#beauxbatons transfer

"And then I left. Harry's clearly still mad at me, and I couldn't listen to it any longer," Rosalie sighed, her head sinking into her silky emerald pillows as she stared up at the stone ceiling.

Daphne arched a brow, still focused on painting her nails a baby pink shade. "I get it. Astoria and I fight all the time. Sometimes with our fists, I don't know how many arguments our staff had to break up when we were younger." She snorted, and Rosalie smiled faintly.

She pushed herself upright, glancing at her own nails, now dry and gleaming with the shade on the bottle labelled Wispy White. "Where was Astoria during dinner? I would've loved to meet her."

"She doesn't really come near me whenever I'm around Draco," Daphne said breezily. "I told you, she has a terrible crush on him, and avoids him at all costs."

Rosalie nodded, then tilted her head. "He is handsome," she admitted.

Daphne looked up at her with a theatrical cringe. "Merlin Rosalie, not you too!"

"No, no - you didn't let me finish!" Rosalie laughed, holding up her hands.

"You were right. He's an arse." She then pouted, shaking her head before absently twisting the tassels of a pillow in her lap. "I thought he was being kind at first, but it turns out it was all a ruse to annoy Harry. And it worked!" She rolled her eyes.

"I should've warned you. Draco and Harry have a particular hate for each other," Daphne said with a sigh, snapping the enchanted polish bottle shut and inspecting her nails.

"Truly, I saw it firsthand. Harry looked at me like I'd just committed murder when he saw Malfoy next to me."

"I can't blame him too much, Draco's always been awful to him." Daphne says.

"It's a shame. I even complimented his name!" Rosalie groaned, collapsing back onto her bed and throwing a pillow over her face with enough force to make the tassels bounce.

Daphne's laugh echoed in the dorm as she stood, sweeping her nail products into a drawer. "You poor thing. Don't worry, you're just a sweet girl and Draco's a menace."

Before Rosalie could groan her embarrassment for even entertaining Draco earlier into the pillow, the door swung open with a bang. Pansy Parkinson strolled in, looking thoroughly bored as her eyes swept the room.

Still dressed in her uniform, Pansy's first act upon entering was to yank her tie loose, tossing it carelessly onto her bed before rummaging through her drawers for pajamas.

"Hello to you too, Parkinson," Daphne drawled from her own bed, tucked under the cool covers like she'd been there for hours. One brow arched lazily.

Pansy paused just long enough to give her a withering look. "Hello, Greengrass."

Her gaze then slid to Rosalie, sharp and slow, as though the very sight offended her. "Hello, Potter."

Merlin, how could she make two words sound like an insult?!

Rosalie frowned faintly, offering a soft, noncommittal greeting before slipping beneath her own sheets. The Slytherin dungeons were cold even during the day, but at night, the chill seemed to settle into the stones themselves. Every so often, she swore she felt faint currents of icy air sweep across her skin, like the lake above was breathing.

Still, she couldn't deny the comfort of sinking into the heavy blankets, the warmth wrapping around her as the cool air brushed her cheeks.

For the first time since arriving, she let herself go still - half listening to the muffled sounds of her roommates, half watching the flicker of green-tinged lamplight on the stone ceiling - until sleep began to pull her under.

Her breaths slowed, each one slipping deeper into the quiet rhythm of the room. The lamplight blurred into hazy shapes, her mind drifting somewhere between thought and dream, until the stone ceiling faded entirely from her vision. Her last conscious feeling was the relief of the day being over.

Then the pull of sleep took her completely.

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Rosalie awoke the next morning thoroughly well rested. Getting out of her warm bed felt like a small act of torture - but the fluttery anxiety of her first real day at Hogwarts gave her just enough energy to push through.

Daphne was already awake, seated at her vanity in a cloud of soft lamplight, still in her silky pajamas. She leaned toward the mirror, carefully coating her blonde lashes in mascara with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before.

Rosalie smiled at her in greeting before hurrying into the bathroom, heart fluttering. She'd never felt so nervous to get ready for the day—it almost reminded her of the moments before stepping onto a stage for one of her performances, when anticipation was just as potent as fear.

Soon enough she was seated at her own vanity, pulling open her neat row of cosmetic bottles and enchanted compacts. With practiced hands, she swiped on a touch of French-imported blush that adjusted itself to the perfect pinky shade for her complexion.

A flick of her wand lengthened her mascara charm, and a few drops of her grandfather's invention, Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, tamed every stray strand into smooth, glossy perfection.

The air between them was light and unhurried, filled with the soft clink of glass jars, the faint scent of lavender setting powder, and the quiet companionship of two girls who understood the art of a good makeup routine.

Once satisfied with her reflection, her lips glossy and eyes softly shimmering, Rosalie turned to her wardrobe with a spark of curiosity.

What once had been baby-blue silk paired with heeled boots was now replaced by the crisp lines of a Hogwarts uniform: a white blouse and green tie adorned with a small silver snake pendant, a neatly pressed black skirt, and flowing black robes to match.

She gave herself a few light spritzes of her sugary-sweet perfume, the scent curling through the air like a final touch of confidence, before stepping out to join Daphne.

"Does Pansy always get up so late?" Rosalie asked with a slight frown. They were both fully dressed, hair done, shoes on, and yet Pansy was still a dark lump under her covers.

Daphne, already pulling the door shut behind them, gave a knowing nod. "Yeah. She's always hanging around the boys and they all sleep in."

They fell into step side by side, climbing the wide stone staircase.

The air in the corridors was cool and carried the faint scent of old parchment from the library floor below. Sunlight streamed in through tall arched windows, casting golden rectangles on the worn flagstone as they wove through familiar shortcuts, Daphne occasionally steering Rosalie away from a trick step or shifting tapestry.

By the time they pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, the morning chatter was a low hum. The Slytherin table was sparsely populated. Draco, Zabini, and Nott and clustered near the middle, speaking in low tones.

Rosalie and Daphne slid into seats a few places down. Rosalie reached for the fruit platter first, selecting a few ripe berries and a flaky pastry dusted with sugar. The table gleamed with silverware and steaming platters, but she gravitated to the sweet things, spooning a bit of honey over her plate.

They spoke idly, something about Transfiguration class, when Rosalie froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening. A figure had just slid into the empty space beside her. She turned, startled, to find herself face to face with Hermione Granger.

"Oh, Hi Hermione" Rosalie smiled, awkward as she glanced between the blonde and brunette.

Daphne's brow arched, her expression caught somewhere between suspicion and amusement. She leaned forward slightly, eyes darting between the two girls. "Granger, are you... lost?"

Hermione ignored the barb entirely, her focus fixed on Rosalie. "I just came to ask if you were alright after yesterday. Harry was completely out of line," she said, voice tinged with both worry and exasperation.

Rosalie blinked, taken aback. She had fully expected Ron and Hermione to side with Harry—his closest friends, after all. Instead, Hermione's presence here felt...supportive. Unexpectedly so.

"I'm fine," Rosalie said at last, her smile small but genuine. "I'm not happy with how our reunion went, but... we both have things to work through. And things to apologize for." She exhaled, shaking her head before taking a sip of strawberry lemonade.

"Harry's had a terrible year," Hermione admitted quietly. "It doesn't excuse him, but I thought you should know. I never agreed with him refusing your letters or keeping you in the dark." Her brows drew together, genuine concern etched across her face.

"How terrible could his year have been? We've only been back a month," Daphne interjected coolly, clearly unimpressed with what she suspected would become a Harry Potter pity party before breakfast.

Hermione hesitated, glancing briefly at Daphne before returning to Rosalie. "It's not just school. The dementors, the Sirius Black situation... it's all been hanging over him. He's scared, Rosalie. More than he'd ever admit"

"Scared how?"

"I think that more than anything, he's scared of you going through what he's been dealing with. That you'll get hurt" Hermione said softly, almost reluctantly.

For a moment, the three of them sat in a quiet that wasn't entirely comfortable. Rosalie wasn't sure what to say. Daphne busied herself spearing a grape, her skepticism still visible.

"So, Granger," Daphne said finally, breaking the silence, "are you going to have breakfast, or...?" She gestured lazily toward the platters in front of them.

Hermione flushed slightly, shaking her head. "No, thank you. I should get back to my table." The Slytherin bench was starting to fill, voices and footsteps crowding the quiet moment away.

As Hermione turned to leave, Rosalie reached out impulsively and caught her hand. "Hermione."

The Gryffindor stopped, glancing back with a flicker of surprise.

"Thank you... for coming over," Rosalie said, her voice softer now. "I'll see you in class later."

A small, genuine smile flickered on Hermione's lips. "See you, Rosalie." Then she slipped back into the crowd, leaving Rosalie with more to think about than she'd expected over breakfast.

"Oh, isn't that sweet? Granger playing friend to both Potters," Draco's voice cut through the chatter, sharp and irritating. Rosalie blinked, shocked to see him now occupying the seat Hermione had just vacated.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott made their presence known as well, settling casually on either side of Daphne.

Rosalie glanced at Daphne in distress, and Daphne let out a long-suffering sigh. "When there were plenty of empty seats, we chose to sit far from you lot. You couldn't read the room?"

Zabini grinned, nudging Daphne's side. "Oh, come on, Daphne. Those first-years sat next to us, and I could barely eat with their squeaky voices yapping about Quidditch tryouts. You lot make better company."

Daphne shot him a hard side-eye.

"You do realize," Daphne started with a smirk, "that just a year ago your voice was just as squeaky? In fact, all of you had terribly squeaky voices."

"The key word there is had." Nott pitched in with a self-satisfied smile.

Daphne rolled her eyes but couldn't help the faint smile tugging at her lips. Rosalie found herself amused too. The boys weren't nearly as unbearable as she'd expected. Mostly because Draco had been surprisingly quiet so far.

He's actually quite bearable when he's quiet, Rosalie thought. A beautiful face, unspoiled by his rotten personality.

"So, Rosalie, you got that class schedule on you?" Nott suddenly asked, the rest of the group turning their curious eyes toward her. She paused mid-muffin bite, nodded, and carefully pulled out the folded parchment from her robe pocket.

"Huh. Divinations first, then Magical Creatures next. And all these other classes... Looks like you're with us all day!" Nott smiled, nodding approvingly.

"You'll really like Potions, Rosalie. Our professor's amazing. Snape's a bit strict, but he's usually a lot cooler with us Slytherins," Daphne added, leaning over to peek at the schedule.

Draco snorted from beside her. "You forget she's a Potter. Snape's got a particular hate for Harry."

Rosalie shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. There he went again, ruining that perfect face with his words.

"Just like you do?" she said evenly, her voice soft but her eyes like blades. "I swear, you can't go a full minute without mentioning him. Besides, I'm not my brother. I'm sure my professors will judge me on my own merits."

"Rosalie had outstanding scores in Potions at Beauxbatons," Daphne cut in, a hint of pride in her voice as she bit into her scone. "I'm sure Snape will overlook any family politics."

Draco didn't reply, but one pale brow quirked ever so slightly. He watched in silence as the girl beside him dusted an extra layer of powdered sugar onto a plate already stacked with pastries.

"Merlin, Potter" he drawled at last, eyeing the plate like it might bite him. "Don't you get sick with all that sugar?"

It pulled a genuine laugh from her, her smile bright as she took a generous bite of the sweet. "Nothing is ever too sweet for me, Malfoy. You should try it."

Well, she thought with mild irritation, so much for my vow not to give Malfoy the time of day.

Draco's silver eyes flicked from the pastries to her face, narrowing in mock distaste. "The slop they serve the Hippogriffs look better than that sugar heap you're calling breakfast."

Rosalie gave a small shrug, unbothered. "Suit yourself."

Blaise leaned forward from across the table, eyeing the pastries like they were contraband. "I'll try it."

Rosalie blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "You... want one?"

"Not one, that one." He gestured to the exact tart she was holding, his smirk making it clear he was up to something.

She hesitated only a second before offering it out to him. To her surprise, he didn't bother taking it with his hands, just leaned in and took a clean bite, leaving her holding the rest of the pastry frozen mid-air.

