Adrien.

Fred and George didn't look like themselves.

Not really.

They sat near the far end of the Gryffindor common room — heads low, expressions shuttered — the weight of Umbridge's stupid contract pressing down on them like an invisible collar.

Fred was twirling a broken quill between his fingers like he didn't trust himself to sit still. George just stared into the fire, jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone.

Katie caught my eye.

I nodded once.

We made our way over, boots scuffing the old rugs, cutting through the low murmur of the room like a knife through butter.

Fred glanced up, offering a weak half-smile. George didn't even bother pretending.

I stopped in front of them, arms crossed, feeling the old fire start to curl under my ribs again.

"Alright, Weasleys," I said. "Take us to Potter."

Fred blinked up at me, momentarily stunned.

George lifted a brow. "Potter?"

"You know," Katie said dryly, folding herself onto the arm of the couch, "the one you've been sneaking off to 'study' with?"

Fred's mouth twitched — a hint of the old mischief returning. "You wanna join?" he teased, voice lighter but not quite whole yet.

I smiled — slow and dangerous. "We're not asking."

George laughed, sharp and broken in the best way. "Merlin's balls. You two might be the best thing to happen to Gryffindor since the invention of broomsticks."

Fred stood, tossing his broken quill aside. "Come on, Blackwoods. Let's start a real bloody war."

The Room of Requirement practically hummed when we entered — the walls shimmering like they knew exactly what we were about to unleash.

Harry was pacing near the far wall, Ron and Hermione whispering heatedly beside him. The moment they spotted us, everything froze.

"Uh—" Harry started, blinking. "Hi?"

Katie crossed her arms. "We want in."

Ron's mouth dropped open. Hermione's eyes widened behind her book.

Harry straightened slightly. "You—you're serious?"

"Serious enough to punch a Ministry official," I said, deadpan.

Fred snorted. George muttered, "Mood."

Harry hesitated — just long enough for me to catch the worry flicker across his face.

I stepped forward, rolling my shoulders with a deep breath to simmer my temper — and without a word, I twisted my wrist with my eyes on Harry's wand.

CRACK.

His wand ripped clean from his fingers, flying into the air—

—and Katie, without even blinking, caught it midair.

She flipped it once, tossed it back to him like it was nothing.

Harry stared, slack-jawed.

"You—"

"Didn't even whisper a spell," Hermione said faintly.

Katie shrugged, smirking. "Got bored waiting for instructions."

Fred looked like he wanted to throw confetti.

George wiped fake tears from his eyes. "I've never been prouder."

Harry blinked hard, shook his head like he was clearing water from his ears, and said — low, steady — "You're in."

"But," I said, raising a finger. "Two conditions."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Conditions?"

"One," Katie said, ticking it off, "no lectures about behaving."

Hermione looked scandalized. Fred looked delighted.

"And two," I finished, smirking, "we train on our terms. That means some real defense lessons. Wandless. Wordless. Practical."

Harry grinned — wide and real for the first time all night. "Deal."

The tension in the room cracked — like the air itself could finally breathe again.

Fred slung an arm over my shoulders with mock solemnity. "I knew I loved you."

Katie grinned, jabbing George with her elbow. "We're charging consulting fees."

"First session's free," George shot back, winking.

"Only because you're pretty," Katie teased.

Ron made a gagging noise in the background.

Even Hermione cracked a reluctant, horrified smile.

And for the first time in weeks, it didn't feel like we were drowning. It felt like maybe — maybe — we were building something that could actually win.

After a long conversation of what the defence club was about—scratch that, Dumbledore's Army— Katie, George, Fred and I started making our way to the library to look up more instructions for future drills and discuss cover stories.

The library was almost too quiet.

Madam Pince glared at us the second we crossed the threshold, but that wasn't what made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

It was the heavy, oppressive silence. The feeling of a trap.

I felt Katie stiffen beside me a second before—

"Ahem."

A sickly sweet cough echoed through the high-ceilinged stacks.

We turned.

And there she was.

A squat, frilly, pink mass of rage barely disguised as politeness.

Umbridge.

"Blackwoods. Weasleys," she said in that syrupy voice that made my teeth ache. "With me."

Fred and George shared a grimace that spoke volumes.

"Great," George muttered. "Here comes the 'your soul is property of the Ministry' talk."

Katie leaned in, deadpan. "Smile bright, boys. Wouldn't want her thinking we're planning an armed rebellion."

Fred cracked a grin — but it didn't reach his eyes.

We filed after Umbridge across the library like prisoners on death row, dozens of students peeking over spellbooks and parchment to watch the show. She led us to an empty table near the front, then — with a grand little flourish — conjured a roll of parchment onto the table.

The contract practically hummed with dark magic, runes flashing ominous purple across the surface.

""You have been seen, congregating after hours. Plotting. Planning. Fear not," she said brightly. "I have prepared an agreement. A pledge of good behavior."

Fred's jaw was locked so tight I could see the muscle twitching. George just looked murderous.

Katie folded her arms across her chest. "And if we refuse?"

Umbridge's fake-smile sharpened.

