Adrien.

"If even Sirius couldn't outrun the system... what chance do the rest of us have?"

The world came back in pieces.

Sound first—muffled, like I was underwater. Someone breathing too hard. A voice cracking on the edge of something sharp.

Then warmth—something soft pressed against my arm. My hand being held like it might vanish.

Then—

My throat burned, my body screamed, but I forced the words out anyway.

"We stop running," I whispered.

Katie jolted like she'd been hit. Her eyes snapped to mine—wide, wet, disbelieving.

I blinked up at her. "Next time... we light the match first."

She made a strangled noise—half a laugh, half a sob—and before I could say anything else, she collapsed against me, arms tight, face buried in my shoulder.

I gasped in pain, but wrapped my arms around her anyway.

"You absolute idiot," she whispered, voice breaking. "You stupid, reckless, insufferable idiot."

My ribs hurt. My head throbbed. But I managed to smile anyway.

"Missed you too."

She pulled back, eyes rimmed red. "You're not allowed to do that again. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah—I hear you."

"You're not allowed to go full martyr just because Harry's about to explode."

"Well," I rasped, "it was a very dramatic explosion."

She glared at me through her tears—and I knew I was forgiven.

Sort of.

Probably.

Before I could say anything else, I caught the movement behind her—and my chest tightened.

Blaise.

He stood near the far side of the bed, too still, hands clenched at his sides. His mouth parted slightly when our eyes met—like he wasn't sure I was real.

Next to him, Draco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look like he wasn't watching me. But he was.

His voice was the first to break the silence. "Well. She lives."

I smirked. "Don't sound so surprised."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're lucky. I was already planning your funeral. It was going to be tasteful. Minimal crying."

"You would've cried."

"Not in front of people."

Katie laughed softly beside me.

Then—

A sound like someone choking back a breath.

I turned my head just in time to see Fred.

And everything in me clenched.

He rose from a chair and stood frozen at the foot of my bed, eyes wide and glassy, like I'd just come back from the dead.

Which... wasn't that far off.

He didn't speak. Didn't need to.

"Hey," I whispered, barely getting the word out.

He moved before I could blink.

Fred was beside me in an instant, hand on mine, forehead pressed to the edge of the mattress. "Don't you ever do that to me again," he muttered. "I mean it, Adrien. I will drag you back from the grave and kill you myself."

I laughed—or tried to.

It came out wet and shaking and felt like splintered glass.

But it was real.

And his hand stayed wrapped in mine.

And for the first time since the Ministry—I didn't feel like I was dying anymore.

Fred's hand was still in mine, warm and real and a little too tight, like he didn't trust the moment not to vanish.

Katie hadn't moved either—still sitting up next to me, stretching her legs out parallel to mine, like she'd been standing guard for days. Her shoulder brushed mine. Her hand kept drifting toward my arm like she had to remind herself I was here. Breathing. Awake.

"I'm okay," I said softly. "Mostly."

"You say that like it's supposed to comfort us," Katie muttered.

A groan from the left caught my attention.

I shifted my head, slow and careful, until I spotted Maddie propped up against a pillow on the next bed, her arm in a sling, bandages wrapped around her collarbone. Her hair was a mess, her face pale, but her middle finger was up in perfect formation.

"Bout time you woke up, you dramatic wench," she rasped.

Sage, from the bed on the other side, gave a tired snort. "She just wanted to beat my record for most days unconscious. Bitch move."

I smiled.

God, I missed them.

"Couldn't let you two have all the sympathy points," I croaked, throat still raw. "How else was I supposed to upstage you?"

Maddie rolled her eyes but smiled.

George lifted his cup of pumpkin juice in salute from his spot leaning against Sage's bed. "Welcome back, pyromaniac."

"Hey Georgie," I whispered, my heart twisting.

And then I looked around the room again.

My gaze found Blaise, again, the moment I let it.

He hadn't said anything. Not since I woke. Not since I'd looked him in the eye and lived to tell the tale.

The silence had settled again—watchful, expectant.

I locked eyes with him and nodded to the empty seat that I assumed was Katie's, and he moved and slowly dropped into it.

The silence settled heavy again—thicker this time. Not waiting. Wounded.

