Adrien.

Christmas Eve had the audacity to show up like nothing had happened. Like we hadn't stood in the bones of a house that used to be ours. Like the name Anselme didn't still ring in my ears like a curse.

But it came anyway.

The house tried. I'll give it that.

Blinking lights that looked more cursed than enchanted, garlands half-draped across bookshelves, and Molly Weasley's cinnamon-something scent seeping into every cushion. It didn't feel like home.

But it didn't feel like war, either.

Which was something.

It started as girls-only.

Katie, Hermione, Ginny, Sage, Maddie, and me. Nestled on conjured sleeping bags and hand-me-down quilts. There was cocoa. Low light. Maddie dared Ginny to chug an entire flask of pepper-up potion.

She did. She regretted it.

The shriek alone shook the floorboards.

Katie cracked up so hard she snorted, and Sage was already crying from laughter, muttering something about needing a Pensieve to relive that moment on repeat.

I offered a smile.

Not a fake one. Just a small one.

I didn't say much. Not unless someone aimed a question directly at me. But I was listening. Half-in, half-out. Wrapped in a blanket that didn't smell like home, but like... old parchment and maybe dragon scales.

Katie kept glancing over.

Not pity. Not concern.

Just the kind of awareness only sisters have — the kind that says I see you, even when you're pretending you're not here.

I batted Maddie's hand away when she tried to draw a moustache on a passed-out Hermione.

"Still got it," she grinned.

"Almost lost it," I muttered, and Katie's eyes widened in shock.

"She speaks!" Sage gasped dramatically. "Write it down! Frame it! Start a religion!"

"Shut up," I said, only half-bothered.

Then the door creaked open like something straight out of a horror film.

Ron stuck his head in. "Mum says we're not allowed to play Exploding Snap in the kitchen anymore."

"Because you nearly lit the curtains on fire, Ronald," Molly's voice called from somewhere in the distance.

Then came the rest of the boy horde — Harry, George, and Fred.

Fred was holding a tray like he'd been knighted for it.

"We bring holiday nonsense and offerings of questionable nutrition," he declared, setting the tray in our circle like it was the Holy Grail. "Also, these chocolate frogs are mine unless someone has the nerve to challenge me in mortal combat."

"Oh good," Sage deadpanned. "We were just thinking the estrogen levels were too stable."

"I take that as a compliment," George bowed, flipping dramatically onto a blanket beside her. "Fear my balance."

They invaded like they'd always belonged.

Ron immediately stole Maddie's blanket and denied it even as she hexed his socks to hum Christmas carols. Harry tucked himself in near Hermione, who groggily muttered something about prefect boundaries. George and Sage began roasting each other so hard I was genuinely worried the couch might catch fire.

Fred? He found his way to me.

Didn't say anything.

Just eased in beside me like the universe made room for him, held out a square of Honeydukes fudge, and arched a single eyebrow like Come on. Be brave.

I didn't eat it. But I took it. I didn't lean against him.

But I stopped fighting the pull.

Fred's arm slid around my shoulders like he'd done it a thousand times and never needed to ask.

Not flirty. Not smug. Just... steady.

Eventually, I tipped toward him.

And he didn't shift. Didn't joke. Didn't ruin it.

He just stayed.

I felt his heartbeat through his sweater.

Slow. Strong. Familiar.

My body remembered comfort before my brain did.

Katie threw a pillow at George. Ginny was making up increasingly inappropriate verses to "O Come All Ye Faithful." Maddie and Sage tried to charm the cocoa to refill itself and instead caused a small explosion.

Fred didn't say a word. Just leaned his chin gently against the top of my head. And let me be quiet.

Let me exist.

And for the first time in days — maybe longer — I didn't feel like a ghost in my own skin.

I woke up the next morning to George launching socks at people's heads.

"You get a sock! You get a sock! Everybody gets—ow!" Hermione flung a pillow at him.

Fred had somehow shifted in his sleep and wrapped himself around me like a koala. I didn't move right away. Didn't want to, but eventually we were awake and sitting up straight.