Across the table, Nott and Zabini exchanged matching, wolfish grins, their eyes sliding almost in unison toward Draco. They didn't bother hiding the fact that they were waiting - no, hoping for a reaction.

Rosalie let out a startled laugh, shaking her head. "You could have just asked for a plate."

"Where's the fun in that?" Blaise replied smoothly, licking a stray crumb from his lip. "I'll give it to you, it's not bad Potter."

From beside her, Draco made a quiet, sharp sound—somewhere between a scoff and something else she couldn't quite name. When she glanced at him, his silver eyes were fixed on the half-eaten tart in her hand before lifting to meet her gaze with an expression she couldn't read.

"You missed out, Draco," Zabini drawled, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"I'll survive," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes in practiced disdain.

Daphne, however, didn't look convinced. Her gaze darted between the boys, sharp and assessing, as though she'd just witnessed a silent conversation she and Rosalie had missed.

Rosalie remained none the wiser, shrugging her shoulders and finishing up her breakfast as a subtle tension lingered in the air amongst the slytherin third years.

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Divination had never been one of Rosalie's favorite subjects, but it was always an interesting one.

She'd taken a seat beside Nott, with Daphne and Zabini paired off nearby, Draco with Pansy, and his two hulking shadows sitting together.

The Slytherins had claimed most of the back of the classroom, while the Gryffindors draped in red clustered toward the front.

Harry and Ron were planted squarely in the middle of the front row. Harry had glanced at her when he'd walked in but hadn't so much as nodded. Ron, on the other hand, had given a friendly wave.

She'd returned it with a smile, which immediately earned a raised brow from the brunette boy beside her.

"Comfortable with Weasley, aren't we?" Nott murmured.

"He seems nice. And he's Harry's friend," Rosalie said with an easy shrug.

Now, however, her attention was entirely stolen by Professor Trelawney.

Wide eyed, slacked jaw—as the woman spoke about projecting oneself into the future with dramatic, airy flourishes. Rosalie wasn't sure if she was impressed with the woman's unhinged aura, or slightly alarmed.

Either way, she was quite captivated.

Nott caught her expression and snorted, leaning in just enough to nudge her side. "Careful, Rosalie. Don't look so interested, she'll be over here in a heartbeat to announce our futures"

Rosalie let out a soft laugh, just loud enough for Draco, sitting behind them, to kick the leg of her chair.

"Shut it," he muttered, as if her happiness was personally offensive.

"This term," Trelawney announced grandly, "we shall be focusing on tasseomancy. The art of reading tea leaves! My children, take the cup of the person opposite you."

Rosalie arched a brow and traded cups with Nott, holding his like it might reveal state secrets. She peered into the damp swirl at the bottom, brows knitting together.

"What is it you see?" Trelawney's voice dropped into a whisper of holy significance. "The truth lies buried... like a sentence in a book, waiting to be read!

Rosalie was still deciding whether she saw a grim omen or just a vaguely potato-shaped blob when Trelawney froze, eyes snapping to a Gryffindor at the front.

"You, boy!" she gasped, pointing a spindly finger. "Is your grandmother... quite well?"

The boy - Neville Longbottom, if Daphne's earlier rundown of all her fellow classmates was right - looked as if quite concerned. "Er, yes?"

Trelawney swept toward him, scarves fluttering, and peered into his cup like it might bite her. A visible shiver ran through her.

"Oh, pity..." she murmured with a dramatic wince, setting the cup down as though it might explode.

Rosalie turned wide-eyed to Nott, clutching his cup in her hands. "Oh no, do you think Neville's grandmother will be alright?"

Nott gave a short bark of laughter before schooling his face into mock seriousness. He patted her shoulder like she was a particularly anxious child. "Don't worry, Rosalie. It's just tea leaves... and Professor Trelawney is just completely unwell. Divination isn't exactly a science."

Rosalie didn't look remotely reassured. If anything, she leaned closer over his cup, squinting at the damp, clumped leaves like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into all of Nott's most embarrassing secrets.

"Broaden your minds!" Trelawney's voice rang out like the toll of a dramatic church bell. She swept between tables, scarves fluttering, and gasped mid-stride when she reached the Slytherin corner.

"You! My newest child!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest as if she'd just had a vision.

Rosalie's spine went rigid. Beside her, Nott groaned like a man already bracing for disaster.

"Tell me, boy," Trelawney said, looming over their table and pointing one bejeweled finger at Nott, "what lies in the cup?"

Nott glanced into Rosalie's cup, flipped open the tasseomancy guide with all the enthusiasm he would have if he were watching paint dry, and said flatly, "Well... I see... a blob. Possibly two blobs. One might be a deformed spoon."

Rosalie frowned at him, unimpressed, while Draco snickered from the desk behind them.

"Oh come on! at least try," she huffed.

He gave her a look like she'd just asked him to write a ten-foot essay on the mating habits of grindylows. But, with a sigh, he leaned in again. "Fine... I see... a big heart. No idea what the rest is -"

Professor Trelawney gasped like he'd just predicted the apocalypse. In one swoop, she whisked the cup out of his hands and clutched it to her chest. "Oh, my sweet girl, love is in the air!"

Rosalie's jaw dropped, heat flooding her cheeks. "W–what?!"

"Oh, Merlin," Theo muttered, dragging a hand down his face as Trelawney descended on Rosalie, laying both hands dramatically on her shoulders like she'd just been chosen by fate.

Trelawney peered into the cup again, her many necklaces clinking ominously. "Yes... yes, I see it clearly now. A romance, unexpected, yet inevitable!"

"Oh no," Rosalie whispered under her breath, but the professor was already turning toward the class like she was announcing the next Triwizard Champion.

"The fates have spoken! My newest child will soon find herself in the embrace of—" She paused dramatically, eyes rolling toward the ceiling as though she might divine the name directly from the cosmos.

Daphne snorted from across the table. Draco's smirk widened like a predator who'd just found fresh prey. "Go on, Professor," he drawled. "Don't leave us in suspense."

Theo, never one to waste a good opportunity, leaned back in his chair and murmured, "My guess is Weasley. You waved at him this morning! Scandalous."

Rosalie shot him a death glare. "It's not Weasley!" she hissed, praying the poor redheaded boy wouldn't overhear from the front row.

Unfortunately, when she glanced toward the Gryffindors, Ron was looking back - brows drawn, ears and cheeks faintly pink. And right beside him, Harry was flat-out glaring like she'd just insulted their entire family line.

Rosalie's stomach dropped. She quickly mouthed sorry at Ron, who only looked at her in mild confusion. Harry didn't even blink.

That, of course, only made it worse. The entire back row of Slytherins now wore identical, wolfish grins - like they'd just been handed free entertainment for the rest of term.

"I fear I cannot say," Trelawney announced, clutching the cup to her chest as though it were the crown jewels. "Speaking too directly of the results could alter the very fabric of time."

From the front, Hermione - who Rosalie swore hadn't even walked into class - huffed and rolled her eyes. "How convenient," she muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Professor Trelawney, apparently unbothered, took one last, reverent peek into Rosalie's cup. "Ah... a heart surrounded by many little stars. Love and luck are in your future, my child!"

Nott snorted, nudging her side. "Guess I'll have to stick close to you. Could use a bit of both."

Rosalie could only hope her cheeks weren't as crimson as they felt. She gave a stiff little smile as Trelawney handed Nott her cup back and swept dramatically toward the front of the class, just in time to descend upon Harry.

"Oh, OH!" the professor gasped suddenly, and Rosalie nearly jumped out of her seat, flinching at the sound.

"You're really into this Rosalie" Nott murmured, clearly amused.

She turned to him with wide, scandalized eyes. "Aren't you?!"

Before he could answer, Trelawney was already at Ron and Harry's table, instructing Ron to interpret Harry's cup. Rosalie leaned forward in anticipation. If she had gotten love and luck, surely Harry's reading would be equally good... right?

"Yeah, well... Harry's got sort of a wonky cross. That's trials and suffering," Ron announced, flipping through his textbook.

Rosalie winced, but Nott only quirked a brow.

"And, uh... that there could be the sun. That's happiness."

Rosalie exhaled in relief. Okay. Trials and suffering, sure, but if happiness was the ending, that wasn't so bad.

"So, uh... you're gonna suffer... but you're gonna be happy about it" Ron concluded.

Rosalie tilted her head. A strange fortune, but still salvageable.

"I see..." Trelawney intoned. "Give me the cup."

She took one look inside and immediately let out a sharp scream, stumbling back as if she'd been burned.

Rosalie gasped, clutching Nott's arm for dear life. Even he looked mildly spooked now!

"Oh my... dear boy," Trelawney whispered, her voice trembling with pure horror. "Oh my dear... you have... the Grim."

Rosalie's stomach dropped. She fumbled for her own book, frantically flipping pages.

"The grin? What's the grin?" a random Gryffindor piped up.

"Not the grin you idiot, the Grim!" his Ravenclaw seat mate snapped.

Trelawney was still circling Harry, her expression terrified. Rosalie sighed in frustration, rifling through her textbook at lightning speed. Naturally, the one time she actually wanted to look something up, the blasted page had apparently decided to disapparate.

"The Grim," a Gryffindor announced dramatically, reading from his own book. "It takes the form of a giant spectral dog—one of the darkest omens in our world."

Rosalie's head snapped toward him so fast it was a wonder she didn't sprain her neck, eyes going wide.

"It's an omen... of death," the boy finished gravely.

Death?! 

Rosalie slapped her book shut, turned to Nott with absolute seriousness, and whispered, "I'm going to faint."

Nott's face went from bored to alarmed in half a second. "No - no, you're not fainting. Don't you dare. I don't know what to do if you actually - Merlin, Rosalie, breathe or something!"

Like she said, divination was never one of her favorite subjects, but it was always interesting.

July 31st, 1980

Godric's Hollow was a quiet, picturesque village nestled in the West Country of England. Though small, it brimmed with magic. A hidden wizarding community that centered around a modest village square, where a stone church stood beside a post office, a pub, and a scattering of old-fashioned shops. The residential lanes were lined with cozy, ivy-draped cottages, each one humming with enchantments and old history.

Among the families who called it home, none were more joyfully spoken of that evening than the newly expanded Potters.

Just hours earlier, James and Lily Potter had welcomed their first children into the world: a baby boy with a wild tuft of dark hair and impossibly bright green eyes. And, just twenty minutes later, a second surprise - a baby girl, just as dark-haired and green-eyed, swaddled in soft pink.

"Let's see now," Lily whispered, voice sweet and warm with awe as she looked down at the boy cradled in her arms. "It's time to name you both, isn't it?"

She glanced up just in time to see James enter the room, his grin tired but full of pride. He carried their daughter carefully, reverently, as though he couldn't believe she was real.

He sat beside her on the bed, and for the first time, they brought their newborns together. "About time" James murmured with a laugh, looking between the two. "We can't keep calling them Baby One and Baby Two forever."

Naming their son had always been the plan. Harry James Potter, perfectly chosen and expected, especially with how active he'd been during Lily's pregnancy. But their daughter... their daughter had been a surprise. Hidden behind her brother during every check up, tucked safely out of view like she was already playing tricks on them.

Already a sneaky little one.  

It wasn't until Lily was six months along that the medical witches discovered her - the hidden twin, a miracle girl.

Speaking of...

"And now for you, my sweet girl," Lily cooed, gently passing Harry into James's arms and reaching to cradle her daughter close. She looked down at the bundle of pink, marveling at the tiny fingers and sleepy face. "Let's see who you are."

As if in response, the baby girl stirred, blinking open her bright green eyes. They were the exact shade as Lily's - startlingly vivid even in the soft light of the room. Dark Long lashes fluttered against her rosy cheeks as she squinted up at her mother, struggling to stay awake.

Lily let out a soft laugh, her heart swelling as she traced a thumb over her daughter's brow. James leaned in closer, eyes wide with wonder, and the two of them sat there - enchanted, breathless.

Their daughter, unexpected and perfect.

They were utterly, hopelessly in love.

James was already dreading the day his daughter would go off to Hogwarts and leave them behind.

