Katie.

"Light Christmas shopping?" I asked, teasingly as Adrien squeezed my hand, grounding me as Lucius stopped feet from us.

He looked at me like he was sizing up a weapon. And I smiled—just a little.

"Did I hit a nerve, Mr. Malfoy?" I asked, voice calm, but cutting.

Lucius's lip curled. "The nerve, Miss Blackwood, is that you still believe you can outrun the truth."

I tilted my head. "No. I've just learned to fight with it instead."

His eyes glittered with something ancient and dangerous. "A clever answer. Very... Gryffindor."

"Was that supposed to be an insult?"

"No," he said, adjusting the silver snake on his cane. "Just a reminder."

"A reminder that you're still terrified of girls like me?" I asked sweetly.

Lucius's nostrils flared.

Adrien stepped slightly in front of me, like she could sense the shift in my magic. Because I was ready. Ready to throw a hex that would land me in Azkaban and smile doing it.

But then—he leaned in.

"You could still fix this," he whispered, low enough for only me. "Turn away from this rebellion. From Dumbledore. From that girl."

My pulse spiked. "That girl has a name."

His eyes flashed. "You could have Draco back. You could have power. Protection. Legacy. All you'd have to do is stop pretending you're not what you were born to be."

I stared him down.

"And what would that be?" I snarled, feeling Adrien tense even more.

"A Vexley." He hissed, as both Adrien and I went wide eyed.

Blinking past that, I pushed on. "If having Draco means becoming you—I'd rather be buried next to my mother in Azkaban."

Adrien exhaled next to me—more a laugh than a breath.

But Lucius... he stilled. Not in a smug, composed way.

No—he froze.

Just for a second. Just long enough. Something flickered behind his eyes.

Recognition. Regret? No. Something colder.

The smile he wore after wasn't cruel this time—it was calculated.

"Mm," he hummed softly, adjusting the silver ring on his gloved hand. "A bold sentiment. Especially when you're referring to an empty plot."

My heart stopped. Cold shot down my spine.

"What—" I breathed, but he was already turning.

Lucius stared at me for one long, final second, and this time the twitch in his jaw wasn't about fury—it was restraint.

Then, with a flick of his cloak and a faint sneer, he vanished into the crowd.

And when I turned to Adrien, heart still hammering, she just raised one brow.

"Still think we don't belong here?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "No," I whispered. "I think this is exactly where we're supposed to be."

Because after that? There was no turning back.

And I didn't want to. Not anymore.

The walk back to the castle was quieter than usual — but not heavy. Not anymore.

Snow had started to drift lazily from the low grey clouds overhead, dusting the ground in a soft, imperfect blanket. I shoved my hands into my pockets, boots crunching faintly against the thin layer of frost, stealing glances at the three idiots ahead of me.

Adrien strolled just behind Fred, who was currently balancing a charmed packet of Fizzing Whizzbombs on his head while walking backward, animatedly reenacting some absolutely ridiculous story about Filch's cat getting hexed bald during a first-year prank gone wrong.

Adrien actually laughed — real and breathless — like she couldn't help it.

And watching her — hearing that laugh after everything — stitched something small and vital back together inside my chest.

Fred looked so free. So completely unbothered by the darkness that had been swallowing the castle inch by inch.

And yet...He'd stood in front of her. In front of all of us. Facing Umbridge like he wasn't even scared.

My throat tightened strangely at the memory.

Maybe... just maybe...We weren't as wrecked as we thought.

Not yet.

George dropped back slightly to fall into step beside me, nudging me with his elbow.

"You alright there, Blackwood?" he asked — half teasing, half serious.

I smirked up at him. "Depends. Are you going to start balancing explosives on your head too? Because I don't know if I could survive witnessing that twice in one day."

George grinned. "Nah. I'll leave the head injuries to Fred. He's the expendable twin."

"Oi!" Fred called over his shoulder, nearly losing the packet balanced on his head. Adrien snorted and reached out to steady it with a lazy flick of her wand.

George chuckled under his breath. "Weasley reflexes. Practically a national treasure."

