George and Fred Weasley were sitting cross-legged on the floor of their dormitory in the dead of night, their only source of light the soft glow from Fred's wand, which was clenched between his teeth. The dim illumination cast long, flickering shadows on the walls, making their haphazardly assembled potion setup look even more ominous than it already was.

"Age limit, my arse," Fred muttered, carefully tipping a small vial of grounded bicorn horn into the bubbling cauldron before them. The powder dissolved instantly, turning the potion a murky shade of blue. It didn't look promising.

George wrinkled his nose. "That's got to be the worst smell I've ever encountered," he said, leaning back slightly. It was oddly sweet—like sugar that had been left to rot. "Are you sure this is supposed to work?"

Fred, still holding his wand in his teeth, shot him a look. "Do I look unsure?" he mumbled around the handle.

"Yes."

Fred sighed, taking the wand from his mouth and setting it down. "Look, it's foolproof. It just has to convince that bloody Goblet that we're of age. Piece of cake."

George wasn't entirely convinced. If he hadn't been so obsessed with getting back every last Knut he'd lost to that cheating git Ludo Bagman, he might not have bothered at all. But this was about more than money now—it was about proving a point. They were just as good, if not better, than any of the so-called "of-age" students who were allowed to enter the tournament.

Still, he eyed the cauldron with suspicion. "You sure we got the proportions right? Because last time, you know, it—"

"Exploded?" Fred offered helpfully. "Only a minor setback."

George snorted. "It singed off half my eyebrow."

"And now you look rakishly handsome," Fred said cheerfully. "Come on, it's ready. Bottoms up."

They each took a small vial from the table, dipping them into the potion and filling them to the brim. George hesitated for only a second before raising his to Fred.

"To rule-breaking," he said.

"To eternal glory," Fred countered.

They clinked vials and downed the potion in one gulp.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a strange, tingling warmth spread through George's limbs. His fingers twitched involuntarily. He glanced at Fred, who looked equally bewildered.

And then it hit them.

Their bodies stretched upwards as though someone had grabbed them by the tops of their heads and yanked. George felt his spine crack, his limbs lengthen—

Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

They stared at each other.

Fred grinned. "I think it worked."

George flexed his fingers. "I don't feel any different."

"That's because you were already perfect," Fred said smugly. "Come on, let's go make history."

The two of them crept down through the castle, weaving through the darkened corridors, dodging the occasional ghost and the ever-diligent Mrs. Norris. The Great Hall was quiet and empty when they arrived, the Goblet of Fire flickering blue in the darkness.

Fred pulled out two slips of parchment. "Ladies first?"

George rolled his eyes and snatched one. Together, they stepped forward and—

Just as they tossed their names in, a third figure emerged from the shadows.

A girl.

She moved swiftly, gracefully, her long coat swishing around her ankles as she stepped into the light. She had sharp features and dark hair pulled back into a tight plait. She wasn't from Hogwarts—George could tell that immediately.

Durmstrang.

She approached the Goblet with purposeful strides, ignoring the twins entirely. With a slight flick of her wrist, she held out a slip of parchment and let it flutter into the flames. The Goblet swallowed it whole.

For a moment, she lingered, watching the fire burn.

Fred glanced at George, raising an eyebrow.

"Did that just—?"

The girl turned to them then, her cold blue eyes flickering between the two of them.

"Vat?" she asked in a thick accent, tilting her head slightly. "You vere expecting only Hogvarts fools to cheat?"

George opened his mouth to reply—

But suddenly, pain shot through his body.

It was like being slammed in the chest with a Bludger. A thick, hot wave of magic rippled through him, making his vision blur. His skin tingled, then burned, and then—

Fred yelped.

George looked down and felt his stomach drop.

Beards.

Long, silver beards.

Flowing from both their faces like Dumbledore's gone feral.

Fred made a strangled noise. "Bloody hell."

The girl—who still hadn't given them her name—burst out laughing.

"Idiots," she said, shaking her head. "Enjoy your old-man faces, boys."

"No!" George called after her.

For a moment, he thought the girl either hadn't heard him or, more likely, was choosing to ignore him. But to his surprise, the blue-eyed girl paused. She turned back toward them, her head tilted slightly, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

George glanced at Fred, who raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting to see where this was going.

Swallowing his pride, George took a step forward. "Can you help us?"

The girl studied them, her piercing gaze flicking between their identical, bearded faces. Slowly, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Help you?" she echoed, amusement laced in her thick accent. "Vy vould I do that?"

