Adrien.

We were too late.

The moment we rounded the corner to Dumbledore's office, the door opened—slow and deliberate—and there stood Harry.

He looked like the war had finally landed on his shoulders. Shoulders too tight, eyes too dark, hands clenched like he wasn't sure if he should punch something or fall over.

Fred was the first to move.

"What happened?" he asked, voice low.

Harry didn't speak right away.

He didn't have to.

Because the silence? It was louder than anything else.

Then he looked up, eyes glassy and furious.

"He took the blame," he said. "For everything. For the DA. Said it was all him."

No one breathed.

"No," Katie said softly. "No, he wouldn't—"

"He did," Harry snapped. "Said he organized the whole thing. Said none of us knew. And now he's gone. He's been removed. She's Headmistress."

The door creaked again behind him. And out she came.

Dolores—fucking—Umbridge.

Like a pink toad dipped in smugness, gliding down the steps as if she'd just been crowned queen of something other than rot. She didn't look at us. Not directly. Just floated past with that venomous smile stretched across her cheeks like taffy.

"Excuse me," she chirped, brushing between Fred and me as if we were furniture.

"Excuse this," Fred muttered under his breath, but George clapped a hand on his shoulder before he could step forward.

Katie was already moving toward Harry, hand brushing his sleeve, steadying him.

I didn't move.

Not until I felt eyes on me.

"Miss Blackwood," a voice said behind me. Calm. Clipped. Dangerous in that careful way.

Professor McGonagall stood just inside the doorway, her gaze cutting past the hallway like she could already see the damage to come.

Katie and I turned at the same time.

McGonagall didn't smile.

She didn't wink.

She didn't say a word.

But she stepped forward just enough for her voice to drop low — low enough that only we could hear it.

"You have always been... resourceful," she said to us. "Particularly when wronged."

I blinked.

Katie's mouth curled slowly into something that didn't quite pass for a smile.

McGonagall continued, smoothing the sleeve of her robe like she wasn't setting a fire with her words.

"Of course, I would never condone retaliation. Especially not on school grounds. Such behavior would be... reckless."

I tilted my head. "Terribly reckless."

"However," she said, already turning to leave, "if there were to be... unfortunate incidents involving the new Headmistress, I'm afraid I might be far too busy marking essays to notice."

The door clicked shut behind her.

Katie and I just stood there.

And slowly, we turned back toward the group.

Fred's brows arched.

George was already grinning.

Hermione sighed. "I don't want to know what that meant."

"You really don't," I said, and for the first time in what felt like weeks — maybe months — I smiled.

Not big. Not whole. But real. Because McGonagall had just given us permission.

And it was time to burn.

That was all it took. I nodded for Katie, George, and Fred to follow me back to the Gryffindor common room and pulled the enchanted spellbooks out from where I'd wedged them behind the Transfiguration shelf.

"Shall we?" I grinned, dramatically cracking one open like I was invoking a holy rite.

Fred leaned over my shoulder. "If this ends with her crying glitter, I'll marry you on the spot."

Katie snorted. "Romantic."

"Dead serious," he murmured, brushing a kiss just beneath my ear.

I smirked, cheeks warm. "You say that like I haven't already set the registry up at Zonko's."

George groaned. "Please. Not in front of the pranks."

PHASE ONE: Subtle Psychological Warfare

(Katie & I were the artists, Umbridge the cursed canvas)

Sugar and Spice and Poisonous Lies...we started small.

Her tea.

We'd spent three nights perfecting the spell — just enough charm to echo her voice back at her when she sipped. Not loud, not noticeable to anyone else. Just her.

"Filthy half-bloods don't belong here," it hissed. She nearly choked. Spat her tea. Looked around wildly.

Katie and I blinked innocently.

"New blend?" I asked, sipping my own.

Portrait Revolt: The portraits were my idea. Enchanted to turn their backs every time she spoke. And if she tried to give a decree?

