Katie.

It started with an explosion.

Not magical. Not literal.

Just one of those rare, earth-shaking moments that cracks the world in half and leaves you breathless on the wrong side of everything you thought you knew.

Classes had just ended. The corridors were packed. Tension hung in the air like a hex waiting to drop.

And then the fireworks started.

Not just any fireworks.

The Weasley twins' final act.

I heard it before I saw it—the unmistakable cackle of a Catherine wheel, the sky erupting in technicolor rage. I whipped around, hand halfway to my wand, only to see a massive firework dragon tear through the Great Hall roof, roaring in Dumbledore's voice:

"WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED!"

And then: "SUPPORT DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY."

The students lost it.

Fred and George appeared in a cloud of glittering smoke, standing at the top of the marble staircase like twin gods of chaos.

Fred winked at Adrien.

George shouted, "Toads don't rule the swamp forever, you know!"

It was glorious. Stupid. Brave.

And it was the last straw.

Umbridge marched in, pink robes already scorched at the hem, wand shaking with fury.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Fred gave her a bow.

George tossed a final firework up that exploded into the words:

"COMING SOON: WEASLEYS' WIZARD WHEEZES — DIAGON ALLEY"

The students cheered.

The teachers didn't move.

And just like that—Fred and George mounted broomsticks and flew out the main doors, fireworks still igniting behind them like a war anthem.

Gone.

Just like that.

The Gryffindor common room was too quiet that night.

Adrien sat across from me, a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey balanced between her knees, eyes glued to the dying embers in the fireplace. Her fingers kept brushing the chain at her throat — the one with Fred's sword necklace still hanging from it like a promise.

"Did he say goodbye?" I asked quietly, even though I already knew the answer.

Adrien's gaze didn't leave the fire. She nodded once, slow. "Yeah," she said. Her voice was low, but steady. "He did. In his way."

I watched her for a moment, then took the bottle and passed it back. She took a sip, winced, and passed it again.

We didn't say much after that.

Because what do you say when someone's still with you — and already gone?

"They really left," Adrien whispered.

I nodded. My throat hurt too much to speak.

Fred and George had pulled off something spectacular. Something unforgettable. A final blaze of rebellion so bright, the castle still hadn't recovered. They'd left smoke, scorched banners, and a message nobody could ignore.

And they'd left us, too.

But not entirely.

Fred had said goodbye — had kissed Adrien like she was something sacred, like he wasn't letting go, not really. Had whispered something about the necklace. About coming back for it.

Adrien hadn't taken it off since.

Although, we should have known the surprises weren't stopping there.

Two days later, the whispers started.

"Did you hear about the new guy?"

"No way. Oliver Woods' little brother?"

"Yeah. Transfer. Straight from Durmstrang."

The name spread faster than any decree Umbridge could spit out.

Rowan Woods.

"You know," Adrien elbowed me as he made his way into the Great Hall one more. "They say they're holding special auditions for him for the Quiddich team..."

I glared over at her, then at Harry—who was inspecting his spoon.

"Seriously?" I groaned, flat. "We finally accepted your overly hyped heroic bullshit now we have that one–?"

"Shh." whispered Ginny as Rowan nodded at her as he walked back, talking to other people on the Ravenclaw Quiddich team.

Adrien and I snorted as Harry's jealousy flared in that moment.

"I'm going to see what the hype is about," Adrien smirked, rising to her feet and tugging on my sleeve. "Come on, seriously—we've been working all year...and Fred would want to know how Oliver's little brother is adjusting..."

"Fine, don't break my arm..." I shot as I let her tug me out of the Hall.

I wasn't going to go.

I told myself that a solid five times before my boots hit the grass, but there I was — crossing the Quidditch pitch under a sky smeared with lavender and spite.

Rowan Woods was already in the air.

Of course he was.

Circling like he owned the clouds, casually tossing a Quaffle between his hands like it hadn't been handed to him with a damn legacy attached. He spotted me instantly, as if he'd been waiting — and that smug, lopsided grin spread across his face like ink in water.

"Didn't think you'd show," he called, floating down with infuriating grace. "Blackwood, right—Beater?"

"I came to see what all the fuss was about," I shot back, taking my broom from Adrien who was just smirking like she knew exactly what was about to happen. "So far, all I see is someone who thinks charisma is a personality."

"Ouch." He lowered his broom and offered a hand. "Rowan Woods."

"I know," I said, ignoring his hand and mounting my broom. "The whole castle knows. Try not to fall off."

That smirk didn't budge. "Feisty."

I kicked off, wind slamming into my face like a battle cry. "Try to keep up."

We were midair in seconds — circling, sparring, ducking and weaving like it was a match with stakes that actually mattered.

"You always this charming?" he called, trying to slide in beside me.

"Only when I'm being hunted by pretty boys with oversized egos."

He barked a laugh. "Well, good thing I'm just here to impress the team."

"Then stop talking and show me something."

He surged ahead — sleek and polished, textbook perfect. He passed like a pro. Moved like a headline. Spoke like he'd already signed the endorsement deal.

And I hated how good he was.

But I was better.

