Sorry this is a bit late - it's extra long to make up for it.

Thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter - reviews make my day! Please keep it up!

The morning after the Welcoming Feast was a Saturday – normally, a day that meant I got to sleep in, skip breakfast, and grab something extra from the kitchens if I got hungry. Today, however, was different. I was awake early, sneaking out of the dorms and down to the kitchens not to eat, but to access the mini-potions lab the twins had set up.

I had promised to help brew the Aging Potion, after all. That just didn't mean I had to be enthusiastic about it.

"I still think this is a bad idea," I announce as I measure out a teaspoon of salamander blood and add it to the steaming cauldron in front of us.

"So you've said, for the twentieth time," George sighs and casts another Ventilation Charm. "Hand me those porcupine quills, would you?"

I hand him the jar and turn to Fred. "I'm assuming you're still on board too."

"Well, yeah!" he laughs. "Forget the glory – the prize money alone is a thousand Galleons. Just think of what we could do with a thousand Galleons."

I can only nod – both the Potter and Black families were extremely wealthy, so I'd never gone without money, but I could empathize.

"I guess," I sigh. "I just think it's stupid. I mean, people died last time."

"Yeah, but that was probably someone from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons," George says dismissively while adding two shriveled Newt eyes. "I doubt it was anyone from Hogwarts."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," I mutter idly, putting two drops of Wormwood Essence into the cauldron and stepping back to let Fred stir. "You don't even know if this will work."

"We might as well try," George shrugs.

A loud crack suddenly interrupts him, almost making me drop the jar I was holding before I spin around to face the House-Elf that had just popped in. "Blinky has a message for Missy Rissy!"

"Hello…Blinky. Um, what's wrong?" I ask, wondering why all house-elves had such weird names.

"Oh, Missy Rissy is asking Blinky, Blinky does not deserve the honor, Missy Rissy is being a kind witch…"

"Oh my god," I sigh, reaching down to grab the sobbing creature and lift it to eye level. "Stop. Stop it. Blinky, stop sobbing…"

He stops, blinking at me with large, wet eyes.

"…and tell me what is going on," I finish slowly, mind whirling as possibilities pop into my head: was Harry in trouble? Was it Ron or Hermione? Had something happened with one of the other schools?

"Miss Roselyn is wondering where yous is," Blinky squeaks, interrupting my downward spiral of doom. "She is sending Blinky to find yous, Missy Rissy."

"Don't call me that," I sigh, putting the elf down and giving it a pat on the head. "Thank you, Blinky."

"Missy Rissy is thanking Blinky…Blinky does not deserve such kindness…" the house-elf sobs before disapparating with another loud pop.

"Got a date?" Fred jokes.

I give him a scathing look and shake my head. "No. There's a girl from Beauxbatons – she's not like the others. There's something different about her, and I need to find out what."

"Why?" George asks, looking up from the Potions manual he was holding.

"I dunno," I shrug. "I just have to. Do you need me to stick around, or…?"

"Nah." George nudges the ladle and shakes his head. "It'll be done in a half-hour or so, you can take your leave. We won't wait up."

I sent him one last glare before grabbing my bag and leaving the side room, climbing out of the kitchens via the fruit portrait before I put my bag down and pull out a piece of parchment.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I whisper, tapping it with my wand and grinning as the infamous words of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs appear, followed by the map itself.

Initially, I reel back as the flood of names come in – there are between twenty and forty new names on the map, and it's Saturday, so everyone is everywhere. It doesn't take me all that long to spot the dot labeled "Roselyn McKinnon" in the back courtyard – she's kind of just…standing there.

I raise an eyebrow at that but put the map away anyways after I wipe it. I grab my bag again and turn around, heading for the nearest exit.

I make it to the courtyard in a remarkably quick time, skirting around the edges until I spot the familiar face. "Roselyn! Roselyn! Over here!"

The other girl turns around at the sound of my voice, spotting me and walking over. "Hello. Thank you for coming."