With Harry shifting in his arms - the baby already dozing off again with the ease of someone who hadn't yet learned the meaning of worry - James adjusted his hold, heart full and aching all at once.

A quiet laugh escaped him as he looked down at the tiny bundle in pink. "You'd think with nine months to prepare, we'd have had two names ready."

Meanwhile, Lily had their daughter cradled against her chest, stroking one impossibly tiny hand with her thumb. 

The baby blinked slowly, her green eyes wide and shimmering, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. She wriggled faintly, her little mouth parting in a soundless yawn.

"We were so sure it'd only be Harry," Lily said, her voice fond as she reached out to gently brush her fingers along the soft black curls of her daughter's head. "You, little one," she whispered, "you were hiding from us the whole time."

James leaned in closer, his smile softening. "Cutest thing I've ever seen," he murmured, then glanced at Lily with a playful glint in his eye. "Except your mum, of course."

Lily laughed under her breath, her gaze never leaving her daughter. "She's pretty as a flower," she said softly, brushing her thumb across the baby's cheek. "Delicate little face... rosy cheeks..."

She paused for a moment, tilting her head. And then, her smile bloomed.

"Rosalie," she whispered, testing the name in the quiet. "Rosalie Euphemia Potter."

She glanced up at James, who was already nodding, the name settling between them like something they'd always known.

"Rosalie," he echoed, eyes shining as he looked at their daughter. "Yeah. That's perfect."

Lily leaned down to press a kiss to her baby's forehead. Her voice, soft as breath. "My little flower."

There was a hush in the room, the kind only newborn magic could create. The baby blinked up at her mother again, almost as if she accepted the name. 

Outside, the first light of dawn crept over Godric's Hollow, casting a golden glow across the cottage walls.

And within them, two brand new lives had just begun.

Rosalie had decided that she quite liked Daphne Greengrass.

Surprisingly, they held more similarities than they did differences. In the three hours that they've known each other, they've bonded over just about everything that mattered. Their perfume collections, hair care routines, nail polish charms, and their shared love for astronomy classes!

They were just girls, after all.

Rosalie smiled to herself as she sat at her brand new vanity, sitting with her legs criss crossed on the tufted, opulent chair. She looked in the mirror, brushing through her long dark hair, any knots instantly turned silky smooth after a few whispered enchantments.

Daphne sat at her vanity on the other wall, focused on refreshing the look of herself, pulling her long blonde hair back into a ponytail, a few face framing wisps falling forward.

"I guess now that I'm no longer in ballet, I can have my nails painted again" Rosalie pouted, glancing down at her bare hands, partially relieved, partially saddened. She loved having her nails done, so she was excited to have them manicured again - but on that same note downright depressed at the idea of never gracing a stage again.

She loved ballet. The rigour and athleticism it took to appear perfectly effortless beneath blinding lights and glimmering tutus had always thrilled her. It was the kind of discipline that carved elegance from sweat, bruises, and aching muscles. Now, as she stared down at her bare hands, Rosalie felt a hollow sort of ache that had nothing to do with magic. She wondered if she'd ever dance again.

"We can do them together later. I need to do a new set anyway," Daphne muttered, examining her own hands with a thoughtful look.

A sudden knock on the dormitory door made both girls pause.

Daphne slid off her chair, smoothing down the pleats of her skirt as she crossed the room to open it. The heavy wooden door creaked slightly as it swung inward, revealing a tall boy with smooth brown skin, dark curls cropped close to his head, and an air of mild disinterest about him that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Zabini," Daphne said, arms folding loosely.

"Everyone's already waiting downstairs," Blaise Zabini drawled, eyes flicking between the two girls with vague curiosity. "If you don't hurry, we'll leave without you."

Daphne gave him a look that was only half-serious before turning back toward Rosalie, who was still perched at her vanity.

"Do you want to come with us to the Great Hall?" she asked. "You might get lost otherwise, it's kind of a long walk, sometimes we head there together."

Rosalie blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invitation. A quiet part of her wanted to stay behind, to keep brushing her hair and avoid the overwhelming press of new faces and curious stares. But the other part, the braver, more polished side that had gotten her through Beauxbatons, nudged her forward.

"All right," she said softly, rising to her feet. "Thank you."

She was glad now that she'd already changed out of her Beauxbatons uniform. She wore a thick green knit sweater with the Slytherin crest embroidered neatly over her chest, paired with the standard black skirt, black patent loafers, and slouchy white socks that bunched at her ankles.

Her long dark hair tumbled neatly down her back in silky waves, a touch of glamour still present in the gentle shine of her skin and the precise rosy tint on her lips. She looked put together, though she didn't quite feel it yet.

Rosalie walked over to the door where Daphne and Blaise stood, her hands folded politely in front of her. Daphne gestured between them with a casual flick of her fingers.

"Rosalie, this is Blaise Zabini. Blaise, Rosalie Potter. She's a transfer student."

It was subtle, but Rosalie noticed it - the way Zabini's posture shifted ever so slightly, the way the veil of indifference he wore thinned once the surname "Potter" was uttered. His eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked over her, lingering a second too long.

Green eyes. Black hair. Harry Potter's sister?

"It's nice to meet you," Rosalie said, offering a soft, slightly awkward smile. The way Blaise Zabini was looking at her made her feel as though she were being studied under a magnifying glass. He was intimidating in a quiet sort of way - tall, elegant, every feature carved and deliberate.

"You as well..." he said, tilting his head just slightly. "You're that ballerina from Beauxbatons, right? Harry's sister. You're all over the papers."

Rosalie's eyes widened. All over the papers? That was news to her!

"Seriously?" she asked, glancing between Daphne and Blaise, caught somewhere between disbelief and embarrassment.

Daphne nodded as they moved into the corridor. "Yeah, I recognised you the moment McGonagall gave me your name. The Daily Prophet loves you."

Rosalie tilted her head. "Sorry—the Daily Prophet?"

"It's the most popular wizarding paper here," Blaise explained, his hands sliding neatly into his robe pockets. "Can be a bit nosy, bit dramatic, but it's how most of the wizarding world keeps up with... well, everything."

"They've been talking about you for years," Daphne added matter-of-factly. "Today's paper even had your performance from yesterday on the front page. I swear your picture is always up. I'm sure they try to get pictures of Potter all the time, but he's not as easy to take pictures of I guess"

Rosalie blinked, stunned. She knew her performances had made a few papers in France, but she hadn't realised the British wizarding world had been paying such close attention. The thought left her feeling strange, flattered, and yet uncomfortably exposed.

"I had no idea," she admitted, feeling her cheeks warm.

"Does it say... good things?"

Blaise gave a short, amused snort. "Don't worry, Potter. You're the apple of the media's eye."

Daphne smirked. "Just wait till they find out you've transferred to Hogwarts. I wonder what story they'll spin out of that."

Rosalie cringed to herself. She truly hoped the media didn't catch wind of her joining hogwarts, wouldn't that have defeated the entire purpose of keeping her safe?!

"Why did you come to Hogwarts, anyway?" Blaise asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Feels a bit random to start in third year."

Rosalie smiled tensely. She wasn't sure how to work "someone's trying to kill me and my brother" into casual conversation.

Fortunately, she was saved the trouble. Just then, they stepped into the Slytherin common room.

It was still fairly empty, though this time a small knot of students had gathered near the fireplace. A few boys, one girl with a sharp, chin-length haircut, and standing between two stockier boys - a particular figure who caught Rosalie's attention at once.

He was rolling his eyes at something someone had just said.

"Can't believe we've got Magical Creatures class tomorrow with that oaf Hagrid. Miserable," he sneered, his voice rich with disdain. The group murmured their agreement, except for one boy who gave a careless shrug.

"I don't know, Draco. I think it can be cool sometimes when Hagrid pulls out the rare stuff."

Rosalie's eyes widened. That was Draco?

Strikingly white-blond hair fell neatly over his forehead, catching the firelight. His skin was pale and smooth, his eyes a keen stormy grey. A gorgeous shade that the young Potter felt was quite unique.

In that moment, Rosalie understood exactly what Daphne had meant when she'd said half the girls at school were "shoved up his arse."

One thing Greengrass had neglected to mention about Draco Malfoy was just how infuriatingly handsome he happened to be!

Draco finally noticed her staring. His gaze moved from her face to the green sweater she wore, then down to her polished shoes and perfectly arranged hair. He would rather have bitten his own tongue than admit it, but his eyes flickered back to her face, lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"And who might you be?" he asked, his tone casual in that particular way people use when they're already sure they won't like the answer. The rest of the group turned, eyebrows lifting in mild curiosity.

She gave a small, awkward smile. "I'm Rosalie," she said softly, clasping her hands in front of her. "I've just transferred from Beauxbatons."

"Huh, figured I'd never seen you around before. Theodore Nott," said the boy who'd defended Hagrid, stepping forward with a friendly nod.

Rosalie returned it, silently willing Daphne to jump in and save her from having to keep the conversation alive.

"Your English is awfully good for a French girl. Who are your parents?" The girl with the sharp haircut cut in before Daphne could speak, her voice cool and clipped. Rosalie blinked. So this was the sort of thing Daphne had warned her about.

Why did it feel like she was already being sized up?!

"Maybe her English is good because she's English, for Merlin's sake, Parkinson," Daphne said, rolling her eyes so pointedly it was almost theatrical.

Rosalie was taken aback by the way the quick, barbed remarks flew so easily between them. Nott, she decided almost at once, might be the only truly normal one of the bunch.

Still, the name made her pause. Parkinson.

So this was Pansy Parkinson—her new roommate. Rosalie felt her shoulders tense, already worrying about the impression she'd made so far. Judging by the cool tilt of Pansy's head and the unimpressed narrowing of her eyes, it wasn't a glowing one.

Pansy's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, please. Why would I assume she's British? What witch would choose that ditzy excuse for a school over Hogwarts, if she had the choice?"

Rosalie's jaw nearly dropped. As a dancer who's no stranger to a bit of backstage cattiness, she hadn't expected to be on the receiving end of it quite so quickly—and without having exchanged more than a single sentence with Pansy!

And even if she had wanted to respond, what was she supposed to say? Well, you see, I left to escape my aunt, uncle, and cousin, who made my life miserable. I'm a coward who left my brother behind and tried to forget everything about this place haha! 

Before she could think of anything...besides that, Daphne's scowl cut across the moment like a whip. "Probably to avoid people like you, Parkinson—"

"Okay!" Blaise interrupted brightly, slinging an arm over each of their shoulders before the argument could escalate. "Why don't we continue this lovely conversation at the Great Hall?" Without waiting for agreement, he began steering the two shorter girls toward the door.

Rosalie could only watch with a tight chest, dread at the pit of her stomach. That didn't go well at all, and she worried over having to go back to the dorms with the two girls who already seemed like total opposites.

The rest of the group began to follow, and Rosalie, still feeling rather on display, tagged along reluctantly.

It seemed that even with Pansy gone, Rosalie was still under inspection. This time, the attention came from the blond boy who'd first caught her eye.

"So tell me," Malfoy said, giving her a sidelong glance, "What's a ballerina from Beauxbatons doing at Hogwarts?"

Rosalie's eyes widened a fraction, though she managed a sheepish smile. "I take it you recognised me from the papers as well?"

"You'd be right," Malfoy drawled. "You're severely shorter in real life than you are on camera. Threw me off."

Rosalie gave a small, awkward smile. "Ballet's all about extension of the leg... makes sense I'd look taller." Malfoy's brow lifted as his eyes flicked briefly down her frame, clearly noting she hadn't much leg to extend in the first place. She was quite short, having to tilt her chin up to make eye contact with him.

He gave no reply though - her talk of ballet was hardly worth the effort. Instead, his thoughts had already moved on.

The fact that Harry Potter's sister had been sorted into Slytherin was, frankly, glorious. Malfoy felt a curl of satisfaction at the thought, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his mouth. It was as though the castle had just handed him a gift, one that might prove very useful indeed in getting under Potter's skin.

"Well," he said at last, straightening a little, "I suppose I should introduce myself. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." His tone made it sound less like a courtesy and more like an inevitability.