Fred scoffed, running a hand through his now absurdly long beard. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe out of the kindness of your heart?"

The girl let out a short, sharp laugh. "I do not have that kind of heart."

George huffed in frustration. His face itched like mad, and he could already feel the weight of the ridiculous silver beard dragging down his chin. "Come on, you seem clever. You must know some kind of countercurse or charm that can get rid of this."

She tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. "Perhaps."

Fred narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly do you want in return?"

At this, the girl's smirk widened. There it was. That unmistakable glint of mischief—the same one he and Fred wore daily.

"Oh, I am sure I vill think of something," she said airily. "But for now, I simply vish to enjoy the sight of you two looking like foolish, ancient men."

Fred threw his hands up. "Brilliant. That's just brilliant."

George, however, wasn't ready to give up just yet. His curiosity was piqued.

"At least tell us your name," he tried.

The girl tilted her head, considering. Then, with a lazy shrug, she replied, "Aleksandra Zielińska."

"We are Fred and George Weasley." Said Fred foolhardy

"Aleksandra," George repeated, testing the name on his tongue.

Fred gave him a pointed look but said nothing.

"so what do we do know?" Fred asked insted.

Aleksandra sighed, rolling her eyes as if they were the most hopeless cases she'd ever seen. "You vill need a proper antidote," she said, stepping closer and reaching out as if to inspect George's beard. At the last second, she smirked and tugged it lightly.

George swatted her hand away, scowling. "Very funny."

She chuckled. "Yes. Very." Then, after a pause, she added, "This is advanced magic. Age lines are not meant to be broken. Dumbledore is no fool."

Fred huffed, arms crossed. "We gathered that, thanks."

Aleksandra studied them for another moment, then sighed again, this time as if she were already regretting what she was about to say. "Fine," she muttered. "I vill help."

George and Fred exchanged glances, caught somewhere between relief and suspicion.

"And why exactly are you helping us?" George asked, narrowing his eyes.

Aleksandra gave him an infuriatingly unreadable smile. "I like to see people in debt to me."

Fred clapped his hands together. "Oh, great, we owe a Durmstrang student a favor. That can't possibly go wrong."

She ignored him. "I vill need a few things," she said, reaching into her coat and pulling out a small notebook. She flipped through the pages, then tore one out and handed it to George. "Ingredients."

He took it and frowned at the hastily scrawled list. Some of the items were easy enough—lacewing flies, peppermint oil—but others were... less common.

"Boomslang skin?" he read aloud, glancing up at her. "You're joking."

Aleksandra arched an eyebrow. "Do I look like I am joking?"

Fred looked over his shoulder. "That stuff's in the Potions stores. And I suppose we're just meant to waltz in and take it?"

"Not my problem," Aleksandra said smoothly. "You want to get rid of your beards, yes?"

George groaned, running a hand through his silver-streaked facial hair. "Alright, alright. We'll get your ingredients. Where should we meet you?"

She considered for a moment. "Two hours, at the edge of the Black Lake."

Fred let out a low whistle. "Two hours? Someone's impatient."

Aleksandra smirked. "I do not like to waste time. Especially on idiots who cannot follow rules properly."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, disappearing down the corridor as silently as she had arrived.

George stared after her. "You know, for someone who's helping us, she really doesn't seem to like us much."

Fred grinned. "I think she likes us just fine. She just doesn't want to admit it."

George shook his head and looked at the list again. "Come on. If we're breaking into Snape's stores, we'd better move fast."

Fred groaned. "Why is it always Snape's stores?"

With one last glance down the hall where Aleksandra had disappeared, the twins turned and hurried off, already planning their latest heist.

— ✧ —

Fred leaned casually against the cold stone wall, the dim torchlight flickering over his ridiculous silver beard. He twirled his wand between his fingers, glancing down the corridor every few seconds. "Russian, huh?" he mused. "Could be. She's got that don't mess with me or I'll feed you to a dragon vibe."

George grunted in response, his focus entirely on the lock. One of Ginny's hairpins was clenched between his teeth, the other jiggling inside the keyhole as he worked. "Yeah," he muttered. "Except I get the feeling she'd actually do it."

Fred smirked. "That's what makes her fun." He took another swig from his concealed flask, the drink warming his insides as he stroked his absurdly long beard. "You know, I think I'm starting to get why Dumbledore keeps his. Feels distinguished."

George snorted, still wriggling the pin. "Yeah, real distinguished, mate. You look like a deranged goat."

