Rose Potter woke much later than usual.
For a long while, she did not move. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, spilling across the room in warm golden bands. The light touched the bedposts, the curtains, the wooden floor, and the empty beds around her. Somewhere beyond the glass, birds called from the grounds, and the faint sound of distant student voices drifted up from below.
It should have felt peaceful.
Instead, Rose simply stared at the canopy above her bed and tried to remember how breathing was supposed to feel when one's entire world had shifted overnight.
Her body still ached. Her shoulder throbbed whenever she moved too quickly, and a dull pain lingered along her ribs despite the healing charms and potions forced upon her at Grimmauld Place. The cuts had closed. The burns had faded. Madam Pomfrey would probably declare her physically fit enough by the end of the day.
But that was only her body.
Her thoughts were far worse.
The Ministry. The Hall of Prophecy. The glass orb warm in her hand. Voldemort's red eyes fixed upon her. Death Eaters surrounding them from every side. The duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort shaking the chamber itself.
And then, after everything, Sirius's voice.
You used Rose as bait.
Rose closed her eyes.
She had slept for hours, perhaps nearly an entire day, but the words still waited for her the moment she woke. They had settled into her bones more deeply than any curse from the battle. At Grimmauld Place, anger had carried her through the confrontation. Exhaustion had carried her to Hogwarts. Sleep had swallowed everything else.
Now there was only the truth.
Dumbledore had known Voldemort would come.
He had wanted Voldemort to come.
And Rose had walked straight into the middle of his plan without ever being told what she truly was.
Bait.
Her fingers clenched around the blanket.
Helios had warned her more than once.
Don't blindly trust Dumbledore.
At the time, she had thought him cynical. Helios distrusted almost everyone, especially Dumbledore, and Rose had quietly believed that part of his judgment came from old Black family bitterness. She had respected his intelligence, but she had also thought he was being unfair.
Now she wished she had listened more carefully.
With a slow sigh, Rose finally pushed herself upright. The movement pulled at her shoulder, and she winced, waiting for the pain to fade before slipping out of bed.
The dormitory was empty.
Every bed had already been made. Parvati's trunk was closed neatly at the foot of her bed. Hermione's side of the room looked as organized as always, with books stacked in perfect order and spare parchment folded beside her ink bottle. Even Lavender's blankets, which normally looked as though she had wrestled a troll in her sleep, had been folded with surprising care.
Hermione, probably.
Rose smiled faintly despite herself. Even after spending half the night worrying, Hermione would still tidy the room before leaving for breakfast. Some things in the world remained predictable, at least.
She dressed slowly. Every motion reminded her of the previous day. When she lifted her arm, her shoulder protested. When she bent to pull on her socks, her ribs ached. When she fastened her robes, her fingers brushed a faintly tender patch of skin where a curse had grazed her.
Each small pain returned a memory.
A fallen shelf.
A flash of green light.
Moody shouting.
Voldemort's voice.
By the time Rose finished dressing, her hands were trembling slightly. She stood still for a moment, breathing through it until the shaking stopped. She refused to cry. She had already done enough of that silently into her pillow the night before.
The Gryffindor common room was empty when she descended the staircase. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting soft light over abandoned chairs and half-finished homework left on tables. A few books remained scattered near the fireplace. Someone had forgotten a quill on the arm of a sofa.
Normally the sight would have comforted her.
Today it only made Hogwarts feel strangely distant.
Rose almost turned around and went back upstairs.
Then her stomach twisted painfully, reminding her that she had barely eaten anything since before the Ministry. Whatever else had changed, hunger remained annoyingly practical.
So she left the common room and made her way toward the Great Hall.
At first, the corridors seemed ordinary. Students walked toward lessons or returned from breakfast in small groups. Portraits murmured among themselves. Suits of armor stood silent beneath the morning light. But the farther Rose walked, the more she noticed people looking at her.
A pair of second-year Ravenclaws stopped speaking when she passed.
A Hufflepuff girl stared at her with wide eyes before quickly looking away.
Two older Gryffindors gave her uncertain smiles, as though unsure whether they were allowed to speak to her.
Rose frowned but kept walking.
The reaction followed her all the way down the moving staircases.
By the time she reached the entrance hall, the whispers were impossible to ignore. They passed through the crowd like wind through dry leaves. Her name appeared more than once. So did Voldemort's. So did the Ministry.
Only then did Rose realize that the newspapers must have arrived.
Her stomach tightened.
She stepped through the enormous doors of the Great Hall, and the reaction became impossible to miss.
Conversation did not stop completely, but it shifted. The nearest section of the Gryffindor table grew quiet first. Then several Ravenclaws turned. A few Hufflepuffs whispered behind their hands. Even Slytherins watched her with open curiosity.
Rose felt every gaze.
Yesterday, many of these same students had treated her like a mad girl repeating Dumbledore's stories. Some had pitied her. Some had mocked her. Some had avoided her entirely.
Now they looked at her as though she had stepped out of a prophecy.
She hated it.
"Rose!"
Hermione's voice cut through the uncomfortable attention like a lifeline.
Rose turned toward the Gryffindor table. Hermione had stood up and was waving her over with an expression that was equal parts relief, worry, and impatience. Ron sat beside her, looking unusually subdued, while Neville watched Rose with quiet concern.
Rose crossed the Hall and sat down beside Hermione.
Ron immediately leaned forward. "You slept for ages. Hermione kept checking whether you were breathing."
"I did not keep checking," Hermione said quickly.
Ron gave her a look.
Hermione flushed. "I checked twice."
"Five times," Neville said softly.
Hermione turned on him. "That is not the point."
Despite herself, Rose smiled weakly. "I needed sleep."