Blaise sat to my right, Fred to my left.

Katie sat beside me, her back pressed to the headboard, one knee brushing mine like she was grounding us both. Her arms were folded, but her posture said fight me.

I glanced at her, then locked eyes with Blaise.

"We thought you told them everything," I said flatly.

Katie didn't hesitate. "We thought you'd warned us."

The implication lingered in the air like smoke.

You told them. You gave us up. You fed them everything they needed to hunt us.

Blaise's face shifted—something flickering behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not denial.

Shock.

"We didn't—" he started.

I let go of Fred's hand.

He tried to hold on—his grip tightening for a heartbeat—but I pulled gently away and leaned forward, crossing the space between us.

And pressed my finger lightly against Blaise's lips.

The room fell utterly silent.

"No," I said, voice low and tired. "Doesn't matter."

I leaned a little closer.

"You and Draco are on a need-to-know basis from now on. And I won't be hearing any arguments about it."

Blaise's lips parted, protest on the edge.

I pressed a little firmer.

"None."

He closed his mouth.

Tension rippled down his spine, but he didn't push me away.

I sat back, my eyes locked on his. There was no heat in them—just the ache of knowing better now.

"If you did tell them... or if you didn't." I shrugged. "I forgive you."

My gaze drifted across the room, landing on Draco, who'd gone still and unreadable by the door.

"You too."

Draco folded his arms, lifting his chin. "Didn't ask for it."

"Didn't say you had to," I said with a sweet shrug. "But take it. While I'm in a generous mood."

Maddie groaned dramatically. "This is the worst episode of Wizard Housewives I've ever seen."

Sage muttered, "Needs more wine. Or violence."

I turned back to Draco. "Next time, maybe loop us in before we walk into an ambush and get half-dead."

Draco held up one hand solemnly. "Swear on my wand."

"I'll remember that," Katie groaned, adjusting herself locking eyes with me. "I'll snap it if he does this shit again..."

Blaise scoffed. "You said that last time and still forgot to mention the werewolf in Albania."

"That was one time," Draco muttered.

I laughed. A little too loud. A little too alive.

Then I leaned back against the headboard beside Katie, shoulder to shoulder again, and reached back for Fred's hand.

He didn't hesitate. Slid his fingers between mine and held on like he meant it.

Blaise's voice came low, almost casual. But I heard the edge under it.

"So that's it?" he said. "You wake up, crack a few jokes, hold his hand, and I'm just... what? A plot twist?"

Fred didn't miss a beat. "She's been unconscious for two days and you're still making it about you?"

"At least I wasn't a rebound," Blaise muttered.

Fred's face didn't flinch. "You were a warning label."

George let out an actual choke-laugh from Sage's bed.

Blaise's eyes cut to me. "Seriously?"

I smirked. "What can I say? You're unforgettable... in the way a nasty hex scar is."

Fred kissed the back of my hand, smug as hell. "That's because I actually read the assignment."

Katie groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. "I want to leave so badly and also never leave at the same time."

Sage grabbed a pillow like a weapon. "If you two get mushy again, I'm cursing both of you."

But even through the jabs, the tension, the bruises—

We were still here.

George was the first to break the silence with a stretch and a theatrical groan. "Alright. This emotional hellscape needs snacks. Adrien's alive. The world hasn't ended. I vote we raid the kitchens."

Fred didn't move.

His hand was still in mine.

George glanced back, catching the stare Fred had locked on Blaise—that familiar, low-burning glare that didn't need words to say don't get comfortable.

"Fred?" George prompted. "Come on, mate. We'll bring her back chocolate and something stolen."

Fred still didn't move.

His thumb dragged across my knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"You good?" I whispered.

"No," he muttered almost shooting electricity through my nerves as I tightened the grip I had on his hand.

"Go anyway," I said gently. "I'll be here when you get back."

His jaw flexed. "You better be."

Then, before I could say anything else, Fred leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.

Firm. Certain.

Possessive in a way that didn't ask permission.

Like he needed the room—especially Blaise—to see exactly where we stood.

And I let him.

When he finally pulled back, our foreheads brushed for a breath.

"Twenty minutes," he said. "Tops."

