Hello, readers.

First, I'd like to apologize for the delay in this chapter – I lost inspiration about halfway through and had to leave it alone for a day or two.

Second, in that break, I discovered the masterpiece that is "Hamilton: An American Musical"…or the soundtrack, at least. If there's any Hamiltrash in my audience, feel free to PM me to fangirl about it.

Also, if anyone catches the Hamilton reference I slipped in this chapter, tell me in a review! (Hint: it's got to do with Philip Hamilton.)

Rosie got out of the infirmary after another twenty-four hours under Madam Pomfrey's care. For someone with a "highly contagious" disease, she looked as good as new by that Saturday – and it just so happened that that weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, so I took the opportunity to introduce her to wonder that was Honeydukes. It was a huge success – Rosie nearly bought out the store's supply of Chocolate Frogs, along with a large handful of Sugar Quills, some Pepper Imps, and a sampling of almost everything else in the shop.

Once I managed to tear her out of the sweet shop, we also managed to make it to Madam Malkin's ("If you're going to go to Hogwarts, then you need to look like a Hogwarts student,") Tomes and Scrolls, Zonko's, and browsed Eeylops Owl Emporium ("I don't need an owl, really. I mean, who am I going to write to?").

All in all, the day was pleasant.

The next day, however, was anything but.

Sunday morning began with me having to nearly shove food down Rosie's throat at breakfast – even with Hermione's constant reassurances that the Sorting was not going to be difficult or dangerous, Rosie was still hesitant to eat, stating that she didn't want to puke all over the professors.

"That's not going to happen," I argue for the twelfth time that morning. "And you'll do nobody any good if you pass out on the stool because you didn't eat breakfast."

"Maybe that's for the best," Rosie groans into the wood of the table. "Maybe then I won't be Sorted at all. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe…"

"Maybe or not, you need to eat," I insist, pushing a plate holding two plain slices of toast at her. "Seriously. I don't feel like explaining to Dumbledore why you fainted. And I will not be the one to drag you back to the carriage."

Rosie lifts her head slightly to glare at me, but I just grin and tap her plate. With a huff, the blonde girl snatches a piece of toast and begins to nibble on the edge, still looking horribly nervous.

"The Sorting's not that bad, really," Harry offers. "The Sorting Hat just looks inside your head, asks you a question or two, and then it'll decide where you go."

While this is meant to make Rosie feel better, it has the adverse effect: her face goes ghost-white and she actually sways in her seat a little before reaching for her plate and stuffing half a slice of toast in her mouth and dropping her head to the table again.

"And if you're worried about what House you'll get, don't be," Ron advises. "We won't mind. Unless you end up in Slytherin, then we'll hate you. Or in Hufflepuff, with that prat Diggory-"

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaims, whacking Ron over the head with her notebook – her Muggle-made, five-subject, inch-thick notebook. This elicits a watery laugh out of Rosie, who sits up and props her elbows on the table.

"Don't listen to him," I tell her. "You'll do fine, no matter where you end up."

Rosie doesn't respond, watching McGonagall warily as she approaches the Gryffindor table. "Pro-Professor."

"Miss McKinnon," McGonagall greets kindly, nodding at the rest of us. "If you've had enough to eat, the Professors are waiting."

"Y-Yes, Professor," Rosie stutters, nearly tripping as she stands up. I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before gently nudging her towards McGonagall.

"You'll do great!" I shout after her, watching as she walks away with quick steps. As soon as she leaves the Great Hall, I turn to look at Hermione. "She will do okay, right?"

"Yes, Ori," Hermione sighs. "She seems like a bright girl, she'll be fine. It's just a Sorting, it's not like she's fighting a dragon or something."

"I guess," I grumble. "I don't even know why she's so nervous. It's just wearing a bloody hat for a few minutes."

"Maybe she's just not used to how things are here," Hermione suggests. "It's a learning curve, I think." She finishes her eggs and stands up. "And speaking of learning, I will be in the library. Do you want to come? It'll take your mind off everything."