"Here she goes again," a mustached warlock muttered.

"Merlin help us," sighed a plump witch near her bookshelf.

"You tell one more lie," croaked a knight in armor, "and I swear I'll scream."

Exploding Frills By week's end, every bow she placed combusted into a glitter bomb. Every doily shrieked, "Too TACKY for even YOU!"

Fred nearly passed out laughing. George claimed the doilies had more personality than she did. Katie? Katie simply snapped a photo and stuck it in our journal of rebellion.

PHASE TWO: Organized Chaos

(Fred & George led the charge — Katie and I happily armed the ammo)

The Inquisitorial Squad Scandal Goyle was first. Snitched during Transfiguration and suddenly couldn't move. Chair stuck to his arse, levitating out the door.

"Gregory Goyle," it bellowed. "Guilty of being a slimy suck-up!"

Fred bowed. George took a bowtie from his pocket and offered it to me. "For formal treason," he said.

I winked.

Draco passed us in the corridor not long after, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "I don't suppose you had anything to do with that?" he muttered.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, not even pretending to be innocent.

He looked at me a moment too long. Then — and I swear it was grudging respect — he smirked. Just a little. And kept walking. That made Katie and I exchange shocked and mockingly insulted looks.

Quill Curse Redux: "I Must Not Tell Lies" quills became confession tools. Umbridge tried to use one during a punishment. Instead of carving into skin, the quill wrote:

"I'm the biggest fraud this castle's ever seen."

Fred and George nearly wept with joy.

We ran into Blaise later that evening outside the library. "You lot have been busy," he said casually, but his eyes lingered too long on the grin I gave Fred.

"Busy's one word for it," Katie offered, not even breaking stride.

Blaise looked like he had something else to say — like maybe he was still trying to work out which side of this war he belonged on.

Fanged Kittens: One bit her ankle. One shredded her latest decree. One leapt onto her desk and screeched, "Corruption looks terrible with that shade of pink."

George and Katie high-fived in the corridor afterward. Fred gave me a smug look.

"My girlfriend hexed a kitten plate. Your move."

I kissed him mid-stride. "Checkmate."

PHASE THREE: Full Public Humiliation

Hallway Hex Detour: Every time she entered the second-floor corridor? Mirror maze. Of herself.

All distorted. All mocking. All wearing progressively more ridiculous hats.

"She's been in there for forty-five minutes," Fred whispered.

"She came out sobbing," I added, stealing his Butterbeer.

Bathroom Banshee: Katie charmed the girls' lavatory to show a boggart version of Umbridge in every mirror.

We heard three girls scream before breakfast. By dinner, even the Slytherins were giving her side-eyes.

The Detention Room Collapse: Umbridge had managed to acquire another Detention Room, and unfortunately has not utilized the rigged one already, so...

I enchanted the chalkboard to shriek if she so much as breathed. Fred? Fred spelled the floor to tilt beneath her feet with the sensitivity of a diva on roller skates.

She went down twice. George gave her a ten.

FINAL ACT: The OWL Fireworks Show

Mock OWL Papers: We handed them out like candy. At the right time, they ignited in flames and operatic nonsense — in her own warbling voice.

"Education is repression," one paper sang. Fred lost it.

The Big Bang: We synchronized wands. The spell burst into the air like the very walls were rebelling.

The sky read:

"WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED."

"DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY LIVES."

"DOWN WITH THE TOAD."

Magical Firework Creatures Dragons soared.

Phoenixes spun.

One Catherine wheel exploded into Dumbledore himself giving a cheeky wink.

Umbridge tried to hex it. It stuck its tongue out and vanished.

Later that night, Katie and I sat curled up on the worn Gryffindor couch, a bottle of firewhiskey tucked between us like some sacred artifact.

Just like the old days...

The Common Room was mostly quiet — just the crackle of the fire and the occasional whisper from upstairs. I passed her the bottle, and she took a long sip before handing it back, eyes gleaming with that signature Blackwood stubbornness.

