Katie.

The sun was too bright.

Everything still ached. My ribs. My head. The quiet spaces between my thoughts.

But we were alive.

Battered, bruised, slightly traumatized — but alive.

Adrien stood beside me at the edge of the courtyard, her arm in a sling, hair still half-singed at the ends. I hadn't told her yet, but she wore the whole half-feral survivor look better than she had any right to.

Across from us, Sage was re-tying the ribbon on Maddie's trunk with all the grace of someone trying not to burst into tears while pretending she was too cool to feel anything.

"You sure you don't want to just—stay?" I asked, trying for casual. "Hogwarts has food. Fireplaces. Very little adult supervision now that Umbridge is gone and no one wants to admit Dumbledore's kind of a chaos cryptid."

"I'm very tempted," Sage muttered, tightening the knot again.

"We'll come back," Maddie added, glancing at Adrien. "If there's a war next year, we'll be front row, right beside you guys."

"Not comforting," Adrien said, deadpan.

"But it is on-brand," I added.

Sage huffed. "We're not saying we're transferring. Yet. We're just saying... Beauxbatons is pretty, but Hogwarts has way more dramatic public meltdowns and less compulsory embroidery."

"And hotter guys," Maddie stage-whispered.

Sage elbowed her. "Speak for yourself. I'm still emotionally processing the fireworks twins."

"I live for chaos," Maddie said. "You know that."

"You live for Fred," I muttered under my breath.

Adrien tried not to smirk.

Before anyone could say anything else, the flutter of deep tartan robes caught my eye.

McGonagall approached, her expression unreadable but... softer than usual.

"I don't normally say this," she began, adjusting her glasses as she looked at Sage and Maddie. "But I quite like you two. For students who technically don't belong here."

Sage gave a dramatic gasp. "Professor. I'm honored."

Maddie saluted with two fingers. "Tell Dumbledore we expect a real invitation next time. Or a scholarship."

McGonagall's lips twitched. Then, she turned to Adrien. "Before you go back inside, Miss Blackwood — this arrived for you by owl this morning. I believe... it's important."

Adrien took the envelope. Her fingers stiffened around it.

She didn't say anything, but I saw it.

Her jaw tight. Her pulse fluttering in her throat.

McGonagall gave us one last nod, then turned and strode toward the gates, her tartan vanishing behind her like a curtain dropping after a show.

Adrien stared down at the letter.

I moved closer.

"Want me to burn it for you?" I offered, voice light.

She shook her head. "Not yet."

We turned, moving slowly toward the castle. The wind nipped at our sleeves. The stone steps felt taller today.

But just as we reached them—

"Wait."

Adrien and I turned at the same time.

Sage stood with her trunk half-levitating behind her, eyes glassy and jaw tight. Maddie was next to her, arms crossed like armor—but her bottom lip was trembling.

"I hate this," Sage said bluntly.

"Same," Maddie added, voice already breaking. "This whole leaving thing is stupid."

Adrien exhaled hard. "We're going to see each other again."

"Promise?" Sage asked.

Adrien crossed the distance and pulled her into a hug so tight Sage gasped. "Swear on every biscuit at Hogwarts."

Maddie threw her arms around both of them without hesitation, dragging me into the mess a second later.

"I don't care if we're in France or the Forbidden Forest next year," she choked. "We'll come back. I will fight a Thestral to get here if I have to."

"We'll write," Sage said against my shoulder. "Weekly. No—daily. You won't be able to breathe without hearing from us."

"You're not getting rid of us that easily," Maddie sniffled.

Adrien's voice cracked. "You better not."

I didn't even try to hide the tears by then.

They just fell — hot and silent — while my fingers clung to the back of Maddie's robes like I hadn't just survived hell without breaking, only to fall apart now.

"I love you both," I whispered.

"We love you more," Maddie whispered back.

Sage nodded fiercely. "See you soon. One way or another."

Then, before we could make it harder, before any of us completely lost it, they stepped back.

With one last look — and more heart than any goodbye should carry — Sage and Maddie turned and walked toward the gates.

And we stayed behind.

Watching them go.

Waiting just inside the courtyard arch — like some stupid ensemble cast — were Fred, George, Blaise, and Draco.

"About time," George said, holding out a pumpkin pasty like it was an offering to the gods.

Fred stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Adrien's waist like he didn't trust her to not fall over — or run.

Draco, meanwhile, arched a brow at Katie. "No dramatic goodbyes with emotional declarations and cheek kisses?"

Katie blinked. "You got one. That's your quota for the year."

"I feel cheated."

"Go cry about it."

