CHAPTER TWO.
A PLETHORA OF POTTERS

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          Rosalie had always had a hard time speaking to people, sharing things about herself or even introducing herself. She spent her time at the Burrow (where she had been placed over the summer because of Dumbledore) sitting outside and doing work when she was needed to.

         They were apprehensive of her, of course, never trusting the quiet girl who seemed to be perfectly fine, but Rosalie didn't blame them. She had been taught from a young age that speaking out would not be tolerated, and still those lessons won. The Weasleys didn't trust her because even though she was Gryffindor, never once had she proved she could be a part of the Order. Rosalie wasn't close with Harry Potter or his friends, she was just a regular witch who awed at him at first and then moved on to the next pretty object.

         The rest of the Order didn't trust her because she never felt right to them. While she may have gained the trust of Dumbledore before his untimely departure, they didn't see a side of Rosalie Allen that they liked. She wasn't outspoken, she didn't fight for anything, simply going where she was needed without complaint. It made them wonder as to why Dumbledore would even want her in their ranks. And Rosalie never spoke out about it, keeping the secret to herself and her left arm.

         Rosalie Abigail Allen was nothing. Nobody knew who she was. To them, she was just another Gryffindor, even though she had never proved that she deserved to be sorted into the house. She was quiet, mannered, and there was always that sense of something more looming over her. Rosalie never had friends, not really. Maybe in her first year, when she befriended Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, though their trio didn't last long.

         She could agree that they were very nice people, but Rosalie was never a people person. She much preferred the company of herself and maybe a book, spending a majority of her time in the library, stuck in a corner that nobody passed by so that she could never be bothered. Rosalie liked Dean and Seamus, but could never see herself continuing to be their friend.

         Also, she never tried to prove herself, but why would she? She was a pureblood, held above everyone else if you asked a Slytherin, though she had never explicitly placed herself in that category. Everyone assumed Rosalie thought she was better because she never once denied the rumors, thinking that they weren't worth her time.

         And Rosalie knew what they thought of her. She wasn't oblivious to the harsh stares people gave her when they thought she wasn't looking. Rosalie could remember her old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin, joining them at the Burrow with his wife, Nymphadora Tonks, and whispering to the adults about her. Sometimes, the children joined in.

         It didn't bother Rosalie anymore, she had gotten used to it. It didn't matter that she was treated as an outsider at the Weasley household, only rooming with Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger because there was nowhere else for her.

         She spent most of her time away from them, liking the quiet country side they resided on, letting Rosalie have time to daydream and stare at the clouds. No one bothered her, of course, only going outside to tell off the gnomes and get rid of the weeds in the garden. And Rosalie was fine with it, not wanting to speak with them anyways.

         But once dinner time came, she slowly made her way up from the grass and inside the house. Rosalie didn't miss how the conversation seized when she walked inside. There were many people there from the Order, even the Weasley twins were there, a sly smile of both their faces as they looked at her.

         "Miss Allen," Moody addressed her, scanning her to see if she had a weapon, but frowned when he learned that there was nothing wrong with her, "Nice of you to join us."

         Rosalie smirked, seeing that they clearly wished she had never walked inside. "I was out in the garden," she replied, "Anyone could have told you where I was."

         "Right," he said hastily, as if covering up his mistake. Rosalie closed the door and sat down in a chair of the dining room table, seeing their eyes all follow her.

         "Where's your wand?" Remus Lupin asked her, taking to stand in front of everyone else, as if protecting them.

         "In the room I stay in," she answered truthfully, "I have no use for it these days."

         They all stare at her warily, not understanding what she had told them. The Order, and the children who weren't exactly invited into it yet, thought something completely different from the truth, all spinning their own theories in their heads.

         "I'm underage," she explained, "Can't do magic outside of school yet, can I?"

         Mad-Eye Moody then asked, "When is your birthday?"

         He was hoping to catch her in a lie, make her tumble over her own words so that he might have been able to stun her, like he had been itching to do for so long.

         "October thirty-first," she answered them truthfully, "Many months away, if you ask me."

         Remus' eyes slit, "Are you telling me you were born on Halloween?"