The gifts were small — knit things from Molly, enchanted quills, sweets, spellwork bookmarks. Harry got a sweater three sizes too big. Ron got licorice wands. Katie got a notebook with wards built in. I got—

A necklace. Silver chain, delicate, with a charm in the shape of a sword.

Tiny. Subtle.

And from Fred.

He didn't make a big deal out of it.

Just handed me the box and said, "You're the sharpest weapon I know."

And smiled. Not a smirk. Not a show. Just that.

That night—as expected—I couldn't sleep.

So I found an empty room upstairs and lit a candle and sat on the floor like an idiot. Circle of salt. Half-scrawled Latin charm. Wax melting in slow, sad drips.

If ghosts were real, I figured now was as good a time as any to beg for answers.

"Please tell me this isn't how I die." Fred's voice cut through the room like a spell with soft edges.

I didn't turn.

"You step in the salt, and we'll both find out."

He crossed the room anyway. Plopped down next to me, knees bumping mine. "Our first ritual together. I didn't bring wine."

I exhaled, mostly through my nose. "Didn't expect you to find me."

"Didn't expect you to be summoning the undead either, but here we are." He glanced at the candle. The symbols. The way I was curled in too tight, like I was trying to hold myself together from the inside out.

"You still trying to get answers?" he asked.

"I'm still trying to feel something," I muttered. "Anything that doesn't make me want to scream."

Silence. The kind that wrapped around your ribs.

"You don't have to summon ghosts, you know," he said after a long minute. "I'm already haunted."

That made me look at him.

I wanted to joke. Deflect.

But my voice came out hollow. "By what?"

Fred's eyes didn't flinch. "You."

My breath caught. "You gonna make that a joke?"

He shook his head once. "Not tonight."

I stared at the fire like it had something to say. And then, quietly: "Do you ever think about Blaise?"

Fred leaned back like the question hit harder than it should've. "Only when I'm wondering how someone so fucking stupid got that close to you," he said. "And how fast I'd hex him if he tried again."

I laughed. But it came out more like a gasp.

"I let him in," I whispered. "I let him in. I showed him every broken thing I had — and he left. Like it meant nothing."

Fred turned to face me fully now. "He left because he's a coward. And you are not nothing."

I clenched my fists in the blanket around me.

"I thought if I just held it together," I said. "If I was sharp enough. Brave enough. Loyal enough... people would stay."

"You were," he said. "You are."

I shook my head. "My mum vanished. My dad never wanted me. Blaise threw me away. And now I'm here — pretending it doesn't kill me to keep breathing through it."

Fred's voice went quiet. "You don't have to carry all of it alone."

I looked at him — and I saw it. Not pity. Not rescue.

Just wanting.

Wanting me.

"But I do," I said. "Because every time I let someone hold it for me, they drop it. Or they leave."

Fred leaned in, inches from my face. "I'm not leaving."

"You will."

"No."

"Yes!" My voice cracked. "Because I'm not nice, Fred. I'm not soft. I'm not safe. I'm angry and exhausted and scared and—"

"And I love that," he said. "I love every fucked-up edge of it. Because it's real. And you don't fake anything. Not even this."

My breath stuttered.

He leaned in closer. "Adrien... if you're gonna burn the world down, start with me."

And then he kissed me.

Hard. Messy. Like it was a dare. Like he'd been waiting to touch fire and didn't care if it scorched him clean through.

And I—

I let him.

I pulled him in like I couldn't breathe without him.

And when he moved — hands firm on my waist, mouth slanting over mine — it wasn't sweet.

It was survival.

It was the first choice I'd made for me.

I tangled my fingers in his hair. Tugged. Let him lift me, settle me into his lap like I weighed nothing.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, voice wrecked.

"I want this," I breathed, forehead pressed to his. "I want you."

And that was it.

I didn't think. I didn't run. I didn't apologize for needing him like I needed oxygen.

I just let it happen.

Here. In the middle of war. In a room lit by candlelight and grief.

It happened.