I laughed — an easy, real sound that felt good in my throat for the first time all day.

We trudged through the thickening snow, the castle looming closer — dark and jagged against the white sky — when Fred suddenly spun on his heel, walking backward again with a wide, wicked grin.

"Oh, by the way," he said, voice far too casual to be trusted. "Mum invited you two to the Burrow for Christmas."

Adrien blinked. "Wait—seriously?"

George bumped her lightly with his shoulder. "Seriously seriously. Mum insists. Says we need to keep you two from committing actual murder before New Year's."

Fred nodded sagely. "Also said something about fattening you up before you stage a full rebellion."

Adrien laughed, a warm sound that curled in my chest.

I arched a brow at Fred. "And you just want someone else to suffer through your mum's cabbage casserole, don't you?"

Fred clutched his heart dramatically. "Katie Blackwood, how dare you insult my mother's cooking."

Adrien smirked. "In her defense, we've seen the way you 'season' things."

"You're just jealous of my culinary innovation," Fred sniffed, tossing the Fizzbombs into the air and catching them one-handed.

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "You're all idiots."

"Yeah," George said, slinging an easy arm around my shoulders in a brotherly way. "But we're your idiots now. Congratulations, you're stuck with us."

And weirdly? That didn't feel like a burden.

It felt like a lifeline.

As we trudged the last stretch toward the castle, the wind biting sharper through the stone corridors, I glanced sideways.

Adrien was watching Fred again — really watching him.

And for once, she wasn't guarded. Wasn't calculating.

She just... looked at him.

Like maybe — just maybe — she could start over someday.

Maybe we both could.

I smiled to myself, dragging in a long, cold breath that burned my lungs in the best way.

The Burrow. Red roofs. Warm fireplaces. Terrible, hand-knit sweaters.

Maybe — just maybe — it would be exactly what we needed to breathe again.

We barely made it through the main doors before I felt it.

That heavy, expectant weight settling over us like a trap about to snap.

Sure enough — Draco.

He was leaning against the wall near the Great Hall entrance, arms folded, cloak draped perfectly around him like he hadn't been waiting there forever.

His storm-grey eyes locked onto me the second we stepped inside.

Not Adrien. Not Fred or George. Me.

"Katie," he said — low, guarded — straightening from the wall. "Can I speak to you? Alone."

Fred shifted immediately — his hand brushing lightly against Adrien's elbow like he was ready to step in without a second thought. George, to my other side, stiffened too, eyes narrowing slightly.

Adrien didn't move. Not an inch.

She just stared Draco down — her entire body language screaming, Not a bloody chance.

I touched her wrist lightly, giving her a small shake of my head.

"It's fine," I said — calm, sure — even though my heart had started a slow, uncomfortable pounding against my ribs. "I'll be fine."

Adrien didn't answer. She just glared harder, like she could burn a hole straight through him if she tried hard enough.

"Adrien," Fred said under his breath, nudging her shoulder with his arm in a silent Come on, love, motion.

Reluctantly — so reluctantly — Adrien let herself be pulled back, only because both Fred and George flanked her like twin bodyguards, steering her down the corridor.

But even then, she twisted over her shoulder, mouthing, I'm not far.

I smiled — small, grim — and turned back to Draco.

He didn't smirk.

Didn't swagger. Didn't say anything at all.

He just jerked his chin toward a side hallway off the entrance — a small, disused classroom no one ever bothered with anymore.

I followed without a word, boots echoing hollowly against the stones.

When we reached the door, Draco pushed it open, waited for me to step inside first — and then closed it behind us with a heavy thud. For a second, he just stood there, palm pressed flat against the wood like he was holding the whole damn castle back.

Then he sighed — a low, wrecked sound — and pulled his wand.

I stiffened instinctively, every nerve lighting up — but all he did was flick it toward the walls, murmuring a soft spell under his breath.

A shimmering gold haze flared once around the edges of the room.

Soundproofing.

He didn't look at me right away.

Didn't move.

Just stood there — staring at the door, as if whatever he needed to say was the thing that might finally destroy him.