Rosalie tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "You can just call me Rosalie. I don't really care for being referred to by my surname."

An idea took root in Draco's mind almost instantly. Quick, sly, and deliciously petty.

Everyone called him Malfoy. But if Potter's precious sister went about addressing him by his first name... the look on Potter's face alone would be worth it!

Something flickered across Draco's expression. Mild surprise that he was even entertaining the thought, followed by the faintest tightening of his jaw. Few people got to address him so informally, least of all newcomers. Still, the image of Potter bristling was far too good to resist.

"Fine," he said smoothly, though there was a trace of calculation behind it. "You can call me Draco."

Inside, he was already plotting exactly how to make the most of this unexpected gift the Sorting Hat had dropped in his lap.

"Draco," Rosalie repeated with a small nod. "That's a lovely name. Were you named after the constellation?" Her eyes lit up with delight, the green of them bright against the firelight. Astronomy was one of her favourite subjects, and she adored the constellations that glittered in the night sky.

Saying his name aloud reminded her of one of her favourites—the dragon.

Draco paused, faintly caught off guard by her tone. Among pure-blood circles, of course, it was common knowledge: the House of Black had a long-standing tradition of naming its children after stars and constellations. Few Hogwarts students outside of old wizarding families ever made the connection between his name and the constellation.

The fact that she did, and asked with such unguarded excitement, was almost endearing. Almost.

More than anything, it served as an ego boost.

A faint smirk curved his mouth. "Sharp, aren't you? Yes. My family has a... fondness for tradition." His voice was airy, almost dismissive, though there was no mistaking the thread of pride running through it.

Rosalie smiled at that, entirely unbothered by the cockiness in his tone. For a moment, Draco found himself wondering if all her questions would sound like compliments.

Suddenly, he rather liked the idea of her asking him more.

Before that could happen, though, Draco and the rest of the Slytherin group had already swept into the Great Hall. Merlin, that walk had been significantly quicker than usual.

The cavernous chamber was awash with golden candlelight, the hundreds of floating candles casting a warm glow over the four long House tables. Above them, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the dusky evening sky, streaked with the last traces of pink and gold from the setting sun. The clink of goblets and murmur of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from one table or another.

Draco's silver eyes flicked sideways to Rosalie.

She was looking around in wide-eyed wonder, her gaze darting between the endless platters of food, the towering windows, and the glittering stars overhead. She trailed just behind the others, steps careful and unhurried. Yet to her surprise, Draco kept pace beside her.

He seemed... friendly so far. A bit snarky and undeniably cocky, but nice enough.

By the time they reached the Slytherin table, Zabini, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Parkinson, and Greengrass had all arranged themselves with an empty space conspicuously left in the middle.

Rosalie felt both relieved as there would be no awkward hunt for a seat, and faintly terrified to be placed at the heart of the group.

She didn't notice the flash of Daphne's hawk-like gaze when Draco leaned in and quietly ordered Crabbe to shift over, nor did she catch the seething glare Pansy shot across the table. All Rosalie registered was that Draco had made room for her, and that somewhere in this vast, dazzling hall, Harry was sitting.

"Eat up, Rosalie, it's your first Hogwarts dinner, isn't it?" Zabini said easily, gesturing to the heaping platters and jugs of pumpkin juice that lined the centre of the table. Steam curled lazily from roasted meats, baked potatoes gleamed with butter, and golden Yorkshire puddings sat stacked like treasures.

Rosalie glanced at the generous spread of delicious food laid out before them. The warm scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the sweet allure of treacle tart, tempting enough to make her stomach rumble, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Thank you," she said softly, offering a small, polite smile. "But if it's alright, I think I'd like to find Harry for dinner tonight. It's my first night here... and I'd really like to sit with him, if I can."

A brief silence fell over the group. Zabini raised an eyebrow, Nott blinked in mild surprise, and even Draco's pale grey eyes flicked toward her with something unreadable. Daphne gave a subtle nod.

It's as if they had all conveniently forgotten and then remembered she was Harry's sister!

"Yeah, makes sense," Zabini said smoothly, folding his arms. "He should be over there at the Gryffindor table. Where all the buffoons in red are."

Nott snorted softly at that, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes briefly scanning the far side of the hall.

"He's probably with Weasley and Granger. Look for a redhead and a girl with a head full of frizz."

Daphne rolled her eyes with mild exasperation. "Granger's hair isn't frizzy anymore. She was what, eleven when it looked like that?"

Rosalie glanced from one Slytherin to another, nodding gratefully at every helpful hint. The rows of long tables stretching across the Great Hall suddenly seemed vast and daunting. How on earth would she spot Harry among so many students?

Draco's silver-grey eyes met hers again, a faint, calculating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. This was a golden opportunity, and like the true Slytherin he was, he intended to make the most of it.

"I'll tell you what, Rosalie," he said smoothly, standing and brushing back a stray lock of his pale blond hair. "I'll walk you over to the Gryffindor table and help you find Potter. How does that sound?"

Rosalie's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected kindness. She smiled warmly. "Could you? That'd be wonderful. There's so much going on, it's a bit overwhelming," she admitted with a light laugh, grateful for the boy who'd proven not quite as insufferable as she'd feared.

Draco's smirk deepened as he glanced toward Crabbe and Goyle, silently signaling them to stay put. Then, with a smooth, effortless movement, he stepped forward. Rosalie rose after him, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and cautious hope as they prepared to cross the glittering, bustling Great Hall together.

As they walked side by side, Rosalie was clearly lost in her own thoughts, anxious and overwhelmed, barely registering the din of clattering cutlery and overlapping voices around her.

A pack of laughing Gryffindor first-years came tearing down the aisle, darting between tables in a game of tag gone feral. One of them swerved far too close. Before she could so much as flinch, a hand clamped around her waist and yanked her neatly out of the way.

"Oi, watch it you pint-sized gits," Draco drawled, his voice smooth but edged, like a blade hidden in silk.

His silver gaze lingered just long enough for the smallest boy to go pale. Recognition flickered across their faces, and they muttered hurried apologies before bolting down the corridor, shoes slapping against the stone in their haste.

Rosalie's breath caught. Less from fear , more from sudden closeness. Draco released her with deliberate slowness, as though it amused him to take his time, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. "I thought ballerinas were supposed to be more graceful than that."

She managed a faint, "Right..." too relieved at having avoided a public disaster to pay much mind to the jab. For a moment, they simply looked at one another in silence - an unspoken tension hanging between them.

Then, a sharp voice cut through the quiet like a whip.

"Malfoy, what are you doing at our table? Picking on first years now? That's low, even for you."

Rosalie's head snapped toward the sound, her stomach tightening as a familiar figure strode purposefully toward them. Harry!

He hadn't noticed her yet. His expression was calm, but those piercing green eyes locked on Draco with a challenging glare.

Close behind him, a redheaded boy scowled openly, while a pretty brunette stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest—both wearing expressions that made it clear they hadn't volunteered for this confrontation.

Harry was so laser-focused on Draco and his irritating smirk that he almost didn't notice the girl standing right beside him.

But then, a sudden, familiar scent caught his attention - a gentle, lingering aroma of pink peonies, fresh lilies, and a delicate hint of sugary sweets. It was subtle, yet unmistakably hers.

He looked down, and suddenly froze.

Rosalie.

The name echoed through Harry's mind like the tolling of a distant bell—sharp, insistent, and impossible to ignore. Disbelief and shock twisted in his chest all at once.

Rosalie smiled, though her shoulders tensed as she faced her brother for the first time in years.

He was no longer the small, wide-eyed boy she had left behind at eleven. The baby fat had long since vanished from his face, replaced by sharper features - high cheekbones and a determined jawline. He had grown taller too, still rather skinny, and his unruly black hair was pushed back from his forehead.

But the warmth she had hoped to see never came. Instead, Harry's eyes flicked between her and Draco with a look that was part disbelief, part something darker, something close to disgust.

It was as if his worst nightmare had stepped through the hall, and it wasn't just that it was his sister, it was that she was linked, casually, with Draco Malfoy, who looked far too pleased with himself.

"R-Rosie? What the hell is this?" His voice was low, taut with confusion and hurt.

Behind him, his friends stood frozen, their eyes wide and jaws slack as they registered Rosalie's presence and recognized who she was.

"Harry? What do you mean? And what happened to 'hi'?" Rosalie asked, a flicker of hurt shadowing her face.

Harry's gaze snapped to her, sharp and accusatory. "What are you doing with Malfoy? And why are you wearing that..." His eyes narrowed at the green sweater, refusing to fully register the Slytherin colours evident on her.

From just behind Rosalie, Draco's voice cut through with a sneer. "I thought Slytherin green suited her. Matches her eyes nicely."

The girl beside Harry shot Draco a sharp, measuring look.

"Shove off Malfoy" Harry snapped, turning back to Rosalie.

"Why are you so angry?" Rosalie asked quietly, genuine confusion tinting her voice.

Before Harry could answer, Draco slid an arm around her shoulders, tugging her a little closer with an exaggerated sigh. "Looks like Potter doesn't want your company. Best you come sit with us," he said smoothly, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"For Merlin's sake, what are you doing with my sister?" Harry barked, glaring up at the tall blonde, who had clearly shot up in height since their last year.

Draco bit back a laugh, though it was a struggle, especially with Rosalie's confused gaze locked on him.

"D-Draco was just helping me find you," Rosalie stammered, defensive but uncertain. Draco almost corrected her for using his name so casually, but instead he reveled in the pure torment flashing across Potter's face.

Harry's green eyes blazed as he whipped around toward Rosalie. "Helping you? Helping you, my arse" he spat. "He just wants to get a rise out of me." Without hesitation, he reached out, yanking Rosalie away from Malfoy's side and pulling her close.

Draco let him, feigning a long-suffering sigh as Rosalie looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. "Such a shame Rosie" he said with a teasing drawl. "Your brother's an idiot. You know where to find me when you get tired of this little... group." He snorted, flicking a pointed glance toward Harry's friends.

"Don't call her that," Harry snapped, voice low and sharp as Draco turned on his heel. The blond threw Harry one last mocking smile before striding away, every inch the infuriating aristocrat.

Rosalie stood frozen in the middle of the Great Hall, still caught in Harry's grasp. After a brief silence, she spoke quietly, "Harry, that hurts."

The storm in Harry's eyes seemed to clear, and with a slight shake as if waking from a daze, he let her go.

But before she could step away, he pulled her back into a firm, warm embrace.

"Rosie," he breathed, voice thick with shock and raw adrenaline. "What's going on? How'd you get here? And for the second time, why are you wearing that sweater?"

Rosalie returned his embrace, tentative but steady, her chin resting lightly on his shoulder. "I know I have a lot to explain... but aren't you going to introduce me first?"

Harry blinked, suddenly aware they weren't alone. He stepped back, releasing her, and turned to his friends with widened eyes. "Right - guys, this is my sister, Rosie. Rosie, these are my friends, Ron and Hermione."

Hermione stepped forward with a warm smile, reaching out her hand. "I've heard quite a lot about you, Rosalie. It's really good to finally meet you."

Rosalie blinked in surprise, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. She hadn't expected Harry to have mentioned her at all given their strained relationship, let alone spoken of her to his closest friends.

Ron stepped forward a bit, the tips of his ears practically blending into his hair with how red they'd gotten, and eyes flickering nervously between Harry and Rosalie. His hand hovered awkwardly before he cleared his throat and said, "It's nice to meet you. Well, welcome to Hogwarts."

Rosalie gave him a gentle nod and a small, encouraging smile, taking his hand in hers. "Thank you, It's been okay so far." She glanced back at Harry, who guided her over to the Gryffindor table, seating her right beside him, with Hermione and Ron across from them.

The long wooden table was laden with every imaginable delight: platters of roast meats, bowls of buttery mashed potatoes, trays piled high with roasted vegetables, and sweet dishes like treacle tart and pumpkin pasties. Rosalie carefully served herself a modest helping of roast chicken and some of her favorite roasted carrots, savoring the familiar tastes amid the unfamiliar surroundings.