"Simple," she said. "You sign... or you surrender your wands."

The library gasped — actual gasps echoing from behind the bookshelves.

Because wand confiscation? That wasn't detention. That wasn't even suspension. That was damn near a death sentence.

Fred's hand twitched — reaching instinctively for his wand — then stopped halfway.

Silent. Stone-faced.

George muttered something low and furious, but didn't move either.

Because their names were already on a cursed piece of paper.

I felt the crack before I saw it — the invisible snap inside me. My magic flared to life — tiny electric sparks popping off my fingertips before I could even breathe.

Katie stiffened beside me too — magic humming under her skin, barely held back.

We shared one look. One single, burning, we're done playing look.

And we stepped forward together — standing in front of the twins like shields.

Fred blinked at us — something wide and wrecked flickering behind his eyes — but said nothing.

"We're not signing," I said flatly.

Katie's voice was cold steel. "Not handing over our wands either."

Umbridge's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, not quite a snarl.

"You will," she said, voice sweet and seething, "or you will be escorted immediately to the Headmaster for disciplinary action."

Fred gave a hollow laugh. "Oh no, not the Headmaster. How ever will we survive?"

George nudged him. "Reckon we should tell Dumbledore we tried our best?"

"Maybe send him flowers first?" Fred suggested brightly.

Katie smiled — all teeth. "Carnations. Real dramatic."

"With a card," I added. "'Sorry your favorite students are a walking HR nightmare.'"

Fred clutched his chest like we'd wounded him. "Flatter me more, Blackwood."

George leaned toward Umbridge with an exaggerated stage-whisper. "Best behavior, promise."

Across the library, a few students muffled snorts of laughter.

Umbridge's face turned a shade of pink that clashed horribly with her cardigan. "Enough!" she screeched. "You — to the Headmaster's office — NOW."

Fred and George sketched mocking bows.

Katie and I simply smiled — slow, deliberate.

Because we weren't scared of her anymore.

We turned together — unbroken — and marched straight toward Dumbledore's office like we owned the bloody castle.

And for the first time all year?

I actually believed we might.

We climbed the spiral staircase toward Dumbledore's office like it was a death march — except Fred was whistling the theme from The Great Escape under his breath.

Katie elbowed him halfway up. "Save it for the actual prison break," she muttered.

Fred winked. "Optimism, Blackwood. Key to survival."

George grinned. "And well-placed explosives."

The heavy oak door swung open before we could even knock.

Inside, Dumbledore sat behind his desk, sorting through what looked suspiciously like a stack of lemon drop wrappers. McGonagall stood beside him, arms crossed, mouth pressed so tight it looked painful.

And Umbridge? She moved around us to perch herself primly in front of the desk, pink and trembling with gleeful rage. "Headmaster," she simpered, holding up a scroll. "In light of recent... transgressions... I have scheduled a disciplinary hearing for these students."

Katie muttered under her breath, "Wow, that was fast—she makes it sound like we murdered someone."

"To be fair," I whispered back, "she probably thinks we did."

Dumbledore looked up at us, completely serene. "Ah. Mr. and Mr. Weasley. Misses Blackwood. How lovely to see you."

"Likewise," Fred said brightly, like we were old friends meeting for tea.

Umbridge's lip curled.

"They've refused reasonable correctional measures," she snapped, "and their behavior continues to set a terrible example for the rest of the student body."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "You mean the pink smoke that said Down With Toads?"

Even Dumbledore's mustache twitched.

Fred bowed elaborately. "Artistic expression, Professor."

George chimed in, hand over his heart. "Freedom of speech, sir."

I fought down a grin.

Katie, standing ramrod straight, folded her hands neatly in front of her like a model student.

"Professor," she said, sugar-sweet, "we deeply regret any offense caused."

Katie, Fred and George blinked at me.

Adrien Blackwood? Being polite?

Katie caught on a second later. I was playing. Learning the game.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "How refreshing," he said, like we were confessing sins at confession.

"Then you admit your guilt?" Umbridge crowed.

Katie smiled even wider. "We admit that Hogwarts is lucky to have such passionate students devoted to artistic innovation."

Fred coughed loudly into his sleeve — something that sounded suspiciously like "bullshit."

George elbowed him hard.

Umbridge turned puce.

"I demand formal sanctions!" she shrieked, waving the scroll. "Detentions — wand suspensions — at the very least, a signed agreement to behave!"

Dumbledore laced his fingers together, all saintly patience.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "Provided, of course, that the students have violated an actual school rule."

Umbridge sputtered. "They have!"

"Indeed?" Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. "Because last I checked, expressing personal opinions — even through minor atmospheric disturbances — was not expressly forbidden."

Katie coughed into her hand to hide a snort. I bit my cheek hard enough to bleed.

Umbridge's mouth opened and closed like a furious goldfish.

Dumbledore smiled beatifically. "And surely, Dolores," he added, "you wouldn't want to set the precedent of confiscating wands for minor infractions. The Ministry would be most interested in such a... creative interpretation of magical rights."

Translation: try it, and you'll end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Umbridge blanched.

