A quiet rustling came from inside the house moments after Professor McGonagall's knock, and the door creaked ajar, a large chain preventing it from being opened all the way. Half of a woman's freckled face peeked out through the gap, and her eyes quickly met McGonagall's.

"Minerva!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "We weren't expecting you back so soon! Hold on just a mo."

The woman closed the door, and Rosie heard the clanking of the chain being undone, before the door opened wide.

The freckled woman smiled broadly at Professor McGonagall. "I've got the dinner on if you have time to join us. Arthur brought back duck with him today, Merlin knows how he got ahold of it, but it makes for a lovely-" The woman broke off as she noticed Rosie standing partially obscured behind McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "That's very kind of you, Molly, but I'm afraid I really can't stay. I did, however, want to speak to the Order briefly about a small matter concerning Miss Evans here. Would you mind at all if we came in?"

The woman shook off her confusion momentarily and smiled once again. "Of course, Minerva." She turned to Rosie, flinching just slightly as the girl came into the light. "What's your name, dear?" she asked.

"Oh, just Evans is fine," Rosie responded, flushing.

"Well, Evans, just make sure you watch your step in the hallway. And keep your voice down too, if you can. I'm afraid we have a horrible portrait on this floor that will start shrieking with the slightest disturbance."

Rosie wondered exactly what sort of house this was supposed to be, with shrieking portraits and magical camouflage. Meanwhile, the woman beckoned Rosie and McGonagall into the hallway, and then led them quietly downstairs to a large, antique kitchen, filled with copper pots and pans that were producing some of the most magnificent odors Rosie had ever smelled. All of her curiosity faded instantly as her stomach growled, and her mouth watered. It had been so long since she'd had a good meal. A few people were huddled around the kitchen table, listening to a story that one of them, a middle-aged balding man, was telling. They looked up as they entered, but Rosie barely noticed them, other than to note that one of them had short, hot pink hair that she thoroughly approved of.

The freckled woman who'd led them inside must have noticed Rosie's focus shift to the stove, because she shot her a sympathetic look and said, "I'm afraid it'll be another half hour before dinner's ready, dear, but there's bread and butter in the pantry over there if you want to help yourself."

With only a quick glance back at Professor McGonagall, who was speaking to a tall, thin man with brown hair, who looked eerily familiar, Rosie sped over to the open door the woman had pointed at. The pantry, as the woman had called it, looked almost like a smaller version of the kitchen, and in the middle of it there was a small table with several loaves of fresh bread and a bowl full of butter. Rosie hurriedly tore off a chunk of one of the loaves and took a bite, not bothering with the butter. She let out a groan inadvertently. It was the best thing she'd eaten in months. The crust was thick and crunchy, the inside light and fluffy, and it had that perfect salty chewiness that you could never get from store-bought bread. Rosie took several more bites before she walked back over towards the kitchen. From just outside the door she could hear the adults speaking in hushed voices.

"But what is she doing here?" asked the brown-haired man, whose voice Rosie instantly recognized as that of Professor Lupin, her fourth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"The details, for the moment, are of little consequence, but after an inquiry, Miss Evans' present living arrangements were found to be highly unsuitable. I will see to it that she has an appropriate plan for next year, if her situation does not change before then, but as for the rest of the summer, I would like to request that Miss Evans remain here, under the watch and safekeeping of the Order," replied McGongall.

"Since when does Hogwarts care about its students' home lives?" asked a man with shoulder-length black hair.

Professor McGonagall stiffened. "As a general rule we try to stay out of those aspects of students' lives which do not concern us. However, in this instance, I took it into my power to make a personal inquiry into the circumstances of a particular student, and therefore consider myself duty bound to aid in the situation's rectification. I trust you don't have an issue with this, Sirius?"

The man quavered slightly under a glowering look from McGonagall, and said nothing.

"What about security?" asked the freckle-faced woman. "Is it even safe to be bringing an outsider like her here like this?"

