CHAPTER THREE.
ENDURING EXISTENCE

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         Her hands continued to shake as she thought of the occurring events, past memories coming to mind sending shivers down her spine. Rosalie Allen, though she was only sixteen, had already seen so much. She had seen her mother's life pass, seen the glossy look in her eyes as she stared at her beautiful daughter, muttering about how proud she was, how great Rosalie was, before opening her hand and letting go. Then, she was dead.

She had seen more with her time in Voldemort's ranks. The deal toll had begun to rise, a simple spell and then dead...and she felt like it was her fault. All those deaths, the people she knew, the kidnappings, everything, Rosalie felt like it was her fault – that she was the reason it was caused.

But Dumbledore told her that it was for the greater good, that it was for everyone, and that her sacrifice would matter in the end. Sometimes, Rosalie believed him. Call it being naïve, young, but she wanted so much to be remembered – to not be nothing. Then there was the other time, when she was smarter, that she knew the history books wouldn't give her anything. Rosalie Allen was forgettable, another piece on the chest board.

"The real Harry!" she heard Mad-Eye from the other room, drawing her focus and feet back to them. "Where in the devil are you, anyway?"

"Here," she heard one of the many Harrys say. She blinked a few times, trying not to blur all of their faces together, but they all looked so similar. But, then again, they were the same person...physically.

"You'll ride with Hagrid," Moody told the real Harry Potter. Rosalie watched as the half-giant walked towards the boy.

"Brought yeh here sixteen years ago when you were barely bigger than a Bowtruckle. Seems only righ' I should be the one ter take yeh away," Hagrid, with sentimental thoughts, told the young boy.

Rosalie looked away from the scene. She had never had that type of moment, at least, not in a long time. The last time someone told her something with that much meaning, that much love, she had been six, and barely understood it. She was just holding her mother's hand, watching her slow breathing as she stared at her daughter with pride.

"Yeah, it's all very touching. Let's go," Moody broke up the little cry feast. And although Rosalie would never admit it, she was grateful for the man.

They all walked out, Rosalie standing with Kingsley, seeing as he was the one that rode beside her. She saw the thestrals, waiting patiently as the others got upon them before flapping their wings once or twice. She smiled, catching the attention of Remus Lupin.

"You can see them?" he questioned skeptically, and Rosalie nodded.

"Yes...my mother," Rosalie told him truthfully, though it wasn't the full truth, "I was only seven."

There was a moment where no one spoke, just held onto their brooms or creature in which they were riding, staring at the night sky as they prepared to fly.

"Good luck, everyone," Mad-Eye broke the silence, "On the count of three. One...two –"

But it didn't matter, they were off. Rosalie let out a smile as she flew beside Kingsley, not caring if he wondered why she would be smiling, but Rosalie loved flying. It represented freedom, ability to let go of all her problems and fly.

It was exhilarating, holding onto the broom and letting the wind bow in her face, fresh air around her, hitting her and trying to throw her off course. She could see Kingsley beside her, Mad-Eye out of the corner of her eye, but she wished she was alone. She wished she could experience this, probably the last time she would fly in such a long while, alone.

Peace, everything happened and it was peaceful. They were flying, just flying high were nothing could reach them, and her heart was beating inside her chest and she felt alive. Rosalie felt alive, free, and good. And she hadn't felt good in such a long time, not since she took the deal that was placed in front of her.

But then it all came crashing down. She saw them, the people she helped, was cursed with, take aim. There were sparks of green flying out of their wands, trying to hit them, but nothing worked. Nothing worked. Rosalie flew away from the area, to another peaceful spot in the sky, but she didn't feel that coarse of goodness cursing through her veins anymore. She didn't feel alive.

Why did she let herself believe everything would be okay? It was foolish, foolish, FOOLISH. She looked back, down, everywhere, hoping to catch a glance of anyone else, but she couldn't. Rosalie was alone, terrified, and guilt-ridden.

Death Eaters went to the side of her, and she saw distinctly Draco Malfoy, the only other person she could tell that didn't want to be a part of anything happening. Rosalie thought for a long time that he was just like his father, but that was before sixth year, when they were given the task of killing Dumbledore. She saw a side of him that no one else did, a human, delicate one. A heart, not made of stone, but of scars and good...if only someone else saw it as well.

"Rosalie!" she heard the young Malfoy yell. "You should get out of here!"

"Isn't that what I'm trying to do?" she rhetorically asked him, huffing at the wind for blowing her bushy hair into her hair, not allowing her to see. "I can't will my broom to be faster!"

He flew beside her, "Mad-Eye's dead."