         Rosalie rolled her eyes, "Of course, you idiot? You have a problem with that?"

         Then, she faked innocence, gasping as her eyes widened, "Oh wait, you do. Your friends were murdered that night, weren't they? They were being killed as I was celebrating my first birthday with my parents."

         The werewolf growled, "If they're so great, then where are they now?"

         "Six feet underground, I suppose," she snapped right back in anger. Her father, she cared nothing about. But her mother...that was a different story.

         They were a happy family, truly. But then, when Rosalie was five, her mother was diagnosed with cancer, and there was no cure. They treated her, but eventually she died when Rosalie was seven. When her mother became sick, her father became a drunk, blaming her for all of his problems and telling her lies that she still believed to that day. She based her actions on his words.

         But they were gone. She buried her father, gave him a eulogy, even though he didn't deserve it. Rosalie forgave him, though a part of her didn't mean it. Though, it was too late to turn the clock and undo it.

         As Remus was about to open his mouth again, Moody cut him off, "Time for chit chat is over, we can do that later. Now we have to go and rescue Potter from that crazed household."

         Everyone was going out the door except Rosalie. Of course, she assumed she would not be wanted for the mission, seeing as no one there particularly liked her, so it was quite a shock when Moody turned back and yelled, "Are you coming, Allen? We need all hands on deck."

         So, sighing, she stood up from her seat and brought out her broom. Ready to go and save Harry Potter from the family he had always disliked.

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         The Dursley house never felt like home for Harry. He never truly felt like he belonged there or could flourish while he stayed there. The Boy Who Lived always felt like a caged bird during summer, trapped inside the four walls of the house, only coming out to play to finish the chores the Dursleys didn't want to do and cook the meals that ate like pigs.

         And the room that his aunt and uncle so graciously gave him was very dark. The walls were gray, bedding matched them, and the little wardrobe they gave him was barely opened, only holding the memories that Harry wanted so much to forget. But the room had more life than the other parts, at least, parts of Harry's life.

         On his bed was a scrapbook of his parents. A picture of them dancing in the quarter, with wind blowing and leaves flying across, and them in the middle, smiling and happy, just how they should have been. It always brought a smile to Harry's face when he saw it. Then, there was the badge that said 'POTTER STINKS' in bold letters, mocking him and the trials he had gone through during his fourth year. Still, it did bring good memories of strengthening his friendship with Ron, getting closer with Hermione, and showing that he could go through anything. Even if it did hold bad memories as well, Harry loved with badge all the same.

         There also laid an issue of The Daily Prophet, a very recent one at that. Albus Dumbledore's face was on the front of the issue, titled 'Dumbledore Remembered' as for his untimely death. Flashes of that night where he had been betrayed by Severus Snape replayed in his mind, along with the locket. The locket. That god forsaken locket that Dumbledore was left weak for was nothing. A fake. It was a fake planted by R.A.B. and Harry had no way of finding out who the guy was.

         "Come on, Dudley. Hurry up!" Harry heard Uncle Vernon say to his cousin, causing the boy to go to the window and see the two rolling a trunk outside and into the car.

         Harry turned to his owl, Hedwig, and said, "Time for a teary goodbye."

         The Potter boy went down the stairs, looking at the barren walls and the missing furniture as everything had been taken away by movers only days before. There, in the middle, was his Aunt Petunia, watching the empty house as if recalling the old memories.

         "I've lived in this house for twenty years. And now – in a single night – I'm expected to leave," the woman said, her eyes brimming with tears.

         "They'll torture you. Even Dudley. If they think you know where I'm going, they'll stop at noth-"

         "You think I don't know that?" Petunia said in an angry whisper, "You think I don't know what they're capable of?"

         Her eyes pierced with Harry's, and he felt like he could see every memory of her and his mother as children. Harry had never seen a truly caring or vulnerable side of his aunt as she always kept up the housewife manner, never letting her emotions seep in. It was weird to see her, sad of leaving a simple house and guilty for her sister.

         "You didn't just lose a mother that night in Godric's Hollow, you know." She continued to look at him with sadness, "I lost a sister."

         Harry was taken back slightly, studying her before asking, "Do you have any? Magic?"