I crossed my arms, planting my boots firmly on the floor.

"Well?" I said, voice sharp but steady. "You wanted to talk. Start talking."

Draco didn't speak right away.

He just stood there, back still to me, hand pressed flat against the door like he was physically holding back everything he'd never said.

When he did turn, it was slow. Controlled. Like if he moved too fast, something inside him would crack for good.

"I didn't want this," he said finally, voice rough.

"No?" I crossed my arms. "Because you've been putting on a damn convincing show."

He flinched, but I didn't stop.

"Walking past me in the corridors like I'm just another face. Standing next to Pansy at that stupid every—fucking—day like you'd never even looked at me twice." I scoffed. "Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if your mum's got you betrothed to someone with a dowry and a dark mark."

He muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked, stepping closer. "Come on, Draco. If we're being honest now—let's be honest."

His jaw tightened. "They tried. My mother invited the Greengrass girl over for tea. My father called it 'an exercise in optics.'"

I blinked. "Optics."

"Don't," he warned quietly.

"Don't what?" I snapped. "Don't call out the fact that you let them parade you around while I got the honor of pretending we never happened?"

"That's not fair," he said tightly. "You think I liked any of that? That I wanted you sitting back at school, wondering why you didn't get an invitation—why you didn't even get mentioned?"

"No," I hissed. "I think you didn't fight. Not like Blaise."

He looked up sharply.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," I went on, bitter and shaking. "Blaise was a coward too. He tried to play both sides, kept Adrien tucked away like a dirty secret while Millicent played house. But at least he felt something. At least he tried."

"I was trying to protect you," he snapped, voice like broken glass. "You think I wanted to stand next to Pansy? Smile while my father bragged about bloodlines like we weren't already at war?"

"Then why didn't you tell me?" I asked. "Why let me think you were done with me instead of just—just scared?"

"Because it's not just about me!" he exploded, stepping forward. "It's you, too. Your bloodline. Your name. You don't think they've noticed?"

He was breathing hard now, like every word was costing him something.

"The Death Eaters know who you are, Katie," he said, voice low. "They've started whispering about you. Watching. If I keep you close, they'll come for you."

I froze.

He dragged a hand down his face like the conversation physically hurt. "I thought if I played the part—if I kept my distance—they'd back off. I thought I could buy time."

I tilted my head, voice cutting. "But then you saw me. In the corridor. With the Weasleys."

His jaw ticked.

I arched a brow. "So that's what this is about now?"

"It's not just about them," he growled, sharp and suddenly raw. "It's the way they look at you. Like they're not afraid. Like they don't care who sees."

"And you do," I said softly. Not accusing—just stating a fact.

He didn't deny it.

Didn't move.

"You think I haven't noticed?" I continued, stepping closer. "How you stiffen whenever our names are said in the same breath? How you walk past me like I'm some ghost you buried, only to watch me like I might disappear if you blink too long?"

Still nothing. Just that unreadable quiet.

"But you know what?" I said, heat slipping into my words. "As stupid as Blaise was—playing two sides, hurting Adrien—at least he felt something. At least he tried."

Draco's head snapped up.

"He lied," I said. "He hid things. He shattered her. But he never pretended she didn't matter. He never looked at her like a liability."

"You think I haven't watched him fall apart?" Draco said, voice sharp and fraying. "He doesn't even try to hide it anymore. He stares at her like she's all that's left of him—and he hates that it's Fred she leans on now."

My throat tightened, but I held his gaze.

"He told me," Draco continued, quieter now. "He said he'd rather take the Cruciatus again than watch Adrien laugh with Fred like that. Said it felt like dying—because he knew it was real. That Fred was real."

"Cruciatus curse, again?" I blinked, feeling a tightness forming in my chest—in both defence and pride.

Draco's jaw set.

The silence said everything.

Draco stepped closer, something shattering behind his eyes. "You want to know what I'd rather face than be seen with you?"

I didn't blink.

He swallowed hard. "Nothing. There is nothing worse than pretending you don't set me on fire every time I walk into a room."

My breath hitched. "Then why did you?"