Blaise leaned on the archway, arms crossed, watching Adrien with something between smugness and caution. "Did you get fan mail? Or a bomb?"

"I'll let you know," Adrien said flatly.

We pushed into the castle. The doors opened into sound.

The Great Hall was full.

And then — it happened.

The entire room stood.

They were clapping.

There were whistles. Cheers. A couple people chanting "Ministry survivors!" like it was a bloody football match. Someone even yelled, "BLACKWOOD TIMES TWO FOR MINISTER!" which earned a very awkward choking sound from Adrien.

I blinked, caught completely off guard.

Adrien just raised her hand like a queen making peace with the peasantry. She and I made our way toward the Gryffindor table, where Fred and George immediately made room.

Fred pulled Adrien down into the seat beside him — not even bothering with subtlety — and without hesitation, pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

"You're such a show-off," she muttered, cheeks pink but eyes soft.

"You're lucky you're hot when you almost die."

"You're lucky I didn't die from secondhand embarrassment just now."

Across the table, George raised his juice goblet like a toast. "To our favorite feral girls."

"Blackwood and Blackwood," Fred added dramatically. "Better than fireworks."

Blaise and Draco passed behind us on their way to the Slytherin table, offering perfectly synchronized nods like they'd practiced it. Draco caught my eye mid-stride — held it for a second too long — then smirked before turning away.

I rolled my eyes, but unfortunately, my stomach still did that annoying flip it always did when he looked at me like that.

From further down the Gryffindor table, Rowan caught my gaze next. He gave me a polite nod... and then winked.

I blinked, somewhere between confused, amused, and mildly suspicious.

Adrien settled in next to Fred again, quieter now. She pulled the envelope from her pocket — the one McGonagall had handed her earlier — and turned it over in her fingers like it might bite.

Her posture stilled.

Then, slowly, she broke the seal.

I leaned in slightly. "What's it say?"

She unfolded the parchment with care, her hands just barely shaking.

Cleared her throat. And read aloud as Fred, George, and I leaned in to hear clearly:

"Dear Adrien,

I know I don't deserve this. But I'm writing anyway.

Because Professor Dumbledore — yes, that Dumbledore — appeared on my doorstep three weeks ago with eyes that saw more of me than I ever wanted anyone to. He told me about you. About Katie. About magic, and everything I never believed was possible.

And everything I missed by being a coward. He told me about Laura. About how she's gone. I didn't know. I hadn't seen her in years, but somewhere in my mind I always thought... I'd get the chance to explain myself. I didn't.

And now, neither of us will. I can't begin to express what it felt like to hear her name again — followed by the word disappeared. Followed by daughters.

From my understanding, Katie is part of the family too? Perfect, from what I'm hearing you two are linked. I didn't know I'd left behind my children with a world stacked against them.

And still... somehow, Dumbledore told me you survived. That you're strong. That you're powerful. That you're fighting. He told me you've done more in the past year than most grown men could dream of. And you did it without me.

I won't pretend I deserve to know you. I don't. But I want to be honest with you now. At the very least, you deserve that.

Last year, I remarried. I've had children — your half-siblings. I never told them about you or Ryhan. Really, I was protecting myself from the shame of everything I ran from. But Dumbledore brought them here. Your siblings. All of them. They're safe. They're healthy. They're together now, under this roof.

My wife — Grace — she knows. Everything. She's the one who insisted I write this letter. I don't know what I can be to you now. Maybe nothing. Maybe just a name on a piece of paper that confirms what you already suspected — that I ran, and I failed you. But if this letter can give you anything...

I hope it's the knowledge that you were never forgotten. Never unwanted. You deserve the truth. You deserved a father. I'm sorry I wasn't either.

But I'm here now. If you ever want to write back — or scream, or curse me, or just know where your siblings are — you can. I'll be waiting.

With regret and a hopeful heart,

Matthew Blackwood"

Adrien's voice faded into silence.

I stared at the letter in her hands, at the ink bleeding into the fold, at the name at the bottom like it meant something.

It didn't. Not to me.

Not when he couldn't even get it right in the letter.
"From my understanding, Katie is part of the family too? Perfect."

Perfect? My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

"Perfect," I muttered, venom dry in my throat. "He's got a hopeful heart. Do you want a medal, or just a parade?"

Adrien didn't respond. She just stared straight ahead — unreadable, still. Like if she moved, she'd shatter.

"Sorry," I said automatically, but not really. "But seriously. Is this guy real? He just... finds out you're still alive, has brunch with Dumbledore, drops our trauma on his shiny new wife's dinner plate, and now what? He's ready to be father of the bloody decade because he picked up a quill?"