"It's alright, I was glad to, but, uh…" I look around. "Aren't you cold?"

"A little," she shrugs. "But I am warmer than the average person, so…"

I reach out a hand to touch her arm, eyebrows shooting up as I realize that she did indeed run a few degrees higher than normal, making her into a walking furnace. "That's cool. But are you sure you don't want to go inside? I could give you a tour."

"That would be nice, thank you," she accepts formally, but a grin spreads across her face and her stride is relaxed as she follows me through the nearest set of doors. "I would like to know more about Hogwarts itself."

"Well, it's a really bloody old castle," I surmise with a smirk. "I don't know all that much about the school – Hermione's your go-to girl for that. But I got lost a lot when I was a first-year, and I sneak out even more than that, so I know my way around the castle itself."

"I would love to go to school is castle like this," Roselyn admits, an amazed look on her face as she takes in all the tapestries, statues, and paintings lining the corridor. "Beauxbatons is…it is a magnificent place, but everything is very…fragile. Pretty, but fragile."

I nod but give her an odd look. "Do you always speak like that?"

The question seems to catch her off guard. "Like what?"

"All formal and proper. I'm not gonna bite your head off if you use a contraction," I tease with a grin.

Roselyn chuckles lightly as we round another corner, coming up on the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room. "Madame Maxime insisted that those students that were chosen to make the journey to England maintain ladylike behavior."

"Madame Maxime isn't here," I remind her. "And I won't tell. Ladylike behavior is overrated if you ask me."

"I suppose it is," she chuckles. "If you don't mind…?"

"You don't have to ask permission," I sigh dramatically. "Again, not gonna bite your head off."

"If you say so," she shrugs. I watch her emotionless mask slip off, revealing shimmering blue eyes and an easy, but small, smile. "You seemed a little hot-tempered to me."

"I'm a lot more than hot-tempered," I quip. "I've also been called worse."

"Me too," Roselyn agrees. "I…Delacour and her friends call me diable-enfant – it means 'devil-child.'"

"What?" I ask, horrified, as I skid to a stop in the middle of the hallway. "Why?"

"I guess you could say I'm a lot of trouble," she shrugs. "Trouble Beauxbatons doesn't li – I mean, can't handle."

I narrow my eyes at the slip – was she about to say "doesn't like"? What did that mean?

"I'm a lot of trouble," I counter. "I'm the most trouble Hogwarts has seen since the late 1970s. And people may not like me either, but that doesn't mean they call me devil spawn!" I snap, crossing my arms and wondering what to hex the next Beauxbatons student I saw with.

"Orissa, it's not a big issue," Roselyn argues quietly. "It's…it's just a school thing. They aren't-"

"if the next words out of your mouth are 'hurting me', I'll be forced to hex you," I grit out. "And that would be a shame, as I happen to like you."

"Uh…thanks? I like you too."

I give her a small smile before storming on ahead, my robes billowing ominously behind me.

We continue through the castle in tense silence until a thought occurs to me. "You need a nickname."

"What's wrong with my name?" Roselyn asks, tearing her eyes away from the wizard with a lopsided hunchback to look at me,

"Nothing," I shrug. "It's just…frilly. And long."

"I don't think my name has ever been called 'frilly' before," she says dryly. "Thank you, Orissa."

"You're welcome," I respond in the same tone. "But seriously, a nickname. Is there anything that your friends call you…other than 'devil-child,' that is."

"You aren't going to let that one go, are you?" Roselyn asked with no real heat in her voice. "Well, with the whole 'prim and proper' thing, Beauxbatons isn't big on casual nicknames."

"Or fun, it sounds like," I grumble. "Then what would you like? Lyn? Rose?"

Roselyn tilts her head, weighing her options for a moment before deciding, "No, Rose sounds like something you'd call a crotchety old lady, and Rose isn't much better."

I nod in agreement. "What about Rosie?"

