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Chapter 2

14 Years Later

Rosie Evans sat anxiously in her cell. The guard had just informed her that someone had posted bail for her and that she would be released as soon as the paperwork was processed. She was struggling to think of anyone who knew her well enough to know that she was currently being held in a juvenile detention facility, least of all someone who would be willing to get her out. She hoped to God it wasn't Marcus, though she didn't understand how that would be possible, since he was the one who got her locked up in the first place. Nonetheless, any change of heart on his part wouldn't come free... one way or another, it would end up costing her dearly.

"Rosie Evans?" called the guard, sliding the cell door open.

"Yes?" came the reply.

"You're free to go."

Rosie followed the guard through the detention center's stark corridors, to a room where she was allowed to change into her own clothes and given back what few belongings had been seized when she was arrested. Namely, an old, army-green satchel that felt lighter than it should have, considering how full it looked, and a thin, mahogany wand with spider-webs etched upon its length. Rosie noted with frustration that her glasses were not among the small collection. They had fallen off when the police shoved her onto the bonnet of the car, but she'd assumed that they would at least have had the decency to pick them up afterwards. Clearly not.

Gathering her things, Rosie exited the small room, only to find herself immediately confronted by the imperious figure of Minerva McGonagall, who was standing rigidly in the center of a waiting room.

"P-Professor..." Rosie stammered, too shocked to say anything further.

"Miss Evans," McGonagall greeted her coolly. Rosie's vision was blurry but McGonagall was standing close enough that she could make out that she was wearing a white cotton blouse, a long brown cardigan, and a tweed skirt that went down to her ankles. She looked as though she'd stepped straight out of the late nineteenth century. Rosie had never seen her in muggle clothing before.

"Did... did you bail me out?" Rosie asked incredulously.

"I did," McGonagall replied. "I take it you have all your belongings?"

"Um, yes." Rosie was still struggling to comprehend this unexpected reality. She'd spent five years at Hogwarts and never before had a teacher paid her a visit during the summer months, or at any time for that matter.

"Very well," said McGonagall. She looked Rosie up and down, and her expression softened. Rosie flushed. She didn't want Professor McGonagall's pity, but there was no way of hiding from it. Her outfit consisted of a tight black tank-top and baggy green cargo pants, and she knew that her abundance of bruises and scrapes were more than visible. Even if she'd been able to cover up better, she was fairly sure she still had a black eye and a busted lip, though she hadn't been able to check in a mirror. And that was on top of her regular scars, most of which she kept covered when she was at school, and which Professor McGonagall would now be seeing for the first time.

"Do you have anywhere to go?" McGonagall asked her.

"No," Rosie admitted, avoiding Professor McGonagall's eyes.

"No, I suspected as much," said McGonagall. "However, I believe there is a place you can stay for the duration of the summer. Come with me."

McGonagall led her out of the building to a small abandoned bus-stop. It was dark outside, and Rosie wasn't entirely sure what time it was. It had been at least four days since she'd been arrested, and the hours had all started to meld together. McGonagall motioned for her to sit down.

"I believe the next bus is due to arrive in approximately ten minutes," she said, "so we should arrive within the next hour. Admittedly we would be there sooner were we not using muggle transportation, but I didn't have time to make all the requisite arrangements, and I don't want to draw unnecessary attention. If you have any other belongings elsewhere in the city, I will arrange to have them picked up tomorrow, as long as you let me know where they are."

"No, this is it," Rosie said, clutching her satchel.

"You have all of your school supplies in that bag?" asked Professor McGonagall, raising an eyebrow.

"I enchanted it," Rosie explained, "A couple of years ago. It's bigger on the inside."

"That's quite advanced charmwork," said McGonagall.

"It really wasn't that difficult... I mean, it took a long time to get right, but time is something I always seem to have rather a lot of."

"I see," said McGonagall. "But still, it is commendable work for a young witch. You have a great deal of potential, Miss Evans. It saddens me to think of you wasting it on a life of petty crime."

Rosie said nothing.

"I don't suppose you care to explain how you ended up in a muggle prison?" asked McGonagall.