Rosalie broke a piece off her roll, buttering it absently as she felt the weight of curious glances from nearby Gryffindor students. The long table buzzed with chatter, the clink of cutlery, and the warm smell of roasted meat and treacle tart drifting up from the platters.

Hermione leaned in with a soft, conspiratorial smile. "They're just surprised to see green at this table," she whispered, her eyes flicking toward the crest on Rosalie's Slytherin sweater.

Harry's gaze followed, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked from the sweater back to her. "Rosie... tell me everything."

The green-eyed girl faltered, her fork pausing midair. Too many thoughts crowded her mind—too many things to explain. And not here. Not with the hum of conversation all around them, and Harry's friends sitting only inches away.

"Well," Rosalie began, picking at the edge of her mashed potatoes with her fork, "I had a show yesterday. It was our annual Autumn Dance."

Hermione and Ron both leaned in, their expressions expectant. Rosalie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice dipping nervously. "I—I sent you the invitation in the mail, Harry. Not sure if you got it."

Harry's face flickered with something close to discomfort, but he said nothing. Rosalie's stomach tightened, and she pressed on quickly.

"After my performance, I was actually surprised by Hagrid. He was there! With this enormous bouquet of flowers—it was so sweet." She smiled at her plate, her fingers idly tracing the rim as she let the memory linger.

"It was Hagrid who brought you to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Rosalie nodded, spearing a roasted carrot as if it might steady her.

"He and my headmistress told me about the transfer, but I didn't know it was going to happen," Rosalie said, her voice calm but tight. "It was so quick—one minute I was finishing my show, the next I was holding a Portkey."

"Didn't they tell you why?" Ron asked, his fork hovering mid-air. "That's mad."

Rosalie nodded, though her fingers tightened slightly on her goblet. She'd been ignoring the reason since she'd arrived, pushing it to the back of her mind. But saying it aloud... a cold shiver crept down her spine.

"They said it was for my safety," she breathed.

Harry's head snapped toward her, green eyes flashing, and before she could move, his hand clamped on her arm. "They brought you here because of Sirius Black?!"

Ron's brow furrowed. "Why bring you closer to where he escaped? You'd be safer in France!"

Harry didn't loosen his grip, his expression dark. Ron's words had clearly struck the same chord in his mind.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking quickly. "The Dementors are guarding the school. Maybe they thought Beauxbatons wasn't as...equipped."

Rosalie shrugged but her gaze stayed on Harry. "Why would this man be after us?"

Harry hesitated. His glance slid toward Ron and Hermione—an unspoken exchange—before meeting her eyes again.

"Well?" she pressed, her voice sharpening.

Harry exhaled heavily. "From what I know... Sirius Black is loyal to the man who killed our parents. To him, we're in the way."

Rosalie's voice dropped to a whisper. "He's a follower of Voldemort."

A nearby Gryffindor shrieked at the name, then shrank under Rosalie's frosty glare.

Her chest tightened. This was exactly what she'd left behind—the stares, the whispers, the constant reminder of what they'd survived as babies.

Beauxbatons had been an escape: no Dursleys, no pitying looks, no mentions of her dead parents, no war shadowing her every step. And now she was back in the middle of it.

The brief, warm glow of being reunited with Harry was gone - scraped away to reveal fear, anger, and a low, gnawing urge to run.

Her expression didn't change, though. She sat straight-backed, meeting Harry's eyes.

"Looks like I can't run from my past after all," she murmured, quiet enough for him alone.

Harry's jaw tightened when he recognized the words, the same ones he'd uttered to her the last time they saw each other years ago, during their big fight.

"Rosie-"

"We can talk later." The words came out colder than she'd meant.

Hermione and Ron exchanged uneasy glances. The softness in Rosalie's face had vanished, replaced by a sharp, poised mask.

"So, Rosalie, have you settled into your dormitory?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

Rosalie's polite smile returned. "Yes. I'm rooming with Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson."

Ron made a face. "Daphne's okay I guess, but Parkinson's awful."

"Yeah, Always following Draco around—like you were earlier," Harry muttered. Ron's eyes widened at his jab, and Hermione winced.

Rosalie shot him a sidelong glare. "Don't start. He was nice to me."

"Nice? That was fake!—"

"I don't care. I could use a bit of fake kindness right now. Seeing as I've been dragged back here when I was happy somewhere else." She felt petty for throwing it at Harry's face, but she couldn't help it.

She was suddenly overwhelmed, realizing she'd be forced to face her haunting past very soon - and Harry's jabs weren't making it any easier.

Harry let out a sharp laugh. "Oh yeah! Hagrid should've left you there. Far away from your family just how you like it."

"Yes, he should've," Rosalie snapped. "You know, One of my favorite hobbies was writing to my family every day, knowing I'd never get a reply because the only person I have left is a stubborn arse."

Harry's voice rose, hot and fast. "Oh yeah? Because I loved reading about how perfect your life was while I was stuck under the Dursleys' stairs every summer—while you were off at your friends French mansions!"

They stared at each other, heat and ice colliding.

"You resent me because I left," Rosalie said, her tone like steel. "I've spent three years begging for your forgiveness, and even being here doesn't help."

"I don't care that you're here," Harry shot back. "If it weren't for Hagrid, you'd have gone seven years without seeing me—and you'd have been fine."

"If you'd read my letters, you'd know I wasn't fine." Rosalie's voice was low, tight, the words slipping between clenched teeth. She had always been a gentle, softly-natured child, but Harry had a way of dragging her into the storm with him. His temper was a match, and she—against her better judgment—always seemed to catch fire.

"You seemed fine enough to me," he muttered, shoving his plate away with a scrape, the treacle tart half-eaten and forgotten.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed, the hurt in her chest sitting heavy and cold. She let out a sharp scoff, shoving aside her own plate. "Speak to me when you grow up. I love you Harry, but I refuse to let you push me around with your words." Her voice cut, final and trembling, before she stood from the bench and swept away from the table.

Hermione and Ron sat frozen, wide-eyed, their spoons suspended in midair as they watched her go.

Harry stared down at the table, jaw tight.

"Don't you think you might've been a bit harsh?" Hermione asked softly.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, glaring at the wood grain as if it had personally wronged him.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, focusing back on their dinner.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°

Rosalie couldn't smooth the expression on her face, no matter how hard she tried. Her pretty green eyes were clouded now, glassy with unshed tears.

Her jaw ached from how tightly she'd set it, and her fists curled at her sides as she made her way back to the Slytherin table. The seat she'd abandoned earlier was still miraculously empty. Unfortunately, the boy right next to it was wearing what had to be the most insufferably smug smile in all of the United Kingdom.

If only she could slip away to her room, bury her head under a pillow, and let the tears come out of sheer frustration. Rosalie had the misfortune of being the sort who cried when she was angry - a weakness she despised most when it surfaced mid-argument.

And as if the day hadn't already handed her enough losses, she couldn't even navigate back to the Slytherin dormitories on her own. Which was why she now found herself wedged between Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle, eyes fixed anywhere but on the people around her.

The silence stretched uncomfortably between them, broken only by the distant chatter and clatter of the castle settling for the night.

After what felt like an eternity of keeping her thoughts tightly bottled, Rosalie finally turned to Draco, her brow furrowed and voice low but sharp.

"You did that on purpose," she said, fixing him with a glare that dared him to deny it.

Draco's pale eyes flicked to her briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching with a mix of amusement and something more guarded. "Did what? I simply reunited the Potter twins. Quite heroic, if you ask me." His voice was smooth, laced with that unmistakable Malfoy smirk.

Rosalie's jaw tightened. "Don't pretend you were just being nice. You knew exactly what you were doing - getting under Harry's skin."

Draco shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "Maybe. But if I'm honest, it wasn't all for him." He leaned in just enough that only she could hear, voice dropping low. "What if I just wanted to help the new girl out?"

Rosalie's eyes narrowed, annoyed. "Oh, lucky me," she murmured sarcastically, sighing and looking away.

"Rosalie, you ready to go?" Daphne's soft voice came from a few seats down, the sight of her offering a quiet relief.

Without sparing Draco another glance, Rosalie nodded and stood, following Daphne's lead.

She couldn't wait to get back to the dorms and simply sleep. Exhausted, upset, and tangled in the mess of her fractured relationship with Harry, she expected it to be bad - it had to be, considering the silence of the last three years, but it still hurt all the same to have those worries confirmed.

"See you in class tomorrow, Potter," Draco called after her, and Rosalie didn't miss the deliberate use of her last name, the one she'd told him not to use. She didn't bother arguing; the fight with Harry had left her too drained.

She shot him a cold look over her shoulder. "Yeah. See you tomorrow, Malfoy."

And with that, she and Daphne slipped away, leaving all the tension, and Draco, behind.

October 1st, 1993 Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Your uniforms and luggage will be waiting in your room upon arrival," Professor McGonagall said, her voice as crisp as ever as they descended a wide, curved staircase. Rosalie kept a respectful step behind her, the hem of her powder-blue cloak whispering over the stone.

"Alongside your class schedule, the Hogwarts rulebook, and the appropriate textbooks for your coursework," she added, glancing over her shoulder just long enough to ensure Rosalie was still following. The young Potter nodded eagerly, making sure to grasp every detail. 

"You'll be in a dorm with Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, two girls from your year also in Slytherin. I'm sure you'll share many classes with them as your credits from Beauxbatons have transferred to us." 

The names fly past Rosalie, and she opens my mouth to ask about Harry, if he knew she was here, if she might see him soon, but the sound of approaching footsteps from below silenced me.

Another student rounded the bend in the stairwell, moving with an easy, practiced grace. Her dark robes were pristine, her posture perfect. Pale blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, not a strand out of place, and her cool blue eyes lifted toward the pair as she slowed to a stop.

"Miss Greengrass!" Professor McGonagall called, raising a hand to stop the blonde in her tracks. 

The student, Greengrass, stopped on the step below ours. Her brows rose slightly, more acknowledgment than surprise, and though she offered Rosalie a quick glance, her gaze didn't linger.

"This is our newest transfer, Miss Rosalie Potter," Professor McGonagall said, her voice brisk as ever, accompanied by a sharp, approving nod in the girls direction.

At the mention of Rosalie's surname, the girl's eyes flicked back to her - this time lingering. A second, longer look.

"She's just been sorted into Slytherin," McGonagall continued, "and I believe Professor Snape already informed you she'd be your new roommate. I'd like you to escort her to the Slytherin common room and help her get settled."

She turned to Rosalie next, her sharp gaze softening just a touch. "Miss Potter, this is Daphne Greengrass. You'll be in good hands."

"Thank you, Professor," Rosalie murmured, offering a polite nod and a small, uncertain smile to the girl in front of her.

McGonagall returned it with a curt incline of her head. "I'll be seeing you in Transfiguration, Miss Potter." And with that, she turned and swept down a side corridor, her tartan cloak rippling behind her like smoke vanishing into air.

Just like that, she was gone.

Rosalie stared at the space McGonagall had occupied only a second before, then shifted her gaze hesitantly to the girl now standing beside her.

"Potter, is it?" Daphne said, her tone mild but unreadable. She didn't wait for an answer. "Come on, then. This way."

She turned on her heel and began heading briskly down the staircase.

Rosalie's eyes widened slightly at her suddenness, but she followed quickly, keeping pace, trying to commit the path to memory — every turn, every portrait, every shifting stair.

After a few moments of walking in silence, their steps falling into an easy rhythm, Rosalie glanced toward her.

"You can call me Rosalie," she offered, a little tentatively. "I'm not really big on using last names."

Daphne shot her a sideways glance, as if weighing the offer.

"Just call me Daphne then," she said after a pause, her voice less clipped now, a hint of curiosity threading through it.

Rosalie smiled softly and nodded, content to let the silence settle again between them.

They moved through wide stone corridors and beneath arching ceilings, past murmuring portraits and bustling students. The castle slowly darkened as they descended, each level cooler and quieter than the last. Down one staircase. Then another. And another still.

