DISCLARMER: This is a blanket disclaimer, I will NOT be repeating it! So please pay attention! I don't own anything of Harry Potter.' Not the names, places, characters, concept, nothing! They belong to the creators/writer/authors/ect which does not include me, sadly.

(Sort of) Extended summary/explanation: Harry was 15 months old when his parents died, which was enough time for them to have another child, his sister Rose. (I did the math and I have a sibling that is only 13 months younger than me so I know it's possible.) Both were sent to live with the Dursleys and both went to Hogwarts. However, the addition of one more person changed fate drastically and in the end all most no one survived the final battle. Heart broken and suffering from crippling survivors guilt, Rose tries to move on but when one last tragedy strikes she loses the only thing keeping her going. In one last desperate attempt to reclaim all she's lost she searches for a way to do the impossible: change the past. She discovers an archaic ritual that offers her the chance she's looking for. The price is astronomical, the possibility of failure sky high, but when failing means nothing changes and not even hope remains, she'll do whatever it takes to save her loved ones.

The first part of the chapter is the Prologue, a (in my opinion) necessary and confusing evil which sets the stage for the rest of the story. Don't worry if it doesn't make much sense, it should all make sense in the end so please be patient. If you have any questions wait a few chapters to see if they're answered, if they're not ask me via review and I'll try to answer them.

Italicized words = memories, visions, telepathy, and general emphasis.

Line breaks indicate changes in perspective, time lapses, scene changes, and the like.

Warning: I may have to up the rating later. This story is a bit dark, when I said she was suffering from PTSD I was serious, this character survived and fought in a war, that kind of thing affects people. A lot! I do/will try to even it out with a bit of humor, but I did mark this as a tragedy for a reason. Please head the warning: if you are easily affected by this type of thing, don't read!

In the End

She closed the door with deliberate softness before turning and surveying the room. She crossed over to the large desk and ran a hand over it as she walked to the large window. She stared out at the wide expanse of lawn and trees that made up Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest. She giggled, then chuckled, and finally burst into laughter as she danced around the room.

"I take it someone is happy about being made Headmistress?"

The woman paused in her happy dance and looked in the direction of the voice.

"Teagan!" She cried, sweeping the Hat off its' self and twirling the it around the room.

"Allow me to congratulate you, Ms. Hermione Granger, on becoming the first muggle-born Headmistress."

"Thank you," the woman chirped, "but it's not 'Granger' anymore."

"Ah! Well congratulations on that as well!"

"And thank you again," the Headmistress chuckled, dropping into her chair and placing the aged Sorting Hat on the desk.

"My, I have not been danced around like that since the First Renegade!" The Sorting Hat sighed, and stretched out its brim.

"Really?" Hermione leaned forward. "I never pictured the Founder to be the type to dance. Whenever you mention her, she always sounds so serious."

The Sorting Hat chuckled, and a line on its 'face' rose much like an eyebrow. "I don't believe I said the Founder was a woman."

Hermione grinned impishly, easily reverting back to the spirited child she'd been the last time she'd spoken to the hat, before letting out a sigh of frustration.

"I know, but I still haven't given upon trying to find out who the Founder actually was."

It was a long standing tradition that all Renegades participated in: trying to find out about the Founder. Yet, despite generations of students giving it their best effort, nothing was known about the mysterious figure. Not the House, the name, or even the gender.

The Hat tilted its pointed top. "Well you are the first Renegade and Guardian to become Headmistress. . ."

Hermione perked up at his tone.

"If you swear your silence I will tell you the tale, but it is not a happy one."

Curiosity burning she only hesitated a moment before giving her vow of silence.

"Very well, you'll need to reach inside me."

Feeling silly, Hermione stuck her hand inside the Hat. Something large and heavy fell, crushing her fingers. Cursing softly, she pulled it out. The binding was a dark purple and a pair of wings trapped by a halo of thorns was done in light grey at the very center.

"The symbol of the Guardians?" She muttered, frowning. "Teagan, you said 'first Renegade and Guardian,' does that mean the Founder was a Guardian?"

"Yes, the first Renegade was the first Guardian."

"But," her frown deepened as she thought, "that's impossible. The first Guardians were already operating before Renegade had even been formed."

The hat sighed and tapped the cover with its brim. "This will answer your question."

She looked at it, at first she'd thought it was a book, but looking at it again it seemed more like-

"An album?"