His fingers traced slow, absent patterns against the bare skin of my back.

Not careful. Not hesitant.

Just... present.

I lay there, half-draped across his chest, still catching my breath. The fire crackled low beside us, wax from the forgotten candle dripping steady onto the wood floor like a metronome for something we weren't ready to name.

Fred didn't speak. Not at first. He just looked at me — like he couldn't believe I was real.

And that's when it started to ache again.

"Don't look at me like that," I muttered, voice raw.

Fred blinked. "Like what?"

"Like you see something good."

He sat up slightly, just enough to cup my jaw, thumb brushing the edge of my cheekbone — grounding me.

"Adrien," he said, and fuck, the way he said my name made something twist in my chest, "I'm looking at you like you're the only thing in this room that makes sense."

My throat tightened. "I don't make sense, Fred. I'm a walking caution sign. I snap before I think. I bury shit instead of dealing with it. I fall for the wrong people and I hate myself for it—"

"You didn't fall for Blaise," he said gently. "You survived him."

It hit harder than I expected.

I stared at the ceiling like it might cave in. "I hate that he still lives in my head. That he gets to. After everything."

Fred's lips pressed against my shoulder, soft and steady. "He won't stay there forever. I'll be too loud. Too here. Too much."

I let out a laugh — thin and bitter. "You sure about that? Because this... this isn't exactly a normal love story. I'm a wreck. My mum's missing. My dad didn't stick around long enough to ruin me properly. And Blaise — he didn't even finish the job. He just left."

Fred didn't flinch.

He kissed the hollow of my throat.

"You think I came here for something clean?" His voice was rough now. "I want sharp. I want loud. I want messy. I want you, Adrien — teeth and temper and that fire in your eyes that makes me forget how to breathe."

I bit my lip. Heat bloomed low in my stomach. Under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at me — and mean it.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"How long?" I asked — half teasing, half terrified.

Fred's mouth twitched. "Since I saw you talking to my little brother before me, when you and Katie first got to Hogwarts."

I huffed, playfully popping his chest. "You're an idiot."

"I'm obsessed," he corrected, he took my hand, pulling me back into him, his forehead pressed against mine now. "With every version of you. Even the one that thinks she has to keep surviving instead of just living."

The silence that settled between us wasn't awkward.

It was heavy. Full. Like the air couldn't decide if it wanted to collapse or hold us both up.

I shifted slightly beneath the blanket, one shoulder bare and chilled, and I caught the way Fred's gaze followed the movement — slow, reverent.

Not hungry. Not possessive. Just present.

Something twisted in my chest. Low. Deep.

"I've never done this before," I said suddenly.

Quiet. Honest. More vulnerable than I meant to be.

Fred's eyes snapped to mine. Not surprised.

Just... still.

Like he didn't want to move too fast and shatter something delicate.

"You mean—" he started, voice low, gentle.

"I mean this," I cut in, swallowing hard. "All of it. The real thing. Not the almosts. Not the ideas. Not the kind of heat that disappears the second someone slams the door." I looked away, embarrassed now that it was out in the open. "I've never... been with someone before."

Fred didn't blink. He didn't smirk. He didn't pity me.

He just... reached.

His hand found mine — slow and sure — fingers weaving between mine like he'd done it a thousand times before and this one meant the most.

"Then let me be the one who doesn't disappear," he said quietly. "Let me be the one who stays."

My heart kicked so hard I felt it in my fingertips.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

And I realized — he wasn't scared of it.

Not the moment. Not me. Not the truth.

"I just..." I took a shaky breath. "I don't want to get this wrong. I don't want to be a disappointment."

Fred leaned in, his lips brushing my temple, warm and steady like a promise. "You won't," he whispered. "You can't. Because this is yours. Every second of it. Your pace. Your terms. You say stop, I stop. You say stay—"

"I don't go anywhere."

My chest cracked. Not broken. Opened. Because someone finally meant it.

For the first time in what felt like years, I didn't armor up.

I didn't brace for the hit. I just let it be.