"Rosie…" Roselyn says slowly, as if testing the word on her tongue, before she nods. "Not crotchety, not formal…I like it."

I grin a reach over to tap the other girl's left shoulder, and then her right. "I hereby dub thee Rosie," I tell her with sarcastic formality.

Roselyn – Rosie – plays along, dipping into a deep curtsy. "It is an honor, Your Majesty."

She straightens up and looks me in the eye, and we stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into gut-wrenching, side-splitting, hysterical laughter.

"Oh – oh my god," I gasp, wiping tears from my eyes as I lean heavily against the wall. "What the hell was that?"

"No idea," Rosie replies. "I haven't laughed like that in forever."

"Obviously not." I take a few deep breaths to re-center my composure. "With an attitude like that, you'll fit in just fine…until you have to leave," I add at the last second, frowning at the sadness I already felt at the prospect of my new friend leaving.

Rosie suddenly looks a bit uncomfortable. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but she's cut off by the sound of running footsteps heading in our direction.

"Blackie!" a familiar voice shouts just before Fred rounds the corner. "We did it! It's finished!"

"Really?" I ask, and George nods, coming up behind his twin. "And it works? You made sure?"

"We tested it on a Pygmy Puff. Three drops and it turned a few shades darker, so yeah, it works," George confirms with a grin, holding up the vial of blue liquid.

I take it and swirl the potion around, checking the consistency and the color before nodding and looking up at the twins. "Nice job."

"I'll say," Rosie interrupts, looking over my shoulder. "That's the nicest Aging Potion I've seen in a long time."

"Thanks," Fred grins at her. "And who may you be?"

"Roselyn McKinnon," she introduces herself with a handshake. "But you can call me Rosie."

I snicker and quickly muffle it behind a coughing fit, making all three people look at me for a moment before Fred turns back to Rosie.

"Please, Rosie. I've got to tell you, learning your name is a relief," Fred comments as we start walking towards the Great Hall. "'Cause otherwise, we'd have to call you Ori's Mysterious French Girl forever, and that would get tiring."

I jab him in the ribs. "Stuff it."

"What, you don't want a Mysterious French Girl?" George teases, waggling his eyebrow.

To everyone's surprise, it's not me but Rosie who elbows George. "You heard the girl, stuff it."

"They're ganging up on us!" Fred gasps. "George, we've created a monster!"

George lets out a high-pitched, overly dramatic scream. "Noooo!"

I roll my eyes at their antics and push open the doors to the Great Hall, holding it only for Rosie.

The Hall seemed to be bustling with activity, even though it was still early; students were milling around the Goblet of Fire, eagerly whispering about who might put their name in.

I spot Harry, Ron, and Hermione near the edge of the crowd and hurry up to them. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to see Krum put his name in," Ron explains absently, stretching his neck to try and spot the Quidditch star – even though the Durmstrang kids weren't even inside yet.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asks, balancing a book on her arm. "You're not an early riser, and you're not interested in Krum."

"Correct on both accounts, 'Mione," I chirp. "But I got roped into helping those two," I gesture towards where Fred and George were showing the potion to Lee Jordan, "and then I had to give her a tour of the castle." I tip my head at Rosie, who was standing between me and the twins.

"The potion isn't going to work, you know," Hermione tells me, a touch of condescension in her voice. "Dumbledore is a great and powerful wizard. You won't fool his magic with a simple potion."

"Well, everyone makes mistakes," I return with a mischievous grin, catching George's eye as he nods. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an Age Line to go fool."

I return to the twins' side, and George raises his voice to address the crowd. "Attention, ladies, gentlemen, and Ronniekins!"

"We've done it!" Fred shouts, ignoring Ron's outraged sound of protest. "We've successfully brewed an Aging Potion to put our names in the Goblet of Fire!"

The crowd cheers, and Rosie and I clap and whistle along with them, paying no mind to Hermione's disapproving presence.

George turns to me and gives a dramatic bow. "Miss Black, if you would be so kind as to check the quality of the Age Line?"

