Sirius Black had trusted his instincts since he was old enough to understand what it meant to be hunted by his own blood.
They had never failed him.
Not once.
So when Rose Euphemia Potter crossed her tiny arms, stared down Albus bloody Dumbledore, and said no—calmly, clearly, and with a weight that made the walls hum—Sirius felt it settle into his bones with cold certainty.
Something was very, very wrong.
The cottage had quieted after Dumbledore's departure, but it was the wrong kind of quiet. The kind that pressed in on the edges of the mind, demanding to be examined.
Sirius lingered near the hearth, pretending to toy with his wand while watching the others out of the corner of his eye.
James was tense in that way he got when he didn't want to admit something frightened him.
Lily was still in the twins' room, she kept checking on them more often than necessary.
Remus sat in the armchair by the window, still as stone, eyes unfocused, mind racing.
Sirius broke the silence first.
"She wasn't wrong."
James snorted, sharp and defensive. "She's a baby, Padfoot."
"She's Rose," Sirius shot back. "And you know damn well she's not like other babies."
Remus looked up then, expression grim. "She's been…aware for a long time."
Sirius nodded. "Since the beginning."
---
He'd noticed it early—earlier than anyone else.
Most people saw Rose and saw softness: the dark red hair, the big hazel eyes, the way she watched instead of flailed.
Sirius saw the pause. The moment before she moved. The way she seemed to wait for the world to act first—and then respond exactly right.
Like she already knew the outcome.
Like a Seer.
The thought had crossed his mind more than once, unbidden and unsettling.
But even Seers didn't unsettle Albus Dumbledore.
And yet the old man's magic had reacted.
Sirius had felt it—felt the shift, the sudden tension in the air, the way Dumbledore had gone still in that calculating way of his.
And Rose had not flinched.
She hadn't cried.
She hadn't even raised her voice.
She had simply…refused.
---
"She knew what he was suggesting," Sirius said slowly. "Did you see her face? That wasn't a tantrum. That was judgment."
James ran a hand through his hair. "You're saying my daughter—who still chews on her socks—understood secret keepers and betrayal?"
Remus answered quietly, "Yes."
The word landed heavy.
"I've felt it too," Remus continued. "My wolf reacts to her the way it does to old magic. Not dark. Not light. Intentional and protective." His jaw tightened. "And when Dumbledore named Peter…Rose reacted like she was stopping a blade."
Sirius's mouth twisted. "Peter."
The name tasted wrong now.
Had it always?
He replayed memories—Peter laughing too loudly, shrinking from confrontation, lingering on the edges. Loyal, yes. But loyalty born of fear wasn't the same thing as conviction.
And Rose had seen it.
Somehow.
James sank onto the sofa, suddenly looking tired. "Dumbledore's been pushing for things to move faster lately. Strategy. Sacrifice. He says it's necessary."
Sirius's eyes went sharp. "Necessary for who?"
No one answered.
Lily returned then, closing the nursery door softly behind her and coming down the stairs to join them. Her face was pale but resolute. "Rose is awake," she said quietly. "She's…watching."
That sent a chill straight down Sirius's spine.
Of course she was.
"She doesn't feel like a child caught in something too big," Sirius said after a moment. "She feels like someone who knows the game is being played and refuses to be a piece on the board."
Remus exhaled slowly. "And if that's true…"
"Then Dumbledore isn't the most dangerous player in this war anymore," Sirius finished.
The realization settled heavily among them.
Rose Euphemia Potter was not fragile.
She was not blind.
And she had just looked the most powerful wizard in the world in the eye and said 'no'.
Sirius found himself smiling faintly, something fierce and proud stirring in his chest.
"Guess that settles it," he said quietly. "Anyone who makes that little girl uneasy…isn't to be trusted."
Remus nodded.
James didn't argue.
And somewhere down the hall, a child with too-knowing eyes watched the future shift—just slightly—off the path it had been meant to take.