained steady. When I was close enough to see the house in front of me, I stopped dead in my tracks.

This house appeared to have been built once, then renovated slightly to the side, then an added room, all carefully balanced like a game of jenga. My jawed dropped. I knew this house. I knew where I was.

I felt my breathing hitch, as I made the last few steps to the front door. I grabbed my chest, willing myself to breathe. I couldn't help it. I was staring at the Weasleys Burrow, a place that was completely fictional yet I stood inches from the front door. Suddenly rethinking every choice I have ever made to be here, I began to panic. Why was I here? What would they think, a strange adult wandering around their front yard? Have they already seen me? I had no idea what to think, let alone how to comprehend the idea of a children's book character's home standing in front of my flushed face.

Before I could make the decision to run, the front door swung upon, and there, the inside lights illuminating from behind her, stood Molly Weasley. If I hadn't already fainted tonight, I probably would have done it again.

"Oh dear! How have you wandered all the way here! Come in dear come in!" Her voice was kind, motherly, and I found my breathing to become less ragged and more at a normal pace.

Slowly inching towards the front door, I allowed Molly to drag me inside and sit me at the dining room table. She immediately busied herself, giving her wand a swish and allowing for the kettle to fill itself up with water, the float onto the stove, where she then through in a tea bag. Sitting down, she grabbed a blanket that was hung over the coach, and placed it over my shoulders. She grabbed two mugs, poured each of us a drink, and sat down across from me.

"I- er- I don't really know how I got here, to be honest." I didn't quite know what to think. I was at a loss of words, as quite honestly I had never even considered the possibility of meeting book characters before. It was rather outrageous to me, and now that I was staring at the living form of Molly Weasley, I felt my throat begin to restrict again.

"Oh dear, you're welcome to stay here. An American accent? You're quite a ways from home. I'm gonna send Dumbledore an owl, I'm sure there has to be some answer to this. I'm Molly, by the way. Molly Weasley."

"I'm Sabrina."

She offered me a smile, then stood and moved herself into another room. After she was gone, the reality of the whole situation rammed against my head.

Pots flew around the kitchen, while a small brush washed the dirty dishes left in the sink. Clothing from the other room folded itself into neat piles, while a broom swept beneath my legs. Startled, I moved my chair to the right, allowing the broom to finish its pile and move on to another room.

I've read the Harry Potter stories. I've actually read them multiple times, as they have been a favorite series of mine since I've had the ability to read them. And even now, as a teen, I'm still rather acquainted with how the stories pan out. Yet the idea of magic, and experiencing the trivial aspect of an entirely made up series, was anything but how my imagination created it. To put it frank, I was rather astonished and couldn't keep my mouth from dropping to the ground.

"You'll catch flies, you know." A voice behind me rang out, and I jumped in my seat. I hadn't expected Molly to be back yet, as I was listening for her footsteps from the front of the house. As closely as I was listening, I missed the identical set of feet crossing the carpeted living room.

"I'm sorry?" I responded. I immediately cringed.

"Your mouth, it's open. Looks rather gastly if I'd have to admit. I mean, never seen magic before?" One of the twins, which I wasn't quite sure yet, slipped into the chair beside me. His lips turned into a smirk, and his tone held an air of teasing. I grimaced.

"Ha. You see a stranger in your house, and the first thing you choose to do is make fun of them? You're not very smart are you?" His smirk fell, only to be replaced with a smile of arrogance.

"Well, if you put it that way, that means I'm a stranger to you. And you probably shouldn't be in strangers houses." I bit my lip, only to be interpreted by Molly.

"Oh George, leave the poor girl alone. She's suffering from amnesia, the poor thing. Just sent a letter to Albus, hopefully we'll know what to do by morning. For now she can stay here." Molly smiled down at me, and I immediately went to interject.

"You really don't have to do that, I can find another place really." I went to stand, only for George to immediately pull me down.

"You have amnesia?" He asked.

"I-uh - I don't know how I got here?" It came out as more of a question, and while Molly looked down at me satisfied with the answer, George's eyebrows raised in question.

If I had to describe George, he would be a mixture of the Phelps brothers, but have an unique look that separates him from his alter ego actor. His eyes were honey colored, which I'm sure would glow in direct sunlight. He also had millions of freckles, yet his face was clearly tanned from the summer sun and darker than I normally would be. The redness under his eyes suggests he was burnt the day prior, yet the home was rather warm. And he was handsome. Incredibly handsome, and frankly I enjoyed this moment more then I would have thought.

"You'll stay here, and that's final. Now, I'll make you bed on the coach, not the coziest of spots but it will have to do for now. And I'll expect you, George, since you're awake at this ungodly hour, to find me some extra sheets. Hurry up, off you go." She shooed George up the stairs, who again sent me a questioning look, only to be replaced of one of annoyance towards his mother.

When George arrives with the sheets, she quickly made the coach into a bed, made sure that I was comfortable enough, and flicked off all the lights with her wand. As the house grew dark, my thoughts raced to every possibility. In the abyss of the Weasley's living room, I had finally come to the conclusion that I am either dreaming, or have finally lost every bit of sanity that I had left. Taking the ladder, exhaustion filled me as I blacked out harder than my fainting trip from earlier that day.