I shuffle around the crowd to get a good look at the Age Line that was surrounding the Goblet in a ten-foot-wide circle.

"Looks pretty solid to me," I report to George, fighting to keep a straight face. "You may proceed, Mr. and Mr. Weasley."

"Alrighty then!" George grins and carefully uncorks the vial, tipping his head back to drop two drops on his tongue, then handing the vial to his brother for Fred to do the same.

I step forward to take the vial from them, tucking it into a pocket just in case. "Here goes nothing, right?"

"Right," they chorus, pulling out slips of parchment with their names clearly written.

I stand back and watch as the twins step over the line, pausing for a moment. When nothing happens, they easily step forward to drop their names into the fire and the crowd bursts into thunderous applause.

"See?" I tell Hermione. "See, I-" I'm interrupted by a loud hissing sound and Rosie's hand on my arm. "Look!"

I spin back around to see the Goblet flaring up, spitting fire like an angry dragon. Fred and George don't have enough time to move before two streams of blue fire hit them in the chest, throwing them back several meters and well outside the circle.

And then, if that wasn't bad enough, there are two loud pops and Fred and George suddenly have snowy white hair and long white beards.

"Oops," I mutter, hurrying over to crouch by their side. "I must've screwed up the potency. Are you okay?"

"They will be just fine, Miss Black. And I assure you, the potion was brewed perfectly," a voice behind me answers.

I spring to my feet to see none other than Dumbledore himself parting the crowd. "Sir?"

"Why you three don't show that much effort in class, I will never know," Dumbledore continues as if I hadn't spoken. "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, off to the Hospital Wing with you. Madam Pomfrey will be prepared – she's already dealt with a Hufflepuff sixth-year and a Ravenclaw fifth-year that tried the same method. Although I must say, neither of their beards were as spectacular as yours."

Fred and George just give him stunned looks before I offer Fred a hand up, as they now had old, creaky bones. Rosie does the same with George, and we watch the two of them hobble off to the Hospital Wing.

"I guess it's a good thing you didn't take the potion," Rosie murmurs.

"I told you it would be."

"Although…" she smirks. "Who's the crotchety old lady now?"

"Shut up.".

"Shut up," she mimics in an old-lady voice.

"Stop it," I laugh, swatting her in the side. "You're horrible."

Rosie doesn't respond, and I look over to see her not laughing anymore. Instead, she's looking at something else with a blank, slightly sad face – I follow her gaze to see the Beauxbatons girls parading through the Entrance Hall.

And if I had to choose between enduring the presence of the 'holier-than-thou' French brats or saving my new friend from emotional turmoil? The choice was easy.

I grabbed Rosie and we were gone before anyone could say otherwise.

.

As the days passed, Rosie and I continued to bond. I introduced her to Sugar Quills (which were a hit) and Fizzing Whizbees (which were not) and continued to give her a tour of the castle and the grounds, showing her all the secret passageways I'd found over the years. I even found the time to introduce her to Hagrid – although he mainly spent the entire time asking Rosie about Madame Maxime, which is an interesting tidbit I stored away.

In return for my company, Rosie gave me a crash-course in French food ("Snails?! You've eaten snails?!") and eagerly learned about English culture, both magical and muggle. She slowly revealed a fun, mischievous personality to match my own, although there was always something gravely serious about her. Her sense of pranking, however, was brilliant; she was able to make elaborate and complex plans while technically not breaking a single rule. It was amazing.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, my protective instincts kicked in – the same instincts that made me do stupidly brave things for my friends and family were now grabbing onto Rosie.

I didn't realize this, however, until one day, nearly a week after her arrival, when Rosie was nowhere to be found and I was working myself into a panic.

Rosie hadn't been at breakfast that morning, but I hadn't thought much of that – maybe she'd just slept in. But as morning classes dragged on, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone wrong – last night, Rosie had been extremely irritable. What if she'd gotten hurt? What if someone from her own school had attacked her? What if she'd attacked someone else and gotten sent back to France or something?

