Remus Lupin sat quietly near the nursery door, leaning against the frame, his eyes never leaving the twins playing on the rug.
His gaze always drifting back to one twin, in particular.
Rose.
From the moment she had been born, something about her had set his instincts on edge. His wolf senses flared around her unpredictably, as if trying to warn him and tell him to protect pack all at the same time.
Remus had been watching silently when it happened.
A rattle floated briefly above her tiny fingers, swaying in midair before settling gently onto her blanket. His brow furrowed. Her first bout of accidental magic, so early? And yet it hardly looked actually accidental.
He stepped closer, careful not to disturb her. Her hazel eyes looked up watching him approach.
She tilted her head slightly, cooing softly, observing his presence with a precision that made him shiver.
Even in an infant body, there was purpose behind her movements. The floating rattle was not an accident—it was a deliberate test, a measurement of her influence and control.
Lupin's mind raced, cataloging possibilities. The child was barely six months old. She should be cooing, grasping, rolling over—yet she was experimenting. Calculating.
He allowed himself a faint exhale, both marveling and feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. 'She is…extraordinary.'
---
Then Harry's voice cut through the room, bright and unrestrained.
"Sis!"
Remus froze. Harry had crawled over to Rose reaching for her, calling her by her title. His first word was for her, not for his parents but for his twin sister.
The sheer instinctive bond was staggering.
Remus' chest tightened. He had seen many children, many magical families, from afar.
He had seen power manifest unpredictably.
But this—the combination of precocious magic, deliberate observation, and an unbreakable twin bond—was…unlike anything he had encountered.
Pettigrew, who had lingered near the doorway earlier, kept his distance now. Remus could see the wariness etched into his posture, a reflection of the influence Rose had already begun to exert. And yet, Lupin knew that this influence, subtle as it was, would only grow.
He returned his attention to Harry and Rose, watching the tiny gestures, the smiles, the coos. The bond was instant, instinctive, unbreakable. Harry's world already revolved around her in a way that even their parents could not fully see yet.
Lupin's protective instincts flared again paired with a cautious awe. 'She is our Rose. Precocious, and aware far beyond her age.'
He shifted slightly, keeping a silent watch. The rattle, the coos, the shared glances between the twins—all small threads of a tapestry he could only begin to imagine. And yet, he knew one thing with certainty:
'Whatever comes, I will protect them both. Especially her.'
---
Night had fallen over the Potter household. The twins were finally asleep, tiny chests rising and falling in unison, wrapped in warm blankets. The nursery was quiet now, save for the soft tick of the clock on the wall.
In the living room, Sirius, Remus, James, and Lily settled into chairs, mugs of tea in hand. Pettigrew had left earlier, looking pale and bothered like he had since Lily gave birth to two Potter children.
The laughter and chaos of the day had faded into a soft, reflective warmth.
James exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't think I'd see Harry grow so attached to anyone this fast. The boy loves his sister already, and it's only been six months."
Lily smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "It's sweet, isn't it? He calls her 'Sis!' He knows somehow what we all know that she's…special, James. They both are, but her…"
Sirius laughed softly. "Special? That's putting it mildly. I've never met a baby who seems to know things she shouldn't. She had her first bout of magic today and there was nothing accidental about it. Tiny hands, huge mind. She's already manipulating the world around her."
Remus took a sip of his tea, his gaze thoughtful. "Have you noticed…how Peter reacts around Rose?"
James furrowed his brow. "Peter? He's…nervous, I guess? Always hovering, never quite near her. But that's normal, isn't it? He's always skittish."
Remus shook his head slowly. "It's more than that. He's…off balance. Every time she coos or even glances toward him, he hesitates. Not like a normal baby's charm—something deeper. It's almost like ... he's scared of her."
Sirius' grin widened, a little unnerved. "You're saying…our six-month-old is already bending Peter Pettigrew to her will? That's…well, that's terrifying."
Lily reached over, placing a hand on Remus' arm. "Terrifying or…protective? She's already so aware. Look at how Harry adores her. The bond between them is instinctive."
Remus leaned back, sighing softly. "Yes. And it's that bond—the way he instinctively protects her—that makes me both proud and uneasy. There's power in that kind of connection. Power that can shift everything. I can't shake the feeling that…she's not like any child I've ever known. And we need to watch her carefully."
James chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Careful? Remus, she's a baby!" He took a sip of his tea, his eyes slowly growing thoughtful, "But…there's something about her. Something that makes even Peter uneasy. I've seen it."
Sirius smirked, raising his mug. "Here's to the little boss of the house, then. May she stay tiny and adorable…long enough that we can survive her first real temper tantrum."
Remus allowed himself a small smile, though his thoughts remained weighted. "Adorable, yes. But also aware. We've glimpsed it today. She's…watching us as much as we're watching her. And I suspect we're all under her influence already."
Lily laughed softly. "Then let's hope she chooses to be gentle with us."
The four of them fell into quiet reflection, each aware in their own way that Rose—tiny, observant, and extraordinary—was already shaping the people around her, and that this was only the very beginning.