Adrien.

I didn't even make it two steps onto the Quidditch Pitch before Blaise was on me.

"You think I didn't see it?" he hissed, low and furious, cutting me off near the bleachers. "You think I didn't see his hands all over you?"

I crossed my arms, glaring. "Keep your voice down."

"Oh, what's wrong, princess?" he snapped. "Scared Fred Weasley might get jealous?"

"Fred's not the one clinging to Millicent like she's a bloody security blanket," I shot back.

His eyes darkened. "It's not the same."

"It's exactly the same," I snarled. "Only you're too much of a coward to admit it."

He stepped closer, fists curling at his sides, like he wanted to say something else, something worse—

—but then another voice slid into the tension.

"Well," Draco drawled, sauntering out of the shadows, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Isn't this a cozy little train wreck."

I stiffened, turning to glare at him. "What do you want?"

He shrugged lazily, but his eyes were sharp—too sharp. "Came to see the fireworks. Guess I got the grand finale."

Blaise scowled at him. "This isn't your fight."

Draco's mouth curved into something cruel. "Please. You two are about as subtle as a dungbomb."

He flicked his gaze between us—sharp, calculating—and I watched the realization hit him.

"You've been sneaking around," he said, half a sneer, half impressed. "Behind everyone's backs."

Neither Blaise nor I denied it.

Draco laughed once, low and cold. "Of course you have."

"And what's it to you, Malfoy?" I snapped, stepping forward. "You're too busy playing Pansy's lapdog to notice anything else."

Something flickered behind Draco's eyes. Something wounded.

"You think I want that?" he said, voice rough. "You think I enjoy parading around with her like some prize pig?"

"She's more like a pug, but—" I shot my hands in a mock surrender. "You're doing a great impression," I shot back.

He stepped closer, low and furious. "I'm surviving."

"So are we," I said, jutting my chin up. "Difference is, we didn't roll over and beg."

Draco's fists tightened at his sides.

"You don't get it," he growled. "It's not about Pansy. It's not about any of them."

"Then what is it?" I challenged.

He glared at me for a second—like he was weighing whether I was even worth telling.

Then, low and cracked, he said, "I'm trying to protect her."

I blinked.

He laughed bitterly. "Katie. She's already on the bloody radar. If I stay close, if I keep making her a target—" His voice broke off, rough and raw. "She doesn't stand a chance."

For a heartbeat, none of us said anything.

Then I shook my head slowly, cold settling into my bones.

"You think she'd rather be safe and gutted," I said quietly, "than have you stand by her."

"You don't know what they're threatening," he rasped. "What they'll do. What they already promised to do if I don't play the part."

Blaise muttered something under his breath — a dark, furious sound — but I barely heard it.

Because Draco wasn't lying.

Not about this.

He was doing what he always did — pushing away the only thing he cared about because he was too scared of what loving it would cost.

"You're not protecting her," I said, voice low and deadly. "You're punishing her for loving you."

Draco flinched like I'd slapped him.

Good.

"You're not avoiding her because you want to," I snapped. "You're avoiding her because you're a coward."

Something snapped in Draco's expression—pure, raw anger—and he lunged forward.

Before I could react, my wand was out — pressed tight against the underside of his jaw.

He froze, nostrils flaring.

"You tell Katie about Blaise and me," I hissed, "and I'll hex you so hard your ancestors will feel it."

"Adrien," Blaise said low, grabbing my wrist just as my wand was still digging into Draco's throat. "Enough."

I yanked free — harder than necessary — shoving my wand back into my sleeve with shaking fingers.

"Don't touch me," I snapped at him.

Draco straightened stiffly, adjusting his collar like he wasn't rattled — but he was. His mouth twisted into something sharp and brittle.

"You're reckless," he said, voice rough. "Both of you."

"Maybe," I said, stepping back. "But at least we're not complete liars."

Draco didn't argue. Didn't move. Didn't say a word as I turned on my heel, storming off the pitch like the ground itself might catch fire if I stayed another second.

But Blaise? Blaise wasn't smart enough to let me go.

"Adrien," he barked, falling into step beside me. "Don't walk away from me."

I whirled so fast he almost crashed into me.

"You want me to stay?" I spat, voice shaking with rage. "Then stop treating me like a bloody secret you're ashamed of!"

