Okay, disclaimer thing a mob bobber, don't own it.

When it comes to reviews: I heart them all. This story is pretty much already written, but all suggestions are taken to heart and considered for future stories. I write a lot...


"Okay, Red, what's your story?" I was being confronted by a boy about two years older than me. He looked tougher than what was natural, definitley a muggle, and possibly bored with everything. His eyes looked as if they were hard to amuse.
"I don't have a story." I looked at him as I said this as if he had asked me to juggle kitchen knives with my hands tied behind my back. "All right, what's your life like?" he now had the attention of the whole table on me. There were about seven of us, a number that was comftorable. I looked like the youngest, or at least the least experienced. People wanted my story, my life, my everything. I doubted that I was nearly exciting enough. One war wasn't enough to change these people's opinion of me, I knew that. Especially a war with magic instead everyday life. "My life was a lot like a soap opera...but with more crying and less sex." I got a laugh out of them. "What's your name, Red?" the more this guy asked me questions, the more attractive I noticed he was. Okay, gorgeous. He was tough, tall, dark....Yummy.
"I don't really have a name. Anymore." it was an odd thing to say, I know, but it was true.
"Rowena."
"Wha?"
"That's what I'm going to call you. It's Gaelic for red haired and rugged, at least, that's one definition. It's a complex name."
"What do I call you?"
"Connor."
"No last names?"
"We don't need them." he grinned as he said that.

"Donations! Come help!" one of the people running the shelter called out. I actually got up to help, no one else did.
"Hi there!" a nice looking older woman said as she handed me a bag. It must have been getting a name that put me in such a good mood because I grinned ear to ear as I took that bag out of her hands.
"You must be new here." the nice lady extended her hand as she said this, I took and shook.
"Yeah, I'm Rowena." those words just rolled off my tongue, totally natural.
"Sky." she was definitly an old hippy. Her hair was long and still chestnut, her face soft with age and her clothes loose and comftorable.
"You can call me Ro, for short. Rowena can be a bit formal." it was at that moment that I gave myself a nickname, the way Ginny was for Ginerva, and truly left the Weasley life behind. I thought'd it be hard, but it oddly wasn't. I don't think I'd been a Weasley for a long time.
"Have you been here long?" Sky was sweet. She seemed interested in me, I trusted her. "No."
"Planning on staying long?"
"I don't have anywhere else to go." her face immediatley went from polite conversation to concern. She exscuced herself and went to talk to a fellow hippy about her age, this one male. They were discussing me, I could tell, but I ignored that. I just helped the shelter people organize what all was brought. I had gotten a bag of clothes, shelter lady had food. These were nice people.
"Hey, Ro, this is a cooky idea, but Keefer and I were talking, you wanna stay with us? We have lots of kids, and we wouldn't be weird or anything. Promise." at first I wanted to say yes. It was impulse to go with them, but then I felt Connor's eyes boring into me. I didn't want to leave him, as stupid as that sounds, I wanted to get to know him.
"Maybe when I get to know you a bit better." I decided. A nice, safe answer. Sky nodded, and Keefer, I guess the nice hippy man she was with, said their good byes. I couldn't tell whether or not I had hurt their feelings, but I hoped I hadn't.

I spent the rest of that day getting to know my sheltermates. They finally cracked and asked questions. It was pretty obvious I was not like them, people who had never had anything real to leave the way I did. Some of them didn't know their fathers, others did and wished they didn't. I was glad I knew my father, but couldn't bare to ever see him again. He, like everyone else I knew, was ashamed of me. All of them but Dumbledore. I almost hated Dumbledore, since it was partially his fault, what had happened to me. Still, I didn't. I could've told him I didn't hear anything, despite the fact that would have been a lie, that I really was weak, but I didn't want to think of myself as weak. Enough people did already. I wanted to prove them all wrong, that I was not weak. I couldn't do that as Ginny Weasley. She had been thought of as weak for so long, that I knew that if I stayed her I'd always be weak. Sure, I might get Harry to protect me, but what good would that do? I didn't want to have anyone protect me. Maybe that's why I left. Either that or the way my mum had told me I was weak. After I went through all this in my mind, my lovely sheltermates showed me a few 'tricks'. In one afternoon I learned how to pick pockets, break arms, snatch purses, break noses, and cry at will. Those were a few things I never thought I'd need to know, but all of them assured me I would. One girl, Tina, taught me the most. She stood out in the group of pasty people that we were, with her dark complexion and long raven curls. She didn't appreciate the way I watched her, but soon started watching me the same way. It was easier to watch and learn than speak and learn.