I outmaneuvered him at every turn. Played dirty when he didn't expect it. Cut angles he hadn't learned yet. When I faked a fall to bait him and scored off the distraction, he actually gasped.

"You faked that?" he shouted, mid-chase.

"Still fell for it."

"Yeah he did!" Adrien's voice cut through the wind like a firecracker, bouncing up and down on the sideline like she was the one gunning for the tryout spot. "Get it, Katie!"

My own personal cheerleader.

We clashed again near the middle hoop — Rowan and I both lunging for the Quaffle at once — just as two all-too-familiar voices drifted up from the stands.

"Think we should tell her this is a trial, not a bloodsport?" Draco drawled.

I didn't even look down.

"Not if she's winning," Blaise replied, lounging like this was just entertainment and not my legacy I was grinding into the pitch.

Adrien turned to them both, arms crossed, expression sharp enough to slice marble.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly, "did either of you bring brooms today, or are we just here to spectate and sulk?"

Blaise blinked. "Didn't know we needed brooms to watch."

"You don't," Adrien replied, voice steel now. "But if you're going to critique like you're still relevant, I suggest keeping your mouths as closed as your moral compasses."

That landed.

Hard.

Draco's jaw twitched.

"And as for the commentary," she added, smiling like a wolf with manners, "Katie's winning. Which, for the record, is more than I can say for either of you these days."

"She's still mad..." muttered Blasie, scratching the back of his head.

"No shit." scoffed Draco, turning away from her.

Above them, I caught the Quaffle and twisted just as Rowan's broom nicked mine. Should've thrown us both. Instead, I flipped midair and hurled it through the center hoop with a sharp whistle that made both Slytherins mutter something I couldn't hear.

But Adrien? Adrien clapped.

Loud. Proud. Unbothered.

Rowan pulled up beside me, panting hard. "Okay," he said. "That was... hot."

I raised an eyebrow. "That was a technical foul."

"Still hot," he grinned, teeth white and unapologetic.

We hovered a second, shoulder to shoulder.

"Want to go again?" he asked, casting a glance toward the stands. "Or should I concede to the actual captain?"

I followed his gaze — straight to Draco, who was still standing, arms crossed like I'd stolen something from him.

Good.

I turned back to Rowan. "You lost."

He grinned again. "Yeah. To someone stunning and mildly terrifying. I can live with that."

We landed.

My boots hit the grass like punctuation.

Adrien was there instantly, arms open in triumph. "Locked it in," she smirked.

I groaned, yanking off my gloves. "I hate that I'm impressed."

"You were worse," she said.

"I was better."

She nodded. "Much better. But heads up — he's going to flirt with you from now on."

"Then I hope he enjoys disappointment."

She raised a brow. "Do you?"

I didn't answer.

Because the truth was — as annoying as he was, as arrogant and insufferable as that smirk could be — I hadn't had that much fun in weeks.

And for the first time in a long time? I wanted to play again.

As Rowan fell into step beside me, broom over his shoulder and wind still tangled in his stupidly perfect hair, I cleared my throat.

"Rowan, this is Adrien Blackwood—my sister. Adrien, Rowan Woods."

He turned his head, recognition flashing instantly.

"Oh, I know her," he said, flashing that signature Woods smirk that had probably ruined half the Ravenclaws already. "The other Blackwood. Chaser. Fast as hell, meaner with a bludger than most Beaters I've met, other than you." He nodded at me.

Adrien tilted her head, unimpressed. "And yet you still challenged her sister to a match."

"I'm stupid," Rowan said brightly.

Adrien cracked a smile. Just barely. "You're bold. There's a difference."

That was when Draco stepped into our path, cutting the air with tension.

Rowan's smile didn't waver. "You know, I've only been here a week and already figured out the difference between a captain and a commentator..."

The rest hit like cannon fire.

Adrien's smirk curled slow and satisfied.

Draco seethed in silence.

The best part?

Rowan stood there like he hadn't just obliterated Hogwarts royalty with nothing but charm and a broomstick — then turned to us both and said casually:

"Let me know when you want a rematch. Both of you."

Adrien raised an eyebrow. "You sure you can handle that kind of humiliation again?"

"I live dangerously."

And gods help me — I laughed.

Real and stupid and way too loud. Because for once? Draco wasn't the one getting the last word.

And it felt really damn good.

We made it about ten paces before the voice slithered through the air like a curse.

"Where's your redheaded bodyguard?" Blaise called lazily behind us, voice smug and soaked in mockery. "Oh wait—"

Adrien didn't even flinch. She just turned.

Slow. Precise. Deadly.

Expression blank. Tone flat. Eyes gleaming with something sharp enough to kill.

"He's busy," she said, "plotting your downfall. Want me to pencil you in before or after he humiliates your entire bloodline?"

Blaise laughed once, hollow. "Please. We both know Weasley couldn't hex his way out of a paper bag."

Adrien arched a brow. "Mm. That's not the energy he had last night when he had me screaming his name against a castle wall."

That shut him up. For all of half a second.