Hermione's expression softened. "You still look exhausted."
"I still feel exhausted."
For a moment none of them spoke. Then Hermione reached beside her plate and carefully pushed a folded copy of the Daily Prophet across the table.
"You should read this."
Rose looked down.
The front page was impossible to ignore.
A moving photograph dominated nearly half the paper. Voldemort stood in dark robes, pale and snake-like, his wand raised as though caught in the middle of a spell. His crimson eyes shifted restlessly within the photograph, and every time they seemed to look directly at Rose, something cold moved through her chest.
Above the picture, the headline screamed across the page.
HE REALLY IS BACK
Beneath it came the second headline.
MINISTRY CONFIRMS YOU-KNOW-WHO APPEARED INSIDE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES
Rose stared at the words for several seconds before she began reading.
The article was written with all the panic the Daily Prophet had carefully avoided for months. It spoke of a violent confrontation inside the Department of Mysteries. It mentioned Death Eaters, captured prisoners, injured Ministry employees, Aurors, Hit Wizards, and multiple witnesses. It reported that Albus Dumbledore had personally dueled Voldemort within the Ministry itself.
The tone was almost breathless.
The Minister confirmed.
Witnesses confirmed.
No more denial. No more pretending.
Lord Voldemort had returned.
Rose turned the page slowly.
Her name was not mentioned.
There was no mention of her being taken to the Ministry. No mention of Tonks, Moody, or the Order's role in the battle. The article carefully credited Ministry Aurors and Hit Wizards with responding bravely to the crisis and driving back several Death Eaters after their illegal entry into the Department of Mysteries.
Rose let out a short, humorless laugh.
Ron frowned. "What?"
"The Ministry is taking credit."
Hermione glanced at the paper, then back at Rose. Her eyes sharpened with understanding.
"They left something out," she said quietly.
Rose looked at her.
Hermione lowered her voice. "Something important."
Rose folded the paper slightly. "They left out almost everything."
Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione kicked him lightly beneath the table. He closed it again, though he looked deeply unhappy about it.
Rose continued reading.
On the third page, she found another article.
This one was about her.
She almost didn't recognize herself in the words.
Only weeks earlier, the Prophet had printed doubts about her claims, questions about her mental state, and speculation about whether Dumbledore had influenced her. Now the article praised her courage. It called her warnings "tragically accurate." It described her as a young witch who had shown remarkable strength under pressure and had stood firm despite widespread disbelief.
Rose's mouth twisted.
"Typical."
Hermione nodded grimly. "They changed their tune rather quickly."
"They had to," Rose said. "Yesterday I was inconvenient. Today I'm useful."
Neville looked down at his plate. "That's awful."
"It's politics," Rose said.
The moment she said it, she realized how tired she sounded. Not angry. Simply tired, as though she had accepted something ugly about the world and no longer had the energy to be surprised.
Hermione noticed too. Her expression saddened.
Before she could say anything, the sound of wings filled the Great Hall.
Several owls swooped down from above.
One landed in front of Rose.
Then another.
Then another.
Within moments, seven official-looking envelopes lay beside her plate. Nearly all of them bore the wax seal of the Ministry of Magic.
Ron picked one up carefully. "Blimey. They're all from the Ministry."
Rose gathered the letters into a neat pile without opening them.
Hermione blinked. "Aren't you going to read them?"
"I already know what they say."
"You do?"
Rose tapped the top envelope. "Apologies. Invitations. Requests for interviews. Maybe some invitation to visit the Ministry. Maybe an Order of Merlin recommendation if they feel dramatic enough."
Ron nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "An Order of Merlin?"
Rose shrugged. "They spent months helping people doubt me. Now they need everyone to forget that."
Neville stared at the letters. "So they praise you."
Hermione's face tightened. "That's horrible."
"Yes," Rose said softly. "It is."
But somehow that was not what hurt most.
What hurt most was that she could understand it now. The Ministry needed survival. Dumbledore needed witnesses. Voldemort needed the prophecy. Everyone had wanted something, and Rose had been standing in the middle of all of them.
The thought made her breakfast taste like ash.
As she pushed food around her plate, her gaze drifted toward the Slytherin table.
Almost immediately, she met Helios's eyes.
He had been watching her.
He wasn't looking at the newspaper. He wasn't staring at the Ministry letters. He wasn't whispering with the students around him.
He was studying her.
Her pale face. The stiffness in her posture. The way she moved carefully to avoid pulling at healing injuries. The tiredness she was trying and failing to hide.
When their eyes met, something shifted in his expression.
Rose understood at once.
He knew.
Or at least, he had guessed enough.
For some reason that made her chest tighten.
She looked away first.
Breakfast passed in fragments after that. Ron tried twice to start a normal conversation and failed both times. Neville quietly offered her toast. Hermione watched her with the careful expression of someone who desperately wanted answers but knew better than to demand them in public.
When the meal finally ended, Rose gathered her books and stood.
The whispers followed her out of the Great Hall.
She had barely stepped into the corridor when a familiar voice called her name.
"Rose."
She turned.
Helios stood a few feet away, his school bag slung over one shoulder. Around them, students continued streaming from the Great Hall, though several slowed when they noticed who had spoken.
Helios ignored them completely.
His expression was calm, but his eyes were serious.
"I need to speak with you."
She nodded once. "Somewhere private?"
"Somewhere no one can overhear."
Without another word, Rose turned away from the crowded corridor, and Helios fell into step beside her. Behind them, curious students watched as Rose Potter and Helios Black disappeared together into one of Hogwarts' quieter passageways.
By tomorrow, that would probably become another rumor.
Rose found that she no longer cared.
There were more important things now.
And this time, before she trusted anyone else's plan, she intended to hear the whole truth.