I pause to consider my options – on one hand, I did not want to spend my Sunday morning in a library mainly watching Hermione to research. On the other hand, however, going to the library was probably a better option than letting myself descend into the downward spiral of worry that would inevitably happen.

"I'm coming," I decide. "It's better than waiting around here."

Hermione stands and practically skips out of the Great Hall, and I roll my eyes, bid the boys goodbye, and follow Hermione out of the hall.

After making a quick stop at Gryffindor Tower to get our books, parchment, and quills, the two of us quickly find a quiet table in the back of the library away from the stern gaze of Irma Pince, school librarian – and favorite target of the twins, Lee, and I. Needless to say, she hated my guts.

But I digress.

Hermione and I found a table near the back of the library, and while Hermione immediately cracks open a book of magical law making in regards to…something, I take my time before deciding to pull out my Transfiguration book and actually do the assigned reading on Switching Spells.

Switching is often seen as one of the simplest categories of Transfiguration among witches and wizards skilled in the aforementioned art. While this may be true, it is also more complex; Switching requires two present, tangible targets, instead of simply one, as many of the other categories do.

While this may deter some less-experienced witches or wizards, do not-

"Excuse me, Heir Black?"

Those four words nearly cause my heart to stop.

I don't look up right away – mainly because there wasn't a good reason for someone to call me by my formal title at school. None. At all.

But eventually I lift my head and find none other than Viktor Krum himself looming over the table. Hermione doesn't seem to have noticed him – that, or she didn't care.

"Heiress, actually," I correct him coolly. "What do you want, Mr. Krum?"

For a moment, Krum looks shocked that I'm not tripping over myself at the mere sight of him, and then the shock is replaced by something that almost looked like happiness before his face goes solemn again.

"I vant to talk to you," he rumbles with a light accent. "Is there somevhere ve can go that is more…private?"

I glance over at Hermione, only to see her still nose-deep in her work. Sighing, I push my chair out and stand. "Yes, come on."

I lead Krum over to a secluded spot between two bookshelves – Fred and George had reported that it was quite the snogging spot, but I had other things in mind.

"How do you know who I am?" I demand of the Quidditch star, giving him a suspicious look.

Krum raises his hands in the universal sign for surrender. "Your family is known throughout the vorld as masters of the Dark Arts, as Durmstrang is. I know your ring."

I snort and look down at my hand – specifically, at my ring. It was extremely unique: shining silver with a gray-green stone at the top, topped with the Black family crest and framed by two raven wings. As I watch, the stone flashes gray before going dormant again – maybe it could sense my annoyance or something.

"So, what?" I ask Krum. "You think you could just waltz into my school and go, 'Hey, you like Dark Arts? I like Dark Arts! Let's be friends!'?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Well, I got news for you, mate: I'm not like the rest of my lot. Never have been, never will be."

"I am not meaning to offend you, Heiress Black," Krum responds calmly. "Nor do I vish to insult your family."

"Then what do you want?" I sigh. "And please stop calling me Heiress. It's uncomfortable. Try 'Miss', or just 'Black'. Orissa, even."

"As you vish, Oh-ree-sah."

"What? I – it's – never mind." I grit my teeth and shake my head. "If you didn't come to accuse me of being Dark, then what did you come for?"

Krum opens his mouth, closes it, and then tries again. "How much are you knowing about Durmstrang?"

"Um…" I blink, caught slightly off-guard by the question. My mind scrambles to retrieve everything I'd learned about the northern school up until now. "Well. It's up north, near…Russia? Or somewhere like that. No Muggle-borns allowed. Isn't is mainly boys? And mainly Dark?"

Krum nods. "The school is having a reputation for practicing Dark magic, yes. But there are some students that are not vishing this path."

"And…?" I tilt my head up to squint at Krum. "Are you one of them?"

"I do not vish to become a Dark Vizard, no. I simply vant to play Quidditch," he explains eagerly.

"And I don't want to have to save the world one day, but oh, look, I've got to," I return sarcastically. I let out a bitter laugh. "Here's to wishing for unremarkable destinies, hm?"

Krum frowns but doesn't comment either way.

I open my mouth to continue, but I'm cut off by Hermione's voice hissing my name.

