Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Gravity	By : Slytherins-Quill Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 7073 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No money is being made from the posting of this story & no copyright/trademark infringement is intended.

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Full Summary: What if Harry Potter was born a girl and known as Rosalie Potter? How might it change the dynamics of life as the most famous teenager in the Wizarding World? At the end of Rosalie Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, war has broken out in the Wizarding World as a result the attack on Hogwarts. Forced to spend the summer at Grimmauld Place for her own safety, Rosalie learns more about herself and the people around her than she ever thought possible. Relationships form, friendships change and she learns just how much the people in your life influence who you are and who you have the potential to become. HP/SS

A/N: Hi all! This is my first HP-verse fanfiction! Very exciting! I love the Snarry pairing in all shapes and sizes, and this is just one of the forms it has taken in my imagination. I really hope you give it a chance. This is still a WIP, though I'm already deep into writing the story as a whole and have plenty more ready to post once I see how this goes :) I hope you all enjoy it. Just something for you to consider while reading, while I've read over this for spelling and grammar, etc myself, I currently don't have a beta reader, so I apologise if I've missed anything.

In this story Harry was born a girl. He will stay a girl throughout, but most of what happened in all the books up the end of the sixth book stay true to the plot. I'm not going to give you a background to the plot because you should be able to pick most of it up from the story line.

Please let me know what you think :)

~Quill

Prologue

Rosalie Potter shivered as she stared down at the body lying motionless before her. Dead. Lifeless. His blood slowly leaking out from the fatal would in his neck to form a pool beneath him on her bedroom floor. Every time she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, something happened to prove her wrong. She didn’t know who the man was—he was a Death Eater, yes, but not one she recognised—but he didn’t think she’d ever forget his face after tonight; still caught in an expression twisted halfway between a cruel smirk and stunned surprise. She thought, perhaps, he hadn’t expected the knife she’d pulled on him, or her willingness to use it. She thought, perhaps, he’d never had a chance. He’d never seen it coming.

She’d awoken from a dead sleep in a state of full-fledged panic to hear the muted sounds of a fight being waged in her Aunt and Uncle’s backyard and flashes of light—reds, yellows, greens—illuminating her room. Her eyes darted to her door as her fingers scrabbled for the wand she always kept beside her bed, but he was already in her room, her wand in his hands, smiling menacingly at her from out of the shadows. She made to bolt, but he was on top of her before she’d fully comprehended the fact that Death Eaters were in her house, had somehow breached the wards that were meant to keep her safe and protected.

His hands had closed around her throat with a disturbing effortlessness, one big hand spaning practically the width of her neck as he pushed her back into the bed. His eyes were crazed as he reached for the clasp of his pants rather than his wand and she had to bite back a sob of terror as she struggled to free herself. Why did they always try to degrade her before they tried killed her? Would it have been the same if she’d been the Boy-Who-Lived rather than the Girl? She remembered Lucius Malfoy on top of her in much the same manner in the Department of Mysteries after he’d succeeded in separating her from her friends. She’d been lucky then, he’d been interrupted as the Order had arrived and Malfoy had been distracted enough for her to wriggle free of him before he’d managed to get his pants all the way undone. But the look in the man’s eyes above her told her nothing was going to distract him from his goal and stop him from taking exactly what he wanted from her tonight.

Small bursts of light were starting to appear before her eyes as the pressure on her throat slowly but surely cut off her air supply. She heard the metallic rasp of a zipper, a rustle of robes and a hot breath waft across her face as she desperately fought to maintain a hold on her consciousness and fight him off at the same time. His free hand was on her thigh, yanking up the material of her short nightgown as her hand slipped under her pillow and closed around the knife she’d told herself she was paranoid for keeping there.

She almost sobbed with relief as she curled her fist around the handle and tried to ignore the putrid rasp of the man’s tongue as he swiped it across her lips and up the side of her face. Oblivion called to her as fumbling fingers fondled her through her underwear before rising to commence a rapid descent down her stomach to the waistband of her underpants, but she fought its clutches, desperate to hang on for the right moment.

Rosalie plunged the knife into his neck the same moment he’d torn her underpants free from her body. His body jerked on top of hers in surprise, his hold on her throat instantly loosening as his hands flew to his neck and she gasped in air greedily tears as streamed from her eyes. He was making a horrible choking noise and a nauseating gurgling sound was bubbling up from his mouth as blood began to dribble from suddenly lax lips. She whimpered as it flowed from his chin thickly, landing on her chest and soaking through the thin material of her nightgown.