Let him in.

I reached for him again — pulled him down to me like I needed him more than breath, more than fear, more than all the reasons I'd built not to trust this.

Because maybe I did.

And when he kissed me again — deeper, slower, deliberate in a way that made me ache — I kissed him back with everything I had left.

This time, it wasn't fire meeting wind.

It was gravity.

Heavy. Unforgiving. Real.

And when his hands moved over me — steady, reverent, never rushing — I let go.

Of the fear. Of the shame. Of the ghosts.

I didn't run. I didn't apologize for needing this. For needing him.

I didn't flinch when it got real.

I just let it happen.

And when it was over — when we were tangled together in the quiet aftermath, limbs and breath and heartbeats wrapped into something weightless —

I didn't feel fixed.

But I felt seen. I felt wanted. I felt chosen. And sometimes, that is everything.

It was still dark when I woke up. Not the kind of dark that meant night. The kind that meant morning hadn't quite made up its mind yet.

The fire had burned low. The candle I'd used in that stupid salt circle was a stub of wax on the floor. The world was silent.

Except for him.

Fred was still there.

One arm around my waist, his chest rising slow and steady against my back. His hand was tucked just under the hem of the shirt I definitely wasn't stealing, fingers resting over my ribs like he was holding me together even in sleep.

I didn't move.

Didn't breathe too loud.

Because some part of me—some feral, beaten-down part—thought that if I made a sound, he'd vanish. That he'd roll over, crack a joke, kiss my shoulder and leave.

But he didn't. He just tightened his hold. Like he knew I was awake. Like he'd been waiting.

"I'm still here," he murmured, voice rasped from sleep and heartbreak and everything we didn't say last night.

"I know," I whispered back, my throat already tight.

He shifted slightly, brushing his nose against my hair. "You thought I wouldn't be."

It wasn't a question.

"I've never woken up with someone still here," I admitted. "Like sleepovers are one thing, but this—"

Fred chuckled lightly but didn't respond at first. Just pressed a kiss into the back of my neck and let the silence hold.

Then: "Well... get used to it."

I closed my eyes, my chest twisting.

"You're not scared?" I asked. "Of all of it? Of me?"

Fred let out a breath. "Terrified."

I turned a little, just enough to see him.

His eyes were open now—tired, warm, serious in a way he rarely let anyone see.

"But I'm more scared of not being here," he said. "Of letting you go because I didn't have the guts to stay."

My throat burned.

I hated how much that meant.

How badly I needed to hear it.

"I'm complicated," I said, voice smaller than I wanted. "Messy. Angry. And sometimes I don't know if I'm worth—"

"Stop." His hand slid to my jaw, thumb brushing the edge of my cheek. "You're worth everything. Don't let the people who left rewrite that."

I blinked hard. "Even Blaise?"

"Especially Blaise."

My breath hitched.

And then he added, even quieter, "He gave up something he didn't deserve. I'm not making the same mistake."

I pressed my forehead to his.

"I don't know how to do this," I whispered.

Fred smiled—slow, soft, ruined.

"Good," he said. "Then we'll figure it out together."

The sun hadn't come up yet.

The house was still sleeping.

But for the first time in a long, long time—

I didn't feel like I had to run before the world could crash down.

Because Fred Weasley had already chosen to stand in the wreckage with me.

I hadn't even made it three steps into the kitchen before all three of them froze.

Katie. Maddie. Sage.

Cereal bowls halfway to their mouths, eyes locked on me like I'd walked in wearing a flashing sign.

I blinked. "What?"

Sage's spoon dropped with a clink.

"Oh. My. God."

"What?" I repeated, heart already sinking.

Katie stood slowly, eyes narrowing with terrifying precision. "Did you just come down here wearing his shirt?"

I glanced down.

Shit.

Fred's ratty old Weird Sisters tee was hanging halfway down my thighs.

I was doomed.

Maddie grinned like a devil. "We're not doing this here."

Sage was already moving. "Upstairs. Now."