"Well, it's a little late for that now, Molly," interjected the middle-aged man.

"Professor Dumbledore approved of my request ahead of time. He believes the girl poses little risk to the Order."

"But what do we even know about her? What if she gets out and starts talking about the Order to strangers. Ministry Officials could start making inquiries. The headquarters could be found out. Word could even spread to... well, you-know-who! Why are we taking such a risk?"

"I can assure you, Molly, if you knew the girl's circumstances, you would understand the risk."

"So why don't we know the circumstances?"

"It is not my place to disclose all the details at this time."

"But it is your place to remove the girl from wherever she was and bring her here?" the freckle-faced woman hissed. "Where's her family? Why can't she stay with them?"

"Miss Evans has no family."

Rosie flinched at these words. The freckle-faced woman was silent.

"Nor does she have any family friends, neighbors, or acquaintances upon whose charity she could draw. I have explored all possible avenues. The Order's headquarters were not my first thought, but my last."

"I hate to say that I agree with Molly," the black-haired man said, "But the Order's security is still an issue."

"I understand," said McGonagall. "And as such, precautions will be taken. Miss Evans will be made aware that in order to remain at 12 Grimmauld Place, she must agree to absolute discretion in any and all matters relating to the Order, and, moreover, she will not be allowed to leave the house at any time before the beginning of the school year."

Rosie pulled a face of disgust. If she was going to be kept a prisoner, did it even matter if she was here or in juvie? But with a look down at the half-eaten chunk of bread in her hand, she had her answer.

"There you go, Molly," said the middle-aged man, "You can't get more reasonable than that."

The freckle-faced woman sighed and looked around the kitchen. "I suppose it will be good to have another set of hands to help with the cleaning," she said.

The black-haired man snorted.

"It's all agreed then?" asked McGonagall.

There were nods all around.

The pink-haired woman, who had remained silent for the entire conversation, suddenly perked up. "I can take her upstairs and get her settled in, if you want, Molly."

"Very well, very well. Take her to the girls' bedroom, Tonks. There should be a third bed in there."

The pink-haired woman strode towards the pantry, and Rosie scurried back to the table. She tried to make it look like she had been steadily engaged in eating bread the whole time, but she started spluttering as she swallowed a too-large mouthful.

"There's water in that jug over there," the pink-haired woman said, suddenly materialising behind her.

"Thanks," Rosie coughed, pouring herself a glass.

"I can take you upstairs to where you'll be sleeping, if you're ready," the pink-haired woman said with a grin. "I'm Tonks, by the way. Oh, and just pretend you didn't hear anything they said. It's easier that way."

Tonks led Rosie back through the kitchen, past the curious eyes of its inhabitants, and up four flights of stairs.

"It's funny," Tonks said lightly as they were walking, "usually they're all out here on the staircase trying to figure out what's going on downstairs. Guess they didn't hear you two come in. Ooh, wotcha!" Tonks drew Rosie away from the large clawed foot of an ornamental plant pot that she was getting dangerously close to tripping over. "I've fallen over that thing one too many times, myself."

Tonks led Rosie down a large, decadent corridor filled with doors, before stopping outside one that had faint music and chatting coming from the other side. She knocked.

"Come in!" came a girl's voice.

Tonks opened the door, and four faces looked up from a board game they'd been playing in the middle of the floor. Even without her glasses, Rosie recognized almost all of them. Almost everyone at Hogwarts knew them, thanks to the sheer number of times they'd almost gotten killed. They were Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. Rosie figured the other red-haired girl must be the Weasley's younger sister, but she couldn't remember her name exactly. What had the twins said it was? Jenny?

"Hey everyone!" said Tonks brightly. No one said anything. Rosie could see the shock etched into their faces. She tried to smile, but was fairly certain that what came out more closely resembled a grimace.

"Oh bloody hell," Ron finally cried. "Not Scar-Face Evans!"

...