George saluted dramatically from the doorway. "Don't let her start trauma-dumping without us."

Fred sent one last warning glance toward Blaise before following him out—and just like that, they were gone.

And I was surrounded by the ghosts of the Yule Ball Crew.

Katie shifted beside me, still sitting against the headboard like she'd been born there. Blaise was to my right. Maddie slouched at the foot of her bed. Sage balanced a stolen biscuit on her bandaged knee like a gremlin.

Draco was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed like some cursed painting no one wanted to hang.

No one spoke.

Katie moved before anyone could speak.

She slid off the bed, stretched like she was prepping for a duel, then turned toward Draco.

"We should talk."

He didn't argue. Just pushed off the wall and stepped up to her—both of them standing now at the foot of my bed like they were about to reenact the finale of some tragic romance play.

The rest of us didn't even pretend to look away.

Maddie dramatically flopped sideways across her bed. "Oh hell yes. I've been waiting for this breakup sequel since Christmas."

Sage narrowed her eyes like she was calculating odds. "Bet you ten galleons someone throws a chair."

"Fifteen if someone cries," Maddie whispered.

I leaned back into the pillows, trying not to laugh.

But all of it—Katie's steady presence, Draco's waiting silence, Blaise's unreadable stare—it swirled in my chest like something dangerous.

Something unfinished.

Blaise exhaled beside me like he was deeply inconvenienced by the emotional theater unfolding at the end of my bed.

"Are we allowed to bet on outcomes," he asked, tone bone-dry, "or is that considered emotionally insensitive?"

Sage didn't even look up. "It's only insensitive if you bet against her."

Blaise hummed. "Then I'll say... no tears, one near-slap, and exactly three lines of dialogue I could write better."

Maddie grinned. "Spoken like a man who's absolutely been shamed in public."

He didn't deny it.

I glanced sideways at him. "You're really treating my sister's breakup like it's theater?"

He arched his brow. "Oh please. There's unresolved trauma, high stakes, wounded lovers, and a captive audience. It's Shakespearean."

I tried not to smile. "I forgot how annoying you are when you're clever."

He leaned in just slightly, voice low and familiar. "No you didn't."

I rolled my eyes and looked away—just in time to see Katie plant her feet and cross her arms at Draco like she was preparing to gut him with words alone.

And suddenly, the banter in my chest turned to iron.

Because whatever Blaise and I were dancing around?

It was nothing compared to what they were about to shatter.

They barely stood two feet apart, close enough for every word to carry, and far too close for it not to hurt.

"She looks like she's about to break his nose," Maddie muttered.

"She looks like she should," Sage added. "On principle."

"I don't think she will," I said quietly.

"Why not?" Maddie asked.

"Because this part hurts more." I sighed, catching Blasie's eyes in my peripherals.

Katie's voice broke the silence, clear and sharp.

"You could've told me."

Draco didn't flinch. "I know."

"You should've told me. About everything."

"I wanted to."

She stepped forward—barely—and the air between them snapped like a live wire. "Then why didn't you?"

His voice dropped, just enough that I had to strain to hear it. "Because if I told you who you were... I'd lose the version of you that didn't hate me."

Katie blinked, and for a second, she looked like she might hit him.

Instead, she clenched her fists at her sides. "So instead you lied? You kept everything to yourself and let me walk blind into an ambush?"

He didn't speak. Didn't offer an excuse.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than anything else could have.

"I was scared," he said finally. "I thought if I said it out loud... it would make it real."

Her jaw trembled. "It was real."

And then, quieter—sharp as broken glass: "I loved you. You selfish coward."

The words knocked something out of him. Even from where I sat, I saw it—the flicker of pain that passed through his expression like a shadow.

"I think," Katie said, her voice shaking now, "some part of me always will. And I hate that. I hate that you still matter."

Draco opened his mouth. "I never stopped—"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't say it now. Not when it won't fix anything."

They stood there in the thick of it—breathing the same air, tied by everything unsaid and undone.

Then, softer. Resigned.

"I don't regret us," Katie said.

Draco's eyes finally lifted to hers. "Neither do I."

"But we're not us anymore."

"No," he agreed, voice hollow. "We're not."