They continued downward, the air growing cooler with every step, the corridors narrowing, lit only by flickering torchlight. Shadows stretched longer here, sliding along the damp stone walls like watchful creatures. The hum of castle life faded behind them, until only their footsteps echoed off the ancient floor.

At last, Daphne came to a halt before what appeared to be a blank stretch of stone wall. Rosalie blinked at it, unimpressed.

"Why have we stopped?" she asked, glancing around. There was nothing there - no door, no knob, not even a painting to argue with.

Daphne turned to her, her pale hair catching the light from a nearby torch.

"To get into any house dormitory, you need the password," she said simply. But there was something about the way she looked at Rosalie — a quick, slightly uncomfortable glance that made Rosalie's stomach twist before she even knew why.

Daphne turned back to the wall and muttered, "Pureblood."

A low rumble sounded. The stone shuddered, and then to Rosalie's astonishment, a snake carved from the wall itself began to slither upward in a slow arc, its stone body unwinding with a hiss as a hidden door slid open behind it.

The entrance revealed a narrow, high-ceilinged passage, lit by a series of green-tinged lanterns that swayed slightly, though there was no breeze.

It hit her, then - why Daphne had looked at her like that.

The password. Pureblood.

Rosalie felt a prickle at the back of her neck, but neither of them said anything. Apparently, they were both too Slytherin to acknowledge it aloud. Daphne stepped through first, and Rosalie followed silently, trying to push the unease aside.

The moment Rosalie stepped into the common room, however, the discomfort was swallowed by awe.

The space was grand, built from ancient stone, with a ceiling held up by stone pillars carved with serpents. Light filtered through tall, submerged windows - windows that looked directly out into the depths of the Black Lake. Shadows rippled across the floor as something massive drifted past, casting a slow-moving silhouette over the walls.

"This is..." she trailed off, stepping further inside.

She drifted toward one of the tall windows, her breath catching in her throat as a long, sinewy tentacle swooshed past on the other side of the glass, followed by a massive eye - the giant squid, lazily drifting by.

She gasped, instinctively placing a hand against the glass.

Daphne's voice came from behind her, dry but a little amused. "You get used to him. He mostly minds his own business."

Rosalie nodded slowly, still transfixed by the watery view, the strange shadows dancing across the stone floor, the distant shimmer of scales in the deep.

Maybe, she thought, this won't be so bad after all, this is so cool!

Even with the giant squid occasionally peeking in, the Slytherin common room was far more elegant than she expected!  and somehow colder, in every sense of the word.

Everything looked old enough to belong in a museum and expensive enough to fund an entire wing of it. The velvet couches, carved tables, and sprawling rugs were all deep greens and shadowy silvers, like the room had been enchanted to feel both regal and slightly intimidating.

It was a far cry from her old dormitory at Beauxbatons, all soft blues, warm stone, and floating candles that never dripped wax. Here, the light shimmered faintly green from the underwater windows, and everything felt quieter, older. She wasn't sure if it was comforting or unsettling.

Rosalie, on the other hand, looked like she'd wandered in by mistake. Her powder-blue cloak and polished heeled boots stood out starkly against the darker palette. She suddenly found herself itching to change into her new uniform. She wondered if it would suit her — the green and silver.

"The common room's pretty empty," Daphne said as she led her across the space. "Most people are in class. I got pulled out early to meet you with Professor McGonagall."

Her voice echoed gently against the stone walls as she turned down a narrower hallway.

"This way leads to the girls' dorms. The boys' rooms are in the opposite direction."

Rosalie made a mental note of that and followed her deeper into the passageway, the muffled sound of water still rumbling through the stone. They came to a tall, arched door made of dark wood and carved with a curling serpent motif. Daphne gave it a little push, and it swung inward.

The dormitory was cool, dim, and circular, built from the same pale stone as the rest of the dungeons, but it was softened by thick rugs, silver-trimmed bedding, and high-backed chairs set neatly around a fireplace. The windows here, too, looked out into the lake.

Though they were rounder, closer to eye level, and cast watery shadows across the floors.

Rosalie's eyes caught on one of the beds set off to the side, slightly separated from the others, positioned right beside one of the windows. A small silver nameplate had been fastened to the footboard.

Rosalie Potter.

That was her bed.

She stared for a moment. Not in disbelief exactly, but in quiet awe.

A wardrobe stood nearby, its door ajar to reveal the edge of a perfectly folded uniform, already waiting for her. Her luggage had been placed neatly at the foot of the bed, and a small bouquet of flowers, the very same one her Beauxbatons classmates had given her, sat carefully arranged in a vase by her window.

She stepped closer, exhaling softly. Through the glass, the lake shimmered, dark and strange, and a shoal of silver fish darted past like sparks in the water.

It was strange... but beautiful.

"I'd say we have one of the better rooms, to be honest," Daphne said with a light shrug, gesturing toward the three elegant vanity tables and tall, silver-trimmed mirrors that stood beside each bed. "Lots of light and plenty of space to get ready in the mornings. Some of the other girls aren't quite so lucky."

Rosalie turned slowly, taking it all in.

Everything in the room felt touched by quiet luxury. She couldn't even begin to imagine what the other rooms looked like because this one? It was beautiful.

Each bed was queen-sized, dressed in deep emerald velvet with crisp white linens and heavy silver curtains draped from high bedposts. The ceiling stretched up farther than she'd expected for a room carved beneath the castle, and the soft light from the enchanted sconces lining the walls gave the space a surprising sense of airiness. It was prettier, softer, than she imagined the dungeons could ever be.

Daphne crossed the room and sank onto her bed with easy grace, clearly used to the space. Her eyes flicked to Rosalie, pale and curious. "So... have you seen your brother yet?"

Rosalie blinked, caught off guard by the question. She moved toward one of the armchairs near the fireplace and lowered herself into it, the cushions plush beneath her. "No," she admitted, shaking her head. "You're actually the first person from our year I've met. I only just arrived."

Daphne nodded, almost to herself. "Well, you'll probably see him at dinner tonight." Then, as if remembering something, she added, "You should check your schedule, it'll be on your desk."

Rosalie stood and crossed to the desk on her side of the room. A polished roll of parchment lay neatly at the center, sealed with a green wax crest. She broke the seal and unrolled it, scanning the list briefly before bringing it over to Daphne.

Daphne took it without hesitation, eyes scanning the contents quickly. "Charms, DADA, Potions, Transfiguration, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures..." A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Looks like we're in almost all the same classes."

She looked up, meeting Rosalie's eyes. "Your brother's in them too."

Rosalie's heart fluttered, just a little.

So she would see him soon.

Maybe even sooner than she was ready for — but she shooed that thought away before it could linger and ruin her mood.

"Would it be alright if I followed you around for a bit to get to classes?" she asked, a little sheepishly. "At least until I learn my way around. Those moving staircases terrify me."

To her surprise, Daphne let out a short laugh, almost a snort. "Yeah, sure. I don't blame you. Those stairs still suck, and I've been here three years." She leaned back against her pillows, folding her arms behind her head. "I don't mind. It'll be nice to hang out with someone who isn't my little sister for once."

She rolled her eyes as she said it, and Rosalie laughed under her breath.

She glanced toward the third, untouched bed in the room, curiosity tugging at her. "What about our other roommate? Do you ever hang out with her?"

"Pansy Parkinson?" Daphne scoffed, shaking her head. "Give me a break. She's so far up Malfoy's arse she doesn't have time for anyone else."

Rosalie blinked. "Malfoy?"

Daphne gave her a look like she couldn't quite believe she hadn't heard the name before. "Draco Malfoy. Slytherin, he's in our same year. I've known him since we were little. I grew up around him, so did Pansy. Honestly, most of us in our year did. Our parents are all friends."

A slow realization crept over Rosalie.

If all their families knew one another... if they'd all grown up in the same social circles...

They were probably all pure-bloods.

Her stomach twisted slightly. Suddenly, she wasn't sure she wanted to meet the rest of their housemates. Daphne had been unexpectedly kind so far, but she had no idea if the others would be the same. In fact, she was fairly certain they wouldn't be.

"And how come she's so... shoved up his arse?" she asked before she could talk herself out of it.

Daphne sighed, running a hand through her silky blonde hair. "Lots of girls are, but Pansy just has the most proximity to him. My sister Astoria also has a crush on him, but she's younger than us so she can't follow him around in all our classes," she said with an eye roll.

"I see..." was all Rosalie could get out, tentatively.

She thought it'd be best to steer clear of this Malfoy guy... The last thing she wanted to do was step on her new roommate's toes, especially over some boy. 

"He's literally just tall and easily the most loaded guy in this school. That's somehow enough to woo half the female population." Daphne shrugged.

Rosalie blinked at her in an awkward silence. "That's... Is that all there is to it? He doesn't sound very pleasant so far."

Daphne sighed heavily, as if talking about him brought her a massive headache. "He's... not the worst person alive, I guess. But Merlin, he can be so annoying! His parents are big on blood purity. They're part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," she glanced at Rosalie. "Mine are, too, for what it's worth. But I don't believe in any of that nonsense."

Rosalie nodded slowly, heart sinking a little. Now that was an even better reason to avoid him.

It looked like she'd opened Pandora's box talking about this Malfoy guy, and suddenly Daphne wouldn't stop talking about her frustrations with him.

She kept going. "Draco, though? He actually buys into all of it. Walks around like he's better than everyone because of his family. It's so ridiculous. Doesn't help that he's that rich. His father is in a high standing at the Ministry of Magic too," she said, almost as if she were exasperated with the boy she grew up with.

Rosalie stayed quiet, her fingers curling into the velvet edge of the armchair. She didn't know what Daphne knew about her, or if she even cared, but the weight of her own blood status — as a half-blood, raised mostly outside the wizarding world — suddenly felt like a stone in her chest.

After a brief pause, Daphne sat up a little straighter and looked at her seriously. "Look... just so you're not blindsided, some of the people in our house do believe all that blood supremacy rubbish. It's also a big money thing. Some Slytherins, especially Malfoy, wouldn't have to work for the next five generations and would still be loaded. They're pricks on purpose."

She said it plainly, without drama or apology, and Rosalie found herself quietly grateful for her honesty.

"Thanks for the warning," she murmured.

Daphne shrugged. "They're not worth worrying about."

Maybe not.

But Rosalie had a feeling she'd be worrying anyway.

September 30th, 1993 Beauxbatons Academy of Magic

Third Person POV •

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the Beauxbatons grounds cloaked in a cool indigo dusk. Above the towering spires of the chateau, the sky glittered with stars like scattered diamonds, casting a gentle shimmer over the mountain peaks beyond. Lanterns floated mid-air like fireflies, casting warm golden halos over the open courtyard where a translucent dome had been conjured for the night's festivities.

It was time for the Première Danse de l'Automne, The First Dance of Autumn. 

An annual tradition held under the stars, it was one of the most anticipated events of the school year. 

Dozens of hand-selected Beauxbatons students. Witches with years of refinement in their grace and craft performed in a series of enchanting ballets!

And in the center of it all, as the final performance of the evening, stood Beauxbatons' rising star.

Rosalie Potter.

The moment the music swelled, the lights dimmed to a soft blue glow, save for the solitary spotlight fixed on her. It bathed her in icy luminescence, catching the crystals embroidered into her bodice and sending them sparkling like frost across a winter lake.

She moved with dreamlike precision, en pointe across the enchanted stage that shimmered beneath her shoes. Her tutu, layered with soft tulle and dusted with charmed snowflakes, swayed with every delicate gesture. The orchestra, half visible through wisps of mist at the far end of the dome played a haunting, beautiful rendition of Swan Lake, its melody carried by magic itself.

With each pirouette, Rosalie left behind the faint glimmer of silver feathers in the air. With each grand jeté, the illusion of white wings unfurled briefly from her shoulders before fading into light. The spellwork woven into her costume and choreography painted her not as a girl performing a role, but as the White Swan herself. Elegant, tragic, and otherworldly.

By the time the final note echoed into silence, the courtyard held its breath.

Then, Applause. Thunderous and echoing beneath the magical dome. 

