I peaked behind the morning copy of the Daily Prophet to see the girl's still-sleeping form, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she slept. She'd been out since I arrived, and not by coincidence. I'd caved and administered a mild sleeping draught despite having just weaned her off them, knowing she'd need rest in order to feel better. It would be wearing off any minute, along with the fever reducer I'd given her, but I needed her to wake so she could take the rest of her potions on her own. She fought so intensely every time I had to give her one while she was half-asleep — a good self-preservation instinct, but an annoying one in this instance.

I sighed before focusing once again on the Prophet. Not sure why I bothered since all that was in it nowadays was utter rubbish. Every article by Rita Skeeter was a calculated and tactful attempt to discredit anyone who claimed Voldermort had returned a few months ago — at this rate Dumbledore must be seen as a batty old man by half of the witches and wizards in the country if they were reading this garbage. Divisiveness could brew so easily when misinformation and lack of trust were at play.

I continued to scan the prophet unenthusiastically, eager for Rose to wake up. I was just about to toss the paper aside in disgust when something caught my eye. A small black and white photo of Rose from the tournament followed by the title — Diggory's Death: Tragic Accident or Murder? I quickly bolted up straighter in my hard-backed chair as I read.

The famous Rose Emilia Potter, or as the Wizarding World has named her, The Girl Who Lived, has once again lost a loved one in the supposedly tragic accident that befell her boyfriend Cedric Diggory in the final push to secure a Hogwarts victory in the Triwizard Tournament. The Daily Prophet has obtained an exclusive interview with one of Potter's closest friends, Slytherin Pansy Parkinson, who has revealed all. "We were all surprised when she was allowed to compete after cheating her way into the tournament" revealed Parkinson. "We were even more shocked when she started dating the competition in being with Diggory, though we all knew she was using love potions on him." Parkinson continued "Of course, we all knew she would do anything to win. Believe me, with the way she dresses, she must be desperate for the prize money."

When pushed for details about Potter's competitive nature, Parkinson described how she wouldn't put it past Potter to take out the unsuspecting Diggory in order to secure victory for herself. "That girl would do anything to win. In second year she practically shoved my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, from his broom when he was about to catch the Golden Snitch, though of course Dumbledore never punished her for it."

With these revelations, the real question we might ask ourselves is whether Miss Potter is the victim of a horrific, tragic loss or something more sinister. Could she be a premeditated killer? Stay tuned as our investigative team will reveal more details in the coming weeks.

Of course, I should've known better, I thought derisively to myself. The title of the article had originally had me hoping that the murderer would've been named as Voldermort, but that would require logic on the Prophet's part. I cast the paper aside and made a mental note to have a strongly worded conversation with all of Slytherin House about speaking to the media at the start of next term.

I stood to pace out some of my nervous energy, striding from one side of the large library to the next, deep in thought.

Rose was a fighter undoubtedly. Her instincts were decent when it came to protecting herself in dangerous situations, though the instincts that landed her in those situations in the first place clearly needed some working on. It was clear that proper defense training was long overdue for her and something that would need to change. She'd made great progress under Lupin, I grudgingly admitted to myself, and even with the Weasley twins to guide her last year. Nevertheless, I knew she could never kill. Even to protect herself or one of her friends, she was still an innocent child. The prophets ridiculous musings clearly hadn't taken this into account, and I was tempted to contact an attorney about minor protection laws when it came to the media.

My frustration slowly shifted when I heard low whimpering noises come from the sleeping girl on the sofa, her form wrapped tightly in blankets. She struggled, thrashing mildly as she tried to pull her tightly bound arms from the blankets. Her eyes opened slowly, and she raised a hand to rub her forehead before pushing herself into a seated position.

Her bright green gaze landed on me as I moved closer to her side, her eyes squinting in pain or maybe confusion, I couldn't tell which.