"Yes, a very special album I received nearly 87 years ago." The Sorting Hat wiggled its brim, much like a child would wiggle their arms when the wanted to be picked up, and Hermione obliged, placing the Hat on her head. 'Open it.'

She did and gasped.

A young girl of about 17 sat, her head thrown back in a silent scream of pain and sadness. She was covered from head to toe in blood and holding the body of what looked to be her brother. Surrounding them lay the ruins of a castle torn apart by war and littered with the dead.

It was far from a professional drawing but the dark and bold lines captured the girl's pain perfectly.

"This," The Hat began in a soft voice, "is the story of a loss and love no one remembers, of a pain no one heard, of a sorrow no one saw. The story of a girl no one noticed and it all began in the summer of 1999."

"Wait! I thought you said you got this eighty seven years ago? 1999 is only sixty odd years in the past."*

"Patience child," the Hat scolded. "It will all make sense in the end. Now. . ."

Bag banging against her side, Rose Potter walked through the halls of Hogwarts. They were clear now, repairs almost finished courtesy of the House-elves and volunteers, but she still walked as if bodies and fallen debris litter the floor. As far as she was concerned nothing had changed and it was still only hours after the battle. She simply couldn't forget, and she refused to even try. She would remember. Remember every drop of spilled blood, every scream of pain and fear, every shed tear, every destroyed life, every lost loved one. She had to. It was her driving force, her motivation, the only thing that kept her going, from giving up and joining all those she lost in death. It was the reason she was about to do something very dangerous and incredibly stupid.

She encountered no one; which was good as they most likely would have tried to stop her and Rose couldn't afford to waste any energy or magic on getting rid of obstacles. Although, there was also a good chance anyone who saw her would run away screaming, terrified they had come across the living dead.

It wouldn't be far from the truth. Two years of constant research and little to no food or rest had stripped her of what little beauty she had. Her skin was stretched tight over her bones, hair thin and wasting, and eyes so dull and sunken into her skull many would mistake her for a walking skeleton.

She reached her destination and paused to battle away the memories so she could focus. She paced in front of an empty stretch of wall, her cloak snapping every time she turned. A final turn and a door appeared. She placed her hand on the knob and hesitated. Once she started there would be no stopping and no walking away without finishing. It was all or nothing, though in all likelihood it would be all for nothing. She took a deep breath and walked into the room.

The door slammed shut behind her and sealed. It wouldn't open again until the ritual was over. She dropped her bag on the table and laid out her notes, carefully going over them one last time. They detailed an archaic ritual, older even than Merlin, but powerful, and it promised a chance to change everything.

She snatched up a dagger and turned away from the table, descending into a shallow pit.

"Step 1," she muttered to herself. "Rune circle."

She drug the tip of the dagger along her finger, watching as a line of blood appeared. She knelt at the edge of the circle and drew the first of many blood runes. The sight and smell of blood brought back the memories with a painful force, and she struggled to keep herself from succumbing to the despair and agony.

It took hours to set up and by the time she was done she was light headed. She sat back, breathing heavily, and wondering if she had the strength to finish.

"No." She shook her head. She'd finish, even if it nothing came from this except another body, she would die knowing she'd at least tried.

She drew her wand and snapped it in half. Using the splintered ends she sliced open her palms, before snapping the pieces in half again. She rolled the remains between her hands, hissing at the pain. Once they were entirely covered in blood she arranged them around her, pointing each fragment in one of the cardinal directions. She took a deep breath.

"Now, for the last step."

She held her hands over the small pile of ashes, letting her blood wet her brother's remains. Slowly she mixed the blood and ash together, and with the constant flow liquid it only took a few minutes to form a gritty sort of paste. She used the blood-ash to paint the last set of runes, fighting back the bile clawing at her throat and struggling not to pass out.

By the time she'd finished with the last rune her vision had darkened until she could barely see and was so cold her body had given up shivering.

It didn't matter.

She placed her hands in front of her on the stone, forming a triangle, and forced her magic to follow the flow of blood.

"Please," she whispered as her vision finally gave out, "let this work."

"It did, child. It did."

Alive Again

For a brief moment she completely and utterly aware. For the first time in years she felt entirely alive and was able to think clearly, and in that moment she was only able to think one thought.

'Let it end. Make it stop. Let me die!'

And then it took over.