"What—no, I haven't even had coffee—"

"Up," Katie ordered, grabbing my wrist.

They dragged me back up the staircase so fast my feet barely hit the floorboards. And of course they pulled me into the exact same room it happened in, which only made it worse.

I barely got the door closed before Maddie rounded on me.

"You did it, didn't you?!"

I threw up my hands. "Okay, wow, coming in hot—"

"Don't deflect," Sage snapped, pointing at the shirt. "That is not just a sleepover shirt. That is post-worshipping-at-the-Altar-of-Freddie-Weasley shirt."

I groaned, covering my face. "You are unhinged."

Katie raised an eyebrow. "But are we wrong?"

And that's when I gave in — dropped onto the edge of the bed, cheeks burning, and whispered, "It was my first time."

Silence. A long one. Then all three of them moved at once.

Katie sat beside me and grabbed my hand. Maddie dropped to the floor in front of me. Sage hovered near the door like she was guarding it from anyone with a Y chromosome.

"Oh, babe," Maddie said, her voice gentler now. "Was it okay?"

"It was..." I swallowed. "It was real. Not perfect. Not... polished. But it was safe. And slow. And..."

Katie squeezed my hand.

"It was mine."

They didn't say anything for a second. Just nodded.

Like they knew exactly what that meant.

Sage exhaled through her nose. "You wanna know the irony? My first time was during a heatwave. Literally. Nearly passed out from dehydration. Still had to pretend it was magical."

Maddie winced. "Oh, that's brutal."

"I was the heatwave," Maddie muttered, flopping backward dramatically onto the bed. "Mine was with a guy from Dumstrang—over the summer holiday before we came Hogwarts actually— who said the stars were aligned for us. The stars. And then he cried after."

I blinked. "You never told us that."

"I've spent so much time trying to block it out."

Katie didn't speak right away.

We all turned to her.

She was still holding my hand, but she wasn't looking at us.

Just at the floor.

And when she did speak, her voice was quieter than I expected.

"It was Draco."

Sage stepped forward from the door.

Maddie stopped breathing.

Katie kept going.

"We were still... us. At the beginning of the year. Before everything." Her mouth twisted. "Before his parents started circling. Before he stopped looking at me like I was his future and started pretending I didn't exist."

My heart ached.

"I thought," she whispered, "if I gave him all of me... he'd stay."

No one interrupted.

"After, he kissed me like I was glass. Said he loved me." Her eyes shimmered. "And then the next day? He was gone."

I reached for her without thinking, arms wrapping tight around her shoulders. Remembering the morning she came back to the dorm, and how livid I was.

Maddie and Sage leaned in too.

"He never meant to hurt me," Katie said. "But that's the worst part. He still did."

The room went still. And something in me — maybe the part that had always kept score of who we were before all this — cracked a little deeper.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "But I won't apologize for almost hexing him off that tower..."

Katie looked at me, eyes glassy but dry. "Don't be—he'll get his. Maybe even by your wand."

The corner of my mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close enough to count.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Not lighter. Not better.

But bonded. Stronger.

Because we'd all survived something. Something we weren't proud of. Something we didn't ask for. Something we were still carrying.

But for the first time in a long time...We weren't surviving it alone.

By the time we were heading back downstairs, I'd finally gotten my hands on a cup of coffee — and Katie was adjusting the chain around my neck like she'd done it a thousand times before.

"Left clasp is twisted," she muttered, fingers brushing my collarbone. "How does a necklace shaped like a sword get tangled without combat?"

"Maybe it was in combat," I muttered into my mug.

Sage walked ahead of us, Maddie right behind her, both exchanging a look that sent a warning flare up my spine.

"Okay," Maddie said casually, like she wasn't already winding up for the kill. "So now that we've cried, bonded, and shared far too much information about regret-sex and stargazing French boys..."

"Are you and Fred, like..." Sage trailed off with a slow grin. "Together-together?"

I blinked. "What?"

"You know," Maddie drawled. "Is this an official thing, or are you just ruining him emotionally with casual eye contact and post-apocalyptic cuddling?"

