This story is currently being re-written. The general plot will stay the same, but details and timeline will be a bit different. If you're a returning reader, bare with me as I go through. Trust me, the story will be a lot better for it.

There will be a lot of point of view switches in this chapter. It's necessary to establish the plot. However, the story after this chapter will primarily focus on Elvira, Fred, and George. I hope you enjoy!

"Elvira! It's time for your medicine." My mother waited on the other side of my bedroom door for me to let her in. Usually, she wouldn't knock, but the tray she held required two hands. I knew this routine.

I sat still for a moment, clutching Andromeda. The plush cat complied limply to my hold, button eyes blank but familiar. In the stillness of the moment, I imagined that I was a gatekeeper. That I would have the final say of who could cross my threshold. In this world I might sometimes permit my mother access. Though I hated the shots that typically accompanied her appearance, she would also bring gifts sometimes in the form of sweets or toys. My father on the other hand, came along with sharp metal prodders and syringes that he would use to remove liters of my blood at a time. I often felt weak for hours after his visits. In my world, he would be strictly forbidden from entry. I slowly stroked Andromeda's head as I relaxed into the fantasy.

"Elvira! Open the door!" My mother yelled louder.

I got up and opened the door. She was clearly annoyed at my hesitation, but not as much as a glance at her face might lead some people to believe. My mother always looked tired, with bags under her eyes and frown lines. Her well kempt hair was beginning to grey, despite her moderate age. From the interactions I had observed between my mother and her peers, which were not frequent, she was a feared and respected woman.

She didn't say a word to me as she came in and set the tray down on my nightstand. These exchanges between us were often silent. Sometimes I liked to believe that it was because she didn't enjoy them either. It was easier this way, without us looking each other in the eye.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and rolled up my sleeve. She kneeled in front of me and pressed down firmly on my forearm, searching for a vein that hadn't already been devastated. It hurt a little but I had learned the hard way that it was easier to stay still. Once she found a spot, she cleaned it with antiseptic on a cotton ball. She was preparing the needle when a loud crash sounded from downstairs, followed by a shout. My mother froze, and then slowly lowered the needle back onto the tray so that it wouldn't clang.

"Get in the cupboard and don't make a noise." Once she saw that I intended to follow her instruction, she promptly turned to leave.

I shut the cupboard door behind me and sat down on the floor. I could sense magic in the air, so I knew that it must be the source of all the crashing going on below. After a period of silence, I heard a crash, and then a shriek that I knew to be my mother's. A chill ran through me, although I was not certain as to what had happened. A short time later, there was creaking on the stairs. Two sets of shoes, I decided.

I could see them enter through a crack in the door, a man and a woman, but not my parents. They wore clothes that my parents taught me to associate with the lower wizarding class. The woman's hand knit blouse was a jumble of colors that kept the eye from focusing on any single one. The couple both had red hair, a trait which I had heard my mother mock on a few occasions.

…Alestor Moody…

Alestor Moody approached the house in question. Several reports were made to the ministry in the last several days for noise disturbances and suspected dark magic. There were fewer of these reports after Lord Voldemort 's disappearance last year, but some of his followers still remained at large.

He knocked on the door. Maroon paint flaked off with each resounding tap. Overgrown ivy crept up the bricks and gutters, ensnaring the structure as if it were trying to squeeze it of its last breath.

When there was no response he knocked again, but there was still only silence from the foreboding house. With a quick charm, the door unhinged and fell in upon the foyer. Moody was a seasoned auror and now veteran, given the recently ended war. It still amazed him that through all The Order's efforts, an infant had put the whole thing to rest. The Daily Profit made it out to be a fluke, a coincidence. After all, no one had ever survived the killing curse. The Order knew otherwise however. Lily had sacrificed herself, used the last of her life force and all of her love to save her son, a beautiful tragedy that Moody could not easily forget.

Thoughts of her sacrifice swirled in his mind. Many members of The Order, friends and family, were lost in a short period of time and everyone grieved for someone. Now, a weary Alestor was determined to clean up the mess that was left behind.

He crept through the hall to what turned into a kitchen, searching for anything alarming. There was a team of aurors on stand by if anything should go amiss. One moment, the air was completely calm, and the next, a burst of commotion sent a green flash toward him, nearly missing him and instead shattering the china cabinet to his left. Moody raced around a corner into the dinning room to regroup and send a signal flair for backup.

That didn't buy him much time as the residents of the house, a witch and wizard, were quickly upon him. Caught off guard, Alestor made his best attempt at blocking the string of hexes being cast at him, barely giving him a second to throw in a curse of his own.