She nodded once, like it physically hurt. "So maybe... we could still be friends."

His mouth twitched. "You really think we can do that?"

"I think we have to," she said. "Because if we don't, everything we were just becomes another lie."

"Damn..." I choked, earning small half hearted chuckles from Sage and Maddie—it felt as if we were watching a soap opera that we were all, including Blasie, was equally invested in.

Draco looked at her like she was the last thing he hadn't ruined.

And then—softly, like surrender—"Alright. Friends."

Katie stepped forward, stood on her toes, and kissed his cheek.

It was slow. Careful. Final.

Then she turned, walked back to my bed, and climbed up beside me, curling up against my arm like a stuffed animal and I leaned my head against hers, the best I had to offer at the moment.

Draco didn't move. Didn't speak.

Just stared after her like he'd just agreed to break his own heart with his own hands.

Maddie let out a breath. "Well. That was emotionally devastating."

Sage wiped at her eye. "No one even threw anything. I feel cheated."

"He's not the villain." Katie's voice cooed, loud enough for Blasie to hear—which made him stiffen.

"No," I said, brushing her arm. "He just couldn't be the hero either."

And for a moment, it was quiet.

Heavy. Final.

Until Blaise finally spoke.

His voice was low. Dry. Edged..

"I assume I'm next on the emotional execution list."

I turned to him slowly.

And this time?

I was ready.

"You could say that," I murmured, dragging myself upright a little, careful of the ache in my ribs.

Katie shifted beside me but didn't move away — her presence solid and silent, like backup in case I crumbled. Or exploded.

Blaise didn't smirk this time.

Didn't deflect. Just... waited.

So I looked him in the eye.

"You knew," I said simply.

He blinked. "Knew what?"

"About Denzel. About Anselme—about Mum getting taken."

That landed.

Even if he didn't flinch, I could feel the shift. That slight tightening in his jaw. The way his hands curled around the armrest like he needed something to ground him.

"Adrien—"

I held up a hand, shaking my head. "Don't. I'm not doing the whole 'you were protecting me' dance. I've heard it. Lived it. Nearly died from it."

His mouth pressed into a line.

I leaned forward, ignoring the pull in my side, and looked Blaise dead in the eye.

He didn't speak.

Didn't breathe.

Katie stilled beside me. Maddie stopped chewing. Sage slowly lowered the biscuit she was about to throw at someone's head.

And Blaise? He looked like something in him cracked.

Not loudly. But enough.

"I didn't tell them," Blaise said finally, voice low. "I swear to you, Adrien—I never told the Deatheaters who you were. Not even Draco knew everything. Just... enough to scare him."

Draco grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms again at the end of the bed.

"And Anselme? Vexley?" I asked.

Blaise's jaw tightened. "They were after Katie. Her bloodline. They already knew what she was... or thought they did."

I raised an eyebrow. "So what was I? Collateral?"

He looked away. "You were... inconvenient."

I flinched.

He noticed.

"I mean to them," he said quickly. "Not to me. Never to me."

"But I'm the one they tried to remove," I whispered. "Because I'm a muggleborn with too much power. Because I don't fit."

His eyes met mine again. "Because you scare them."

I studied him. Really studied him.

He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Like guilt had settled into his bones and decided to stay. But I'd learned the hard way — regret doesn't equal redemption.

"So, what?" I asked quietly. "You lied to protect me, and when that didn't work, you lied to protect yourself?"

"I didn't lie to protect me," Blaise said. "I lied because I didn't know how to tell you that people like them would never stop seeing you as broken — because it's this stupid world's version of racism."

"And you didn't think I had the right to decide what to do with that truth?"

His silence said it all.

Maddie and Sage had gone still. Katie hadn't moved — but I felt her gaze like a tether across my spine.

And maybe that's why I exhaled, slow and tired, and leaned back into the pillows. My fingers picked at the blanket absently.

"Have you ever walked into an ambush blind?" I said softly. "Realized the people you thought you were fighting for — the reason you kept going — were already dead?"

Blaise didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"I'm tired of being kept in the dark," I went on. "Tired of people deciding what I can handle. What I deserve to know."

He looked at me — really looked.

Not like I was fragile. But like I was someone he'd already hurt.