"Ori? Ori! Where are you?!"

"I better go," I tell Krum. "She'll come looking for me. Just…find me if you need me, alright?"

Krum nods eagerly but doesn't walk away. Instead he hesitates, shuffling his feet and flicking his eyes to the source of Hermione's voice, and was he…blushing?

I open my mouth to comment, but Krum quickly nods and mutters, "Thank you, Oh-ree-sah," before turning around and beating a hasty retreat out of the library.

"Oh-kay…" I mutter before shaking my head and going back around the bookcases to where Hermione was waiting.

"What did he want?" Hermione asks curiously as I sit back down and refocus on the textbook in front of me. "Not to 'woo' you or anything, I hope."

I bite back a laugh that was entirely too loud for a library. "Nah, nothing like that. I wouldn't have gone for him anyway, to be honest. He just wanted to introduce himself."

"He called you 'Heir Black.'"

"Yes, he did," I drawl, rolling my eyes as I continue reading.

"Why was that?" Hermione presses. "Did he know your family? Are they connected to Durmstrang?"

"Haven't the faintest," I sigh. "If you haven't noticed, I don't like ninety percent of my relatives, so if would please stop asking questions, Hermione, that would be nice."

Hermione draws back, her face flushing a deep red as she stutters out apologies. "I – I didn't mean-"

I cut her off by squeezing her hand to take the sting out of my words, and she grins happily at me before returning to her book, content in her attempts to completely reinvent the magical class structure.

I sigh and sit back in my chair, glancing up at the grandfather clock – only a few more hours of this, and then the fate of my newest friend would be revealed.

.

Hours later, I had completed my Transfiguration homework, along with the work for Ancient Runes that was due the next day, as well as the Potions essay that was due the day after that.

There still hadn't been any word from Rosie or anyone else involved in the Sorting; none of the professors nor the Headmaster himself had been seen since early this morning, and I was assuming Rosie would've told me when she was done.

What if she isn't done yet, a horrified little voice in the back of my mind wonders. What if the finalizing was delayed because of – of something, and they haven't even gotten to the Sorting yet? Or what if she's a Hatstall?

It's been hours, I mentally counter. Just as I was beginning to wonder if the Sorting Hat really could take hours to decide where someone should go, the library doors swing opens and I look up to see Professor McGonagall approach Pince, who quickly points at me, whispering urgently.

McGonagall rushes over to me, a look of faint worry on her face as she approaches me.

I raise an eyebrow in silent question, setting down my quill and pushing my completed Care of Magical Creatures essay out of the way.

"Miss Black," McGonagall greets with a prim nod, although I can hear an edge of worry in her usually collected voice. "I don't suppose Miss McKinnon's been to see you this afternoon?"

"No, she hasn't," I reply, giving her a confused look. "She's been busy with the transfer work…but you knew that, Professor. What's…did something go wrong?" I ask (it was a semi-demand, honestly) as my eyes widen.

"No, no," McGonagall quickly reassures me. "I was simply wondering, as the Sorting ended an hour ago. I assumed she would seek you out, but apparently I was wrong."

I glance out a nearby window; it had gotten dark a while ago, and with it being late October, it was probably freezing. I voice these thoughts to McGonagall, who purses her lips and nods.

"I was greatly hoping she'd stayed inside," the professor admits worriedly. "I suppose I'll have to alert the staff-"

"Don't worry about it, Professor," I interrupt, standing and quickly gathering my books and paper. "I'll have her found within the hour. Promise," I tack on quickly, upon seeing McGonagall's skeptical expression. "Marauder's honor."

If she had been a less proper witch, I have no doubt that McGonagall would've rolled her eyes at me. As it was, she just gives me a prim nod. "Please do not dawdle, Miss Black."

"I won't," I assure her as I sling my bag over my shoulder and quickly make my way out of the library.

Once I was well out of view of the library doors, I duck into a small alcove and pull a folded piece of paper out of my pocket, tapping it with my wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," I whisper, grinning as the lines spread out over the paper.

