A/N: I started working on this story back in 2021, but stopped publishing when I realized that it wasn't what I wanted it to be. I've since reworked a lot of what I had, and added a whole bunch more, so I'm deleting the previous chapters and republishing it. We'll see how consistent I manage to be about it, but I've had a lot of fun working on it, so at least I can say that!

Chapter One

Lily Evans was eighteen when she found out she was pregnant.

Rosie sat quietly on the cold bench of her police cell, anxiously swinging her legs. One of the policemen—the short one with the nasally voice—had just stopped by to tell her she was being granted bail and would be released as soon as the paperwork was processed. From what little else he'd said, it had sounded like someone had shown up to collect her, and she was struggling to imagine who on earth it could be. She couldn't think of anyone who knew that she was currently being held under arrest at a Watford police station, least of all someone who would be willing to get her out. She hoped to God it wasn't Marcus, though that didn't seem likely, since he was the reason she was locked up in the first place. She shuddered at the thought that he'd had a "change of heart." Nothing from Marcus ever came free…

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

"Yes?" she replied.

"You're free to go," he said shortly.

Rosie followed him through the station's stark beige corridors, until they eventually came to the large double-doors that opened into the entrance. The policeman led her over to the front desk, where he began to explain the terms of her bail as a clerk handed over some paperwork and a plastic bin. Rosie barely paid attention, tuning him out as she strained to get a better look over her shoulder at the small waiting area. It would have been easier if her eyesight weren't so god-awful, but she could make out a couple of figures. A tall man with very little hair was stooped in the corner, pacing awkwardly in small circles, and a little old lady sat towards the front, reading a magazine that Rosie was fairly certain had a mostly naked man on the cover. Neither of them seemed to acknowledge her presence, and she didn't recognize either of them, so presumably they weren't there for her. But if not them, then who?

The policeman drew her attention back to him with an irritated little cough, and she let him continue on with his spiel as she examined the contents of the plastic bin in front of her. It contained the few belongings she'd had on her when she was arrested. Namely, an old, army-green satchel that felt lighter than it should have, 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 they would have had the decency to pick them up afterwards. Clearly not.

"So, now that's all straight, we'll be seeing you in court in three months time," the policeman finished, nodding to the clerk, and heading back off into the heart of the station.

Sure you will, Rosie thought as she picked up the bag and stuffed her wand into it. She wondered briefly what it must have looked like to the muggles who'd processed her arrest. It usually chose something of a similar size and shape— perhaps a stick of seaside rock candy or a fancy pen. Whatever it was, she was grateful for the low-level charm that seemed to lie on the wand. God knows who'd placed it there, but it had saved her from exposing the British wizarding community more than once; or, at the very least, it had saved her from the hassle of involving the Ministry of Magic in any of her… misadventures. A thought came to her suddenly that caused her stomach to sink. Was there any chance the Ministry could have found out about her arrest? Had someone at the Ministry recognized her face in the muggle newspapers and showed up at the police station this evening, only to escort her from a muggle prison to a magical one? If so, she wouldn't let them. They had no right to arrest her. She hadn't used magic. She made sure never to use magic.

Suddenly anxious that one of the two strangers in the waiting room was secretly a ministry official, Rosie decided that her best bet was to get out of there as quickly as possible. Pulling a hair bobble out of her bag, Rosie tied her dirty, faded-blue hair into a rushed ponytail, and tossed her bag over her shoulder. She quickly took the papers that the clerk proffered her, and lifting her satchel up to try and shield her face, she made her way past the waiting area and out of the station's double glass doors.

Standing outside the police station, she looked out onto the dreary street, hardly believing her luck. She was actually free! She turned quickly to the right, about to navigate her way to the nearest bus stop, but instead found herself mere seconds away from stumbling into a tall, imperious figure she hadn't noticed before. A tall, imperious figure whose stern gaze she'd faced too many times not to recognize.

There, standing rigidly in front of her, just outside the police station, was none other than the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts herself—

Minerva McGonagall.

She'd only just completed her final year at Hogwarts, and was still reeling from shock.

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

"Miss Evans," McGonagall greeted her coolly. Rosie's vision was blurry but McGonagall was standing close enough that even in the dim evening light she could see that she was wearing a white blouse, a long brown cardigan, and an ankle-length tweed skirt that bustled slightly in the wind. She looked as though she'd stepped straight out of the late nineteenth century. Rosie had never seen her in muggle clothing before.

"Did you… you're not… what are you doing here?"

"I am here because of you, Miss Evans," McGonagall replied. "I take it you have all of your belongings?"

"Um, yes," Rosie answered, still struggling to comprehend McGonagall's presence. 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. Why had McGonagall decided to show up now of all times?

