Rose Potter's second birthday dawned crisp and sunny. Hazel eyes blinked open to the familiar warmth of her nursery, the tiny crescent moon birthmark over her heart reminding her of what she carried—not just in magic, but in purpose.
Harry laughed at the center of the room, chasing after the ribboned balloons decorating the room.
On the surface, the world felt safe.
The events of Halloween had passed without incident. The Potter house stood intact. Voldemort had not struck.
And yet Rose did not feel relief.
There was a tension that lay beneath the smiles, beneath the laughter. She had seen the threads of the timeline—what should have happened—and she knew how precarious everything still was. Even now, people she trusted could be manipulated, events could spiral, and adults could act out in ways that might threaten her, her brother, or both.
Her parents, believing the worse had passed, bundled the twins into their coats and headed to Diagon Alley for a small celebratory outing—ice cream for the two-year-olds.
Rose observed, alert to every glance, every adult around them. She felt the pulse of possibility in every person, every shadow.
And then Dumbledore intervened.
It wasn't overt—nothing dramatic—but subtle enough that Rose noticed immediately. His silver hair glinted in the sunlight as he approached Lily and James, his manner calm but insistent. Words whispered, tones measured, nudged her parents into letting the twins wander near the shop's doorway for a "quick peek at the decorations." Rose felt the manipulation before it manifested: a subtle shift in her parents' attention, a momentary distraction.
And then she was separated.
Pushed out of the store by the crowds coming in.
The world blurred around her as she toddled along, staying quiet, observing. She had faced danger before, but this was different. The air around her shifted—an intensity she had not felt since her infancy, a presence both commanding and terrifying.
And there he was. Voldemort.
He stood near the fountain in the center of Diagon Alley, his tall frame unsettling even at a distance. Pre-Snakeface, still handsome, but his aura radiated power, intellect, and something far more dangerous: curiosity.
Rose froze for a heartbeat, analyzing.
He did not advance. He did not raise a wand. He did not strike. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes—dark, penetrating—locking onto hers.
Hazel met crimson.
"You are… remarkable," he said quietly, almost conversationally. The words sent a shiver through her, though she stood her ground. "Definitely not a child to be ignored. Not by Dumbledore. Not by anyone."
Rose's lips pressed together.
'System, assess.'
She noted: preternatural calm, no immediate aggression, tactical observation. He was evaluating her. Testing her. Seeing if she was a threat, a tool, or… something else entirely.
"I—" she started, then paused. The right response was not fear. Confidence, control, observation.
She could influence, she could shape, and she would not be used. "You're… late," she said, voice clear, precise.
Voldemort's eyes flickered briefly. Amusement? Surprise? He leaned slightly closer, voice smooth and low. "Ah. The child who defies prophecy. And yet, you stand before me… aware. Observant. Too calm. Perhaps you are not just a child of magic, are you?"
Rose's gaze sharpened. "I am what I need to be."
A pause stretched between them, long and heavy. He studied her as one studies a dangerous animal.
"You carry something," he said finally, almost to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. "Something older than magic, older than life itself… perhaps even older than I can comprehend."
Rose's tiny fists curled slightly at her sides. "It is what I need it to be. And it is not for you to decide."
For the first time, Voldemort's expression flickered—a small, almost imperceptible uncertainty. He stepped back, hands unclasped, still studying her. "Fascinating. Truly fascinating. Keep yourself alive, little one. The world will be… more complicated because of you."
Then he was gone, as if he'd melted into the crowd.
He had known something was off.
Rose's small fingers brushed the edge of the fountain. The crowd shifted around her, and for a moment, she felt the same rush of premonition that had warned her of Voldemort's presence.
"Rose!" Lily's voice rang out, sharp with worry. James followed immediately, Harry in his arms, scanning the crowd. Their faces were pale, eyes wide, moving quickly toward her.
Rose froze, letting her tiny hands rest against the stone.
When they reached her, both parents hugged her tight to them.
"Are you all right? Did anyone touch you?" Lily asked, voice trembling with fear.
"I'm fine," Rose said softly, letting her tone convey calm rather than panic.
James exhaled, holding her closer. "I don't care how distracted I was—never again," he muttered, tightening his protective hold.