He threw a hex and instinctually knew it would land. As he watched the witch fall, a curse burst through his shield, striking him in the eye, sending him sprawling to the ground. He lost consciousness almost immediately.

When he awoke, several of his co-workers were about, examining the scene. Then he recognized Arthur and Molly Weasley standing to the side of him. Arthur must have been working late at the ministry and heard of the attack. When they noticed him stirring, Molly rushed over to see if he was ok. Arthur followed close behind.

"What happened?" Moody rasped.

"They fled," Arthur informed him, "bloody cowards."

"Arthur shush, Alestor should rest!" Molly cooed. Moody turned his attention to her then.

"Upstairs" he said, "The witch was guarding the staircase." And that was all he could muster before once again passing out.

…Molly Weasley…

Molly looked at Arthur warily, having guessed the situation. It wouldn't be the first time the order made a bust, only for a child to be left orphaned. Although the job had to be done, Molly had more sympathy for the kids than many of her peers. In most cases, they were young enough to have no real impression of their parents. They would have a perfectly fine chance of assimilating upon adoption. Or at least that's what she told herself, pushing the fact that Tom Riddle was an orphan to the back of her mind.

She walked upstairs cautiously with Arthur in pursuit. There was always a chance of encountering something dangerous. Once they came upon the bedroom, tellingly painted pink, Molly relaxed a little. The inside was well kept, much more tidy than any Weasley child's rooms. Molly often wished that they would leave their toys as is, if only for a day after she picked up. But this room was dreary. She found herself searching, hoping to find any sign of disarray.

She frowned when her eyes landed on the nightstand where the large needle still sat. Arthur wrapped it in a towel and tucked it safely away in his coat pocket for later examination.

A stuffed cat was left strewn on the bed, the only toy in sight. Filled with sickness, Molly instinctually moved toward the source of innocence. As she moved to pick it up though, a tiny gasp sounded from behind.

As the couple approached the cupboard, the door creaked open revealing large, watery grey eyes. A small figure sat hunched over, arms wrapped tightly around its own small frame. The girl startled both of them by speaking immediately. "What happened to my parents?"

Molly glanced at Arthur in the hope that he would have a response, but he appeared even more put out than his wife. "I don't think we need to worry around that right now dear. We won't hurt you, I promise." She held her hand out in the hopes that the girl would trust her. Instead of accepting, the child sat up straighter and uncrossed her arms, placing them palm up on her knees. The motion revealed track marks around the veins in her inner arms.

Arthur choked in horror, palming the needle in his pocket. "She must be what, four years old?"

"I'm six." The girl responded affirmatively.

"I'm Molly, and this is Arthur. What's your name dear?"

"Elvira."

"Well… Elvira, how would you like to come home with my husband and I?"

"Tell me what happened to my parents." She retracted, clearly not willing to take any evasion.

Arthur spoke before Molly could. "Your father was a bad man. The people I work with had to intervene, for the safety of everyone else, or, the majority of the wizarding world that is… Is he, is he the one that did that to you?" He merely gestured to her forearms, unwilling to look again.

She hesitated for a moment. "Yes. He was mean to me. He hurt me."

"Why don't you come stay with us dear, until we can find a more suitable situation, that is." Molly suggested. "I'm sure you'd get along smashingly with our family." To prove it, she pulled a family portrait from her pocket. Elvira looked over the photo for a while. The couple watched as her eyes locked onto Fred and George, ghosting back and forth between the two of them as they made faces at the camera. "Those are our twins, Fred and George. They're around your age. Just a year older."

Her face softened. Without looking up, she calmly demanded, "What happened to my parents?"

Arthur and Molly shared a look. Neither could be certain, even with their own children, how much information was alright to share. "Your father escaped." Her eyes shot up from the picture, alarm clear in her expression. "And your mother, well…" Elvira had already guessed the truth.

She looked back down at the photo as she processed. Molly handed it to her, as it seemed to be a source of comfort. Her fingers trailed over the moving images of Fred and George. Molly imagined that the poor girl had never had much interaction with other children. She glanced back at the singular stuffed toy on the bed.

"If I go with you," Elvira spoke, "will I be safe from my father?"

"We can guarantee it." Arthur assured her. "We'll take every precaution."

She still had not raised her eyes, but her head nodded as she contemplated. Then, without a word, she reached out and took Molly's hand.