Before Fred could argue, there was a soft click, and the lock unlatched. George pulled back, grinning triumphantly. "Got it."

Fred straightened. "About time. Thought I was gonna grow a second beard waiting for you."

George shoved the door open, revealing shelves upon shelves of neatly labeled jars, vials, and potion ingredients. The air inside was thick with the sharp, tangy scent of herbs and the musty aroma of preserved creatures.

"Alright," Fred whispered, stepping inside. "Let's be quick. What's on the list?"

George pulled out the crumpled note from Aleksandra, eyes scanning the scribbled ingredients. "Boomslang skin, lacewing flies, peppermint oil, and... ugh. Dried billywig stings."

Fred wrinkled his nose. "Hate those things. Get one in your tea, and you're floating for hours."

The twins moved with practiced ease, darting between shelves and pulling down jars. George unscrewed the lid to a container of lacewing flies, stuffing a handful into a small pouch. Fred found the peppermint oil and, unable to resist, took a sniff. Immediately, his eyes watered, and he jerked back, choking.

"Bloody hell, that's strong," he gasped, rubbing at his nose.

George shook his head, snatching the vial from him. "Focus, would you? Unless you fancy Snape catching us and turning us into actual old men."

Fred grinned. "Wouldn't be the worst look for us. The beard is growing on me—"

A sudden noise in the corridor made them both freeze.

Footsteps.

George grabbed Fred's arm. "Someone's coming."

Without thinking, they both dove behind a shelf just as the door creaked open. A lantern's glow spilled into the room, casting long shadows against the stone walls.

Through the narrow gap between jars, George saw a pair of black boots step inside. Then—

A familiar voice, smooth and laced with amusement.

"Vot are you doing, little thieves?"

Fred and George exchanged wide-eyed glances.

Aleksandra.

Of course.

She stepped further in, her coat sweeping the floor as she eyed their stash. Her blue eyes glinted in the low light. "You are taking too long," she remarked, crossing her arms. "And making too much noise."

Fred, still crouched behind the shelf, whispered, "Why do I feel like we just got caught by our own accomplice?"

George sighed. "Because we did."

Aleksandra smirked. "Come now, ve have potions to make, yes?" She extended a hand, as if inviting them to hurry up. "Unless you like sneaking around like idiots."

Fred and George glanced at each other, then quickly grabbed the last of the ingredients.

"Let's get out of here," George muttered.

Fred grinned. "Lead the way, O Wise One."

— ✧ —

It was moments like these that George was particularly grateful for the fact that Snape's pantry was so conveniently located near his classroom. After slipping into the room, Fred dropped into a chair with a soft thud. "Snape should be thankful we're finally putting his classroom to good use," he said with a grin.

George chuckled as he hopped onto the table next to where Aleksandra was working on the elixir. He leaned forward, glancing at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, where exactly are you from?"

She didn't look up immediately, but after a moment, she answered, her voice flat. "Durmstrang."

George rolled his eyes dramatically. "We figured as much. I mean, we got the whole 'Durmstrang vibe' down. But we were thinking more along the lines of... Bulgaria? Russia?"

There was a brief pause, and then she looked up at him with calm blue eyes, her lips barely moving. "Poland."

The word hung in the air for a moment. George blinked, caught off guard. "Poland, huh?" he said, nodding thoughtfully. "That's... a bit different." He couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, ve are not quite as good at Quidditch as ze Bulgarians, I am afraid," Aleksandra said with a smirk.

Fred leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Who knocked you lot out again?"

"Ze Spanish," Aleksandra replied without hesitation. "Who vere then crushed by Bulgaria."

"My little brother, Mateusz, is still bitter about it," Aleksandra said with a sigh. "He always blames ze referee."

"Is Mateusz that little brunette who followed you in when you arrived?" George asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aleksandra blinked, a little surprised that George had even noticed her and Mateusz when they arrived. She had assumed, like most of the Hogwarts students, that his attention had been entirely fixed on Viktor Krum.

"Yes," she said after a brief pause. "He vill be thirteen soon."

Fred leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Poor kid. That's a rough age."

George smirked. "Yeah, all the attitude, none of the height."

Aleksandra rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "He vould agree vith you if he could hear that. He is convinced he vill be six feet tall by next year."

Fred snorted. "Ambitious. We like that."

"Vith Mateusz, ambition is not ze problem," Aleksandra said dryly. "It is patience."

George tilted his head. "So, does he go to Durmstrang too?"

