A no-name witch was brought to St. Mungo's in need of healing. Without any means to identify her or find her guardians, they used a spell that would tell them whatever House she belonged to and contact the Head.
So there Lord Fleamont Potter and hi...
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It took Rose approximately three minutes and twenty-eight seconds after reading the letter to realize that it'd said "sixteen years of age". In her defense, she didn't really process anything past "Fleamont Potter", and no offense to Healer Sorez or anything, but last she checked, Rose was 22 years old and hasn't been 16 in years. The witch had to close her eyes and clench her teeth to try to ignore the bile that rose in her throat at the very idea that she was not only in the past, in a time where her grandparents were still alive, her parents might exist, and six years younger than she really was.
Dammit.
Someone cleared their throat, and Rose remembered that someone else was in the room with her. Glancing at Fleamont Potter again, she tried to remember what he'd been talking about. The wizard already explained what Healer Sorez informed him of. That as she was apparently still a minor (barely but barely minor still counts as minor), her guardians were required to take her but they hadn't been able to identify her so Healer Sorez instead sought to find out whether she was a muggleborn, half-blood, or pureblood and go from there. Afterwards, they located the House she was (legally and biologically) a part of and contacted the Head of House [Fleamont] to take her instead.
Rose inwardly groaned, giving him a smile that she didn't even try to make reach her eyes and glanced surreptitiously around the room to see if she could locate her wand. She felt a weight in the palm of her hand and looked up to see her Phoenix feather wand pushed into her hand. Rose swallowed thickly, looking away and trying to think of a way to get out of the messy situation she'd currently found herself in.
She needed to find a way to get back home but she couldn't do that if she was already interfering with the past and her secret was revealed to the Potters. That'd ruin any and all chances she had at getting home.
"For what it's worth, Ms..." He trailed off, looking at her imploringly.
"Rose," she replied firmly, "Just Rose."
Lord Potter nodded, giving her a light smile and continued, "For what it's worth, Rose, I do think this might've been a fluke." He stated, much to her unending relief that she struggled not to show. By the curious glint in his hazel eyes, her father's eyes, she could tell she wasn't successful. "You could be related to my family through a past marriage, perhaps a Squib line. I'm not quite sure but Gringotts does have tests for these kind of situations––"
"Tests?" She choked out, face paling anxiously. Rose couldn't bring herself to care that every reaction, every word that left her mouth only dug herself a deeper grave as Lord Potter's brows furrowed in concern and his certainty that this was all just a 'fluke' wavered with every second. Worse, Rose couldn't even use the excuse that it could have nothing to do with his family because the Gringotts test he was referencing only shared anything if she was truly related to the Potters. It wouldn't show anything except a confirmation that no, she wasn't related to them if she really wasn't related to them. Nevertheless, Rose shook her head fervently, stuttering out, "I- I can't do that, Lord Potter. I'm sorry but... it's just not something I feel comfortable with." Her voice trailed off, changing with each word as her piss poor excuse left her mouth. Rose was acutely aware of Lord Potter's eyes burning into the side of her face that she'd angled away from him, staring at the plain wall behind him.
