My hands hurt.

They have for a few hours now, of course. It's nothing unusual. Just a nuisance. It usually happens when I scrub the kitchen floor, or dining room floor, or... Any room in the house, really. They're quite large.

And quite a pain to clean, of course. Especially since I use only a rough sponge that cuts into my palm whenever I use it. Mother claims that it cleans better, and says that I should stop complaining and get back to work. But I secretly suspect that the sponge is just a way of hurting me in an unusual way. It happens more often than I care to admit.

"Rosaline!" my mother's sharp voice calls from the doorway.

I stand up straight, as I am always supposed to do in her presence, unless she tells me otherwise. She doesn't do that often. My eyes take a quick peek at her before looking at the ground, where they should always be while talking to Mother.

Mother looks like me, in my opinion. We both have blonde hair, but hers is cleaner and shinier. Our blue eyes are also a shared trait, I think. From the few times I've seen my reflection in objects around the house, I'm pretty sure I'm right. We have different skin colors, though. I'm pale, from always staying inside, except when I do a few days of gardening in the summer. Mother is tanner, but not by too much. She's always working, so she never gets much sun either. I'm skinnier than her, but not in a good way. My ribs poke out and I barely have any muscle on my arms or legs. Mother is healthier, so she doesn't have the same problem. She always has enough to eat and new clothes to wear.

Mother, in short, is much more beautiful than I am.

She's wearing dark robes today, black, I think. The room is always so dim, it's hard to tell. Her hair is up in her usual severe bun, and her lips are her favorite dark red color. I would know. I found the lipstick for her in her makeup room this morning.

"Are you done with the floor yet?" she asks. "You still have dusting to do!"

"Of course, Mother," I reply quietly. "The floors are almost done. This is the last room. Then I'll move on to dusting."

"Continue with scrubbing as I'm talking, then," she snaps. I nod and kneel down, ignoring the sharp pain in my hands. The quicker I get this done, the better. "Forget about the dusting for today, since you're being so slow. I'm going out."

"Yes, Mother," I reply, reaching the last corner of the room. Curiosity gets the best of me, though I try so hard to contain the question. "Where are you going?"

"That's none of your business!" she tells me. I cringe and continue cleaning. I'm going to pay for that one later. "Anyway, are you done yet? I don't have all day."

"One more moment," I promise, cleaning up the last bit of dirt. I wipe my brow and set the sponge down, relieved. That's all for today. "Alright, that's it."

"Good," Mother tells me. "Get up and follow me."

I obey without question, and know where we are going from the moment I take the first step. It is no surprise when I get there.

My room isn't nearly as grand as the rest of the house. In fact, it's barely the size of a broom closet. Dimly lit and dirty, it's possibly the only part of the house I haven't cleaned. There is no bed. I sleep on the floor instead. It isn't bad when you get used to it, actually.

"Inside," Mother barks.

I duck my head and fit inside the small space. I have to bend over when I get inside, as I have since I turned seven. It's a very small room.

"You disobeyed a rule a few minutes ago," Mother tells me.

I nod, getting nervous.

"I'm sorry," I say desperately. "It won't happen again."

"That's what you told me the last time," Mother points out. "And the time before that. As usual, I'm going to need stronger reinforcement."

"No!" I exclaim, panicking. My hands stretch out in a placating gesture. "Please, I'll do better!"

Mother clicks her tongue three times.

"What a pathetic sight," she coos. I cringe as she brings her wand out, a black colored piece of wood. There is no saving myself now. "Crucio!"

I scream. It's a long and unbroken sound that I can never believe I am able to make. Of course, the pain helps make the sound. Torture doesn't begin to describe it. True, it may not be bloody, but I can still feel dull knives piercing every inch of my body. I can still feel the tremendous pressure that I fight so hard against. While under this curse, I can think of nothing but pain. It blocks out all of my senses, until it's just the two of us.

Just like it always is.

Suddenly it stops, and I find myself on the floor of my room. I'm gasping for breath and feel something sticky on my arm. Blood. I must have scraped it when I fell. I look up at Mother, just then realizing that I'm crying. She stares down at me coldly.

"Next time, obey my rules," she tells me, before slamming the door.

I hear the click of the lock and Mother's footsteps going down the corridor.

I am alone.

/

It's boring, being cramped into a small space for hours. I never have anything to do, other than try to ignore the stiffness in my body. There is a limited amount of light trickling in through a crack in the door that I usually look out of. I can't see much, but seeing something is enough.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely night," I sing softly to myself, the hesitant way I always do when I am alone. "Stars and moon are shining bright. If I sleep before the dawn, I know I am doing wrong. Never gonna be alone, on this lovely night. On this lovely night."