McGonagall coughed again — definitely hiding a smirk this time.

"Then," Dumbledore said lightly, standing, "no wand confiscations. No magical contracts."

Umbridge puffed up, trembling.

"However," Dumbledore added, glancing at us with mischievous fondness, "I do believe a suitable detention is warranted. Perhaps polishing trophies with Mr. Filch?"

Katie straightened. I stiffened.

Fred immediately said, "No magic?"

George groaned. "Merlin save us all."

McGonagall smiled grimly. "Correct. No magic."

We all groaned collectively. But honestly? We would've taken scrubbing trophies over signing our freedom away any day.

Umbridge stormed out, seething so hard I thought she might combust right there on the landing.

Dumbledore offered us a casual little nod.

"Mind you behave," he said with a wink.

"Always," Fred lied cheerfully.

We tumbled down the spiral stairs like a victorious army of sarcastic war criminals.

We hit the corridor—

—and ran smack into a Slytherin blockade.

Draco. Blaise. Pansy. Millicent. Crabbe. Goyle—our old crew.

All looking smug, bored, or both.

Pansy sneered immediately. "Look. The Headmaster's charity cases."

Katie smiled sweetly. "Jealousy's not a good look, Parkinson."

Pansy's face went blotchy.

But it was Draco who stepped forward, locking his pale, unreadable gaze on Katie.

"You looked good," he said lowly, "standing up there."

I tensed.

Katie smiled — brittle and bright. "You looked better kneeling."

Draco's mouth twitched — wounded pride flickering across his face.

Blaise shifted — like he wanted to say something to me — but before he could even get a breath out, Fred stepped lazily between us.

"Move it along, Zabini," Fred said smoothly. "She's got better company now."

Blaise's jaw tightened so hard I heard his teeth creak.

Fred grinned — all lazy malice — and threw an arm casually around my shoulders, steering me around them without a second glance.

George threw a two-fingered salute at Draco on our way past.

"Cheer up, Malfoy," he chirped. "Rebellion looks good from a distance."

Katie and I didn't look back once.

Because we weren't alone anymore. And the war? It was about to get a hell of a lot louder.

The next evening we found ourselves at The Three Broomsticks, it buzzed with the kind of chaos only a Hogsmeade weekend could conjure: butterbeer, giggling third-years, and Honeydukes bags rustling like contraband.

Fred bumped my shoulder as we slipped into a quieter alley behind Zonko's, juggling bags stuffed with supplies.

"Careful, Blackwood," he said, mock-serious. "Start looking too smug, and the Ministry'll think you're plotting something."

I grinned. "We are plotting something."

"Yeah," George called from ahead. "And I for one am thrilled to be part of it. Did you see her face when the glitter bomb went off in her tea this morning? Pure art."

"Masterpiece," Fred agreed. "I cried."

Katie smirked, leaning over a crate to inspect a phial of stink fog. "Tears of joy or the after-effect of your idiocy?"

George gasped. "I am wounded."

"You're dramatic," she corrected.

Fred draped his arm casually across my shoulders, lowering his voice. "So, Blackwood... after we finish rigging the detention room, what do you say we skip out and commit light arson behind the owlery?"

I looked up at him, deadpan. "You're aware you're the bad influence here, right?"

He grinned. "I live to corrupt."

"Mission accomplished."

He winked, but before he could say anything else, George called out, "Gonna nip back for more Extendable Ears. C'mon Fred."

Katie and I watched the twins jog off, arms full of mayhem. The second they turned the corner, the air shifted.

I sat back on the edge of a barrel, fiddling with a broken Exploding Snap card. "He's gotten under my skin," I admitted before I could stop myself.

Katie didn't pretend not to know who I meant.

"You think you're falling for him?"

"I think it's too soon to tell," I said carefully, "But if I am...it's a different type of attachment—if I'm falling, it's for someone who actually sees me. Who isn't afraid to."

She sat beside me, elbows resting on her knees. "Do you think you're ready?"

I hesitated. Thought of Blaise. Of the ring. Of the shadows. My chest tightened and my throat threatened to close, and I felt my eyes threaten to leak.

"Not yet," I said. "But I want to be. And for the first time, it doesn't scare me half to death."

Katie nodded, eyes soft. "Then I think that's enough for now."

"Katie," I stiffened as the familiar blonde hair flared as the bell strung above the door he was exiting rung. Katie followed my gaze and we both locked eyes with him.

Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius moved through the crowd like a stain that refused to fade, his eyes sharp and unrelenting as they swept over the street—and landed right on me.

He didn't blink. Neither did I. And for one, stretched, electric second... we just stared.

Him: ice-cold, calculating.

Me: fire barely held beneath my skin.

He smiled. Slow. Knowing. Cruel.

And in that moment—locking eyes with the man who broke families like twigs and thought he could break us too—

I made a silent vow: Not this time. Not ever again. Let him watch.

Let him know: I wasn't afraid.

Not anymore.

I took Katie's hand and interlaced my fingers with hers as he moved towards us.

This wasn't going to be pretty.