Chapter the first
Michigan doesn't have earthquakes, right? I looked around, feeling like a flea on the back of a dog scratching its neck. My dorm room was shaking itself to pieces, slowly self destructing as everything that had been placed on a shelf sought to place itself on the floor. My eyes, darted, frantically, looking for a spot to hide- my desk was too small to hide under, maybe the doorframe? I feel like I had heard something about being able to use the doorframe to hide under because it was so much more re-enforced that the rest of a building. I watched as my roommate's tin of gatorade mix took a flying leap off his dresser, and I felt myself falling too, as the world somehow gave a sharp twist, and then, black.
*You Must Be A Weasley*
Waking up was not fun. My body and head both felt sore, as if I had just ran a marathon while drunk, and was just now feeling the regrets of the morning after. My stomach wanted to empty itself, although from the acrid taste of sick in my mouth maybe it already had. The soft light of a nearby lamp was driving railroad spikes behind my eyes, and the light from a nearby window seemed intent on blinding me permanently.
Above me stood three people, looking far larger than myself, another in a nurse's outfit sits at the foot of the bed. Two of the three were middle aged, standing together like a couple, with the baggy eyes of someone who has not had enough sleep for far too long. I dub the Mr. and Mrs. Tired. The third looked like Gandalf on his way to fight an epileptic orc. The sight of his neon-yellow bathrobe partially covered by a massive beard like the world's nastiest rendition of Lady Godiva threatened to send another railroad spike of pain into my head. And he had a garishly colored pointy hat, too. Halloween was a week ago, dude, it's time to take off the costume. "Welcome back, son." It is one of the middle-aged people; male, with the absent look and tweed dress of one of the more out of touch members of academia. The woman next to him is draped in shawls and slightly overweight, and is staring intensely at me with a wild, reckless hope in her eyes. I look away. The next thing I notice is that this is probably not a hospital. Not unless said hospital was Victorian-themed, right down to the weird-ass hat the nurse is wearing. I've also never seen a hospital with vaulted stone ceilings. Ribbed cloister vaults, too- very nice, probably late fourteenth century or so. Back to the people, who are all looking at me with expectant faces. "The fuck is this?" I have a potty mouth. I like to think it's one of my more endearing qualities. They don't think so. Something wilts in the expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Tired. Mr. Neon Eyesore opens his mouth to speak. "Mr. Weasley, I know that this must all be rather confusing for you, but…" He keeps speaking, something about war and alternate realities, but I'm not hearing. What the Holy Buggering Fuck?! Is this Harry Potter all of a sudden?!
"You're all insane" I murmur, more to myself than them, "I'm in a coma right now. This is all a hallucination."
"Mr. Weasley!" Steel enters the man's voice. "You are very much awake, and we are very much sane! You were hidden across worlds as a child, to protect you from the War. Only now have your birth parents and I been able to bring you back."
I have so many questions right now my confusion is getting confused. I force my breathing to slow. Adrenaline is racing through my veins as fast as thoughts through my head, but I force my muscles to still, to relax. "Prove it." My voice feels apart from me, like I'm merely inhabiting this body, watching it move of its own accord. His eyebrows descended slightly in thought, as if remembering something from long ago. "You were given a mark as a child, but this might not prove it to you. There are parentage potions and charms for heredity, would either of those suffice?" OK, this bullshit has officially gone too far. I force myself to rise, ignoring the protests of my head and my body. Hands reach towards me in alarm, and I see the nurse at the foot of move her hand as if to pull something out of her pocket. An idea blooms in my head, one that would most definitely lose me brownie points with the four in front of me but would also provide proof for whether or not this was just some over-elaborate prank or something…. more. My arm darts out, grabbing the beard of Mr. Neon Eyesore, who I am starting to suspect is a certain (fictional) headmaster with too many names, and pulling him into a headlock. Or trying to at least- he may be old, but from the way he moves he is no stranger to physical combat. Simultaneously Tweedledee and Tweedledum pull back, as if recoiling from a venomous snake. The nurse draws something long and slim from a pocket, wielding it like a conductor's baton. She makes a movement and a thin glowing wisp strikes out to tap me on the shoulder. I cannot move. Frozen, as if by magic.
Confirmation. We're no longer in Kansas, Toto. My heart rate is slowly disobeying me as I begin to realize; I am well and truly fucked.
*You Must Be A Weasley*
This may turn into something, or it might not. I'm still a little uncertain of what direction to take. Reviews, critiques and suggestions are welcome.