THE ANGEL OF WOE | RON WEASLEY [BOOK THREE]

15. LOVELY CONSEQUENCES

But she was alive.

Conscious, at least. Her right eye went to slowly peel open before shutting it just as fast. A blinding sunbeam had forced its way into the room she lay in, unwelcome and her brain began to pulse, a single nerve beating against her temple as she rolled onto her back, not without feeling her insides turn with her. Gene wanted to crawl into a hole and live there for the rest of her days. That was, if she could even make it one foot out of bed.

With some strain, she managed to pull her body up to sit, only to fall forwards instead, her face burrowing into the red knitted blanket and she groaned at the pain that teased her lower back, feeling as though she had bruises in places she didn't realise she could.

The fall must have knocked some of her senses back into her as she began to sniff, smelling what Gene could have only described as explosives and the kind of laundry smell that she had only ever smelt at The Burrow.

And suddenly, Gene found that the lovely consequences of the Firewhiskey she hadn't stopped drinking last night had quickly gone as she lifted her head, giving the room she was in a once over.

The sun passing through the half-drawn curtains should have been a dead giveaway that Gene wasn't in her own bed. Her eyes trailed to her body, finding she wore a huge shirt, one she was certain did not belong to her and the nausea began to sink in, a specific kind of turbulence in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, no." she murmured, her mouth feeling as though it had been stuffed with cotton.

Gene tore the covers from over her legs, finding the shirt had gone past her knees and her thoughts had been confirmed. Her eyes screwed shut as she began to think hard, trying to draw a single memory from last night to ease her rapidly beating heart, but she couldn't.

Her eyes travelled the room, widening as she found a set of joggers sat at the very end of the bed on top of a trunk marked 'F. W', as though they had been waiting for her. She snatched them up, quickly tugging them up her bare legs, catching glimpses of purple and yellow bruises blossoming across the skin, but she had bigger things to worry about.

The door opened, revealing Fred and George with smiles as wide as the cheshire cat, and anger began to rise in Gene by the second.

"Morning." they chorused.

Fred offered a glass of water and Gene quickly took it, drinking it in one though it did nothing to ease her throat. They watched her in clear amusement, and she decided to ignore it for the time being, her hands running through her hair as she tried to process her strange morning.

She realised she was going to have to ask about last night and she was dreading it, knowing she might hear something she was not in the state to find out.

"What happened?" her voice rasped. They glanced at one another before looking back at Gene.

"You don't remember?" George asked, his eyebrow raised wickedly.

"Evidently not." she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him though even that hurt to do.

"Not a morning person, are we, Genie?" Fred teased light-heartedly.

That must have done it for Gene, as she spotted both of their wands poking out from their back pockets and grabbed them, charging forward.

The twins quickly backed up against the wall, their own wands pressed to their throats with wide eyes. Footsteps suddenly entered the room and pulled to a stop, though Gene's glare didn't waver.

"Am I interrupting something?" she heard Lee Jordan ask.

"Not now, Lee." all three of them said at once, and they heard his footsteps quickly shuffling away. Gene finally let go, shoving their wands back into their chests and stepped away, to their relief.