They arrived back at the Burrow in the wee hours of the morning. Molly darted around the house as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake the other children. She arranged some blankets on the large, overstuffed couch and helped the girl into a pair of Fred and George's nightclothes. They were the closest to her size. The Chudley Cannons t-shirt still hung off of her thin shoulder and nearly stretched down to her knees like a dress.

The child was bright; Molly could tell by the way she spoke, clear and proper without the common lisps of children her age, along with the cautious, observant look in her eyes. There was wariness there that no child should have to bare. Molly associated her name, Elvira, negatively. There had been a Slytherin in her year at Hogwarts with that name, a downright nasty girl. The dead witches body had been covered by the time the Weasley's arrived, but now she wondered…

Molly babbled about the house and it's occupants, trying to make Elvira comfortable. She spoke of Fred and George, who she thought would make great playmates, while she fussed over the girl's knotty hair. Arthur finally stopped his wife's frantic mothering as she raced around the kitchen.

"Darling, this is the best we can do for the night. Let the girl sleep." He reasoned.

"Oh but Arthur, the poor thing must be terrified! I'm afraid to leave her alone." She whispered.

"Give her time love, you need your sleep too. We'll see what else we can do in the morning."

Sighing, Molly agreed and went back to the family room to ask once more if the girl needed anything and to inform her that their room was just up the stairs if she changed her mind. After saying goodnight, Arthur dragged a reluctant Molly to bed.

…Fred Weasley…

"Oy, George. George, wake up." I whispered as loud as I dared.

I looked at the door, partially cracked and letting in a bit of light from downstairs. I looked over at George, still dead asleep on the other half of the room. I looked back at the door. Mom would kill us if we were caught out of bed for the second night in a row. But the voices downstairs were muffled and the mystery would taunt me all night if I didn't get up. Carefully, I tiptoed over to George's bed and shook him awake.

George groaned. "What is it?" He could sometimes get a bit grumpy at being woken up. I was hoping the information down stairs would be good enough that he wouldn't hold it against me.

"Mom and dad just popped back in. Didn't know they'd left, but now mom's making all sorts of noise downstairs, and I think they're talking to someone."

"Right then." George got up quickly and I couldn't help but grin. Just as we were about to creep out the door, heavy footsteps started up the stairs. In a panic, we jumped back into the shadows, pressing ourselves against the walls. I held my breath as mom and dad passed by our door.

Once they closed the door to their room on the next level up, I whispered to George, "their room first", gesturing upward. He nodded in agreement.

Charlie always said that George and I were more like snakes than lions with the way we sneak around. Those words popped into my head as I carefully followed a memorized pattern of steps that would not make any noise on the floorboards. I suddenly felt the urge to drop a dung bomb in Charlie's trousers. Lions have to be stealthy too, or else they'd never eat.

We pressed our ears against mom and dads door. It didn't take long for them to start talking. "Do you think it was the right decision, bringing her here?" Mom sighed, doubt in her tone.

"I'm not sure dear, but it was either that or leave her in that closet. We can always drop her off somewhere in the morning, once facilities are open."

Mom didn't take well to that suggestion. "Oh, the idea of that alone makes me down right sick to the stomach, Arthur. She's a child!"

"I'm sorry dear, but we need to think of our family first. Her presence alone could place a target on our home."

"Did you put the wards up?"

"Yes dear, every one that I could think of."

"Alright, then we'll wait until morning to make any decisions. We should sleep on it."

We crept back down to the second floor before speaking. The night had turned out to be much more eventful than I had even imagined, "Sounds like we have a house guest Georgie".

"I suppose we should greet them?"

"You read my mind."

…Elvira…

I had yet to decide what I thought of the Burrow. It was cluttered and well lived in, unlike the clean minimalism of my family's home. My father enforced the tidiness. He believed that an organized space led to an organized mind. Despite my hatred for him, I was hesitant to disagree with this one principal. I could imagine how often objects were lost in the disarray of the Weasley's home. I grew up with few possessions. I never lost any of them. Andromeda lay on the couch next to me. I took her up in my arms.

I distracted myself for as long as I could by focusing on my surroundings. That's what I did whenever I was sad or in pain. My parents taught me that crying or throwing a fit wouldn't fix my problems. Still though, my vision was hindered in the darkness and the lack of stimulation allowed my thoughts to creep in.

My mother was dead. She never gave me many reasons to morn her, but still, I did. I knew already that this was an opportunity. Molly and Arthur had demonstrated more kindness toward me in a few hours than most of the people I had ever met combined. I should be happy. Still, tears poured from my eyes. I tried to tell my body to stop, that it wouldn't do any good. But I couldn't help it.