I took a long sip of coffee.

"Kinda looked like she ruined him physically too," Sage added under her breath. "How dazed he was this morning when the guys left..."

Katie choked on a laugh.

I narrowed my eyes. "First of all, I don't mess around."

"Exactly why we're asking," Katie said, eyes still on the necklace, now adjusting it like she wasn't enjoying this entire interrogation.

Maddie flopped onto the couch in the living room ahead of us, legs over the armrest, one brow raised. "Because if this is a thing, we need to know if we're entering 'protective best friend' mode or full-on 'bridesmaid warpath' strategy."

"I will fight for the flower crown," Sage added.

I lowered my mug.

"He stayed," I said softly. "All night. No jokes. No running."

Katie's hands stilled.

I looked at them each in turn.

"I didn't ask him to stay. He just... did."

That shut them up.

For a second.

And then Maddie said, "Okay. But does he know he's dating you now?"

I just squealed out a laugh, shaking my head as I embraced another swig of coffee with hazelnut creamer and the right amount of sugar.

Sage nodded. "Because Adrien Blackwood doesn't do flings. Adrien Blackwood does emotionally complicated, long-game, world-ending love."

Katie laughed — dry and warm. "Yeah. You're not the type to flirt with someone who can't survive a war."

I snorted. "He survived me. Same difference."

We sank into the mismatched couches, coffee finally starting to hit, limbs tangled and blankets thrown lazily across all of us like some kind of weird emotional truce.

Hermione peeked in from the hallway, eyes narrowing at our collective collapse. "Are we... avoiding something?"

Ginny followed right behind her. "Hopefully whatever caused that much trauma bonding before breakfast."

That's when Ginny narrowed her eyes. Her gaze flicked from my shoulder — bare, except for the black fabric clearly not mine — down to the sword pendant resting just below my collarbone.

Then to my coffee cup. Then to Katie's smug face.

"Wait," she said slowly. "Wait just a minute."

Hermione looked up from her spot beside Katie, brows knitting. "What?"

Ginny leaned forward, pointing her spoon like it was a wand. "That is Fred's shirt."

Maddie made an exaggerated gasp.

Sage clutched her chest. "Oh no. Who could've possibly guessed?"

Katie sipped her tea, utterly unbothered. "Took you long enough."

Hermione blinked, eyes darting between us. "Hold on, Fred as in Fred Fred? As in—"

"—our Fred," Ginny finished, mouth falling open. "Who wears that exact shirt at least once a week—and talks about it like it's sacred?"

I rolled my eyes, hiding behind my mug. "You're all so dramatic."

"That's rich coming from the girl in a Weird Sisters shirt that smells like fireworks and sugar quills," Sage snorted.

Maddie leaned in like she was narrating a romance novel. "And lo, the younger Weasley twin was vanquished."

Then—

The front door creaked open.

Heavy footfalls. Laughter. A bag thudding against the floor.

"Showtime," Sage whispered.

Katie didn't even look up. "Ten galleons says he beelines right to her."

"Twenty if he does something disgustingly couple-y," Sage added.

"Thirty," Ginny breathed, "if he doesn't even notice we're here."

The boys entered like they owned the place.

Harry with his arms full of bags. Ron carrying something that looked suspiciously like a cauldron cake stack. George mid-sentence about something exploding.

And Fred.

Fred saw me in two seconds flat.

He didn't even pause.

Just walked straight into the room like he'd been summoned, leaned over the back of the couch where I was sitting—

And gently tilted my chin up with two fingers.

"Morning, trouble," he murmured, just before kissing me.

Not a shy kiss.

Not a blink-and-you-miss-it peck.

A real kiss. Firm. Familiar. Full of "I'm still here" and "I regret nothing."

The room exploded.

Katie: "Oh my God."

Sage: "I won! Pay up, losers!"

Maddie: "Are we watching this?! Is this real?!"

Hermione: "Well. That escalated."

Ginny: "My retinas are burning."

George groaned. "I am never using that couch again."