         "What a cruel thing to ask," Petunia said before walking away, going to her husband and son outside as Harry trailed along.

         Uncle Vernon was strap binding the final trunks to the small trailer that was hitched to the back of their car, then looked at Harry. "Well, this is goodbye then, boy."

         Harry just stood by the front door and nodded, looking at his Aunt Petunia for a while more before going to Dudley.

         "I don't understand," the teenage boy said, "Isn't he coming with us?"

         "Who?" Uncle Vernon asked his son, not understanding his simple question.

         "Harry."

         "Absolutely not." Uncle Vernon shook his head and tried to usher his son into the car, wanting to get away from the cursed boy as fast as he could.

         "Why?"

         "Well, because – he's doesn't want to, do you, boy?" Vernon turned to nephew, glaring daggers at him, and Harry was sure that if they were real daggers, Harry would have been dead.

         "Absolutely not." Harry confirmed, "Besides, I'm just a waste of space. Isn't that right, Vernon?"

         Uncle Vernon wasn't pleased with his little bit about him, only staring hard at the young boy. "Come on, Dudley, we're off," he finally said, going to the car before seeing Dudley hesitate and then walk towards Harry with his hand up.

         "I don't think you're a waste of space," Dudley said to him solemnly, and Harry would admit that it took him by surprise.

         "Well...thanks," Harry told him awkwardly, unsure how he was supposed to respond to it, shaking his hand before watching his cousin walk away. A part of Harry hoped that when all of the chaos was over they could try to salvage their relationship, but another held a tiny grudge to the boy from their childhood.

         Then, under his breath, Harry muttered, "See you, Big D."

         And then, the family drove away from their old house, and Harry walked back inside and up the stairs he used to be trapped under. He packed his old bag, gathering the issue of The Daily Prophet and the fake locket with the note still attached. He also gathered other old knick-knacks that he could look back on when he was older.

         Time passed, and once Harry was done packing everything, he brought everything down the stairs and into the bare living room. Everything was quiet and unmoving, the only noise coming from the snowy owl in the cage.

         "Good riddance," Harry said to himself, looking at Hedwig before shifting to the small cupboard door below the stairs. Setting down his bag and the cage, he went to the door and opened it. He looked through the old place, a dog spider hanged in an ancient wed and broken toy soldiers were on a shelf, lined with dust. Harry pulled a disgusted face as he remembered his eleven years under the place, the stench of feet, even though no one had stepped foot into the room in many years.

         Then, a tremendous roar sounded, startling Harry and murdering the silence of the house. Harry straightened himself, half believing that he had simply made himself he had heard it, but the other half knowing that he had heard the noise of a motor bike.

         Harry runs down the hallway, going to the door and flinging it open, and almost immediately Hermione flung her arms around Harry's neck. Many others appeared, but only one figured managed to catch Harry's eyes; Rosalie Allen. He didn't really know the girl, only that she was a fellow Gryffindor and a part of the Order of the Phoenix. Other than that, there was wasn't much known about her by anyone in Hogwarts.

         "All righ', 'arry?" a voice of a familiar half-giant broke away his thoughts of Rosalie, "Yeh look fit."

         "Yeah, he's ruddy gorgeous," Mad-Eye Moody said before Harry could respond to Hagrid, "What say we get undercover before someone murders him."

         Everyone goes from the hallway into the barren living room, only holding Harry's stuff. Harry saw Kingsley then, "I thought you were looking after the Prime Minister, Kingsley."

         "You're more important," the empowered man said with a small smile.

         Rosalie, though, while everyone was crowding and trying to greet him, was in the corner, looking around the house. She could already feel the guilt creeping in at the thought of what was about to happen, and how she had helped it. Rosalie Allen was a nobody, that's all she was, and she wanted so desperately wanted to be something, and maybe that was why she was doing this.

         She tugged at the sleeve of her left side, bringing it down and over her chest, telling herself to breathe repeatedly because it was easy to forget. Her arm was painted with lies and death, a curse that had spread to her after making a deal with the devil. How she regretted it. She could have refused, she could have said no, and been a nobody for the rest of her life, but at least then she wouldn't hate herself. At least then she wouldn't feel responsible for so many deaths.