And maybe... was still afraid to lose.

"I believe you," I said.

His brows lifted, surprised. "You do?"

"I do," I said. "And—like I said—I forgive you."

He stared like the words didn't belong to him. Like he hadn't earned them — because maybe he hadn't.

Then, almost too quietly: "Why?"

I swallowed. "Because I don't want to carry it anymore. Because I miss the version of us that made things easier. Not harder."

Something in his face shifted. Not relief. Not hope.

Just ache.

I offered a faint, crooked smile — brittle at the edges but still real.

"That said... congratulations," I said. "You're officially on the same list as Draco."

"Oh, Merlin." Blaise dropped his head back. "Not the list."

"Yup," Maddie chimed in from across the room. "It's that need-to-know list she mentioned earlier—it's official. It comes with limited access, revoked cuddle privileges, and biweekly emotional side-eyes."

Sage pointed a biscuit at him like it was a wand. "Also a betrayal punch card. Two more and we hex your eyebrows off."

Blaise finally cracked a real smile — small, lopsided, familiar.

"I've missed this."

I tilted my head. "You miss being emotionally bullied?"

He grinned. "I miss you."

That one hit me harder than it should've. I looked away, throat tight — then reached over and flicked his knee with two fingers.

"Shut up, Zabini. You're making it weird."

"That's rich, coming from the girl who forgives like she's doling out life sentences."

Katie leaned against me, voice low and smug. "That went way better than I thought."

Maddie whistled. "No one bled. I'm shocked."

Sage raised a hand. "Do we still vote on whether he's allowed near her again or—?"

"No," I said, already chuckling. "He's on probation. Like... forever."

Blaise leaned back in his chair, exhaling like it was the first full breath he'd taken in weeks.

I let the silence settle again, just long enough for Blaise to think we were in the clear.

Then I looked at him, slower this time. Steady.

"But you know," I said softly, "I've been thinking about something."

Blaise blinked. "Should I be worried?"

"Yes," Katie muttered.

I ignored them both.

"You treated me like a secret," I said, voice low but not angry. "Like I was something to be hidden. And then you acted surprised when I stopped waiting for you to make me feel seen."

He shifted in his seat. "Adrien—"

"I'm not finished," I said, just sharp enough.

Blaise froze.

I folded my hands in my lap, careful, calm. "You didn't tell me the truth. You didn't show up for me when it mattered. And when I finally started to stand on my own—when I laid out Millicent, when I ran around with people who didn't make me question if I was too much, when I let someone actually love me out loud..."

I looked him in the eye.

"You had the nerve to look surprised."

Blaise looked like he wanted to shrink.

Or combust. Or both.

"You're right," he said quietly. "You're absolutely right."

Maddie made a choking noise like she was physically holding back a cheer.

Sage leaned over and whispered to Katie, "It's almost too easy. Like watching karma in designer shoes."

Blaise ran a hand down his face. "Is there... is there anything I can do?"

"To fix it?" I asked.

He hesitated. "To win you back."

Maddie gasped. "Oh my God, he said the thing."

Katie looked at me wide-eyed. "What are you gonna say?"

Sage reached for her biscuit like it was popcorn. "Ten galleons says she hexes him with something poetic."

But Blaise held up a hand, desperate. "Or—hear me out—can I at least fight Fred? Just once?"

That broke the room.

Katie doubled over, laughing. "You'd last two minutes."

"One," Maddie corrected. "He's got big 'grew up wrestling his brothers and feral livestock' energy."

"Thirty seconds," Sage said. "But only because Adrien would stop him from killing you."

I blinked slowly at Blaise. "You want to fistfight Fred Weasley?"

Blaise looked far too serious. "Just a light duel. I'll bring flowers afterward."

"Oh, that's sweet," Draco said from across the room, where he was absolutely pretending not to be emotionally gutted from five minutes ago. "Nothing says maturity like a post-duel bouquet. Want me to hold your wand while you lose?"

Blaise shot him a glare. "Aren't you on a heartbreak timeout?"

"Please," Draco drawled. "You two were the entertaining ones. I was just the subplot."

The door slammed open.

Fred and George burst in like human chaos incarnate, arms overflowing with bags of something stolen, their eyes wide and full of mischief.