I've heard Mother sing this song to me before, when I was so young that I only remember a blur. When I sing it, I always think of safety and comfort. The way things were, almost ten years ago.

Of course, being eleven, I don't remember much of that time.

CRASH.

Startled, I jump, hitting my head on the ceiling. What was that? I look through the crack and can barely see the front door, wide open. There is too much light. I have to squint, but I can make out a dark figure stepping into the house.

That's not Mother.

I'm unable to tear myself away from that crack, so I watch as more and more people flood into the house, their wands up and faces grave. They are all yelling. I can't quite make out any of their faces, but it's clear that they aren't here to help me. Why would they look ready to fight if they were?

The situation sinks in as I step back, away from the crack. They're gonna kill me. I'm gonna die.

I back up until the cold stone wall is against my back, and crouch down, hugging my knees to my face. There's nowhere to run to. There's nowhere to hide. All I can do is wait and hope.

"Spread out!" a rough voice orders above the yells, sounding very near to my door. "Take anything that looks suspicious!"

I whimper and cover my ears as the yelling becomes louder. They're gonna find me. I'm gonna die.

There's a sudden thundering of footsteps running down the halls of the house. It nearly kills me, thinking of how hard I worked to clean those floors only a few hours earlier. When Mother comes back, she's gonna be very mad.

"Wait, is this a door?" the same gruff voice from before asks. I cringe and cover my mouth so that I won't make a sound. "I didn't even notice it."

"Yeah, I think so," an unfamiliar voice replies. "Think anything interesting is behind it?"

"Only one way to find out."

I don't have time to blink before the heavy wooden door crashes open, showering me with light. I scream and cover my eyes, terrified. I'm gonna die now. They're gonna kill me.

"What the-" the rough voice starts, then cuts himself off.

I peer through my fingers, trying to get a glimpse of these people before they kill me. The one who just spoke is very tall, with dark hair and eyes. He looks very strong and intelligent, even though he has a look of complete confusion on his face. The other is slightly shorter, with lighter hair and chocolate brown eyes. He has the same expression as who I assume is his boss. It looks as if they could kill me in a second, and have no regrets later.

But there are only two. If I can run and get a head-start, they won't be able to catch me. They don't know the house like I do. They haven't cleaned it from top to bottom daily. They don't stand a chance.

I slowly take my hands away from my face, shaking in fear. My eyes dart around the exit, where I can see the tiniest gap between the two men. Running footsteps begin echoing in the hallways again. I need to move.

So I take off, squeezing between the men and sprinting down the hallway - the one without people coming the other way.

"Come back!"

That's not gonna happen.

They're following me, but I still have an advantage over them. I know the house and have a head start. But I make a mistake when I lead them down a long, straight hallway.

"Stupefy!" a voice exclaims.

I shriek as a bright red light shoots past my ear and hits the green curtains. I've never heard that spell before, and don't know what it does. I don't want to find out.

Apparently it's a spell that the people liked to cast, because red lights are continually being shot at me. They all miss and I am able to make it to the end of the hallway in one piece. With a quick sigh of relief, I pull on the door handle.

It doesn't budge.

I pull again, hoping that it was just a little hard to open, but no luck. My face drains of all color and I turn around to face the large group, my mouth wide open in terror.

"We aren't going to hurt you," the leader tells me, taking a step forward. I notice that he is gripping his wand tightly, keeping it up and ready.

"I don't believe that," I say quietly, flattening myself against the door. I can't look the man in the eye, no matter how hard I try. That's just how I was raised. It's a habit.

"Please, just come with us," he pleads, sounding exhausted. "If you don't come willingly, we'll have to use force."

I shake my head, petrified. I can't possibly win against ten people, I know that. But I don't have a choice. I have to try.

"I'm sorry, then," the man says, sounding honestly disappointed. I tilt my head, confused as to why he sounds so sad that I didn't go willingly. He doesn't care about me. I'm just a stranger to him.

The others take his statement as an order to attack, and there are suddenly red lights everywhere. I squeal and stumble behind a sculpture of Mother just as a spell hits the place where my head was. I look at the spot for a moment, wide eyed and terrified, before looking in the direction of the hall I just came down. I misjudged my speed before, but I won't this time. If I am smart and hide behind other statues and objects, I'll be able to make it down the hall and hopefully outside. I'll be fine from there, I think.

So I sprint. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not very fast. Most of my life has been spent cramped in a room made for cleaning supplies, or getting tortured. I haven't exactly been training for track and field.