Pain. Millions of knives were tearing her apart a hair's breadth at a time. Where ever the knives pierced flame followed setting every nerve on fire. It seemed years before she became aware of the screaming; a horrible sound of pure anguish that only intensified the pain. The pain vanished and so did the screaming replaced by broken sobbing and laughter.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"

Rose opened streaming eyes to stare at the speaker, whose voice was muffled by a white mask just visible under the hood of a black cloak. The burning ache of residual pain was excruciating and so terribly familiar.

"Just when I think I've finally killed you, you start screaming again. It's not nice to tease like that." The man finished in a scolding tone filled with mockery.

It was then Rose realized what was happening. The body she'd been thrown into was that of someone who'd been tortured to death by Death Eaters.

The man grabbed her roughly by the hair, pulling her up from the floor. He raised his wand –

"Oi, hurry up!" A voice called. "This place is gonna come down any minute."

"Give me a second!" the man holding her yelled back. "Che! And here I was looking forward to seeing how long you could hold out for," he muttered as he threw her back onto the floor. "Ah well, all good things must come to an end." He sighed sadly. "Say goodbye, Mudblood."

He raised his wand.

"NO!"

The window exploded, blasting the man off his feet, and raining bits of glass everywhere.

Rose pushed herself onto her knees, gritting her teeth against her pain riddled body, and crawled over to the unconscious man, picking up his wand.

"Good bye," she panted, and with a wave of the wand all the broken bits of glass imbedded themselves in the man. Gathering the last of her strength, she stood and stumbled over to the window and looked down. The world spun and she pitched forward, landing with a crack and a thump.

Her whole body twitched and jerked, sending fire racing down her leg and aggravating the splinters her chest seemed to be made of. Something wet and warm was falling into her left eye and down her face, leaving her feeling cold.

'Help,' she thought too tired to even open her mouth. 'Someone please, help me!'

The world darkened; covered by the sticky, warm something that left her feeling so cold.

Rose woke to the sickening smell of disinfectant and a steady beeping sound. She blinked and looked around. Curtains surrounded half the bed, giving the illusion of privacy. A small tv was mounted on the wall above an open window out of which she could just glimpse a couple stars. A machine, the source of the beeping, blinked on her left while a small table to her right held a glass and a pitcher of water.

"So, Muggle hospital then," she muttered, wincing at the scratchy feel of the words against her throat.

Slowly, so as not to reopen any wounds, she sat up and poured herself a glass of water, frowning at how much her hands shook. Draining the glass, she lay down and closed her eyes. The painful throbbing in her head eased as she reviewed the memories of both her 'first' life and current body. It took every bit of her limited skill in Occlumency to even begin to untangle them and she was sorely tempted to just let the body's former memories fade away as trying to keep two lives worth of memories in one body was not only confusing but would drive her insane.

With a groan she resigned herself to the long task ahead.

She was skipping around a garden, occasionally picking flowers. She quickly had too many for her 5 year old hands to hold and skipped to the back door of a house. ~ The world blurred and she was 6, sitting at a table as people sang 'Happy Birthday,' bouncing on her seat and wishing she could open her presents.~ The world spun, she was 7 and it was Christmas Eve and she was struggling to wrap her mothers' present without getting caught. ~ The world faded, she was 8, dressed in black, watching as men lowered coffins into the ground while a grumpy looking man dragged her away muttering about fools in the rain. ~ The world blurred and she was crying softly under the covers while another girl whispered words of comfort.

In the end Rose decided to keep only the happiest memories from the former occupants' childhood and let the rest fade away.

Exhausted, she opened her eyes. A soft glow filled the room and it took a few minutes before she realized it was sunlight. With a groan Rose rolled over and pulled the covers over her head, her entire body protesting the idea of anything other than sleeping. And she did, not waking until sunlight filled the room the next day.

With a yawn, Rose sat up with only a dull throbbing in her head, as most of the unwanted memories had been forced out. Absentmindedly raising a hand to rub the last of the ache away she started when she felt her fingers brush across a bandage.

"Must have hit my head pretty hard," she muttered and then grinned. A head injury coupled with the 'trauma' she had endured would make it easier to claim memory loss and no one would get too suspicious if she 'forgot' something important or acted different. It could also explain why she started using magic. From what she'd seen in the memories, the girl had shown no signs of magic which meant she was probably a squib.

Death had said she would keep her magic along with her memories, but in order to use her magic the body she was in had to have a magical core, which squibs did, only they couldn't access it.