His jaw clenched. "It's not like that—"

"It's exactly like that!" I shouted, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You parade around with Millicent like you've moved on, like you're so fucking loyal to your bloodline — and then you sneak off with me like I'm something dirty you're addicted to!"

Blaise's face flushed, anger twisting through him. "You know that's not true."

"Do I?" I sneered. "Because from where I'm standing, all I see is someone who wants the perks of me but not the consequences."

He flinched — actually flinched — and Draco, still hovering like a ghost at the edge of the fight, muttered, "Maybe we should finish this later—"

"Maybe you should shut the hell up!" I snapped without even looking at him.

Blaise reached for me again — desperate, wrecked — but I jerked back.

"No," I said, low and savage. "I'm done playing pretend. I'm done hiding like I'm something you're embarrassed of."

His throat bobbed, the apology building in his eyes.

I didn't want it. I didn't want anything from him anymore. I turned sharply — storming toward the castle — and Blaise cursed under his breath and charged after me.

Draco, clearly realizing he had zero control over the situation, muttered a vicious curse and followed too, stalking behind us like a reluctant bodyguard.

I wasn't slowing down. I wasn't looking back.

And then— I slammed hard into someone solid.

Strong hands caught my shoulders before I could bounce off and hit the ground.

"Easy, love," Fred Weasley said, grinning down at me, his hands steadying me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My heart thudded once, twice — not from him, but from the sheer humiliation that flooded me.

Behind me —Two sharp thuds.

Blaise and Draco — throwing themselves against the nearest stone wall to avoid colliding with the scene unfolding between Fred and me.

Fred smirked — because of course he caught it — and kept one hand casually on my waist, like he was staking a claim he knew they couldn't ignore.

"Rough night?" Fred asked lightly, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

I smiled sweetly — deadly — and let him guide me a step closer to the castle.

Leaving Draco and Blaise pressed to the wall like they'd just been slapped across the face with reality itself.

Good.

Maybe now they'd finally understand what it felt like to be treated like an afterthought.

Maybe now they'd get a taste of the emptiness they were so eager to shove us into.

I didn't look back.

Fred didn't let go of my waist the entire walk back. Not once.

He didn't crack a joke. Didn't jostle my shoulder.

When we reached the portrait hole, the Fat Lady raised an eyebrow at us but said nothing. I muttered the password, and the door swung open. The common room was mostly deserted, save for a few first-years asleep by the dying fire. Shadows flickered across the stone walls, stretching long and soft.

I started to pull away — make some excuse about needing to crash — but Fred tugged lightly at my hip, guiding me toward the couch instead.

"Sit with me for a minute," he said, voice low and almost... nervous.

I swallowed — throat tight — and nodded, letting him steer me down onto the battered sofa in front of the fire. We sat there for a second, shoulders just brushing. The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable.

Fred tapped his fingers lightly against his knee, glancing sideways at me.

"I saw you," he said quietly.

I stiffened. "Saw me what?"

"In the courtyard," he said. "Before I found you."

I looked away — the guilt burning hotter than the fire in front of us.

Fred didn't push. He just sat there, letting the confession hang in the air.

"I know you're... sorting through it," he said, voice careful. "I know he's not easy to forget."

I bit the inside of my cheek, blinking hard at the flames.

Fred leaned back slightly, stretching his arms along the back of the couch — the most casual trap imaginable.

"But," he said — softer now, dangerous in its honesty — "I'm not just playing anymore."

That made me whip my head around. "Anymore?"

He smiled — small and wrecked and real. "I was, at first," he admitted. "I won't lie. Rattling Zabini was bloody satisfying."

A breathless, broken laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"But now?" Fred's smile faded. "Now I mean it."

I stared at him, stunned into stillness.

"You deserve better, Blackwood," he said, voice thick and rough. "Better than shadow kisses and secret electricity. Better than being someone's shameful secret."

The lump in my throat was pure and blinding.

Fred shifted, turning more fully toward me, his knee brushing mine.

"So," he said — quieter, softer — like it cost him something. "Tell me what you want. Not what's safe. Not what's easy. Just... what you want."

My heart twisted painfully against my ribs.

Because what I wanted? What I wanted was impossible.

I wanted to be someone's first choice.

Someone's light. Someone's fight.

I wanted—

I wanted—

I looked at Fred — really looked — and for the first time in a long time, I didn't see a distraction or a weapon.