Mad-Eye's dead, Mad-Eye's dead, Mad-Eye's dead. The words rang through her head, chilling her bones, as she stared at the night sky with glossy eyes. She didn't know him, talked to him only when necessary, but she felt so guilty. It was only seconds – maybe minutes – ago that she had seen him, watched him flying in the sky with his eye looking everywhere and having constant vigilante!

It was all her fault. All her fault. She was the one that confirmed that they would be flying that night, she was the one who told them the plan...it was her fault, no one else's.

"Dolohov killed him," Draco yelled at her, "Brought him off his broom!"

She could feel her arms growing weaker, but she couldn't let go. No, she couldn't leave them to die, even if it would mean her freedom. She wasn't that person...but she was. Rosalie Allen was an indirect killer, knowing things but never saying, keeping secrets that lead to another's death.

She was a killer at heart. She gave her father the bottle that took his life, she was the one who informed the Death Eaters where Harry Potter was going in their fifth year, even if Voldemort already knew it. Rosalie had done so much bad she wondered if she was just rotten. She didn't believe anymore in what she was doing, it wasn't for good, it seemed evil.

Rosalie Allen felt evil, not good.

She shuddered, looking at Draco with cold, emotionless eyes. "Thank you for telling me, but I have to return to my position."

Draco nodded, "Don't beat yourself up about it, Rose, it wasn't your fault."

She wanted to believe him, let his words sink in and replace the thoughts in her mind. She wanted to let them have meaning, but they didn't. Instead, she nodded, and watched as he flew off to meet the other Death Eaters he flew in with. And Rosalie continued on her path to the Burrow, where everyone else would be, everyone else that was good. Better than her.

It didn't take much longer to reach her destination, at least it didn't feel long. But her thoughts were cluttered and mind wasn't thinking about the time, because it didn't matter compared to everything else. She reached the place the same time as Remus and another 'Harry'. There was blood on him, more blood spilt because of her.

She watched Lupin land safely with the 'Harry' as he transformed back into one of the Weasley twins. Almost immediately, she heard Ginny shout, "Oh my God! George!"

"The house!" Remus ordered them, "Quickly!"

The got inside the house quickly, helping George onto the couch before letting out a breath. "My boy! My darling boy! What've they done to you?" Mrs. Weasley asked, tears springing from her eyes.

Rosalie bowed down her head, hating the words, hating everything. She didn't do it, she wasn't the one who hurt George, but she was the one who helped. Rosalie helped them murder, helped them hurt – she was the spy.

But the next thing surprised her as Lupin grabbed Harry's shirt and hurled him against the wall.

"Remus! What're you doing!" Ginny yelled at him as he raised his wand to Harry's chin.

"What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?" Lupin asked, ignoring everyone else.

"Are you mad...?" Harry grunted out, trying to get out of the strong hold of Remus.

"What creature!" Remus yelled in his face, adding more force to hurt him.

"A grindylow!" Harry screamed back, and Lupin let him go, turning back to the others.

"We've been betrayed. Voldemort knew you were being moved tonight. I had to make sure you weren't an imposter," Remus explained himself.

Rosalie made sure to show nothing, to look around at everyone else and then draw suspicion from himself, but Remus stared at her.

"You," he indicated to her, "Tell me about your family."

She cracked a smile, "You want me to tell you about my family?" She gave a chuckle.

"Now," he growled.

"My mum was sick growing up," she told them, not wanting to argue, "Cancer. It took her when I was seven, then I was left with my father, who recently passed because of his alcoholism."

"And you've been living on your own?"

"No," she shook her head, "He died at the end of summer last year, lived on my own then. Stayed at school during winter break and this summer...well, I've been staying here."

Remus sighed, feeling the defeat of not being able to catch her in a lie, not able to do anything. Feeling helpless.

The conversation went back to George as Harry stood up, asking, "Who did this to him?"

"Snape," the mention of their old teacher made them mold hard expressions, but he continued, nodding to the ginger, "He'll be fine, Molly. But that's Dark Magic. The damage is done."

Molly, who was weeping, nodded and dabbed George's bloodied face. Another blue glow glimmered from the window. "Someone else is back," Hagrid called.

Everyone rushed outside to see Kingsley with Hermione Granger, both looking shaken and rushing forward. Kingsley raised his wand at Lupin, "The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?"

"'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him'." Lupin recited, apparently precisely as Kingsley lowered his wand.

The man turned to Harry, "What gave you away?"

"Hedwig – I think. She was trying to protect me –" but he was cut off by others arriving. Fred, Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Ron and Tonks. Hermione didn't hesitate to envelope him into a hug, throwing her arms around him as Rosalie looked at them with sadness.

