Chapter Text
Roslyn Evans Malfoy was not, in fact, an Evans, nor was she a Malfoy. At least not in the way everyone would think.
It was a funny story that couldn't be told outside of her mind.
She came from a destroyed home, a painful childhood, and a series of failed attempts at survival. Nothing was as it should be, even though she convinced herself otherwise. Over time, she learned to turn off that part of her brain that made her care about herself, like a button she pressed or whatever mechanism it was, because it was the only way to move forward. And she didn't regret it. However, that small part that cared about others, even fed by her mother for such a short time, persisted in resisting her attempts to feel absolute nothingness and had to learn that feeling was necessary, as well as how to manage that feeling correctly., or conveniently, was essential. Managing her own mind was essential.
She was seven years old when she first used a wand. It was the night she broke into the basement of the house where she lived and found what appeared to be all of her mother's belongings, including her wand. On the first move, an entire box burst into flames. She was lucky to be alone at that moment, or she would have been beaten all night.
At the age of eleven, she was forced to use the death spell for the first time. Her grandfather locked her in a room with an elf, leaving her without food and water until she took the life of the creature that had been ordered not to move or leave. It was the first time she had seen him cry, and she herself cried when she realised that her company's tears were not because of the impending end of life.
Then she learned that her family was cruel, but her mother wasn’t. That's why her mother was dead while they continued to torture whoever they wanted in the secrecy bought by fortune and fear.
At thirteen, her occlumency was acceptable, but her non-verbal spells were perfect. Nobody liked hearing her voice, so she had to learn to adapt. It was also when she killed someone for the first time. In her defence, the man attacked first.
Little could be done after that. She was a child condemned to fail and be tortured by the consequences of her decisions, but a lot could be done for others.
She discovered this by chance when an unknown angel appeared in her house. Then suddenly her grandfather was just the shadow of a man whose cruelty affected a world beyond her, and it enraged her.
Harry Potter was suffering, a world was going to war for the wrong reasons, families were being destroyed. All because of one man. Someone she would kill herself.
At fourteen years old and with a mind far too mature for her age, Roslyn looked in the mirror for the first time in months. She looked at her face carefully, looking for the features that gave her away most easily. She was unsure between red and blonde for her hair, but her eyes would definitely be blue and very light, completely different from her parents. When she finally decided on her hair colour, a plan formed in her mind, and she smiled at the result. She needed to get the right attention from the right people. Then, next, it was the turn of surnames. She first thought of Potter, but that would probably alienate Snape and Malfoy. Being a Snape was too obvious, and there was no excuse other than the truth, just like Prince. Then she thought of her mother's Muggle surname, unknown to her grandfather because the woman was a nobody, and the surname she could find in her lineage, according to the documents in the basement she furtively studied. A double jeopardy would raise many questions, but that would work.
A little before fifteen, she left the grounds for the first time, leaving behind a body physically similar to hers and a burning residence.
Then finally, a little after the age of sixteen, she raised her wand and pointed it at Albus Dumbledore, a few minutes before discovering that she and Harry Potter were more doomed than they knew.