I open the map and look for a certain dot; it was easier now, as the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students weren't in Hogwarts and therefore not on the map. Plus, almost everyone was in their common rooms at this time of night.

Almost everyone. There was a little dot, hovering near the south side of the castle, labeled 'Roselyn McKinnon'.

I frown at it – I couldn't tell if she was outside or not, but I put the map away and grab my coat from the dorm anyway and make my way onto the grounds.

I eventually track Rosie down to a little-known spot on the south side of the castle, overlooking the Forbidden Forest; just over the staircases that led to the dungeon, there was a part of the castle that was only about five feet high with a conveniently flat, wide roof.

I pull myself up onto the roof and spot Rosie sitting on the far side, staring off into the distance as she fiddles with something.

"I'm shocked to see you here," I call as I approach her and plop down by her side.

"I'm shocked you found me," she admits with a chuckle. "Have you been here before?"

"Nope," I deny with a shake of my head. "It's too close to the dungeons, in which resides an overgrown bat that gives me hives," I explain dramatically. "So, how'd it go?"

"Impatient, much?" she asks without any real heat, but she moves her hands and holds up the object she'd been fiddling with – a red and gold striped tie. "Looks I'll be rooming with you!"

I give a whoop of excitement. "That's brilliant! I knew you could do it!"

"That makes one of us," she responds dryly, tucking the tie back in her pocket. She was wearing the same uniform that unsorted first-years wore: plain black robes with the Hogwarts crest and a neat black tie.

"Is…is it bad if the hat can't decide where to put you at first?"

"Not necessarily," I assure her, thinking back to my own Sorting. "Why, what happened?"

"It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw," she reveals nervously. "They're okay, right?"

I nod with a slight smile. "They're the smartest people in the school. Bit loopy, if you ask me, but generally okay."

"The hat said my 'ultimate bravery wins out over all else,'" she quotes, a slightly crooked smile on her face. "So here I am."

"It's for the better, probably. There are so many stairs to Ravenclaw tower, and that means work," I sigh dramatically.

"You're a lazy git," Rosie snorts, laying back on the stone and looking up at the sky.

"Damn straight," I agree cheerfully, then sigh. "It sounds like your Sorting went better than mine. I almost got put into Slytherin," I admit quietly, slightly afraid that Rosie would react harshly to this revelation.

But she just gives me a shocked look. "How'd it manage that? You seem like the poster girl for Gryffindor! You're brave – a-and bold and-"

"And cunning, clever, determined, and slightly ruthless," I list, ticking off points on my fingers as I go. "I've got a small circle of friends that I'm extremely loyal to, and betrayal hurts worse than death. Tell me that doesn't sound like a snake," I dare her.

"But you aren't Dark," Rosie argues hotly. "Don't forget that. I've only known you for two weeks, but even I can tell you're powerful and you do care about doing the right thing. Hell, you punched a girl just because she insulted me!" Rosie exclaims, sounding bewildered that I'd done that.

"Rosie, if you'd heard the things she said about you!" I protest. "I doubt you would've let it slide and I was not about to!"

"Slow down, Ori," she soothes. "I get it. But back to the point – you're not a Slytherin, even if you do share some of their better qualities. You're a Gryffindor, and that's all that matters."

I grin at her and lay back, watching the stars and idly picking out the ones that were named after family members of mine.

"Speaking of," she continues, side-eyeing me, "how'd you manage Gryffindor?"

"I, ah…" I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. "I might've threatened to tear the Hat to shreds, then burn the shreds, and spread the ashes all over England if it didn't put me with my brother."

Rosie lets out a deep, full-body laugh, but pauses once she gets her composure back. "Brother?"

"I – no. Not really. It's a long story."

"I've got forever," Rosie whispers, sounding giddy at the fact that she was actually getting to stay at Hogwarts.

I huff and begin to explain my third year, and then the words start spilling out – about Allison Potter, the Concealment Charms, the rumors that floated around Hogwarts, and even the ankle bracelet the Ministry had forced upon me.

And I watch Rosie's face through all of it – I watch her jaw stiffen and her eyes burn, and I tell myself that maybe, maybe, she's just as protective of me as I am of her.