She never had someone like that, welcoming her home after a long time away – or even a short time. Rosalie always had herself, and she made herself believe that that was enough.

The girl didn't listen to the conversations going on, breaking away from the smiles everyone was sending and the 'welcome backs'. She didn't get that, but she didn't deserve them. She deserved the cold, stone-like looks she received and nothing else.

She only tuned back in when she saw everyone running inside, looking for the ill George. Again, she felt the scratch on her left arm, and she pulled her sleeve down, tugging, willing it to cover everything.

"How do you feel, Georgie?" she heard the other twin, Fred, ask, a pitiful smile prominent on his face.

"Saint-like."

"Come again?" Fred asked, not understanding what his twin meant by the cryptic word. But George just opened his eyes, lifting a bloodied finger and pointing to the place where his ear should have been.

"Saint-like...you see, I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?" George laughed quietly at his joke, and so did Fred.

"With the whole wide world of ear-related humor at your disposal, you go for holey?" he smiled, "Pathetic."

"Reckon I'm still better-looking that you." George smiled back, "Better-looking than Bill, that's for sure."

Bill didn't smile, neither did Fleur. He just took a step forward and spoke, "Mad-Eye's dead." And the room went still.

"Mundungus took one look at Voldemort and Disapparated," Bill continued.

"Mad-Eye reckoned You-Know-Who would expect the real Harry to be with the most skilled Auror. He knew he'd be in the most danger," Lupin spoke.

"It doesn't explain how they knew we were moving Harry tonight," Arthur Weasley spoke.

"What? One of us? That's mad. I'd wager me life it wasn't none of you lot. And if it was me I'd know, wouldn't i? Talk in me sleep on occasion, I'll admit, but there's only Fang around ter hear and mostly it's gibberish and besides I'd cut me tongue out before I'd betray Harry in me dreams –" Hagrid said, but Rosalie had trouble hearing with the way he spoke, not finishing words and his accent getting in the way as well.

Everyone smiled and Hagrid looked around, confused. "What's so funny!"

"I trust you with my life, Hagrid. I trust everyone in this room. Understood?" Harry said to them sternly, but Rosalie knew that a few glances were still thrown her way.

"Understood," Lupin said.

"'Ear, 'ear," George cheered, and Fred nodded, approving the joke that his brother made.

"Better," Fred commented.

____________

Rosalie always had trouble sleeping. Her father usually came in the house around two, causing ruckus and making his presence known. After her mother died, she had to take care of him, even if she didn't want to. Little twelve-year-old Rosalie would walk down the stairs, stare at her father before trying to coax him into bed, but it usually never worked.

Bottles thrown, words yelled, and glass breaking. Every night, she would wake up and face that. Rosalie would stare at her father with tears forming in her eyes as he screamed at her, telling her that she was worthless, a nothing, and that she was unwanted. Glad that she left for most of the year to attend Hogwarts. And whenever she tried to speak, he would take a gulp of his bottle and then throw it at her. Most of the time, he missed, but there were a few occasions where the shards of glass would hit her, shattering her skin and letting the blood flow.

She sighed at the memories, all of them. All of the memories of holding her mother's hand as she tried to read the small books aloud for her, The Tales of the Beedle and Barb being her favorite. Rosalie would read the tales aloud, feeling proud once she got through them and seeing that her mother was still awake – still alive.

She blinked away tears, looking at the sleeping bodies of Hermione and Ginny beside her, their sleeping bodies rising and going down as they breathed. She turned away from them, the people who were everything she ever wanted to be, and looked out the window. She didn't belong here. In a house filled with warmth, pictures of family, and always a fire aflame – even if it was just lit inside everyone with the atmosphere.

Mrs. Weasley cried about her son, Percy, going astray...going with the Ministry. Rosalie wished that the little worry was her problem, her biggest problem, because everything else was just too big. Every problem she created, it was her fault – all her fault. They weren't casted upon her against her will, no, she let them become her problems...all because she wanted to be worth something. She wanted to be remembered for something, but it seemed like the wrong reason now.

But when it happened, when it happened, she felt powerful. Rosalie knew she was doing good, she knew that it was right, it didn't matter if she was cursed for the rest of her life. She thought she would be doing good, that's what he told her, but he said a lot of things. And she wasn't sure if she believed anything he said anymore.

Four. It was precisely four o'clock in the afternoon as she stood in front of the gargoyles that lead to Dumbledore's office. The days had grown darker as she spent for time in that room with Malfoy, trying desperately to get the Vanishing Cabinet to work. It wasn't as if she wanted to, to be given the credit for infiltrating Hogwarts, but fear. Rosalie had heard the threats, seen the killing, and knew not to take anything Voldemort said lightly.