"Did we miss bloodshed?" Fred asked immediately.

George scanned the room. "Oh, damn. Everyone's still alive?"

Fred zeroed in on Blaise. "Why's he still breathing?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Apparently he wants to fight you. For sport."

Fred blinked. "Is it my birthday?"

George handed Sage a sticky bun. "We brought offerings in case of war."

Sage accepted the pastry George handed her with something close to reverence. "Bless you, unholy men."

Maddie snatched a sugar biscuit from the stash and immediately pointed it at Blaise like it was a wand. "You're on thin ice, Zabini. Thin, caramel-drizzled ice."

Blaise didn't even blink. "I've skated worse."

"Not while I was watching," Maddie muttered.

Fred made his way over to me, brushing his fingers along my cheek with a gentleness that didn't match the tension simmering in his jaw.

"You okay?"

I gave him a tired smile. "Getting there."

Then I looked past him—straight at Blaise.

And said, dry as bone, "But you should probably watch your back."

Fred turned slowly, like he'd just remembered Blaise existed and regretted every second of that realization.

Blaise, to his credit, met Fred's glare with one of his own.

"Oh great," Maddie muttered, flopping onto her stomach. "Here we go."

"At least we have entertainment..." muttered Katie, snuggling closer to me as we nodded at George as he handed us something glazed.

I just shook my head, watching Fred closely.

"I thought we weren't doing this," Fred said, still facing him. "I thought you were going to be mature."

"I am," Blaise replied. "That's why I haven't challenged you to a duel."

"Yet," Sage added helpfully.

Fred crossed his arms. "You planning on making that a habit?"

"Only if you keep pretending your cheekbones entitle you to a monopoly on her attention."

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Katie muttered, rubbing her temples.

Maddie, meanwhile, leaned forward with a feral grin. "No no no—let them go. This is the good part."

George, without missing a beat, tossed Draco something wrapped in parchment. "Popcorn," he said casually.

Draco caught it one-handed, ripped it open, and raised a brow at Katie as he leaned against the wall. "I give Weasley two minutes before he goes full feral."

Katie didn't answer. But her eyes lingered on Draco a little longer than necessary.

Fred took a slow, deliberate step closer to Blaise. "You think I don't know exactly what kind of games you play?"

"Oh, I know you know," Blaise said, casually unwrapping a chocolate frog like this was a picnic. "You've been losing them to me since Third Year."

I blinked. "Did you just flex and eat a snack mid-threat?"

"I multitask."

Fred narrowed his eyes. "You talk a lot for someone who lost her."

"And you cling a lot for someone who's still worried I might win her back."

The room went completely silent. Even the chocolate frog stopped moving. Katie's head snapped toward me like she wasn't expecting that.

Fred glanced at me—then back at Blaise. "Try it."

Blaise shrugged. "I already did. You're the one playing catch-up."

Fred looked like he was this close to throwing hands.

And honestly? I was done.

I raised both hands and snapped, "Alright, that's enough. If you two need to punch each other to get it out of your systems, do it. Right here. Right now. No wands, no magic, and for the love of everything holy—no shirtless slow-motion nonsense."

George raised a hand. "Can we at least bet on it?"

"No," Katie and I said in unison.

Maddie looked disappointed. "You guys are no fun."

Blaise turned to me, all faux-offended charm. "You're really giving him permission to punch me?"

"I'm giving you both permission," I said flatly. "If it'll shut you up."

Fred didn't move. Just looked at me—then at Blaise—and let out a low sigh.

Then he reached for another pastry and shoved it into his mouth.

"Coward," Blaise muttered.

"Satisfied," Fred said around the biscuit.

Katie flopped back against the headboard beside me and muttered, "I need a nap, a drink, or a coma. Maybe all three."

"I just woke up from one and I think I want another one..." I chuckled, sending everyone into an eruption of laughter.

Draco offered her the other half of the parchment-wrapped snack. "Compromise. Sugar coma."

She stared at him, long and unreadable. But she took it. And in the chaos and tension and half-unspoken almosts—For the first time that day?

I laughed. Really laughed.

Because if this mess was what survival looked like?

Maybe we were actually doing okay.