"Those bastards," she hisses, letting out a very animalistic snarl before shaking her head and giving me a hopeful look. "But at least you've got your dad, right? That's good. I mean, it's more than I've got, so."

I glance over at her, unsure if she was going to continue or not. When she does, I move over to press my shoulder against hers.

"My mom is dead," she whispers. "And my dad…I don't – I never met him. They're the reason I'm here, in England." She takes a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You don't have to tell me this," I tell her softly. "Not if it hurts."

"No, I need to tell someone," she says determinedly, so I fall silent and listen.

"My mom was named Marlene. She was – she was the best. She was tough, and strong and pretty…she raised me, and Merlin knows that wasn't easy," Rosie continues. "She fought in the First War, here in England. I don't know much about what she did – she would never talk about it – but she spoke highly of your dad," she reveals. "That was partly how I knew I could trust you so fast. They fought together. But then, in 1979, You-Know-Who attacked her family, and Mum almost died. Her entire family…they got killed. Or worse."

Rosie takes a deep breath, and I feel her lean into me, even if it's an unconscious movement. "Mum escaped to France, for some reason I'll never know. She met my father within a month of arriving in the country, and next thing you know, there's me," she surmises with an expressive hand movement that draws a slight chuckle from me.

"Mum was amazing about it all," she enthuses quietly, eyes shining as she watches the stars. "She managed to raise me and all my…issues, without complaining. We didn't have much money, and it was only the two of us, but I had Mum and it was all okay."

She falls silent, and I nod. I had felt the same way about Harry – no matter what life would throw at us, we'd be alright if we had each other. That had changed since last year, and sometimes I missed it.

"And then Mum died," Rosie mutters under her breath, and I can hear her sniff as she wipes a hand over her eyes. "Last December – she was cold and sick, and the stress of it all just…" her voice breaks, and she's trembling but I'm certain it's not because of the cold.

I lean over and wrap my arms around her, resting my chin on top of her head. "You can stop anytime you want."

"I need to do this," the other girl mutters into my shoulder, pulling back and wiping her eyes. "Beauxbatons already hated me then, but they hated uneducated people more, so they let me finish the school year out. I didn't have anywhere to go…I mainly lived in inns and such until school started up again," she explains. "I was shocked they even let me back in when September came…and then I learned what was going on."

"The transfer," I interject.

"Right," she agrees. "Couldn't wait to wash their hands of the bloody 'devil child'. And it didn't help that I didn't belong there in the first place."

"It's for the best, I think," I announce, tapping her new tie.

"I've got no argument there," she snorts. "Good riddance, I say."

A laugh bubbles out of my throat, made of relief and happiness and sadness all at once. "Are you okay?" I ask once the laughter has died down.

Rosie seems to consider this for a moment before deciding, "I will be."

"Good." I stand up and offer her a hand. "Now let's go inside, you've got a nice warm dorm waiting. It's bloody cold, and if I stay out here much longer I'll lose feeling in my fingers."

"Terrible," Rosie gasps dramatically, grasping my hand and pulling herself up, straightening her robes as she did so. "Your Housemates won't hate me, right?"

"Nah," I scoff, leading the way off the section of roof and back into the castle. "They're a fairly good bunch of people. Plus, they know not to mess with me or I'll make their lives a living hell."

The rest of the walk back to Gryffindor tower is pretty much silent; I take the route slower than I normally do, giving my friend ample time to learn where everything was.

I introduce her to the Fat Lady, who was overjoyed to meet a new Gryffindor and wished her all the best before requesting the password – "Banana Fritters," – and letting us inside.

We're met with an applauding crowd; apparently the rest of the "lion pride", as a few of us had dubbed ourselves, had been informed of the change and had been ready and waiting.

Despite the House amusement, the celebration was kept short – it was nearly eleven at night, and the Prefects were big on getting a full nights' sleep before classes tomorrow.

I ushered Rosie upstairs and into the bed just to the right of mine – where Fay Dunbar, my almost-murderer had once slept.

But she, it appeared, was now long-forgotten.