"You know," she muttered, nudging me with her socked foot, "I don't hate Hogwarts anymore."

I smirked. "You only say that now because we're actively dismantling it from the inside."

"Fair point."

We fell quiet for a beat, sipping in turns, watching the flames dance.

"Still nothing from any of them?" Katie asked softly, her voice the gentlest it had been in days.

I shook my head. "No word from Ryan, Michelle or Marie—Not even Lou. No owl. No clue where they are. It's like the second Mum vanished... they did too."

Katie stared at the fire like it owed her answers. "You don't think she just left, do you?"

"No," I whispered, hearing my own voice quiver with rage. "She was taken. And we both know who had reason to do it."

Katie swallowed hard. Then she looked at me with eyes that said everything her voice couldn't.

"My parents are alive," she murmured. "And if what we've been told is true... they might be on the other side of the wand."

I didn't know what to say. So I didn't. I just leaned in, shoulder to shoulder. Silent. Unmoving.

That's when Fred and George appeared — Fred flopping down next to me with all the grace of a meteor, George following with a mischievous smirk.

"We were wondering when the brooding would start," George said.

Fred slipped an arm around me, pulling me closer without asking — like it was second nature now. Like I was something he could anchor.

"You were brilliant today," he said into my hair, soft and sincere. "Still are."

I didn't say anything right away. Just let myself lean into him, heart thudding like a drumline. Because even in the middle of war, even with the weight of everything we'd lost and feared—we'd made room. For fire. For laughter. For choice.

Katie raised the firewhiskey bottle in a toast and said, "To torching pink nightmares and rewriting our story."

Fred grinned. "And to doing it in style."

George added, "The school's still trying to recover. People are starting to believe again. That's dangerous for Umbridge."

Fred met my gaze, his fingers tightening slightly around mine. "Good. Let them believe."

Much later, after the common room had emptied and the embers in the fireplace burned low, Fred caught my hand.

"Come on," he whispered. "Just a minute."

I followed. Because it was him. Because I couldn't not.

We ended up in the quietest corner of the castle — a dusty little side room just off the Astronomy Tower, where the stars were close enough to taste and the silence was thick enough to drown in.

He kissed me like I was oxygen.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't sweet.

It was raw.

Hands in my hair. Lips on my jaw. Teeth scraping my throat like a promise he meant to keep.

I kissed him back like I was starving. Like I needed him more than air. Like every scar on my soul softened under his hands.

"Fred—"

He leaned his forehead to mine, breath ragged. "There's something you should know."

I blinked. "What is it?"

He hesitated, then kissed me again — hard, desperate, almost like it hurt. When he pulled back, his eyes burned.

"George and I... we're planning one last thing. Something big. Bigger than the fireworks. Bigger than the decrees."

My chest clenched. "Fred—"

"It'll probably get us kicked out," he said, voice low and rough. "We're ready for it. We've got the shop ready. It's time. But I needed... this. I needed you. Just in case."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and kissed him again — because I didn't have words. Not yet.

His mouth was on mine again — fiercer now, laced with everything he couldn't say. I tugged at his shirt like it was the only thing between us and the truth, and maybe it was.

We moved like a storm. Like a prayer. Like we were trying to undo every terrible thing this year had thrown at us with nothing but our mouths and the heat between us.

Clothes hit the floor. The stars watched. My sword necklace hit the stone with a soft, echoing clink.

And when we finally crashed together, breath tangled, skin to skin, it wasn't just want.

It was survival.

It was choosing each other in the middle of a war.

It was saying: I'm still here. And I want you. Even now.

Especially now.

And when it was over — when we were still gasping, still holding each other like the world might crack open — Fred brushed his thumb over my jaw and whispered, "You wreck me. You know that?"

I nodded, too full to speak.

Because he wrecked me, too.

And I'd let him.

Every time.