"Very well," said McGonagall. She looked Rosie up and down, and her expression softened. Rosie flushed, suddenly extremely aware of her appearance. She was wearing a tight black tank-top and green cargo pants, exposing more bruises and scrapes than she could count, 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. But even if she'd been able to cover up better, she still had a black eye and a busted lip. She hated McGonagall's obvious pity, but there was no way to hide from it. Still, she felt herself shrink under her gaze in a way she hadn't done in years.

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

"No," Rosie admitted, avoiding Professor McGonagall's eyes, and wanting to take it back as soon as the word was out of her mouth.

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

Rosie didn't know how to feel about spending the rest of the summer with McGonagall's relatives, or whoever it was that she planned on taking her to, but it seemed likely to be safer and more comfortable than spending the next few weeks curled up on a park bench, so she followed her without protest.

McGonagall led her down the street to a small, abandoned bus-stop covered in old graffiti. She motioned for Rosie to sit down.

"The next bus is due to arrive in ten minutes," she said, "so we should be there within the 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 intend to draw unnecessary attention. If you have any other belongings, 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?" McGonagall asked, raising an eyebrow.

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

"That's quite advanced charmwork."

"It really wasn't that difficult…" Rosie said, watching as an empty plastic bottle rolled down the street in the wind. "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.

Rosie debated whether or not to tell her the truth. But then, what did she have to gain by lying when McGonagall already knew so much? She looked over to the other side of the street, and her attention caught on the hazy figure of a woman pushing a pram. Lucky kid, she thought.

"I... uh... stole a car," she admitted finally.

"And why, pray tell, did you feel compelled to do such a thing?"

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 said nothing more. They sat in silence for several minutes and watched as a particularly strong gust of wind blew a few items of rubbish out of the top of an overfilled bin.

Eventually, Rosie spoke again. "Professor, if you don't mind me asking, why are you really here?"

"I happened to see the Weasley twins yesterday afternoon. I believe the three of you are involved in some sort of business venture?" McGonagall said, and Rosie could hear the frown in her voice. "They expressed some concerns about your… circumstances. I told them that I would make an inquiry, which I did, and now here we are."

Rosie cringed, suddenly realizing how flimsy some of the lies she told about her home life actually were. She hadn't thought Fred and George were paying attention, hadn't realized they'd care that she hadn't contacted them since shortly after the beginning of the summer. But if they had, well, she didn't want to think about how easily it could all come undone. Almost no one at Hogwarts knew that Rosie was a foster kid, let alone a runaway with a criminal record. She'd rather it stay that way.

"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 gossip, Miss Evans. But I will share what is necessary with those who need to know. Is that understood?"

Rosie grit her teeth and nodded. She suspected that was as good as she was going to get. "Yes, Professor."

"Oh look," said Professor McGonagall after a moment. "Here comes the bus."

Rosie looked down the street and spied two pinpricks of light that were growing gradually brighter. Wanting to draw as little extra attention as possible, she took the opportunity to reach into her satchel and grab a ratty, oversized jumper. She pulled it over her head just as their small patch of street became bathed in warm yellow light.

The bus had arrived.

Her world was at war, her parents had died in a car crash unexpectedly, and she and her older sister Petunia had been left orphans.

"Where are we headed?" Rosie asked, as she stepped on board the bus. It was a small bus, with just a single level, and it smelled vaguely of stale vomit.

"Islington," replied Professor McGonagall, stepping up behind her.

Rosie looked around. There were only a handful of other people on board, and several of them were staring. She wasn't particularly 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. Over time, she'd found that people could usually only stare for so long before they got bored, at which point they returned to whatever they'd been doing before. She found a seat towards the back 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, pulling a small book out of her pocket and adjusting her spectacles as she settled down to read. Unable to see what McGonagall was reading, Rosie contented herself with staring out the window.

Within a few moments, the bus jerked into motion, and Rosie watched the haze of shadows drift past. She felt cold in spite of her jumper— colder than normal for a late summer 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 one of the nicer areas. The streets were wide and tidy, lined with carefully-placed trees, and the old stone buildings were clean and well-maintained. Well-dressed muggles ambled along in small groups, and more than a few of them shot her suspicious glances. Tucking her head down, Rosie made a point of staying as close to Professor McGonagall as possible. They made their way down a few different streets until they came to a row of townhouses standing in front of a small park. Turning to face one of the houses, McGonagall handed Rosie a scrap of paper emblazoned with an address in tight, curling script. Rosie had to hold it up close to her face in order to make out the words.

"What's this for?" she asked, as McGonagall took back the scrap of paper and lit it aflame with a subtle flick of her wrist.

"The house you'll be staying at for the rest of the summer is protected," McGonagall said. "Its location is a secret, shared only with a select few."

"A Fidelius charm…" Rosie whispered.