"Because they said they'd come after you," he said. "Your bloodline. Your history. Your mother. They said if I didn't let you go, they'd carve you up until no one remembered your name except on a headstone."

He was shaking now—barely holding it together.

"So you let them erase me first," I said, voice cracking. "You stood next to Pansy in a suit your father picked and smiled like you weren't dying."

"I was," he snapped. "Every damn day."

I stared at him. At the boy who once kissed me like I was worth the rebellion—and now stood like he didn't know how to breathe without permission.

"You made me feel disposable," I said.

He nodded once. "Because I thought it would keep you alive."

I laughed—a rough, splintered sound. "You thought I could survive it."

"I thought we could," he whispered. "But I was wrong."

He looked at me then—really looked. Not like I was a mistake, or a threat. But like I was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

"Because I'm not surviving," he breathed. "Not without you."

My chest tightened.

And suddenly, all that anger—everything I'd held back—cracked wide open.

I closed the space between us without thinking, grabbing his collar, slamming my mouth into his like it was the only language I had left.

He kissed me like he'd been starving for it.

Like he thought it might kill him.

Hands fisting in my robes, dragging me closer, like proximity alone could fix the ache he'd buried for months. I didn't care how reckless it was, how stupid.

I needed this.

We needed this.

I stumbled back against a desk, gasping as he followed, lips trailing down my throat like he'd forgotten where breathing started and ended.

"You don't get to disappear again," I whispered, tugging him closer.

"Not planning on it," he rasped, hand sliding under my shirt, desperate and reverent all at once.

The spell shimmered faintly around the edges of the room—Draco's earlier silencing charm still holding, sealing us in our own suspended moment.

No war. No family. No bloodlines.

Just us.

He kissed me again—slower this time, like an apology and a promise tangled together.

And I let him.

Because I wasn't waiting anymore.

Because here, in this forgotten room tucked behind the walls of a school at war—this was ours.

And gods help me, I didn't want to survive this moment.

I wanted to live in it.

His mouth was warm against my shoulder, his breath ragged as he kissed along the curve of it, like he was tracing a memory he didn't want to lose again.

Clothes slipped to the floor in a slow, wordless unraveling, like we were trying to peel away everything between us that had ever hurt.

"I still remember," he whispered, lips brushing my collarbone, "the first time I kissed you."

I froze.

Not from fear.

From everything.

He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes, voice low. "It was after the Weasley's party, at Blasie's place on that loveseat..."

"Now why did you go and do something like that?" I laughed, feeling an overwhelmingly hot haze come over me at that moment, it was coming from all the memories, all the touch, all the kisses and laughs.

"Because you looked like fire," he said. "And I was already burning."

I didn't have words for that. Only the way my fingers slid through his hair. The way his hand moved along my hip like he already knew every part of me—but needed to relearn it now, just in case.

The air grew quieter, heavier. Our breath the only thing echoing off stone walls. His skin against mine—every brush, every kiss, a rediscovery.

When he finally laid me back against the old desk, his forehead pressed to mine, there was no pretense left between us.

No politics. No secrets. Just a shared ache that had nowhere else to go.

"I never stopped wanting this," I admitted, voice breaking. "Even when I hated you."

"I hated me too," he breathed, just before he kissed me again.

And then there were no more words. Only motion. Only hands and mouths and that fragile, burning thing we'd tried to pretend wasn't still alive.

And in that room—forgotten by time and everyone else—he touched me like I'd never been touched. Like he was saying I'm sorry and I still love you in the same breath.

We didn't make promises. Didn't need to.

Because this? This was the promise—or at least that's what I thought and felt it was.

I woke up alone.

The moon had shifted, casting silver streaks through the high windows of the empty classroom. My skin was still warm where he'd touched me, but the air had gone cold.

His cloak was gone from the floor.

So was he.

My hand slid over the abandoned desk, the ache in my chest blooming sharp and familiar.

I didn't cry. Not at first. I just sat there—bare, bruised, and breaking all over again—and whispered the only thing I could manage:

"Coward."

Because he'd touched me like I was salvation. And left like I was sin.