Cameras flashed. Cheers and whistles rose like wind. Rosalie remained in character until the last possible second, arms lifted in a soft swan-like curve, chest rising with controlled breath. Then she bowed - deeply and gracefully before finally stepping off the stage.

She was flushed and glowing as she walked backstage, her pointe shoes silent on the velvet floor. Her friends gathered around her instantly, giddy with adrenaline, still in stage makeup and glittering costumes.

"Rosie, incroyable!" one of them gushed, looping her arm through Rosalie's. Another clutched her side with a groan. "If I ever dance for that long again, someone Obliviate me."

They all giggled amongst one another, breathless as they made their way back toward the dormitories, the brisk mountain air nipping at their skin. Rosalie clutched a small bouquet of white lilies in her arms, a congratulatory gift from their dance instructor. It smelled lovely, and she was truly grateful, but she couldn't help noticing the difference.

The other girls were weighed down with extravagant bouquets. Enchanted arrangements wrapped in shimmering paper, sent by parents, siblings, and well-wishers who had filled the audience with cheers and proud smiles.

The quiet bouquet from her dance instructor was sweet though. She was the only one who ever made it a point to bring Rosalie something, ever since she'd noticed the girl standing empty-handed after her very first recital all those years ago.

It was quieter. Beautiful in its own right, but simpler. Rosalie didn't mind, not really. But there was a part of her that still lingered on what wasn't there.

She hadn't expected a celebration or a crowd. She had danced in plenty of shows before, none of which ever had a familiar face in the audience. And yet, as the other girls chatted about family dinners, cards tucked in bouquets, and letters from home, something gentle curled beneath her ribs.

Longing, perhaps.

All she had left in this mysterious, winding world was her brother Harry. But of course, he hadn't come. He hadn't written. He hadn't spoken to her in years.

So, one quiet bouquet it was. 

Still, she held it tightly, tucking the thought away before it could sting. She was grateful regardless. 

They were just reaching the path leading to the dormitory tower when one of her friends gasped, fingers clutching Rosalie's forearm.

"Oh—who is that?!"

Rosalie's head snapped up.

There, in the shadows just beyond the lantern light, stood an enormous figure, easily twice the size of any regular man. Her shock melted into delighted disbelief as she blinked and gasped, her voice leaping with surprise:

"Hagrid?!"

The name came out like a laugh. She broke into a run, her bouquet nearly slipping from her arms as she threw herself toward him. Despite the difference in size, she wrapped her arms around his middle in a tight hug, barely reaching halfway.

"Well, would yeh look at yeh!" Hagrid boomed, chuckling as he returned the hug with one massive arm. "Rosie girl! My my, it's been quite some time."

He pulled back and reached behind him, revealing a rather large bouquet of deep red roses tied in a ivory satin bow. They looked freshly picked, charmed against the cold.

"Your madame thought yeh might like a little something for your big night," Hagrid said with a grin, jerking his head toward the towering woman standing just behind him.

Rosalie blinked, startled. Madame Maxime?

She stood poised as always, arms crossed lightly in front of her embroidered robes. Rosalie's brows lifted as she looked between the two of them.

"...I see" she said softly, eyes falling to the bouquet of roses now in her arms.

They were warm in her hands, and she couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. She looked over her shoulder at her friends, each one wearing the same wide-eyed expression, mouths half-open in surprise. Someone had come for Rosalie! Someone familiar, who looked entirely out of place among the polished Beauxbatons crowd, but so happy! 

She gave a quick wave, motioning for them to head on without her. 

"I'll meet you back at the dorms!" she called, her voice bright. Once they'd disappeared through the archway, Rosalie turned back around, heart thudding with excitement.

"I can't believe it's really you!" she exclaimed, flinging herself forward for a second time before she could think better of it. "What are you doing in France?!"

Hagrid chuckled as he caught her in a careful, crushing hug. His enormous coat, several sizes too big even for someone like him, would be covered in Rosalie's shimmery body glitter by the end of the embrace, not that he seemed to mind one bit.

"Well," he said, beaming down at her, "when I heard you'd be the main event tonight, I thought - 'that's not somethin I'm missin', not for the world!' Had to come see you for meself." His eyes twinkled as he glanced over at Madame Maxime, who stood nearby in robes of deep violet and silver.

She let out a soft sigh and rested one elegant hand on Rosalie's shoulder. The girl leaned back just enough to look at her, reluctant to leave the comfort of Hagrid's coat.

"Y-Yes, ma'am?" she asked, breathless from the excitement.

"While it's true that Hagrid wished to see your performance," Maxime began, her tone diplomatic but laced with something more serious, "I'm afraid he's here on other business as well."

Rosalie blinked, straightening just slightly. The smile on her face didn't fade entirely, but it wavered - just a little.

Still, Rosalie stayed close to Hagrid. There was something steady and reassuring about his presence, as if, no matter what this mysterious "business" might be, she could face it with him by her side. The simple comfort of having someone from home nearby was almost astonishing - a feeling she had longed for since arriving in France nearly three years ago.

Her dark brows knitted together as she glanced between the two half-giants. "Oh? Is everything all right at Hogwarts, Hagrid?" she asked cautiously. 

She didn't say the name aloud, but Harry was on the tip of her tongue, her twin brother whose silence had grown heavier with each passing year. The dread that something might have happened to him twisted in her chest, especially since the only sign of life he ever sent were those dull, carefully folded cards once a year, on their birthdays.

Hagrid gave a warm chuckle, his eyes twinkling kindly. "Oh, don't you worry about Harry. He's doin' just fine. Got himself some great friends. But I suppose you know all about 'em by now! Your messaging owls must be worn out with all the letters you send."

Relief flooded through Rosalie, though it was tempered by a sharp pang when he mentioned her own letters. 

The truth stung: she had written him countless times, her words carefully chosen and sealed with hope, but those replies had been few and far between.

Madame Maxime stepped forward, her voice calm but carrying an unmistakable firmness. "I think it would be best if both of you came with me to my office. There are matters we must discuss in private."

Rosalie looked up at Hagrid, a flicker of worry crossing her green eyes. He met her gaze with a reassuring smile and placed a large, gentle hand atop her head. His confidence steadied her.

The two half-giants led the way through the grand Beauxbatons corridors. Rosalie hurried to keep up, her short legs working quickly to match their steady pace.

When they reached Madame Maxime's office, Rosalie took a seat, her eyes shifting nervously between the two adults. 

There was a strange tension in the air. Was she imagining things, or was Hagrid's face unusually flushed? Dare she say blushing?

Madame Maxime remained composed, her eyes gentle as she offered Rosalie a warm smile. "You performed beautifully today, Miss Potter. You're a very talented child."

Rosalie's chest swelled with quiet pride. A shy smile tugged at her lips as she savored the praise, the kind that felt rare and precious.

Hagrid nodded from where he had taken a seat beside her. "She's right, Rosie girl. You looked like a princess up there. Lily and James would be proud."

Rosalie's eyes sparkled at the mention of her parents, the words wrapping around her like a soft, shimmering cloak. The pride was there, clear as day in her bright gaze.

Madame Maxime's tone shifted, growing more serious as she folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward. Rosalie's dark brows furrowed, and she glanced at Hagrid again, worry tightening her chest.

"Yes, Rosie," Hagrid said gently, "have you ever heard the name Sirius Black?"

Rosalie blinked, puzzled. "It's the first time I've heard it. Why?" She looked to Madame Maxime, waiting for an answer. The French giantess paused, as if waiting for Hagrid to speak instead.

"He's a prisoner from Azkaban, Rosie. A high-security jail for wicked witches and wizards alike. It's supposed to be impossible to escape but somehow he's broken out," Hagrid sighed, shaking his head grimly.

Rosalie stared at him, wide-eyed. "And what does that have to do with me?"

Hagrid looked uncomfortable, but Madame Maxime finally stepped in with quiet firmness. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, believes you may be in danger. He has requested that you be brought back to the United Kingdom at once, under Hogwarts' care. They wish to keep an eye on you... alongside your brother."

The words sank slowly into the air between them like heavy mist. Rosalie's lips parted, but no sound came. She turned her gaze from one adult to the other, searching for any hint of humor in their faces, some sign that this was all an elaborate, out-of-season prank. But Hagrid's expression was solemn, and Madame Maxime looked positively mournful.

"I... I'm leaving?" Rosalie asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tomorrow at sunrise," Madame Maxime confirmed softly. "You have the night to pack your things. You will leave with Hagrid at the first light."

Rosalie could barely process the words. Her heart thudded erratically in her chest, her mind racing too fast to make sense of any of it. She looked down at herself in disbelief, eyes landing on the pale blue Beauxbatons athleisure uniform she had thrown after the show. Her name, Rosalie Euphemia Potter was delicately embroidered in silver thread on the left side of her jacket. 

Everything about it felt final all of the sudden. Like this would be the last time she ever wore it.

Madame Maxime rose from her chair in one graceful movement, smoothing her deep plum robes with long, ringed fingers. "We will miss you dearly, Mademoiselle Rosalie," she said, her voice low and measured. "It is a shame your talents will not be nurtured with us. I do hope... Hogwarts proves itself a worthy home."

Hagrid stood too, a little awkwardly, his patched moleskin hat clutched in both hands, gaze fixed on the floor.

Rosalie remained seated, her back rigid against the chair. The gentle thud of their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved toward the door, fading slowly down the corridor. A strange stillness settled over her, like the hush after a performance, when the curtain falls and everything is suddenly quiet.

Then she shot up, her heart thudding.

"Hagrid, wait!" she called, hurrying after him, her sneakers tapping sharply against the stone floor. "Is it really true? I'm going to Hogwarts?"

He turned, surprised by the urgency in her voice. His face softened at once.

"It is, Rosie," he said gently. "I'm sorry it's all happenin' so fast... I know it must feel a bit sudden."

Rosalie said nothing. She looked up at him, her brow drawn with quiet worry. The words sat heavily in her chest, slowly sinking like stones in deep water. 

She had heard the whispers in the halls, caught glimpses of the La Gazette Magique folded under professors' arms, rumours of a prisoner, a madman, who had escaped the infamous Azkaban. 

It wasn't until now, standing alone with Hagrid in the flickering corridor light, that it truly began to make sense.

"Do you really think Hogwarts will be safer than here?" she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Hagrid gave a firm nod, as if he'd already asked himself that same question a dozen times.

"I do," he said. "There's no place in the world better protected. They've got the best magical security you can think of. Dumbledore's made sure of it. No one's gettin' in or out without him knowin'. And he won't let anything happen to you. Not now, not ever."

Rosalie studied his face for a long moment. The unease didn't vanish, not entirely, but something in his expression, steady, kind, and certain, helped it settle.

She gave a small nod.

"Well then," she said, her voice wavering just a little, "I - I'll start my packing, then."

The following morning arrived cloaked in mist. 

A thin, pearly fog had settled over the grounds of Beauxbatons, curling around the stone archways and spilling across the dew-covered lawns like a whispered farewell.

Rosalie stood just outside the carriage that would take them down to the portkey site, her trunk packed neatly at her side. In a brass-handled cage atop it, her snowy owl, Hazel, sat perched and alert, feathers fluffed against the morning chill. Rosalie clutched the farewell bouquet from her classmates in both hands, the pale petals already beginning to wilt at the edges.

Hagrid was adjusting something in the harness of the thestral-drawn carriage, his breath rising in warm clouds as he worked. When he caught her eye he offered her a nod, it's time.

She took one last look at the château in the distance, its pale blue spires barely visible through the fog. Her chest gave a tight little twist.

Then she turned, stepped up into the carriage, and didn't look back.

October 1st, 1993 Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The portkey, a battered silver candlestick, glowed faintly in the half-light as Hagrid set it on the mossy ground between them. Rosalie reached for it hesitantly, bouquet still tucked beneath one arm, her gloved fingers brushing against Hagrid's as they both grasped hold.

The moment it activated, she felt the familiar, stomach-lurching tug just behind her navel. Wind roared in her ears as the world blurred and twisted around her. The trunk, cage, and bouquet spinning madly - and then with a jolt, her feet slammed back onto solid ground.