Ron made a strangled noise that might've been a laugh. Or a cry. "This is worse than walking in on Bill and Fleur—"

Fred pulled away, only slightly, and grinned down at me. "Hi."

I blinked up at him. "Hi."

He kissed my forehead once for good measure and ruffled Sage's hair on the way to the kitchen like none of it was a big deal.

Like we hadn't just confirmed everything.

Maddie pointed after him. "So that's what post-sex confidence looks like."

Katie shook her head. "He's so far gone it's not even funny."

"I hate how cute that was," Ginny muttered.

I just sat there.

Shirt still rumpled. Necklace still tangled. Heart still in my throat.

And for once? I didn't feel like running from it.

I found Katie leaning against the banister upstairs, arms folded, eyes distant like she was staring into something only she could see.

She didn't say anything right away.

Just jerked her head toward the hallway and said, "Come with me."

I followed without question.

The room she led me into was quiet. Dusty. Dim. It felt like the kind of place you were supposed to keep secrets in — or confess to the ones you already had.

She gestured to the wall.

The tree.

That damn painted, preserved, centuries-old curse of a family tree.

Black. Malfoy. Lestrange.

And then I saw it — the line connecting Draco to all of it.

I stared. I didn't blink.

"He's Sirius' cousin," Katie said softly. "Sirius showed me. I didn't know until the other day... i just didn't want to ruin Christmas."

The words hit like hexes.

Not sharp. Just heavy.

"Of course," I muttered. "Of course it's him. It was always going to be him."

Katie didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Because suddenly I was pacing. Ranting.

Because if I didn't, I'd explode.

"If Draco's part of this — if Blaise is too — then that's it. They were the link. They've always been the link. Mum disappearing, Amelne showing back up, the Deatheaters circling us like vultures — it wasn't just blood. It was them. They brought it back to us."

I turned toward Katie, voice shaking with it. "And they knew. Maybe not all of it, but enough. Enough to make decisions that got people hurt. That got us hunted. And they still pretended like they didn't."

Katie sighed.

Not annoyed. Just exhausted.

"You think I haven't thought the same thing?"

I looked at her. Really looked. And for the first time... she looked tired in her soul.

"How are you going to handle it?" I asked. "When we're back. When you see him again."

She stared at the family tree for a long time.

"I don't know," she said finally. "Maybe I won't handle it at all. Maybe... we're just friends now. If that. And even that might be a stretch."

"You don't trust him."

Katie's mouth twisted. "Not after this. Not after everything he didn't say."

Silence.

Then she turned toward me, eyes narrowing.

"And what about you? You and Blaise? You think he's just going to disappear now that you've got that Weasley glow-up and a sword hanging off your collarbone like it's romantic armor?"

I smirked. Couldn't help it. I shrugged. "Fred can handle it. Or he can get over it."

I tilted my head. "He lost his chance. I'm not his to lose anymore."

Katie smiled. Just a little. "Damn right you're not."

We stood in silence for a few more seconds, the branches of the Black family tree crawling behind us like roots we never asked for.

Katie's arms folded again, but it wasn't defensive this time. It was like she was holding something in — or bracing for something she hadn't decided to face yet.

So I asked, softly, "Are you going to dig?"

She didn't answer right away. Just stared at a name near the top of the wall, one of the ones burned out — a name someone had decided wasn't worth keeping.

"About your parents," I clarified. "Their real identities. What else is out there. Who they actually were. Are."

Katie let out a breath through her nose — not a sigh, exactly. Something sharper.

"I don't know," she said. "What if I find them and hate who they are?"

I leaned back against the doorway. "Then you know who not to be."

She looked over at me then. Eyes tired. Shoulders squared.

"I might," she said. "But not yet. Not until I'm ready. Not until I have something stronger than a name to stand on."

I nodded. "You've already got it."

"What's that?"

"Us."

A small, real smile tugged at her mouth. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I do."

And for once, there was nothing left to say. Just the two of us, staring down a legacy neither of us chose. But this time, we weren't staring it down alone.