By the time lunch rolled around, I was a jittery, fidgety, worried, pissed-off mess. I was completely unable to pay attention in any of my afternoon classes (even Transfiguration, which was a shame, since McGonagall was just about the only teacher I cared about nowadays) and after the final bell rang, I was one of the first ones out of the classrooms, setting out to comb the school.

And I found nothing. A small part of me realized that I was grossly overreacting and that she was probably fine, but the larger part of me had learned not ignore my instincts.

I trudged into the courtyard after hours of searching with a scowl fixed on my face as I plop down on a bench. I'd searched every place I could think of – the Great Hall, Hagrid's hut, the various secret passageways I'd shown Rosie – and nothing. I had no clue where she was.

"-and zen Marcelle says, 'Oui, mais je ne connais pas son nom!'"

The French, spoken from a passing Beauxbatons girl, suddenly gave me an idea so glaringly obvious I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before.

The thing was, as much as I'd taken Rosie under my wing, we didn't go to school together. She went to Beauxbatons. And if anyone knew where she was, it would probably be a fellow Beauxbatons student.

And so, with that in mind, I swallowed my pride, stood up, and approached the huddle of Beauxbitches (as I'd mentally dubbed them).

"Excuse me," I interrupt calmly. "Have any of you seen Rosi – I mean, Roselyn – today?"

One of the girls, a brunette girl, looks at me in confusion. "Who is zat?"

Taken aback, I just stare at her for a moment before slowly replying, "Roselyn…Roselyn McKinnon. Blonde, blue eyes, not French, about this tall?"

Even with the description the group of girls – maybe five in number – continues to stare at me in confusion. It's clear that they have no idea who I'm talking about, even though Rosie goes to their school and Beauxbatons can't be that big.

"Okay, look," I growl, crossing my arms. "I know you all know English, and I would really rather get this conversation over with as I don't particularly like any of you. So, I'll ask again: where is Roselyn?"

The girls glance at each other for a moment before the brunette girl steps forward, an amused look on her face. "She 'as not told you?"

"I – what?" I take a step back, confused. "She hasn't told me…what?"

"You do not even know!" the brunette laughs, her cronies giggling behind her. "Zat ees…'ow you say…adorable!"

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to decide if I was confused or angry. "What are you on about?

"You know, I would 'ave zhought she would 'ave told you…'er best friend," the other girl sneers. "Oui, you are ze only zat likes 'er. She ees not welcome at our school."

Anger wins out over confusion and I take a step towards her, squaring my shoulders. "Don't talk about her like that."

The brunette takes a step to match me, laughing hysterically. "Oh, zis ees funny! She follows you like a puppy, and you defend 'er like a...chien de garde…yes, a guard dog!"

"And you talk about her like a bitch," I snap, internally congratulating myself on the smooth dog metaphor. "Trust me, I know dogs. Rosie is no puppy…but, I will admit, I do have a tendency to bite." I give the other girl a predatory smile. "So tell me where she is before I'm forced to do something I regret."

The French brunette scoffs and mutters something in French that I'm pretty sure wasn't a compliment. Behind her, her cronies were buzzing, and I could hear whispers from the surrounding Hogwarts students.

"I do not 'ave to tell you, Hogwarts scum," she scoffs, slipping a thin wand out of her sleeve.

"That's how you wanna play it, then?" I ask with a crooked grin.

The brunette doesn't answer. Instead, she raises her wand…and I punch her in the mouth.

She stumbles back, surprised, and the delay is enough for me to disarm her and slip my own wand away. But the shock doesn't last long, and the brunette's eyes flash as she lunges at me and we both go down.

The next few minutes are a blur – there are punches, scratches, kicks; even some hair-pulling (ha, the joke's on her, my hair is too short to pull). There's a lot of screaming, both in English and in French, and somehow I have a throbbing headache and my ears are ringing even though I haven't been hit in the head that hard.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" I hear Professor McGonagall's voice roar over the noise. "Filipendo!"