Rose frowned. Closing her eyes, she searched for her magic and gave a small cry of relief when she felt it respond, sending a warm tingle through her body and further easing the various aches and pains, but it felt. . .odd, almost wrong. She opened her eyes and stared at her hands, opening and closing them.

'Is it because of the body?' She bit her lip. Maybe her magic hadn't fully merged with her new body yet. It was then Rose noticed the bandage on her forearm, a small tube sticking out of it. Curious, she peaked underneath and immediately turned green.

"Sweet Merlin, an IV," she moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose and swallowing against the rising nausea. Thankful she, unlike many magicals, had studied muggle medicine as well as magical and knew better than to yank it out. . .no matter how much she wanted to.

The image of Hermione explain what an IV was to a green faced Ron and Neville swam in front of her eyes and she snorted; they would most certainly have pulled it out. The brief flash of humor was quickly replaced by a pang of longing and sorrow.

"I'm never going to see them again," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "No, no I will . . .from above. I'll be their guardian angel and," she angrily scrubbed the tears away, "and I'll make bloody damn sure they live in the world they deserve!"

"Beside," she continued with a grimace, "I've already gotten a start."

The image of the Death Eater she'd killed swam before her eyes.

"One down, a couple thousand to go," she sighed. "So much to do, so little time. At least I have a wand."

Her heart skipped a beat and she bolted upright.

"Where's my wand?" she looked around frantically, but before she could get up a door opened and the curtains were roughly pushed aside by an anxious looking woman. Her expression softened when she saw Rose wide eyed, anxiously clutching a pillow, and a panicked look on her face.

"Calm down, honey. It's ok. You're in a hospital," she said in a soothing voice, mistakenly thinking Rose was frightened and confused about where she was. When Rose said nothing she continued to reassure her as she made her way around, checking the machines and jotting down the information on the clipboard attached to the foot of the bed.

"Now, dear, I'm going to get the doctor so he can come and check you over." She gave a cheery wave as she left.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Rose snatched the clipboard from the foot of the bed, smirking a little when she saw the infamous doctors' handwriting had nothing on her brothers' messy scrawl. A quick scan showed sever nerve damage and blood loss, several cracked ribs, badly sprained ankle, broken leg, concussion, and several cuts that required stitches, one of which was on her face.

Rose frowned, most of the injuries she wasn't too worried about, she'd had worse and besides her magic would help heal most of them. No, what worried her were the stitches, especially the ones on her face. She gently ran a hand over the gauze on her face.

"I really can't afford anything that will make me stand out," she muttered, wincing as recalled Death's words.

". .live in such a way that you do not exist at all."

With a sigh Rose skimmed the rest, hoping the reason her name and other personal information was blank was because nobody had been able to get it from the orphanage, preferably because it was gone. She dimly remembered there being a fire. If so, it would mean she could set up a completely new identity which would reduce the risk of anyone from her body's past recognizing her.

Rose drummed her fingers on her knee, frowning as she thought. She knew her body's age-

She shook her head. 'My age.'

-was 9, but. .

"A name," she muttered, "I need a name; one that won't stand out, one that I'll remember to answer to."

She briefly considered keeping her name 'Rose', but quickly dismissed it.

'"Rose" doesn't exist anymore.' The thought was painful. 'Besides I was never much of a 'rose' anyway.'

Her lips twitched as a memory of a little Harry telling her she was 'prickly' surfaced.

"I'm gonna call you Briar Rose, from now one," he declared, closing the book of fairy tales with a snap.

"Why?!"

"Because you're prickly just like a briar and people need to be warned!"

"Briar," she mused, rolling the name around. "Well, Harry, let's hope people listen to the warning." She smiled sadly, before sighing. "Now for a last name."

She blinked as her mind went blank.

"Damn!" She let her head drop onto her knees. "Come on, think! Just like a story . . .a story? Got a name warning about danger, now what else am I?"

. . .

"A lie. Liar? Briar Liar? ECK! NO! Not a lie, maybe a . . .fake? Fake? Flake? Arg! Think! A fake in a story."

. . .

"Fake. . .story. . .Story, myth, tale, fable, saga, nov – wait! Fable, hmmm. . . Briar Fable?" she smiled. A fable, a tale no one would believe even if it was true. Oh that was perfect, a perfect description of what she'd become: someone with a life no one would remember, with a story no one would believe.

A small cough interrupted her rather morbid musing, and she stiffened, mentally cursing herself for being caught by surprise.

'I definitely need to get this body in fighting shape,' she thought as she slowly lifted her head from her knees.

