A/N: A different approach. I hope, you like it. Thanks to JMWK for her great and fast work as my beta! Read and review.

My name was Rose.

I…we had a wonderful mother, Camille. She was gentle, warm—wherever she was, that was home. We were Lily and Rose, her two flowers, as she always said. Lily was a special, charming girl, extravagantly beautiful with her vibrant green eyes and long auburn hair. I was different, they told me. I had a classic beauty about me. We were so dissimilar, but we always got on famously. We were innocent, naïve, and most importantly, we were happy.

I was normal, Lily was magical. You may think I was jealous and unfriendly towards her, but I wasn't. I was proud, and glad that she had the opportunity to learn such great things. Magic was Lily's life.

I missed her during the year, but during holiday breaks, we were inseparable. We were sisters, comrades, best friends. She was such an amazing person, and I loved her.

I had read her books, and dreamed secretly about becoming a Muggle Studies teacher. That was how I learned about Voldemort. Lily graduated, and I constantly worried about her. I knew my little sister and her husband would be a target. At this time, we were both pregnant and happily married. Her husband, James, was young and never seemed to stop laughing. My husband, Vernon, would have done anything for me.

Then there was a prophecy. Lily's child would be the only person able to defeat Lord Voldemort. This much we knew. We had to make sure he survived, at least until he was old enough to fight.

A life for a life is an ancient rule of magic. If you give your life, you can save another. Many mothers seriously considered this tactic during the war. But there was one mistake: the murderer, we speculated, Voldemort would come personally, would cast the curse again.

We listened to Albus Dumbledore, who said the only thing that this monster consisted was hatred. We started to read books about ancient magic, my love for your hate. And so, I gave Voldemort my love for Lily's unborn child, to erase his hate. I knew I could only hate this little boy when Lily was gone, but we shouldn't have met anyway. Sirius or Alice should have taken him.

On October 31, 1981, Voldemort destroyed himself when he cast the most unforgivable of all curses against a boy whom he couldn't truly hate.

From that moment on, rage and hatred surged through my heart. I knew we had done it. Little Harry had survived, but I hated him for it. In this moment shining, loving Rose Dursley disappeared. There is just bitter, ordinary Petunia Dursley left. Vernon did everything for me, but I wasn't glad for it anymore. He took over my opinion on Lily's boy.

When, a few days later, I found Harry lying on my doorstep, I was shocked. Why hadn't they left the brat with Sirius, or Alice? He wouldn't have a chance to grow up normally in this household—why hadn't they followed Lily's requests?

Thirteen years later, I watch my nephew watering roses by the front door. I don't watch him with love, like I should, and I know it. My mind tells me to cuddle this child, and protect him from the world. My heart tells me to yell at him, and give him more chores to do. I have always listened to my heart.

His eyes are tired and swollen, and I know he cries himself to sleep. He is thinner than ever, and this year, something happened that prevents his eyes from shining. I know that Vernon has probably hit him a few times, and hard, but I can't bring myself to interfere.

Sometimes I think the sacrifice I gave was wrong. Maybe it would have been better for him if he had died on that fateful Halloween night. Your world hasn't been kind to him.

My hatred towards him hasn't faded, but my hatred towards your world has amplified it. What kind of society are you? Why don't you see? Why don't you interfere? Why don't you care for your only hero?