The Muggle // Bill Weasley

Chapter 1

You were never letting your friends drag you to another pub crawl again. It was your second year of college— university as everyone kept correcting you. You had taken a random leap of faith and transferred to a small university in London because you wanted to get out of America. That and you heard that a bachelor's degree took three years instead of four and you were sold. You took the university's offer on doing the summer program that they had to help international students and transfers get a bit acclimated before the school year actually began.

The program itself had just ended but you made some amazing friends that you were ready to have real fun with when school started. They all liked making you say words and hearing the American accent come out. Their favorite was when they got alcohol in your system and the accent went from whatever they thought a general American sounded like to very state-specific accents. You were still under twenty-one and actually had bothered to listen to the law back home, not drinking until it was time. Here, the first thing they did was introduce you to all the drinks that they knew since it was legal.

And that's how you found yourself throwing up in the bushes right outside the flat you were renting. Tequila was not your friend, not after two mojitos and a daiquiri— and whatever else from all the other pubs before the last one. Your hand pressed on a bunch of bricks as you tried to keep yourself upright while you threw up. A couple of coughs and a dry heave later, you stood up. You clutched your head as you teetered up the steps and into the house.

The Order and all the kids could hear Walburga's portrait screaming. The curtain must have fallen off again. Sirius gritted his teeth. One day, they were going to find a way to unstick that stupid portrait. Molly, on the other hand, was thankful for that stupid painting for once. Walburga's impeccable timing meant the kids wouldn't get to find out more about the Order than they needed.

You covered your ears as you stumbled through the hall, not remembering leaving your TV on before you left. First thing you should have done was find a remote and turn off the yelling. But you needed food. There should have been a sandwich on the dining room table. You had at least had the foresight to think about what to do if you came home too drunk to function.

The entire table looked up in shock, wands gripped at their sides, when you appeared in the doorway of the dining room. You blinked twice, looking at the table and then leaning back to look at the hall. You hiccuped and then cringed at feeling the vodka tonic you forgot about from the third pub burn the back of your throat.

"I'm sorry, thought this was my place. Just moved in, I'm your neighbor. Eleven Grimmauld."

You looked around the table, finger ready to point at whoever owned the place. You weren't actually sure who so you gave up. You leaned against the door and clutched your head again, slowly sinking to the floor.

"Oh my God, never doing a pub crawl again... you should turn down your TV."

"What?" Lupin mouthed to the others.

"What show is that? Is it popular here? I'm always trying to find new shows to watch that are cool here, that woman's really yelling at whoever did her wrong. Mudbloods and muggles!" you mimicked Walburga. "Y'all have the weirdest slang like what the hell is a mudblood."

That was the last thing you said before passing out on the floor of 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Did a muggle just break-in?"

"Isn't this place secured."

"No one else has been able to get in."

Sirius looked at you on the floor. It was obvious you had to be a muggle and probably not from the area because you had the strangest accent.