"Rose, how do you feel?" I questioned eagerly, bending down towards her to check her temperature. I ignored her slight flinch away from my hand before it made contact with her forehead. She was still very warm.

She squinted again in the dim light, eyebrows drawing towards one another "Fine"

"You have a fever. What hurts? Your head, throat, chest?" I moved towards her then, helping her to sit up so she could take the potions I offered. She took them without comment, sighing before she tilted them all down her throat.

"When did you start feeling ill?"

"Whenever the last time we saw one another was…how long was I out for?"

"A few days" I replied, turning away to get my anger in check before asking the next question. "Why in Merlin's name did you not call for help?" I had noticed the weak glamour she had up as soon as I found her, quickly deducing that her already weak constitution had been tipped over the breaking point again because she seemed wholly unable to look after herself. Unable to follow simple directions and heal. But I'd felt the deep stabbings of guilt too, considering I had been the one to leave and intentionally ignore her after she'd hurled insults at me a few days ago. I found myself desperately wishing that Black and Lupin would hurry up on their mission, as I clearly was failing at looking after the girl. I was far from giving up on her, but even I could see how much Rose relied on the two men. Probably the first father-figures she'd ever had.

In a different life, one that I'd fantasied about far too often while still in Lily's good graces, she could've been my child. Beyond that, if I had been able to see past who'd fathered her, and seen her for what she was — in so many ways just as strong and kind-hearted as her mother, I could've become a father-figure for her too. I told myself that my outward distain for her was to keep up appearances, which would be even more necessary now that Voldermort had returned. I couldn't be seen caring for her or offering too much support — it would draw heaps of speculation in the Death Eater circle if I did. But here and now, I needed to do so much better. I needed to tread lightly in this conversation, and besides, even I was growing weary of lecturing her. Clearly it wasn't doing any good.

"Everyone has much more important things to do. I found a Pepper up potion, but it didn't do much."

More important things to do than keep the Chose One alive? The girl who Dumbledore swore was prophesied to be the savior of our kind? More important things to do indeed.

"Yes, I'm sure it was expired."

There was just silence on her end as she picked at a spot on the soft, well-worn blanket still encircled around her. I had to give her credit, the glamor she had up wasn't half-bad. Less observant witches and wizards probably wouldn't notice it, and I would be lying if I said it wasn't nice to see her healthy self back again. But she needed to drop the glamor, and soon, so her body could direct its energy into healing itself. I took a deep breath before asking gently "You were doing so well, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I just went for a swim."

"No, you pushed yourself too hard. Again."

"I was distracting myself. That's what you've been encouraging me to do too these past few days."

"Yes, but you took it too far. And now you're ill. Again" I tried to stop myself from saying what I was about to say, but couldn't hold it back "You must be masochistic — or clearly as attention-seeking as Rita Skeeter would have everyone believe!"

Her gaze snapped up to mine and she looked ready to retort back angrily, but instead she stomped out of the room and began making her way upstairs. I followed closely behind — easily done as she couldn't move very fast with how weak she was.

"Rose, you can't run from this. Whether you like it or not, I'm the one available to take care of you!"

"Well I don't like it! I want Sirius here, not you!" She said, whipping around to face me once she'd reached the entrance hall.

"Believe me, I can think of many other things I'd rather do." I held her gaze steadily as I continued, reverting to my commanding, professor-type voice "Drop the glamor now Rose! You're not fooling anyone with it, not even yourself."

She paused, momentarily shocked as she glanced down quickly at her body. Clearly forgetting that the glamor was still in place after the last few days.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing some self-control to find its way into my brain.

"Rose, I can't help you effectively if you keep that damn thing up."

"You don't even care! Why would you bother healing me if you don't give a damn! Just let me be alone, we'll both be happier for it."

I was losing her, and quickly. I needed to say something that would snap her out of this self-defense mode, no matter how vulnerable it would make me. I had to do it for Lily's child.

I felt courage build in my system and, resigned, whispered "I do care. More than you could ever understand."