I saw possibility. Hope.

Fred's hand slipped down from the couch to find mine again, fingers brushing my wrist lightly, almost shyly.

I didn't pull away. I couldn't.

"I don't know," I whispered — and it was the most honest thing I'd said in weeks.

Fred didn't laugh. Didn't prod. He just nodded like that made perfect sense.

"That's alright," he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles against my knuckles. "You've been carrying a lot. You don't have to know right now."

His voice was low. Warm. Unshakably steady.

Then he paused — eyes searching mine, his hand lifting slowly to hover near my cheek.

"Can I?" he asked, barely more than a breath. "If it's not too much."

My heart stuttered.

He was giving me a choice.

Not taking. Not assuming. Offering.

I nodded — just once.

And his hand cupped my cheek like I was something precious, like the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.

And then he kissed me.

Soft. Careful. Real.

It wasn't about jealousy or games or shadows anymore.

It was warm firelight and quiet breathing and the taste of something almost too good to believe.

He kissed me like he meant it — like he wasn't afraid of what would happen next.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like I had to run.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his voice dropped low and rough.

"Consider that my argument."

I let out a shaky breath, blinking hard, trying to find words in a brain that felt like it had been lit on fire.

I didn't sleep.

Not really.

I laid there all night, staring at the crack in the ceiling, replaying Fred's kiss in my mind — the way he'd looked at me like I was worth the mess, like I was someone who could still be chosen.

And I hated how much that terrified me.

His words haunted me.

As did Blaise's. Draco's

By breakfast, my skin was tight with nerves and regret and too many things I hadn't said.

I barely made it into the Great Hall before I saw it.

Millicent.

Leaning across the Slytherin table, laughing too loud at something Blaise muttered — and there, on her finger, glinting in the morning light like it had never belonged anywhere else...

The Zabini ring.

My ring.

The one he gave me, pressed on my finger like a vow.

My stomach dropped clean through the floor.

My blood boiled in its place.

And before I could stop myself — before I could think — I turned on my heel, grabbed Katie by the wrist, and yanked her into the nearest corridor.

She stumbled into the bathroom behind me, slamming the door with her foot. "Adrien—what the hell—"

"I lied to you," I blurted, pacing like a caged thing. "About Blaise. About everything. We've been sneaking out. We've been seeing each other. And I was stupid enough to believe it meant something."

My throat was closing, my face was flushing.

Katie's eyes went wide, the breath knocking out of her. "Adrien—"

"There's more," I cut in, voice cracking. "Draco cornered me last night. Said he was trying to protect you. Said he couldn't stand watching you from a distance. And Fred—Fred kissed me."

I dropped my hands to the sink, gripping the porcelain like it could anchor me.

Katie just stared.

Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "He kissed you?"

I nodded once. "And I let him. Because I wanted to know if I could still feel something real. Because Blaise—he keeps me in the shadows, Katie. Keeps me like a secret he's ashamed of."

I looked up at her, voice breaking. "And now Millicent has the ring."

Katie didn't say a word. She didn't have to.

Because just then, the door creaked open.

A group of girls walked in — loud, laughing — and among them was Millicent.

Still wearing my ring.

Everything inside me snapped.

I launched forward before logic could catch me.

"You must be joking," I hissed, loud enough that heads were already turning.

"Adrien—" Katie tried, catching my elbow, but her voice faded against the fury roaring in my ears.

Millicent blinked at me, confused, amused. "What—?"

"Take. It. Off." My voice cracked like a whip.

The commotion spilled into the corridor. Students craned their necks from the Great Hall. Teachers stiffened at the staff table.

And then — like he'd been summoned by the force of my rage — Blaise appeared behind Millicent, his face draining pale.

"Adrien—" he said, low, desperate.

"No." I snapped, stepping fully into the corridor, where everyone could see. "You don't get to say my name. Not now — not ever again!"

Millicent tilted her chin up, smirking like she'd already won. "What's your problem?"

"That ring," I snarled, jabbing a finger at her hand. "Doesn't belong to you."

She rolled her eyes, lazily flashing the Zabini family crest. "It does now."

"Oh fuck—" Katie started, but it was too late.

The slap rang out like a gunshot.

Millicent staggered back, clutching her face, gasping.

Half the hall went silent.

The other half gasped aloud.