"I... uh... stole a car," said Rosie.

"And why, pray tell, did you feel the need to steal a car?"

Rosie shrugged. "The guy who owned it was a dick," she said.

McGonagall looked at her, as if waiting for her to elaborate, but Rosie didn't say anything more.

After several minutes of silence, Rosie finally asked, "Professor, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here?"

"I happened to see the Weasley twins earlier this afternoon," McGonagall said. "They expressed concern about not having heard from you in several days-I believe the three of you are involved in some sort of business venture? I told them that I would make an inquiry on their behalf, which I did, and now here we are, though I must confess, this is not how I envisioned spending my evening."

Rosie cringed. She didn't want to imagine what kind of inquiry Professor McGonagall had had to make, and she suddenly realized how easily the lies she told about her home life could come undone. Almost no one at Hogwarts knew that Rosie was a foster child, let alone a runaway with a criminal record.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Rosie asked, once again avoiding Professor McGonagall's eyes. "You won't tell them where you found me?"

"I don't believe in heedlessly sharing other people's business, Miss Evans. But, I will share what is necessary with those who need to know. Is that understood?"

Rosie nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Ah look," said Professor McGonagall, "here comes the bus."

As the light from the headlights grew stronger as the bus drew close to the bus stop, Rosie took the opportunity to reach into her satchel and pull out a ratty, oversized jumper. She pulled it over her head just as the bus arrived.

"Where are we headed?" Rosie asked, as they stepped on board the bus.

"Islington," replied McGonagall.

Rosie looked around her. There were only a handful of other people on board, and they all seemed to be staring at the two of them. Rosie wasn't surprised. People had been staring at her for as long as she could remember-first for the disfiguring scars that covered her face and body, later for her brightly-colored hair, which was currently a faded teal blue. She found that people could usually only stare for so long before they got bored and returned to whatever they'd been doing before. She found a seat towards the front of the bus and sat down. McGonagall sat down beside her.

"What's in Islington?" Rosie asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," said McGonagall.

The bus jerked into motion, and Rosie stared out the window, watching the haze of shadows drift past. She felt cold in spite of her jumper-colder than normal for an August night. But the steady movement of the bus was strangely soothing, and her eyes soon began to feel heavy. Before she knew it, Rosie Evans had drifted off to sleep.

...

The nightmare was a familiar one. A tall, white figure in a black robe, his cruel, snake-like face seeming to stretch on for miles. A man's frantic voice, calling her name over and over, echoing as if from far away. A flash of green light, a surge of panic, a woman's scream, a high-pitched laugh, and the feeling of falling, falling, falling, falling into a huge cavernous pit. But then the pit wasn't cavernous. It was small, dark, suffocating. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she couldn't even scream. Panic rose up inside of her, rolling out of her in waves. She felt like she was going to die. She wanted to go home, all she could think about was home, home, she wanted to go home, but she didn't have a home, and then all of a sudden, Crack! Light. A bright, blinding light, followed by seething, searing, blistering pain. Her whole body was on fire. Someone had ripped her, limb from limb. She had been pulled apart, and pinned together, then torn apart again.

Rosie woke up with a gasp.

The bus rolled to a stop.

"We're here," said Professor McGonagall. She stood up and motioned for Rosie to follow.

They got off the bus in a part of London that Rosie immediately recognized as the nice part of town. The streets were clean and wide, lined with carefully-placed trees, and not one of the old stone buildings seemed overly tired or run-down. Professor McGonagall led her down a few of these streets until they came to a row of townhouses that stood in front of a small park. Turning to face the intersection of the houses numbered 11 and 13, McGonagall handed Rosie a scrap of paper emblazoned with an address in tight, curling script.

Rosie's eyes widened as the row of houses began to move before her eyes, and a new townhouse appeared between the previous two, its windows lit with flickering golden lights. As the house fully solidified in front of them, she marveled at the skill that must have been required for such an enchantment, and the very fact that an entire building could be completely concealed by magic. She had never seen anything like it before. She caught McGonagall looking at her with a wry smile.

"Welcome, Miss Evans," she said, "to Number 12 Grimmauld Place."