Aleksandra nodded. "First year. He vanted to come ever since I started. Always followed me around, asking vhat it vas like. Now he finally gets to see for himself."

Here's a refined version that keeps Aleksandra's accent, smooths out the dialogue, and strengthens the narrative flow while capturing the characters' personalities:

"Tell me about Poland," Fred said, more of a command than a question. "We've never been there."

Aleksandra raised a brow, a bit surprised. "Not much to tell," she replied, her accent curling around the words. "My brother and I grew up in a village near an old castle ruin. Ve used to play there all the time—pretending to be dragon riders and poverful wizards." A soft smile flickered across her face. "Our father's a magizoologist—he's taught us everything he knows about dragons. And Mama, she's a Vandmaker."

Fred and George exchanged a glance, clearly impressed.

"We're from Devon," George chimed in. "Small town down in southwest England. Nothing fancy—just loads of fields for Quidditch and a tiny village nearby," Fred added with a casual shrug.

Aleksandra tilted her head thoughtfully, but before she could respond, George's face lit up. "Hey! I think you and our brother Charlie would've gotten along great!"

"Charlie?" Aleksandra asked, curiosity piqued.

"Yeah! He's a total dragon nut—would marry one if it were legal," George snickered.

Fred chuckled. "He's working with dragons in Romania right now, actually."

Aleksandra paused her stirring of the cauldron, wooden spoon hovering mid-air as she looked at George. "That sounds... fantastic!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining. "So, it's just the three of you?"

Fred burst out laughing. "No, no, no! There's a whole bunch of us red-headed troublemakers. Bill, Charlie, and Percy are the oldest, then us—obviously—and then there's Ron and our little sister, Ginny."

Aleksandra blinked, momentarily stunned. She tried to picture herself in a family that big—so full of noise and life—and quickly found herself feeling a bit sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Almost as if reading her mind, George leaned in. "Yeah, Mum's a saint. Dad, though, he's something else. Works at the Ministry—'Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office,'" George said, dropping his voice into a dull, monotone impression. "He's obsessed with Muggles and all their weird stuff. Even turned a car into a flying one once."

Aleksandra let out a small, surprised laugh. "Seriously?"

Fred grinned. "Oh yeah. Completely bonkers—but in the best way."

Aleksandra smiled, feeling the warm buzz of this strange, chaotic family she was only just beginning to understand.

The cauldron gave a soft pop, signaling the potion was nearly done. She glanced at it, then back at the twins. "Well... looks like I'm out of chores for now."

"Perfect timing," George said with a grin.

Here's a refined version with a smoother flow, deeper character moments, and a stronger chapter ending:

Both twins stood up from their seats, grabbing the small jug of shimmering elixir. With matching grins, they each poured a generous amount into goblets and downed it in one swift gulp.

Pop!

Aleksandra blinked as the twins' long, scraggly beards vanished in an instant, their silver-streaked hair snapping back to its familiar, vibrant red. Even the slight green tint that had lingered on Fred's nose was gone.

George ran a hand through his now-normal hair and spread his arms wide, as if modeling a grand outfit. "Well? How do we look?"

Aleksandra squinted at them for a moment, then tilted her head. "As usual?" she offered, unsure if that was the right thing to say.

George gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "As usual? Oh, Aleksandra, you wound me!"

Fred, however, broke into a wide grin. "Wonderfully!" he declared, saving her from having to explain.

"But we should head back before anyone wakes up," Fred added, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Before Aleksandra could shoo them away, Fred bent into an overly dramatic bow, one arm stretched out like a courtly gentleman. "We thank thee, O Wise One, for thy noble deed, risking the fragile seams of thy new-born beauty for our sake."

George wasn't far behind, grabbing Aleksandra's hand before she could pull it away and planting a playful kiss on her knuckles. "Yes, we humble varlets are forever in your debt," he added, his tone dripping with faux formality.

Aleksandra felt a traitorous heat creeping up her cheeks and quickly yanked her hand back, doing her best to look unimpressed. "Yes, yes. Enough. Go—before someone catches you."

She turned away quickly, but not before she caught Fred's mischievous grin and George's satisfied smirk.

"Until next time, Aleksandra," Fred called as they headed for the door.

"And there will be a next time," George added with a wink.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as the door clicked shut behind them.

The room fell silent again, the faint steam from the cauldron the only sign of the night's mischief. Aleksandra stood for a moment, listening to the distant creaks of the castle, before finally exhaling and gathering her things.

Hogwarts might not be so bad after all, she thought, tucking her wand into her belt as she headed for the door.