I heard Katie swear under her breath — a sharp, stunned, "Shit—"

And Blaise surged forward, hands raised like he could somehow put me back together with words.

"Adrien, please—"

"Please what?" I snapped, my voice loud, trembling, uncontainable. "Please let you lie to me again? Please let you pretend like any of this meant something?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

A hundred eyes bore down on us — Slytherin, Gryffindor, even Ravenclaw tables frozen, watching.

"I loved you," he said, voice cracking.

And that did it.

I laughed — a cold, hollow sound that cut sharper than any spell.

"Past tense." I scoffed, letting out another humorless laugh. "Don't you dare say that," I spat, stalking closer, not caring who heard, who watched. "You don't get to throw that word at me like it's some kind of shield."

Blaise flinched visibly as I closed the space between us.

"You don't love me—you never did. You loved the idea of me. The idea that I could be your dirty little secret. Your rebellion tucked neatly away where no one important could see it."

My voice rose — furious, wrecked — echoing through the hall.

"You loved what I made you feel — powerful, invincible, like you weren't just another pawn in your precious family's game. But me?" I shoved his shoulder hard enough he staggered back a step. "You never even tried to love me. Not the messy parts. Not the dangerous parts. Not the parts that didn't fit into your stupid, gilded world."

The whole school was dead silent.

I stepped closer, my voice a lethal whisper that carried anyway.

"You loved me when it was easy," I said. "And you gave up the second it wasn't."

Blaise looked wrecked. Good.

Before he could even think of responding — before Millicent could recover her pride — a shrill voice shattered the frozen silence.

"DETENTION!" screeched Umbridge, storming down the corridor like a demented pink grenade. She was practically vibrating with rage, her frilly cardigan quivering as she jabbed a stubby finger at me. "Miss Blackwood! That is assault! That is behavior unbecoming of—"

"Spare me the speech," I growled, flipping her off with two fingers — deliberate, slow, satisfying. "Add another detention to the list, Dolores."

Gasps erupted everywhere.

Umbridge turned a shade of purple I didn't think existed.

Katie grabbed my hand — tight — and yanked me back before Umbridge could start screeching hexes.

We stormed down the hall, boots hitting stone hard, shoulders back.

And I didn't look back.

Not at Blaise. Not at Millicent. Not even at the ring flashing on her hand like a victory flag.

Because I was done.

Done pretending. Done hurting quietly. Done giving second chances to boys who couldn't even choose me when it mattered.

And if Umbridge, Blaise, Draco, or anyone else thought they could break me—us?

They were about to learn just how wrong they were.

But for now, I didn't move all morning.

Not when Katie sat beside my bed cross-legged, picking at the hem of her sleeve like she wanted to shake me. Not even when Ginny dropped by with smuggled sweets. Not even when Hermione offered a towering stack of books labeled "Healing, Coping, and Emotional Fortitude."

I just stayed curled sideways under the blankets, staring blankly at nothing.

Katie didn't push. Not at first. She just waited — like she always did — until my silence got annoying enough to poke.

"You're going to rot if you stay in that bed," she said finally, prodding my leg with the blunt end of her wand.

I grunted.

"Seriously," she said, jabbing harder. "You're going to fuse to the mattress. Then I'll have to carry you around like a cursed sofa. It'll be tragic."

"Sounds like your problem," I muttered into the pillow.

Katie snorted. "You're my problem. Always have been, sunshine."

I cracked the smallest, most miserable smile. "Lucky you."

"The luckiest," she said dryly, reaching over and chucking a Chocolate Frog at my head. It bounced off my hair and flopped onto the pillow beside me.

"You're violent," I said.

"And you're dramatic," she shot back. "Eat the damn frog."

I peeled myself up enough to grab it — mostly because if I didn't, I was pretty sure she would drag me bodily out of bed and force-feed me sugar.

Katie leaned back against the headboard, arms folded. Watching me.

Waiting.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked finally — quiet, but not pushing.

I opened my mouth — to lie, to deflect, to pretend I was fine.

Then closed it again.

Because she knew. Because she always knew.

I shook my head once — short, sharp.

Katie let out a slow sigh and bumped my foot with hers under the blankets.

"Fine. I'll let you be a cryptic emo nightmare for a few more hours," she said lightly. "But after that? We're raiding the kitchens and prank hexing every Slytherin comb we can find."

I smiled — small, broken, but real. "Deal," I whispered.