I sniffled, trying to clear the congestion that was quickly forming along with my misery. This brought something new to my attention. It was a scent unlike anything I had ever smelled. It was what I imagined heaven might smell like if it were on fire. I needed to find the source.

My eyes darted around frantically. I was afraid to leave the sanctity of the overstuffed couch. I couldn't see anything that would explain the smell. Then came a creek from a floorboard near the stairs.

"Bloody-hell" someone whispered angrily. They were crouched behind the large armchair across the room. The fact that someone had gotten so close without me noticing disturbed me.

"Who's there?" I demanded, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. After a moment, two figures reluctantly stood up from behind the chair. Immediately, I knew it was the twin boys from Molly's photograph, Fred and George. "What are you two doing down here?"

"What are we doing down here?" The one on the left started.

"We live here!" The second one whispered, exasperated.

"The real question is, what're you doing down here?" The first one finished. I felt embarrassed by their quick turn around. Obviously, I was the real intruder. I wasn't sure how to respond to the question. Suddenly, my situation seemed complicated.

"I… your mum…"

"What's your name?" The twin on the right interrupted me, which I wasn't particularly offended by. At least it was an easy question.

"Elvira."

"Elvira?" The one on the left gawked. "What's that, Latin for Evil?" He smirked at his own joke. His twin, who hadn't stopped looking at me, elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

"It was my mothers name." I looked away from them, sadness involuntarily returning.

"Oh. I'm sorry." The boy seemed to recognize his mistake. He looked especially guilty and it made me wonder if they knew something.

"He really was just trying to joke." The other twin tried to mediate.

"It's alright." I looked back up, determined to ward off tears before they came again. My assurance gave them the confidence to move closer. As they did, I watched their eyes lock onto certain parts of me. My left temple, which had been bruised a few days ago in an incident in my father's laboratory, then my inner arms, which I had formed a habit of holding face up so that blood from the needle sights wouldn't stain my sheets. I turned them over, self consciously keeping them from sight.

"What happened to you?" The first twin seemed to have a blunt streak. I could tell though, that he was genuinely concerned. They both moved even closer, taking seats on either side of me. The proximity made me uncomfortable but I knew that they weren't going to hurt me. The smell was back too. I was practically engulfed by it and I knew then that it came from the two of them. How I had smelled them from across the room, I wasn't sure.

This seemed like another difficult question to me, so I deflected. "You two haven't told me your names." I already knew their names, of course, but not which one was which.

"I'm Fred", said the first one who had come off as slightly rude.

"And I'm George." The other confirmed.

"Now answer our question." Fred demanded. Their scent was making me groggy and more relaxed than I meant to be.

"My father, he sticks needles in me, either to take my blood or to give me medicine. He says I'm weak and that I need it." The truth poured out of me.

"You don't seem very weak to us." George stated it as fact, even as he eyed my boney wrists. I found myself letting him take up my hand to examine the thin tissue there. My eyes were drooping now.

"I never liked the medicine." I admitted for the first time out loud. "It always made me feel bad."

"Medicine is supposed to make you feel better." Fred's voice was closer than I expected. I jerked my head back to ask him why he was so close to me, only to realize that I had slumped back against him without realizing. George pulled my legs across his lap. It was incredibly comfortable.

"Sleep. If you want." George suggested. I meant to tell him that I wasn't tired, but my brain got too lazy. I swiftly drifted into a cushiony sleep.

…George Weasley…

I silently sent a look to Fred, who was seated behind the girl, acting as a support. The whole situation was very comfortable, which was odd. Fred met my eyes and I could tell that he was still worked up by the medicine thing. I couldn't blame him. Whatever her father was doing to her, it couldn't have been right. She was thin, sure, probably undernourished. But she wasn't sick. There was nothing wrong with her. I could just tell.

Fred fell asleep first. In his sleep, his arms wrapped around the girl's torso, the crook of his arm forming a support for her head. The sight of my brother in such a nurturing position should have been odd to me. Ginny and Ron sometimes sat with mum in a similar way. But Fred and I never really did. We always had our own things to do. In the moment though, between the three of us, things felt natural. I couldn't explain it. I rubbed her knee with my hand as I dazed off. When my head started to fall, I welcomed sleep.

…Molly Weasley…

The next morning, as Molly made her way downstairs, the sight of her two trouble-making sons wrapped protectively around the frail, orphaned girl surprised her. She smiled, quickly forgetting her anger at the twins being out of bed. The sight erased her creeping fear that taking the girl in had been a bad idea. The child herself was not a threat. A searching band of death eaters however, would be a different story.