I try, though. I try so hard, and I almost make it. The door is right there, I'm reaching out to open it - and I get pulled back. Tears begin to form in my eyes. I was so close!

I turn my head to take a look at the person who grabbed my wrist and see an entirely new face. She has auburn hair and harsh looking blue eyes, and keeps my arm in a firm grip. The woman looks at me coldly, then begins dragging me back to the rest of the group.

"Let me go!" I yell, clawing at her with my free arm. She grabs that one, too. "LET ME GO!"

It doesn't matter how hard I struggle, since I end up standing before the group anyway, feeling terrified. I still don't believe they won't hurt me. I can't bring myself to.

"Stop struggling," the woman holding me orders in a rough voice. I don't obey and she sighs. "What do we do with her?"

"I guess we'll have to Stun her and take her back to the ministry," the leader told her with a heavy voice.

"Fair enough."

I am shoved to the floor, where I lie in a heap, unable to bring myself to stand back up, or do anything. I merely shut my eyes as I hear the spell being cast.

"Stupefy!"

/

"Do you know why you're here?" I'm asked. It's the first question I really listen to since I woke up. No, I don't. I haven't got a clue.

So I shake my head, looking straight ahead, not at the woman who stares at me as if I am in a zoo. It's beginning to get uncomfortable.

"We need to answer questions about your mother," the woman explains in a too calm voice. "It's of utmost importance."

"Is she okay?" I ask immediately.

"She's been arrested."

I look over at the woman, who frankly looks like she could do without a couple meals, for the first time in the conversation. She can't be telling the truth. Mother has always been so powerful. I'm not saying she never did anything illegal because, well, look at the shape I'm in. But I never expected that she would ever get arrested.

"Why?" I ask eagerly. Perhaps too much so. The lady looks at me strangely for a moment.

"Usage of dark magic, lying to the authorities, and death eater status were only a few of the infractions," the woman finally tells me.

I already know Mother is a death eater. Well, was, I suppose. Voldemort has been gone for almost ten years now. I may not know much, but mother always complained about it around the house. Sometimes it was the cause of some painful treatments.

"So, all we need to do is ask you few questions," the woman tells me in a monotone. I nod. I've never done anything wrong. I have nothing to worry about. "First, what is your name?"

"Rosaline."

"Last name?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" the woman asks, sounding truly surprised.

"Mother never told me," I admit.

"Your mother's last name is Cambione, so that would be yours as well."

"I don't want it. I don't need a last name anyway. I don't want anything passed down through either of my parents' families. They're not too important, right? Last names?"

"Well," the woman begins uncomfortably. "Last names are a way of distinguishing people from everyone else and dividing them into families. They are rather important, so I don't know what you would do without one."

I think for a moment.

"Can I come up with my own last name?" The woman nods slowly, as if to humor me. "Laetus." Seeing the confused look on the woman's face, I try to explain. "It's Latin for happy. I used to see it around the house."

"I see," she lies, writing it down. "I'll see what I can do." She pauses for a moment. "Do you know who your father is?"

"No."

"Unfortunately, neither do we. All such records of your mother's have been mysteriously destroyed."

I sigh.

"Are we done yet?" I whine, looking out the window. I want to go. Unfortunately, I don't know where to go to.

"No," the woman tells me bluntly. "I have more questions. When your mother set out yesterday afternoon, did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Did you know what she was doing?"

"No," I repeat, getting frustrated.

"Did you help your mother at all with her work?"

"For the last time, no!" I yell, standing up. Even though I'm still a foot shorter than the woman, she backs away in surprise. "I don't know what's going on, okay? I wasn't on Mother's side! I was never on Mother's side! How could I be? Do you know what she did to me?" I laugh, sounding insane, even to myself. "No, of course you don't. Because you never asked! You aren't concerned about me, a child, being in the hands of an evil witch! You only care about whether or not I helped her, if I'm on the dark side, too. Well, I'm proud to say I'm not. It's because of her that I'm not." I look into the woman's wide eyes, my annoyance ebbing away. "You've heard of the Cruciatus Curse, haven't you?" She nods, the blood draining from her face. "Knives? Starvation? How about good old fashioned beatings? I'm not going into detail, but I assume you understand?" The woman stands up, looking disgusted and shocked.

"This is important," she tells me. "I'm sorry, I must go and inform the Court of this."

She sprints out of the door, leaving me alone in a locked room once again.

"I take that as a yes," I sigh and sit down on the dingy cot once again.

/

I go three days in complete solitude. Not a single person comes by to check on me. So I sit alone by the window, wishing I could leave. Or at the very least, have some company. I haven't had a visitor since the woman. My meals are even shoved in through a trap door.