The knock came then — sharp, cocky, unmistakable.

We both froze.

Katie's brow furrowed. "You expecting a secret admirer?"

"Not unless Ginny signed me up for more therapy books," I muttered.

Another knock.

And then:

"Special delivery for the prettiest criminal Hogwarts has to offer!" Fred Weasley's voice sing-songed through the door.

Katie's mouth dropped open in outrage. "Oh my God, I think he's flirting through the door."

I groaned and shoved back the covers.

"You're not gonna make him stand there reciting poetry, are you?" Katie teased.

I threw on a hoodie and shot her a look. "If he starts singing, I'm moving to Durmstrang."

The door creaked open.

Fred Weasley stood there, one hand casually braced against the doorframe, twirling a red and gold scarf around his fingers like a trophy he'd just won.

"Permission to kidnap you for crimes against the establishment?" he asked, grinning that wicked, boyish grin that spelled nothing but trouble.

Katie — now perched cross-legged on my bed — covered her mouth to muffle her laugh.

I blinked at Fred, still heavy from too many emotions and not enough time to process any of them.

Fred just smiled wider — all cocky, reckless charm — and crooked a finger at me.

"Come on, Blackwood," he teased. "You can't let the revolution start without you."

"What's the plan?" I spoke, deadpan.

Fred leaned in, lowering his voice like he was offering me the keys to the universe. "Operation: Gryffindor Glory," he whispered. "We're going to swap Millicent's precious hair products with a little... enhancement potion."

Katie's eyes lit up instantly. "Enhancement?"

Fred beamed like Christmas had come early. "Red and gold fireworks. Right on her head. Might last a week if we're really lucky."

A grin — a real one — tugged at my mouth for the first time all day.

"Where's George?" I asked, stepping forward.

Fred's eyes danced. "Detention. Something about sabotaging Slytherin practice brooms. You're stuck with just me tonight."

He offered his arm like an overly dramatic knight.

Without hesitation, I took it, squeezing his bicep harder than strictly necessary.

Katie leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, smiling that soft, fierce smile that made my chest ache in the best way.

"Bring her back in one piece," she warned, mock-serious.

Fred winked. "No promises."

We slipped into the corridor like shadows — two agents of chaos moving through the castle under cover of mischief — and for the first time since everything exploded around me...

I didn't feel wrecked. I felt alive.

And Millicent Bulstrode?

She was about to find out just how dangerous that could be.

"You sure this stuff works?" I whispered as we crept down the corridor toward the Slytherin dorms.

Fred flashed a wicked grin, holding up a tiny glass vial that shimmered red and gold in the dim light. "Guaranteed," he whispered back. "Special blend. Took George and me three tries to get it just right. Millicent's gonna look like a bloody Gryffindor fireworks display by breakfast."

I bit back a laugh, adrenaline humming under my skin.

When we reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Fred pulled out a second little vial — a smoky, almost invisible liquid.

"What's that?" I asked, eyeing it.

Fred winked. "Temporary disillusionment mist. Ten minutes. Long enough to sneak into their dorms without getting hexed to hell."

I grinned. "You really are a menace."

He shrugged proudly. "Takes one to know one."

We popped the corks and doused ourselves in the mist. A cool shiver ran over my skin as I watched Fred flicker and fade, still mostly visible if I squinted hard enough.

"Stick close," he whispered, voice practically in my ear.

We slipped through the half-open entrance, barely breathing, barely making a sound.

The Slytherin common room was mostly deserted — only a few younger students studying at tables, heads down, too absorbed to notice two invisible intruders. We crept up the stone staircase toward the girls' dormitory, the mist still clinging to us like a second skin.

"This is either brilliant or suicidal," I muttered.

"Best plans always are," Fred whispered, laughing under his breath.

We found Millicent's room easily — her door was marked by a gaudy green and silver sign she'd stuck up like a queen staking her territory. Fred knelt by the door, pulling out a tiny vial of something and tapping the lock. With a soft click, it swung inward.

Show-off.

Inside, the room reeked of expensive perfumes and arrogance.

Fred found Millicent's dresser in about two seconds, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a heavy gold bottle labeled "Bulstrode's Supreme Hair Elixir."

"This is the one," he muttered, unscrewing the cap and emptying the enhancement potion inside with gleeful precision.

I grinned so wide my cheeks hurt.