McGonagall looked at her. "Precisely," she said, and Rosie thought she heard a note of pride in her voice.

Rosie looked over at the row of townhouses, standing exactly as they had a minute ago. She would have thought that the hidden house would be revealed by now.

"I don't see anything," she said.

"Patience, Miss Evans."

A few moments later, two of the townhouses suddenly split apart and began to shift down the street as another brick structure pushed its way though. Rosie gasped. The pavement groaned beneath her, and she watched as three brightly lit windows squeezed out of the gap, followed by a door, then another set of windows, and another, until an entire townhouse—darker in color than the others—had fully solidified in front of them. Instinctively, she glanced around, but the small handful of muggles walking down the street seemed completely oblivious. Rosie found herself marveling at the skill of the enchantment. She had never seen anything like it before. She caught McGonagall looking at her with a glimmer in her eyes.

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

She'd gone to James the night she found out, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

Professor McGonagall's knock was followed a few moments later by a quiet rustling from inside. The door cracked ajar and a woman's freckled face peeked out through the gap behind a large chain. Her eyes quickly met McGonagall's.

"Minerva!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "We weren't expecting to see you again 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, still 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 and smiled once again. "Of course, Minerva." She turned to Rosie, flinching obviously as she came into the light. "What did you say your name was, dear?" she asked gently.

"Um, Evans. Just Evans," Rosie stammered, flushing under the woman's pitiful gaze.

"Well, Evans, just make sure you watch your step in the hallway. And keep your voice down too, if you can. There's a deranged woman's portrait on this floor that shrieks something terrible whenever it's disturbed. Merlin only knows how long I've been trying to get rid of it."

The woman beckoned Rosie and McGonagall into the hallway, and led them quietly downstairs to a large, antique kitchen filled with bubbling copper pots and pans that glowed vibrantly in the abundant candlelight. They were producing some of the most magnificent odors that Rosie had ever smelled. Her stomach growled, and she began looking around to see if there was anything she could easily take without notice. She could barely remember the last time she'd had a decent meal. It must have been at Hogwarts, perhaps a week or so before the end of term.

A few people were already in the kitchen, huddled around a balding red-headed man at the table and listening to a story that he was telling rather animatedly. They looked up as they entered and Rosie noted, in addition to the man who had been talking, there were two other men and a woman with short, hot pink hair. They sat far enough away that Rosie had a hard time making out their faces, but for once she wasn't all that concerned with the people in the room. Her eyes were focused solely on the food. She watched hungrily as vegetables danced around in their pots of boiling water, a smaller pot beside them bubbling with a delicious smelling brown liquid. She couldn't see what was in the oven, but the smell coming from that direction was just divine. And was that a chocolate cake on the glass stand over there?

The freckled woman must have noticed Rosie's attention shift, because she gave her a quick look up and down and sighed very slightly before saying, "I'm afraid it'll be about an hour or so before dinner's ready dear, but let me get you some bread and butter."

Rosie merely nodded and watched as the woman vanished into an enormous pantry. In the meantime, one of the men at the table, a tall one with black hair, called over to them. "Everything alright, Minerva?"

"Everything is quite well, thank you Sirius."

Sirius. That wasn't exactly a common name… where did Rosie know it from? However, there was no time to dwell on it, as the freckled woman immediately emerged from the pantry with a large napkin containing a couple of thick slabs of crusty warm bread, slathered in creamy yellow butter. Rosie didn't think she'd ever seen something so decadent, even at Hogwarts. It looked like it had been taken straight out of a storybook. Rosie took the bread hungrily and tore off a large bite. God, it was probably the best thing she'd ever eaten. She felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards the freckled woman.

"Who's the kid?" the same man, Sirius, asked.

"This is Rosie Evans," McGonagall answered. "She is a student at Hogwarts."

"Okay, and what is she doing here?"

Rosie forced her attention away from the bread momentarily in order to look up at the adults that surrounded her. All of them were staring intently at McGonagall, as if waiting for the same explanation. Rosie's throat caught as she tried to swallow, and she suddenly felt very small. She wasn't supposed to be here.

"That is what I have come to discuss," McGonagall said. "As of this evening, Miss Evans is under my charge, and in need of a place to stay for the remainder of the summer. I would like to petition the Order for her to remain here."

"It's a little late for a petition, wouldn't you say?" Sirius said, glaring at Rosie as she quietly ate away at her bread.

"Perhaps you are right, but circumstances were such that I was required to act quickly, and necessity precedes propriety where I am concerned. You can be assured that I had express permission from Professor Dumbledore before bringing her here. He doesn't believe that she is likely to be a security risk."