         "Potter," she heard Moody say, "you're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

         "The Trace?" Harry asked, confused as to what they meant. Rosalie stepped forward, not close enough to be seen, but not in the shadows anymore.

         "You sneeze and the Ministry will know who wipes your nose. Point is, we have to use those means of transport the Trace can't detect: brooms, thestrals and the like. We'll go in pairs. That way if anyone's out there waiting for us," the girl bowed her head in shame, "– and I reckon there will be – they won't know which Harry Potter is the real one."

         "The real one...?"

         Moody drew a flask from his large cloak, "I believe you're familiar with this particular brew."

         "No!" Harry knew immediately what the man was talking about the moment he saw it. "Absolutely not!"

         Hermione sighed, "I told you he'd take it well."

         "If you think I'm going to let people risk their lives for me –"

         "Never done that before, have me?" Ron voiced, breaking Harry's rant about how unsafe it would be.

         "This is different. Taking that. Becoming me – no."

         "Come on, Potter," Rosalie stepped forward again, sensing the amount of eyes on her, "It's time to throw your morals out the window and let the people do what they want, alright?"

         "And if someone dies?"

         "Then they die," she responded without emotion, "They know the risk and they're willing to take it, so let them. Don't be selfish and keep all the fun of running from death for yourself."

         Rosalie rolled her eyes when she saw the stares she was receiving, "The last part was a joke."

         "Everyone here's of age besides Allen here, Potter, and they've all agreed to take the risk," Moody broke it.

         "Technically, I've been coerced," Mundungus Fletcher stretched out his hand, "Mundungus Fletcher, Mr. Potter. I've always been a huge admirer."

         "Nip it, Mundungus! All right, Granger, as discussed." Mad-Eye Moody ordered and Hermione took a hair from Harry's head.

         "Blimey, Hermione!" he said in pain, and Rosalie cracked a smile.

         "Straight in here, if you please," the director, Moody, ordered everyone who was going to take the potion. He held the potion, dropping in the bit of hair, and watched as it began to spit forth smoke and handed it to George.

         "For those of you haven't taken Polyjuice Potion before, fair warning. It tastes like goblin piss."

         "Have a lot of experience with that, do you, Mad-Eye?" Fred jokingly asked, but the older man did not appear to be pleased as he glared at the young redhead. "Just trying to defuse the tension."

         Fred drinks from the flask and gives it to George, who passes it on to the next person. The cycle continued while Rosalie walked up to Harry, the real one, and stood beside him without giving him a glance.

         "Are you going to take it?" Harry asked the girl, making her crack a smile.

         "No," she shook her head, "They told me I have to be overage to do that, and I'm still sixteen. So, to them, I can't agree to do anything with my life yet."

         Harry just nodded, not understanding the other meaning that the girl gave him, not that she thought he would understand. Rosalie had been told that Harry was a rather oblivious boy, not that she minded at the moment.

         "Fancy this: you're not you, so shut it and strip," Rosalie heard Mad-Eye say and then turn to Harry, "You'll need to change too, Potter."

         Rosalie moved away from everyone, seeing as she didn't fancy seeing anyone undress. She looked around, just for a glance, and saw a number of people with Harry's body. She blinked a couple of times and then started to walk around the house.

         It was very nice, much more fancy than her own childhood house, which had bottles of whiskey and broken glass strewn about by her father. The pristine wallpaper reminded her of the Malfoy mansion, not for the color, but for the upkeep. Whoever lived her cared deeply for the appearance of the house, just like the Malfoys, causing her to shudder and turn away.

         Rosalie Allen was used to keeping secrets and telling lies, she had been doing it for a very long time, but that didn't mean she liked it. She wasn't a sociopath, she wasn't evil, she was a girl that wanted to be something, and only knew one way to do that.

         The lonely girl sighed, scratching her left arm as if trying to rid herself of the curse that plagued her. She knew that once everything was over, she would hate herself immensely, and the mark on her arm would always follow her. And she knew one thing, that during the war, she hoped she died, so that she didn't have to live with the guilt that was engraved in her arm.