Even though I wish for company while eating, I have to admit, it is the best food I've ever tasted. The things I'm used to eating are not nearly as tasteful or plentiful as these. I ate so much the first night that I had trouble keeping the food down. Only a week ago, I ate only burnt porridge and water. Maybe a piece of rock hard bread every now and then. Even so, I didn't dare steal a taste of Mother's meals while I cooked it. It wasn't worth the punishment. But here I can eat roast beef and vegetables from a warm, black chunk of plastic with little cubby like things that the food is in. Some bites may be warmer or colder than others, but it is still such an incredible meal to eat.

Then there's a knock on the door. No, I must be hearing things. Not even the woman from three days ago knocked. It must be from next door. It can't possibly be for me.

Knock knock.

There's no question. That knock is on my door. But who's doing it?

"Um, you're welcome to come in, but I can't exactly open the door. It's locked," I tell whoever's knocking.

It doesn't seem like a problem to them, because I hear the knob turning not even a moment later. Still sitting by the window, I tilt my head as the door opens. The man who comes in is unfamiliar to me. He has a long silver beard and is wearing robes, just like every other witch and wizard around. But there's something different about him. This man, whoever he is, seems to be friendlier than any other person in the ministry. It's his twinkling eyes that give it away. The man has the kindest eyes of anyone I've ever met. Granted, I haven't met many people.

"Hello, Rosaline," he greets me as he comes into the room.

"Hello," I reply cautiously. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to know. Your mother doesn't seem as if she would tell you about such things," the man says. I nod in agreement. "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You do know about Hogwarts, correct?"

"Yeah. It's where witches and wizards go to learn how to use magic and stuff," I describe to the best of my ability.

"Essentially, yes," he agrees.

"So, why are you here?" I ask, not beating around the bush.

He smiles, somehow making his eyes twinkle even more.

"I'm here to give you something." He pulls an envelope out of what seems like thin air and hands it to me. I look at the crest on the seal of the envelope and shake my head in shock.

"This must be a mistake," I tell Dumbledore sadly, trying to hand the letter back. "Mother told me that she sent an owl to Hogwarts saying she would homeschool me."

Dumbledore refuses to take the letter back.

"It isn't a mistake," he says gently. "Due to... Recent circumstances that have arisen-"

"You mean me finally admitting that Mother tortured me?"

"Ah, yes, I suppose," Dumbledore says uncomfortably. "There was a debate, but I eventually made everyone see reason. Your mother is not fit to be your legal guardian, and is therefore unable to make decisions like that. So I am now offering this to you. At Hogwarts, you won't be alone. You'll have friends, family even."

"Nobody wants me as their family."

"That's not true. Whatever house you are sorted into - they will be your family. Perhaps you will be closer to some than others, but they will be your family regardless."

"What if I'm not sorted?"

"Everyone's sorted, my dear."

I pause.

"But I know absolutely nothing about magic," I admit.

"Neither do the Muggleborns that attend."

He has a point.

"And what if I do choose to stay here?" I ask. "What if I don't go to Hogwarts?"

"Then the Ministry will take care of you," Dumbledore explains. "The last few days will most likely become your life. They won't want you out of their sight. If you go to Hogwarts, we will still be required to watch over you, but you will have more freedom."

"So I'm not being put up for adoption?" I ask, confused.

"No," Dumbledore says. "Hogwarts will be your guardian, instead of a single person."

I nod, knowing which choice was the obvious one.

"I'll go," I decide without hesitation.

"Splendid," Dumbledore says, sounding delighted. I open the letter quickly and take out the supply list. My mouth quickly curves into a frown.

"I can't pay for all this," I protest, looking through the list of required books and clothing.

"You can, actually," Dumbledore tells me. "You own your mother's Gringotts vault now. Everything in it is yours. And your mother is far from poor."

"When am I getting all this?" I ask. "The ministry won't let me out of its sight until I leave for Hogwarts. How will I be able to buy everything?"

"Tomorrow morning you'll be escorted to the Leaky Cauldron by a ministry official," Dumbledore begins. Seeing my blank stare, he quickly adds, "The Leaky Cauldron is the entrance to Diagon Alley, where everything can be bought. They will drop you off, but you have to stay in the building until Hagrid comes in."

"Who's Hagrid?"

"He works at Hogwarts. You won't be able to miss him. He will most likely have another child your age with him. Hagrid will escort you both around Diagon Alley."

I nod.

"Well then, Rosaline," Dumbledore says, turning to leave. "I'll see you when term begins."

"Goodbye," I say softly before the door shuts.

I look out the window and wait for a few minutes for it to sink in.

I'm going to Hogwarts!