The doctor was tall with grey hair and a lined face, but despite his obvious years his eyes were clear and sharp, scanning her with a practiced ease as he walked over.

"Doctor Meyers," he stated, holding out his hand and giving her a warm smile.

Swallowing, and silently praying that she would be able to play the role of a young child, she shook it and gave a small smile in return.

"Hi."

"I see you've found my notes." Meyers said, gesturing to the clipboard on Rose – now Briar's - lap.

"S-sorry I was. . curious." She handed it to him, biting her lip.

"Not a problem dear," he replied as looked it over.

"Umm, why isn't my name on there," she asked, hoping it came across as an innocent question.

"Ah, well, we didn't know your name." A small frown appeared on Meyer' face.

"Why not?" she held her breath as she watched his frown deepen, hoping he would say what she needed him to say. He sighed.

"The records from the orphanage where you were found were all destroyed in the fire, and," his voice was soft and gentle, "I'm sorry to say, but you were the only survivor."

Briar didn't need to fake the look of shock and horror on her face and it wasn't until she was pulled into a hug that she realized she was crying. It took several minutes before the tears stopped and she was calm enough to continue. After which it didn't take much effort (though it did require quite a bit of tears) to convince Doctor Meyers of her 'faulty' memory.

"That might actually be a blessing," he muttered as he wrote on the clipboard. "All right dear, I'm going to ask you a couple of questions and I want you to answer with the first thing that pops into your head, Ok?"

He waited until she nodded.

"All right then, color?"

"Blue."

"Music."

"Joy."

"Family."

". . .lost."

"Sun."

"Warm.

"Name."

"Briar." His lips twitched as he surreptitiously wrote it down, and Briar bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

'Too easy.'

"School."

"Confusing."

"Hospitals."

"Bad tasting medicine."

"Age."

"Nine." Another scribble.

"Introductions."

"Stressful."

"Parents."

"Questions."

"Ms. Briar. . .?"

"Fable." Another scribble.

"Party."

"Explosions." Fred and George just couldn't pass up an opportunity to make a ruckus.

"Birth day."

"June 8." She'd decided that her arrival was akin to second 'birth' and had back tracked the date from the information on the chart.**

"Well, my dear, I think you may remember more than you think." He smiled at her, tactfully avoiding telling her what her most recent 'birthday' had included.

"Now, it's been decided that you'll be staying here for about 2 weeks. That doesn't included the time you've been unconscious, which was," he check his chart, "four days, not counting the day you arrived.

"While you're here I want you take it ease. You've been through a very traumatic-"

'There it is,' Briar thought.

"-experience and your body is still recovering and is very weak right now. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now, I'll be checking in on you from time to time, but the nurses will be seeing you every day. However, if you have any questions, or just want to talk, you can ask for me or any one you feel comfortable with, ok?"

She nodded.

"Do you have any questions for me right now?"

"Just one, I think. Did I have anything with me when I got here?"

"You had a couple things. Are you wanting something in particular?"

"I don't really remember, but-" She bit her lip and gave him her best 'I'm innocent and lost' look. "But maybe if I could see them, they'll help me remember."

His eyes softened, and he left promising to bring her everything he could.

He was true to his word, within a matter of hours she had a box holding everything that she'd had with her when she'd been brought in: the blood stained and burnt clothes, a broken hair clip, a sliver chain and locket, and the wand.

She almost cried when she saw the wand, she was so relieved, and quickly put it and the locket under her pillow. The clothes she let the staff throw away along with the hair clip; they held no value to her and the memories they did bring were not ones she wanted.

Briar spent the rest of her stay in the hospital trying to stabilize her magic and merge it with her new body. Something that was much harder than it should have been; she suspected it was because the muggle medicine was interfering. She also spent a great deal of time planning.

Author's Notes:

* By my math the "Golden Trio" was in their 7th year (ages 17-18) by 1997/1998, so Rose would have been 18/19 by 1999 as she's a year younger than the trio. This prologue takes places in the far future when they're between 70-80 years of age (I don't see someone, even Hermione, becoming a headmaster/mistress without a good many, many years under their belts) which would make 1999 about 60-65 years in the past, though the story itself takes place in the Marauder era which makes it an additional 20+ years in the past. Hence, the Sorting Hat saying it received the book about 87 years ago.

** The technique just employed is an actual psychological test (shortened for the sake of the story), though I don't know if doctors can or do use it.