"Gumdrops," she said, but it was light on her tongue, as she didn't want to go in. but, the gargoyles moved, slowly but surely, and a staircase began to appear. Taking a breath, she walked up the steps to see her headmaster, Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk with tea ready.

She took a seat and a cup of the tea, looking at him before taking sip. "We're making progress," Rosalie informed him.

He nodded, "Like I thought. How much longer until you think it will be finished?"

"Two weeks at the shortest," she said, and saw the look on his face fall, "Though, I don't think Draco or I are in a hurry to finish it. Probably a month, really."

Dumbledore smiled at her, "I need as much time as you can give me. I'm almost certain I've pinpointed the location of the locket."

The locket. Another horcrux to destroy, another piece of his soul that would be destroyed. Rosalie didn't know much about the locket, or horcruxes, but she knew enough for when the time came and Dumbledore would fall. She knew enough to help, to guide, to find, and then destroy. She knew that much.

"And where do you think that would be?" she inquired, not expecting an answer.

"There are two locations that I think the locket might have ended up at. First, an island, which is where Harry and I will travel, or perhaps it is the place that Sirius Black used to live."

"12 Grimwauld Place?" her eyes widened, "Are you sure?"

He nodded, "I suspect that Regulus, his brother, found out about horcruxes and began his search for them, bringing it to the place that no one would think to look for such thing; his own home."

"And if it is?"

"Then you will go for it." Dumbledore answered her, "You will be the one to retrieve it because you are the only one allowed in the house."

Her eyebrow raised, "How do you know that? Why?"

He took a sip of his tea, "When Harry gave up the house, we put protective spells and wards to keep anyone who entered out – if they could even get inside. But, what they didn't know, was that I made sure the house would recognize you. Only you can go inside and be safe."

"Because of the locket," she filled in the rest, "Because you don't plan to tell anyone else about the locket or the other horcruxes besides Harry, who was told Hermione and Ron. No one else knows."

"And they won't, Miss Allen," he told her in the kind, calm voice he always used, "It is none of their concern. Harry wouldn't let them help even if they knew."

"So how do you know that he'll let me help him?" Rosalie questioned, "If he won't let someone he trusts come along, then why would he let me, a stranger, help him?"

"He will need your knowledge," Dumbledore answered her, "Harry is a very trusting person, truly, and he will need your help if he ever wants to defeat Voldemort."

She shivered at the name. Even after meeting him, becoming one of his Death Eaters, she still feared him immensely. He killed without mercy, tortured if he needed to, and didn't care if anyone got hurt in the process of him becoming all powerful.

"I'll get him to trust me, don't worry. I will go with him and those two friends of his, and I'll help defeat him," Rosalie decided confidently.

"And what will Voldemort think you'll be doing?"

"I've already talked about the situation with him," she told Dumbledore, "He thinks that I'm going with Harry and Hermione as they run because once you're...once you're dead, he'll be in power. Muggleborns will have to run, like Granger, and Harry could use that as a cover as well. I told him that I would keep an eye on him."

"And he believed you?"

"He thinks that I am loyal to him," she answered, "He had seen the memories of me being nothing when I tried to be good, so now he thinks that I am only loyal to him and that I would never think of betraying him."

"You speak as if you know him."

"Once you learn what a person's train of thoughts are, it isn't hard to guess what they think," Rosalie told him, sipping at her tea with caution.

Dumbledore just nodded at her, his old eyes looking into her young ones. He had learned much in his time, and although it was coming to an end, it didn't mean that he wouldn't learn anymore about the world and the people that populate it. Young ones, children, had always been mysteries to him. Maybe it was because of the way he grew up, alone with his family. They fascinated him, confused him, and made him hopeful of the world he would leave behind.

And Rosalie Allen made him proud. She was young, so innocent and pure, yet tainted at the same time. The knowledge she had was not shared lightly, every word she said had meaning, something only those who read between the lines would understand.

But he could tell that this was killing her. The task he had given her was not easy or for the faint of heart. Not for those who did only what was necessary and nothing else, but for someone who could endure. Rosalie could, but how much? He had already pushed her so far, Dumbledore was scared much longer it would take for the porcelain girl to break. To shatter, to crumble.

Instead, he gave her a calming, knowledgeable smile. "Very true, Miss Allen, very true."

And he wondered if she knew what he was thinking, and how his heart was breaking for the youth. Their childhoods casted aside and forced to fight a war that was not meant for them – not meant for her, yet they had to endure. Had to endure...

dedicated to herculesed for all you comments and love 😘