They had arrived!

Rosalie staggered slightly, her boots crunching against gravel. The air here was colder than her previous school. It felt crisper, tinged with woodsmoke and something older. She straightened her cloak, blinking against the morning light, and slowly lifted her eyes.

There it was.

Hogwarts Castle rose in the distance, towering and strong, all grey stone and ivy-wrapped turrets. It looked nothing like Beauxbatons, which shimmered like a muggle fairy tale in the French Alps, Hogwarts felt imposing. Grand and looming and somehow alive, as though it had been waiting for her.

Her heart was racing, though she wasn't entirely sure why. She kept scanning the path ahead, almost expecting Harry to come rushing down the hill toward her, arms flung wide, face lit up with recognition. But the road remained still and quiet, save for the distant caw of a crow.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Rosie!" Hagrid beamed, clapping a broad hand on her shoulder with enough force to make her knees wobble. "It'll be great havin' you here. I was proper bummed when you chose Beauxbatons over our school."

Rosalie smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around the bouquet. Her eyes lingered on the castle windows, glowing faintly in the morning haze.

"I'm here now," she said softly.

With a quiet flick of her wand, she cast a shrinking charm on her trunk and the bouquet, watching them contract until they were small enough to slip easily into her pocket. She glanced down at the brass cage housing Hazel, who blinked wide, golden eyes up at her with calm curiosity.

Hagrid stepped forward, his large hands carefully lifting the cage. "I'll take Hazel up to the Owlery for ya," he promised with a warm smile. "She'll be safe there."

Rosalie nodded softly, grateful for the kindness. Together, they followed the winding path that led up to the castle's grand entrance, the stones cool beneath their feet.

As they reached the massive oak doors, two figures stood waiting. Rosalie's breath caught, though she didn't recognize either of them at first. One was a stern woman with sharp eyes framed by square spectacles and a tight bun - her presence was commanding, yet quietly warm. The other was a tall man with long silver hair and half-moon spectacles, his eyes twinkling behind the lenses.

The woman stepped forward and inclined her head. "Thank you for bringing Miss Potter safely, Hagrid."

He gave a proud nod, his face breaking into a wide grin. "The pleasure's all mine. Well, I'll leave you to it, then. And don't be strangers, feel free to stop by me house anytime for a cup of tea!"

Rosalie nodded quietly, watching him go with a flicker of worry in her eyes. His large figure soon disappeared down the path, leaving her alone with these two new figures. She turned to them, straightening her shoulders and offering a smile that she hoped looked confident, even if her heart fluttered with nerves.

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on her with a gentle intensity, a small, fond smile playing at his lips. He thought back to the last time he'd seen her. She was just a baby, swaddled in soft pink blankets, green eyes wide and curious. 

Professor McGonagall stepped forward then, her expression softened. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, and this is Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. We're glad to welcome you here, Miss Potter."

She gestured toward the castle's grand entrance. "Please, follow us inside. There is much to prepare for your arrival."

Rosalie swallowed, then nodded, stepping forward to follow them beneath the towering archways of Hogwarts.

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°

The heavy doors groaned shut behind them with a low, echoing thud, sealing the castle off from the misty morning outside. At once, Rosalie felt it - a shift in the air, subtle but unmistakable. The kind of hush that comes with powerful magic.

It was initially warmer than she expected, and the stone walls hummed softly, as though the castle itself were stirring.

The ceilings arched high overhead like the ribs of some ancient cathedral. Paintings lined the walls, their inhabitants peering down curiously as the trio passed. One elderly witch in a painting gave her a little wave; Rosalie nodded back before quickly looking away, uncertain if she'd been rude or terribly formal.

Her heeled boots clicked softly against the flagstone floors, a rhythmic tapping that felt far too loud in the vast corridors. She couldn't help but notice how empty the halls were.

The few students she did see passed in clusters, laughing quietly or clutching parchment as they rushed toward lessons. They all wore dark uniforms, robes with different colored crests stitched proudly over their chests — so different from the flowing silks and sky-blue sashes of Beauxbatons.

Rosalie kept close to Professor McGonagall as they followed Dumbledore deeper into the castle. He didn't walk quickly, but his stride was long and purposeful, his deep plum robes sweeping over the floor like water. She had to practically glide to keep up, trying not to appear winded.

Everything here was darker than she'd imagined. Twisting passageways, flickering torchlight, and high stained-glass windows that cast colored shadows across the floors. Her fingers brushed the edge of her powder-blue travel cloak, grounding herself as she tilted her head back to take it all in.

"This way, Miss Potter," McGonagall said gently, her voice cutting through the spell of it all just as they approached a spiraling staircase. Rosalie gasped as the entire thing began to move, sliding into place with a soft grinding of stone against stone.

She blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Is... everything here enchanted?"

The professor didn't turn around, but Rosalie could have sworn the corners of her mouth twitched. "More or less."

They came to a halt before a tall oak door carved with swirling, vine-like patterns that almost seemed to shift when she looked too long. Dumbledore raised his hand and pressed his palm to the wood. It sighed open with a quiet whoosh, revealing a room that stole the breath right from Rosalie's lungs.

She stepped inside, heart fluttering.

The Headmaster's office was circular, lined from floor to ceiling with towering shelves of books. Peculiar instruments whirred and spun on delicate stands, releasing small puffs of silvery steam. A wide desk sat near the center of the room, and just beyond it, perched on a golden stand, was a phoenix.

An actual phoenix!

Its feathers glowed with scarlet and gold, catching the lamplight like embers, and its sharp eyes followed her with quiet intelligence. Rosalie stared at it in disbelief. Somehow, she had forgotten to breathe.

"Please, sit," Dumbledore said kindly, motioning to the chair in front of his desk as he lowered himself into his own.

She perched on the edge of the seat, folding her hands in her lap. The air in the office had cooled slightly, wrapping around her shoulders like a shawl. But it did little to soothe the unease still curling in her chest.

Professor McGonagall entered behind them, her traveling cloak folded over one arm, her hat now held gently in both hands. She came to stand beside the Headmaster, as still and poised as a statue.

"Rosalie," Dumbledore began, his voice quieter now, "Hagrid informed me you already know the reason for your transfer."

She nodded faintly. "More or less," she said, glancing between him and Professor McGonagall. "I ... I know a prisoner's escaped. And that he's after Harry and me. You all thought I'd be safer here."

"That is true," Dumbledore said, and though his voice remained calm, there was something grave beneath it. "But I do not want you to be afraid. You have no reason to be. I give you my word, you'll be well looked after here. Our staff has been anticipating your arrival. James and Lily once walked these halls as you will now. And of course... you'll have Harry by your side."

At that, her heart gave an uncomfortable jolt. She tried to hide it, but the words stirred something uncertain in her. She hadn't seen or practically spoken to Harry in years. She wasn't sure what kind of reunion waited for them. Or if he even wanted one.

"You'll be sorted privately this evening," Dumbledore continued, "with Professor McGonagall's help. Normally, it's done on the first night of term, but your situation is a rather unique one."

She looked up at him, blinking. "Sorted?"

"Yes," McGonagall said, stepping forward with a nod. "The Sorting Hat will determine which house you belong to. It won't take long."

Rosalie glanced down and froze.

In McGonagall's hands sat the Sorting Hat - old and weathered, with a crooked tear that curled into something like a smile. Before she could speak, it twitched and spoke.

"What will it be, then?" it said, its voice deep and drawling, with a hint of amusement. "Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor?"

Rosalie startled so hard she nearly knocked the chair leg sideways.

McGonagall didn't react, but Rosalie swore her lips twitched again.

"Your house will become like your family," McGonagall said, matter-of-fact. "You'll earn or lose points based on your conduct. The house with the most points at the end of the year is awarded the House Cup."

Rosalie raised her eyebrows slightly. With everything happening in her life at the moment, she wasn't sure exactly where the House Cup was meant to rank on her list of priorities.

She glanced at Dumbledore. He was watching her over his clasped hands, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Before she could speak, McGonagall gave a crisp nod and stepped behind her.

"Sit still, Miss Potter."

She lowered the Sorting Hat over Rosalie's head. It was heavy and smelled faintly of parchment and dust.

"Ah," said the Sorting Hat out loud, its voice smooth and faintly amused. "So this is the Potter girl who went to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts."

Her cheeks burned instantly. She wanted to sink into the chair and vanish beneath the brim. The hat's voice wasn't loud exactly, but it echoed in the stillness of the office, and she very deliberately kept her eyes away from Dumbledore to avoid awkward eye contact.

"I've heard quite a bit about you," it went on, sounding far too pleased with itself. "Well-mannered. Quiet. The wizarding world has always had a soft spot for you, hasn't it?"

She blinked hard, unsure if she was meant to respond or just let it keep talking.

Why does this hat sound like it's been reading gossip columns in the Daily Prophet?

"Hm. Not like your brother at all," the hat continued, thoughtful now. "You're trickier."

She swallowed.

"You're not a Gryffindor," it said bluntly.

Outside the brim, she could feel the stillness in the room shift ever so slightly. Professor McGonagall said nothing, but she caught her watching closely.

Dumbledore remained rather neutral, but she noticed him leaning forward behind his desk.

"Gryffindor blood, yes," the hat mused. "Bravery in your bones. But you're not reckless. Too much sense of self-preservation to make a proper lion, I'd say."

Her fingers curled tightly in her lap.

"Hufflepuff?" it mused, then gave a soft huff of amusement. "No, not quite. You value loyalty, yes, but you're restless. You'd chafe under all that humility and teamwork. You want more."

She nearly bristled. I do work well in teams!

"Now, Ravenclaw..." the hat said, and Rosalie felt it pause, as if weighing something. "Brains, certainly. Creative too. You're thoughtful. A dreamer. You'd thrive in Ravenclaw, make no mistake."

She felt a spark of something. Hope?

"But you don't always speak your mind, do you?" the hat murmured. "You hold your cards close. You keep secrets. You listen more than you talk."

She swallowed again. Her throat was dry.

"And that," it said slowly, "brings us to Slytherin."

The hat fell silent. She barely breathed.

"You hide it well," it said at last, its tone more serious now.

"You're sharp. You think three steps ahead. You've learned to survive by being careful. You push yourself forward. And that," it said firmly, "is Slytherin through and through."

She flushed, heat rushing to her face again. Did it have to say that out loud?

Without meaning to, she glanced toward Dumbledore, who seemed increasingly more intrigued by what the hat was saying.

"I could put you in Ravenclaw," the hat mused, voice more contemplative now. "You'd be good there. Comfortable. You'd do well, but I think there's something that would suit you even better."

A pause.

Then another.

"Slytherin..." the hat said at last, almost thoughtfully. "In Slytherin, you'd grow. You'd stand tall. You'd become exactly who you were meant to be."

Her hands curled slightly in her lap. She wasn't sure if it was nerves or something else fluttering in her chest — something sharp and bright and uncertain.

"Well then," the Sorting Hat boomed, its voice rising with finality, "better be... Slytherin!"

The hat was lifted from her head.

The room felt very quiet all of a sudden. Professor McGonagall's expression was unreadable, but she cast a brief glance at Dumbledore and he looked - not displeased, but intrigued. Thoughtful.

Rosalie leaned forward slightly, voice hushed. "Is... is that a good thing?" Confused by the reaction, or lack thereof.

The silence had unnerved her more than the sorting itself.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Quite," he said, voice warm and certain. "The Sorting Hat makes no mistakes, Miss Potter. You'll make an excellent Slytherin, I've no doubt."

She nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She wasn't entirely sure what it meant to be a Slytherin — not yet. She didn't know much about the other houses either, if she was being honest. But something about the certainty in his voice made her feel like it wouldn't be so bad.

"Well then," he said, folding his hands, "you have quite the journey ahead."

She straightened instinctively, folding her own hands neatly in her lap. "Yes, sir."

"And again," he added, with a look that felt almost fatherly, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

This time, her smile reached her eyes.

Everything still felt uncertain. The future was a patchwork of unknowns, and her heart was full of questions she hadn't yet found the courage to ask.

But maybe... maybe this was where something new could begin.