"You always were dramatic," Blaise said, though his voice wavered. "We never even—"

"Exactly," Adrien cut in, smile cold. "You never got the chance. You had months, Zabini. All that flirting. All that ego. All that talk. But in the end?" Her voice dropped, lethal and low. "Fred's the one who knows how to touch me. And he does it better than you ever could've dreamed."

Blaise's jaw tensed. "You think I care?"

"Oh, I know you do," she said, stepping forward, voice sweet as venom. "Because every time you see this necklace—" she tapped the sword charm against her chest, "—you're going to remember the moment I stopped waiting for you."

I barely held back a snort as Blaise looked like he'd swallowed his own tongue.

And then Draco opened his mouth. Because of course he did.

"Rowan wasn't even that good," he muttered, his eyes flicking to me like he meant to wound as he elbowed Blasie.

Rowan had stopped ahead of us. At the sound of his name, he turned, one brow raised, that smirk of his turning criminal.

"Do you want me to sign something?" he asked coolly. "Or would a broomstick imprint on your ego do the trick?"

Draco scowled.

Rowan didn't stop.

"Because from where I was flying, you lot haven't come close to the skill level your reputations are built on. And if that's all Slytherin has to offer..." he gave a low whistle, "...no wonder Gryffindor's always stealing your girls."

"Watch it," Blaise growled.

"No," Adrien snapped, stepping between them. "You watch it. Because you're not clever, Blaise. You're not brave. You're just the boy who couldn't handle me choosing someone who showed up."

He glared at her, trying to reassemble what little dignity he had left.

"I'll make it easy for you," she said. "You're not welcome in this conversation. You're not even a threat anymore. You're a cautionary tale."

I let out a short laugh, then looked to Draco. "And you? Don't even think about pretending you weren't part of what happened. I see you now. You're a spectator in your own war."

And that landed harder than anything else.

Because Draco didn't say a word.

He just stared.

And that silence said everything.

We turned — Adrien on my right, Rowan falling into step on my left.

And the three of us walked away like we were done giving the past our breath.

Because after that? It wasn't just over. It was obliterated.

When Harry called the emergency DA meeting that night, I knew something was off. He didn't ask. He didn't explain. He just said, "Room of Requirement. Now."

And we went.

Me, Adrien, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and—that adorably weird Ravenclaw—Luna. That was it.

The room shimmered into view, looking more like a war room than a training ground. Old spellbooks stacked high, the charred remnants of broken dummies along the walls, the faint smell of singed parchment clinging to the air.

Harry was already pacing when we arrived, his hair a wreck, eyes wilder than usual.

"They've got him," he said without preamble.

"Who?" Hermione asked, already moving toward him.

Harry's jaw clenched. "Sirius. I saw it."

My stomach dropped. Adrien's hand tightened around her wand.

"In a vision," he continued. "He was in the Department of Mysteries. Tortured. Bleeding. I know it was real—it was like the vision I had of Mr. Weasley...."

Ron looked like he'd just been hit with a Bludger. "The Ministry?"

"They're holding him as bait," Harry snapped. "They want me to come."

"That's a trap," Adrien said flatly.

"I know," Harry replied, turning to her. "But if there's even a chance—"

Adrien stepped forward. "Give me one hour."

"What?"

"One hour," she repeated. "Trust me."

I blinked at her. "Adrien—what are you doing?"

She didn't answer. Just looked at Harry with the same steady intensity she used when lining up a curse. "Don't move until I get back."

And then she was gone.

The door slammed shut behind her. The room sat in stunned silence, save for Luna humming something under her breath like she already knew the ending.

"Is she calling in a hit squad?" Ron muttered.

"Knowing Adrien?" I sighed, folding my arms. "Probably."

Exactly fifty-seven minutes later, the door opened again.

Adrien stepped in first.

Followed by Sage and Maddie.

Both dressed for war.

Maddie had a new wand strapped to her thigh. Sage had hex runes sketched across her forearms. They moved like shadows. Like ghosts that could fight.

"Called in a favor," Adrien said simply, and her voice cracked something in my chest.

I stared. "You two might as well transfer already."

"Don't tempt us." Maddie winked, eyeing Neville. "You're new."

"So are you," Sage nodded at Luna, who smiled brightly at the two new faces.

Maddie stepped forward, nodding once to Harry. "You're not doing this alone."

"We're in," Sage added. "No matter what."

Harry blinked at them, stunned. "You sure?"

"Duh." smirked Maddie, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Adrien filled us in," Sage nodded, slapping Harry's shoulder, grinning at his flinch. "Besides, it's Sirius—gotta save Katie's man!"

"Sage!" I barked, earning a snort from Adrien, Hermione and Ginny.

Adrien looked at me. Then at Hermione, then Harry. "This is it. We go tonight. We get in, we get him out, and we don't die trying."

"Sounds simple," Neville said faintly.

"It's not," Maddie replied. "But we've done worse on worse odds."

"Where's hottie redhead number one and two?" Sage asked, looking around suspiciously.

"They're sitting this one out," Adrien muttered, cracking her knuckles.

I took a slow breath and stepped beside Adrien. Because this? This was more than a rescue.

It was the beginning of war. And if Voldemort wanted to use us as pawns— He'd better be ready to lose the whole damn board.