"I worry it's not quite as simple as that, Minerva," another man said, one whose voice Rosie immediately recognized as belonging to Professor Lupin, her fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. There was a slight edge to his voice as he said it, and McGonagall shot the freckled woman a glance that Rosie couldn't quite make out. However, the woman seemed to have understood, because she looked towards the pink-haired woman at the table and asked, "Tonks, would you mind taking Evans upstairs to the others? There's no need for her to wait around down here while we all chat."

"Sure thing, Molly," the woman replied cheerily, getting up out of her seat.

Rosie looked up at Professor McGonagall, momentarily confused. She was being sent away? Her gaze shifted over to the adults at the table, and she suddenly felt a sudden twinge of anger at the idea of them all sitting around and discussing what to do with her while she sat off in some other room twiddling her thumbs. What happened to her say in this? She hadn't asked to be brought here.

"If you lot don't want me here, I'm happy to leave," she said, trying hard to sound apathetic.

Tonks hurried to protest, as did the balding man who'd been talking before they walked in, but they were drowned out by McGonagall's stern voice.

"Absolutely not. Now please, go with Tonks. I will see you before I leave."

Rosie considered refusing, but decided it was perhaps best not to provoke the woman who had essentially just bailed her out of prison. Reluctantly, she made her way over to the doorway, where Tonks was now waiting.

"Come on then," she said, beckoning her upstairs with a grin. Rosie took a deep breath, stuffed her napkin of bread in her bag, and followed her up the rickety wooden stairs. In a sense, whatever discussion the adults planned on having seemed pointless. Rosie was used to being unwanted, but she was also no stranger to simply walking away. If it looked like these people were going to make her life miserable, she'd leave whether McGonagall liked it or not. Sure, she'd be back on the street, but she would survive.

She always survived.

He was shocked, but he understood. His parents were older than most, and his dad had died suddenly a couple of years ago, shortly before his mum was diagnosed with late-stage cancer— one of the handful of sicknesses that wizard healers didn't have a cure for. They both knew she didn't have much time left.

"So… you're a student," Tonks said cheerfully as they made their way up the second flight of stairs. "What year are you?"

"Sixth," Rosie replied, distractedly. Her attention had caught on the weird little shrunken heads attached to plaques on the wall. They looked like house elves…

"Ah, starting your N.E.W.T.s then, eh? Excited?"

"Not particularly," Rosie said, pausing by one of the heads so she could get a better look at it. Yes, it was definitely a house elf.

"Nah, neither was I, I s'pose. Glad to be done with O.W.L.s though, that's for sure. I had the worst Arithmancy professor that year… Professor Boole. Lovely man, but a dreadful teacher. Some of my classmates practically wept with joy when Professor Vector came back from her sabbatical."

Rosie ignored her chatter. "What exactly is this place?" she asked bluntly.

Tonks's grin fell. The abrupt change of topic had thrown her.

"Oh, I guess you could call it a safe house," she answered, deliberately stepping around a large clawed urn as they walked across the second floor landing.

"For what?"

"…Er, I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you," Tonks said, turning down a short corridor lined with intricately carved doors. She knocked out a short, peppy beat on one of them. No answer. "Huh. They must be upstairs."

Tonks directed Rosie back towards the staircase just as Rosie was beginning to mentally put the pieces together. The hidden safe house, the shrieking portrait, the house elf heads on the wall, and the man downstairs— Sirius. She did know him from somewhere! He'd been all over the papers two years ago. Sirius Black, the escaped mass-murderer. And Professor Lupin— wasn't he a known werewolf?

"Is this a safe house for criminals?" Rosie blurted out. She had to know. Was that why McGonagall had brought her here?

Tonks paused halfway up the third flight of stairs. She looked at Rosie, her expression serious. "No," she said, "no one here's a criminal, whatever the papers might say."

Rosie said nothing as she mulled over the implications of this statement. Finally, they turned off the third floor landing onto another larger and more decadent corridor.

"Y'know, it's funny," Tonks said lightly, "usually they're all out here trying to figure out what's going on downstairs. They must not have heard you two come in." She led Rosie past a couple of doors, until they came to one that had faint music and chattering coming from the other side. Tonks knocked out another peppy little beat.

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

Tonks opened the door, and four faces looked up from a game they'd been playing in the middle of the floor. Even without her glasses, Rosie recognized almost all of them. Three of them were the year below her, and even if one of them hadn't already been famous, she was sure she'd know them anyway. Everyone at school knew them, if only because of the sheer number of times they'd almost managed to get themselves killed. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. The fourth girl had red hair and also seemed vaguely familiar. Rosie guessed that she was probably the youngest of the Weasley clan—Jenny, was it?

"Hey guys!" Tonks announced brightly. "I've brought you a visitor!"

No one said anything, but Rosie could see the shock etched into their faces.

"You've got to be joking me," Ron finally exclaimed. "Fucking Scar-Face Evans?"