She felt her stomach roll in protest.

Rosalie cringed as she felt his body go limp, a dead weight on top of her, crushing the air out of her lungs once more. Summoning up a strength she hadn’t known she possessed she got her hands underneath him and pushed. He rolled off of her and felt to the floor with a dull wet thud. Dead. Lifeless. Gone, even though blood still pumped from his neck.

Skittering off of her bed she fled across the room to where her wand had fallen, pressing her back into the doors of her cupboard defensively as she stared at the dead man on her floor. A pool of blood was forming underneath him, fanning out to halo around his head. Aunt Petunia would be furious! Her aunt’s pristine floors would never be the same again.

She tried not to gag as she spied her wand lying on the floor not far from the body and bent to scoop it up. Her hand was slippery with blood, but she clutched at it tightly, unwilling to relinquish it even for a moment. She knew she should move, get out of there before anyone else came looking for her, but she couldn’t seem to stop looking at the dead man on her floor.

‘Move,’ she told herself mentally, ‘Get out of here, Rose, while you still can.’

She shrieked—a hoarse, grating noise—as the door to her room was flung open loudly and a dark figure filled the doorway imposingly. She raised her wand and pointed it at the figure.

“Expell—”

“Potter?” Dark silky tones called to her, his tone unusually strained—anxious.

Snape.

He tore the white Death Eater mask from his face as he stepped over the threshold to her room, no doubt taking in the scene before him. Dead man on the floor with her kitchen knife still imbedded in his neck, blood on the sheets, blood on the floor, blood soaking the front of her nightgown and hands, her white underpants torn and lying tellingly on the floor beside the body, his fingers still clutching them in death. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Who knew so much blood could come from one person? It was everywhere…

“Potter?” He questioned again, tearing his eyes away from the scene.

She swallowed, her throat protesting at the movement. She could feel the ring of bruises already forming on her neck. Slowly she lowered her wand.

“Professor?” She croaked.

His eyes seemed to pierce her, dark and fathomless, “We must go.”

She nodded vaguely even as her eyes were drawn back to the dead Death Eater lying on her bedroom floor.

“Potter!”

She jumped about a foot in the air, staring up at Snape as he loomed over her suddenly.

“He’s dead and it’s nothing more than he deserved. Now move,” He told her, hand firmly on her shoulder propelling her forward and out of the room.

“My things,” She protested her voice little more than a strained whisper.

Snape kept the steady pressure on her shoulder, preventing her from turning back, “They’re not important, we need to get you Grimmauld Place. Someone will come back for them.”

Snape led her through the house without pause. They passed another body on the stairs and Rosalie couldn’t help but stare at it with wide eyes. She barely remembered making their way through the rest of the house, and suddenly they were standing in the backyard of Number 4 Privet Drive.

“Where is Albus?” Snape asked abruptly, and it took Rosalie a moment to realise he wasn’t speaking to her.

Alastor Moody was standing before them surveying the damage and carnage around them. Rosalie didn’t want to think about who the bodies around her might belong to, or whether any of them were Order members, or ex-Hogwarts students who’d defected at the end of the previous year when Draco had let Death Eater’s into the school. She didn’t want to think about the blood that was slowly drying on her skin sticking her nightgown to her chest uncomfortably. This all had to be some nightmare, some horrible nightmare which she would wake up from any minute sweating and panting into the still night air of her bedroom, her uncle banging on the wall for her to ‘shut up’ because she’d unconsciously been screaming.

Except it wasn’t, and she could never be so lucky.

Rosalie shivered. She felt cold inside despite the summer heat that still lingered in the night air and realized suddenly that her hands were trembling noticeably.

She startled as a heavy weight suddenly settled itself around her shoulders engulfing her in comforting warmth and the scent sandalwood. She looked up at Snape as her professor tucked the copious folds of his robes around her shoulders dispassionately, his attention still seemingly focused on the ex-Auror before them.

Surprised Rosalie drew the material of his robes in tighter, allowing herself to practically burrow down into the warmth and sense of wellbeing they exuded.

“He followed the others to the Burrow, with any luck they’ll have got there in time. Said he’d meet you back at Headquarters,” The battle scarred ex-Auror told Snape plainly before turning his gaze on her, “Poppy’s there on standby.”

Snape nodded and accepted the portkey that was pressed into his hand. Rosalie looked up at him again as he took her hand in his, clasping them together tightly. She stared at him in confusion for a moment before she registered the feel of something digging into her palm, then she felt the telltale pull behind her bellybutton and the backyard fell away.
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