"Make sure you shake it up," I whispered.

Fred winked. "Amateur."

He shook the bottle violently — then neatly placed it right back where he found it, lining up everything perfectly so no one would notice a thing until it was too late.

I admired the work for half a second — and then Fred grabbed my hand and yanked me back toward the door.

"Time's up," he breathed. "We gotta move!"

We sprinted through the common room, back out the entrance, hearts hammering, lungs burning, invisible mist fading as we burst into the corridor.

Fred skidded to a stop in a shadowed alcove, yanking me in after him. We pressed back against the cold stone wall, laughing breathlessly, eyes wide with the thrill of it.

I looked up at him — grinning, wild, alive.

And Fred looked down at me — like maybe he'd never seen anything so brilliant in his life.

"Told you," he said, voice low and rough, still catching his breath. "Best plans are always suicidal."

I laughed — full and free — and punched his arm lightly.

"You're a lunatic," I whispered.

Fred grinned, tugging me even closer by the edge of my hoodie.

"Yeah," he said, voice dropping to something dangerous and sweet. "But I'm your lunatic tonight."

And for the first time in days — I didn't feel like someone's mistake.

I felt like a revolution.

And Millicent Bulstrode?

She was about to wear the first shot of war on her stupid, smug head.

Fred and I strolled back toward Gryffindor Tower like nothing had happened — two criminals fresh off the heist of the century, the air still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.

He kicked a loose pebble ahead of us, hands shoved into his pockets, whistling low under his breath.

I bumped him with my shoulder. "You know," I said, mock-casual, "it's a little concerning how good you are at sabotage."

Fred smirked. "Please. That wasn't sabotage. That was artistry. Pure, undiluted creative genius."

"Millicent's going to wake up looking like Gryffindor threw up on her head," I pointed out.

"Exactly," he said, grinning wider. "Justice."

I laughed — and it felt good. Really good.

Even though... deep down, the knot in my chest from this morning still sat there, heavy and aching.

Maybe Fred noticed. Because after a minute, his whistling faded and he bumped my shoulder back, a little gentler this time.

"You okay?" he asked, quieter now.

"No." I shrugged. "I will be."

Fred nodded, like he understood more than he let on.

"You know," he said, glancing sideways at me, "I meant what I said last night. About you deserving better than shadow kisses and secret electricity."

My chest tightened.

"I know you've got... history with Zabini," he said carefully. "And I'm not going to be a knob about it. I'm not asking you to make some grand decision right this second."

I looked up at him — at the ridiculous, flirty, reckless boy who somehow always said exactly what I needed to hear without making it hurt worse.

"But if you ever decide," Fred went on, giving me that stupid crooked grin that should've been illegal, "that you want someone who's not afraid to be seen with you? Someone who doesn't need the dark to admit they're mad about you?"

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something low and almost wicked. "You know where to find me."

I opened my mouth — smart remark locked and loaded — but Fred just winked, easy and impossible and entirely himself.

"Consider the offer standing," he added cheerfully. "No expiration date. I'm very patient. And also very handsome. So really — it's a win-win for you."

I snorted, laughing despite myself. "Big talk for a guy who almost faceplanted jumping that staircase last week," I teased.

Fred clutched his chest dramatically. "Cruel. Unnecessary."

"True," I said sweetly.

He grinned wider — and this time, I didn't second-guess it.

I stepped up on my toes and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to his cheek.

Fred froze — just for a second — before he caught himself, covering with a mock-swoon so exaggerated he almost tipped over.

"Merlin's balls, I'm slain," he gasped, clutching the wall for support.

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. "Idiot."

"Your idiot, maybe one day." he said, giving me a crooked salute before sauntering off down the corridor like he hadn't just casually wrecked my entire emotional equilibrium.

I stood there for a beat, heart hammering stupidly against my ribs —then turned and headed for the Gryffindor common room.

Katie was waiting inside, curled up in an armchair near the fire, her face set in that stubborn, patient way she wore when she knew I was about to crack wide open.

She didn't say anything.

Just patted the seat beside her.

I sank down next to her, letting the firelight flicker across the pieces of me I wasn't ready to name yet.

And for the first time in days — maybe weeks — I finally felt ready to talk.

Really talk.

Because no matter how bad things got —No matter how badly Blaise had broken me — I still had this.

I still had Katie.

And that was enough to start putting myself back together again.