Suddenly, the other girl is ripped away from me – probably taking some of my hair with her – and I'm left lying on the ground, head throbbing, ears ringing, and wondering who hit me with what.

The slightly blurry form of Professor McGonagall appears above me, and I distantly hear her mutter "Finite Incatatem," and the pain stops.

I scramble to my feet and away from the irate Deputy Headmistress as she quickly sends a Patronus to Madame Maxime, instructing the ruffled Beauxbatons girls to go "straight to the Headmaster's office, your Headmistress will meet you there. Make no detours – I shall know if you do."

And then she turns to me. I shrink back in fear, because if there was one thing I was truly afraid of, it was an extremely angry Minerva McGonagall.

But all she says is "Miss Black, my office. Now."

As she turns away, shooing everyone back to what they were doing, I have to jog to keep up as she set a furious pace down the hall.

Luckily (or maybe not), her office wasn't too far from the courtyard, so we make it there in record time. McGonagall tells me to take a seat, closing the door and saying nothing.

McGonagall usually offered the lesser offenders a biscuit. If you didn't get a biscuit, you were in some deep trouble. And I wasn't getting a biscuit.

"Are you alright, Miss Black?" she asks quietly, looking me in the eye with a grave expression on her face. I quickly nod, and McGonagall straightens her back and looks over her glasses, assuming her lecturing stance.

"Then, what, may I ask, possessed you to start a fight – a fistfight, I may add – with one of our guests?!" she demands. "Do you not remember that you are supposed to be a shining example of a Hogwarts student?!"

"I remember, professor," I answer with a sigh.

"Then please tell me you have a good reason as to why I shouldn't keep you in detention until Christmas for threatening our diplomatic relations with the school," she threatens. "You could be charged with assault, Miss Black. Ms. Levfevre has bruises covering a substantial amount of her body, some missing teeth, and a fair amount of missing hair. Madame Maxime will be furious."

"You didn't hear what they were saying about Rosie," I defend. "She deserved what she got, and I'd do it all over again, given the choice."

McGonagall gives me the sternest of expressions for a long moment before requesting, "Settle down, Miss Black. Start from the beginning."

So I do. I explain how I'd met Rosie nearly a week ago and how all her schoolmates hated her, called her names that literally meant 'devil-child' and how she was my friend, and you don't talk about my friends like that; how I hated the fact that she had to go to school with people that hated her, because not even Malfoy was that low. Malfoy had class. These people did not. And also, they didn't seem to have-

Professor McGonagall clears her throat, interrupting my rambling before I could really get going.

"Er, sorry, professor," I glance down at my shoes, bracing myself for the lecture.

But it never happens. All McGonagall says is, "So I see you've discovered Ms. McKinnon, then. Madame Maxime did warn me about her."

"Professor, if I may speak frankly…" McGonagall nods. "She was probably wrong. I don't know what she said, but Rosie – she's a perfectly nice girl. Nicer than I am, actually."

"Believe me, Ms. Black, when I say I can make my own decisions on my students," McGonagall announces.

I snap my head up. "Your students? Professor, I just spent fifteen minutes ranting about how Rosie has to go to Beauxbatons, under Madame Maxime."

McGonagall blinks as if surprised. "I would've thought…hm. She must not have told you."

I sit up straight in my chair, paying close attention to the professor. "What? She must not have told me what?"

Professor McGonagall purses her lips. "It's not truly my place to tell you, Miss Black…"

I shove my lip out in a pout, widen my eyes, and even manage to water them a little. "Pleeeease, professor?"

McGonagall looks at me for a long, long time, and I can't help but wonder what she sees. The moments go by, and just as I'm beginning to think she won't say anything at all, McGonagall sighs. "Yes, alright."

"What Miss McKinnon hasn't told you, Miss Black, is that she is going to become the newest student…of Hogwarts."