Fred, still sitting close beside Adrien, shifted.

He hadn't said a word the entire time — just listened. His hand rested behind her on the bench, not quite touching her yet. Like he was holding the space for her. Waiting.

Then finally, gently: "Wait. This is from your...?"

Adrien's voice was quiet. "Biological father. Matthew Blackwood."

Fred blinked. "The one who—?"

"Ran," I answered, sharper than I meant to. "Left Laura. Left her."

Fred's jaw flexed.

Like he was trying to keep his mouth shut, but the heat behind his eyes betrayed him. His gaze flicked to Adrien — not pitying, never that. Just hurt for her. Protective. Furious in that quiet, Fred Weasley way.

His hand finally moved — resting between her shoulder blades, thumb drawing slow, grounding circles she didn't pull away from.

From across the Gryffindor table, someone muttered, "Bloody hell."

I pressed my fingers to my temple.

"I'm sorry," I said again, softer now. "But you don't get to vanish, start a new life, forget your daughter exists — and then pop back in when it's safe and convenient, like you're entitled to a chapter in the story you didn't help write. Besides, given we don't have Laura—or Alice apparently—"

Adrien tilted her head as I pushed on.

"I think I deserve to let off some steam over this coward."

Adrien's lips twitched. But not into a smile.

"I don't care how many perfect children he's got, or how supportive his wife Grace is," I added, voice trembling with restraint. "You were ours before he even remembered your name."

Her head dropped slightly, hair falling forward — but not before I saw the tears, sharp and quiet, at the corners of her eyes. Fred moved without hesitation. He tucked her hair behind her ear like he was memorizing every line of her.

"He doesn't get to claim you now," I said. "Not after what you've survived. Not after what we've fought through. Not when he wasn't there to see any of it."

Adrien didn't speak.

She just folded the letter carefully, precisely. Like if she folded it well enough, it might hurt less.

Then she looked at me.

Right at me.

"I don't think I want to know him."

I nodded once, my throat tightening. "Good. Because you already have a family."

And I reached under the table and grabbed her hand — scraped, bruised, still warm — and held on like it mattered.

Because it did. Because she was mine, in every way that counted.

Fred's hand was still at her back — firm now. Anchoring. Protective.

After a long moment, he spoke.

His voice was low. Unshakable.

"If you ever do want to meet him," Fred said, "I'll go with you."

Adrien glanced at him, startled.

"I'll be there the whole time," he added. "You say the word, we go. If you change your mind halfway through, we leave. Or—I don't know. I hex him."

Adrien let out a watery laugh. "No bat this time?"

Fred smirked. "Only if you ask nicely."

I smiled, just a little. "You're very romantic, Weasley."

"Not romantic," Fred said, without missing a beat. "Just hers."

Adrien's breath hitched.

And I watched her lean into him — just enough to show the difference between being held and being safe.

Just when the silence had started to settle — not awkward, just heavy — Ron let out a confused noise across the table.

We all turned as he stared down at the letter in his hand like it had personally offended him.

"Er... this one's for you two," he said, glancing between Adrien and me.

Adrien blinked. "What?"

"It's from Mum and Dad," Ron said, already unfolding it. "They sent it to me to make sure you two didn't try and talk your way out of reading it."

That sounded about right.

I exchanged a look with Adrien as Ron cleared his throat and began, in his best Molly voice:

"Dear girls,
We hope you're both resting, eating properly, and staying out of cursed corridors — though from what we've heard, that last part might be too much to ask."

Adrien snorted. Fred leaned in with a grin like he already knew where this was going.

Ron kept reading:

"We've spoken with Dumbledore and arranged everything. There's no arguing. We're making up the spare room — or possibly two, if we can get Fred and George to stop using one as an illegal storage closet — and you are both coming home with us for the summer. No discussions. You're part of the family, and we won't hear otherwise."

My throat went tight.

Adrien was completely still beside me.

"We'll be at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to pick you with the rest of the clan. Ginny is already making a list of summer things to teach you, and I'm fairly certain George is inventing a prank in your honor. That's love, in our house."
—Mum"

Ron looked up briefly, brow raised. "There's a second page."

Fred grinned wider. "Definitely Dad."

Ron flipped it and continued, adopting an overly casual Arthur drawl:

"P.S. Adrien, I trust you'll help me keep Fred on a schedule. He responds well to structure and threats. And Fred, if I hear the door to that shared room wasn't at least cracked open, you'll be testing your own products for the rest of the summer."

Adrien let out a bark of laughter.

Fred looked offended. "What?! That's completely unfair. I'm very respectful."

"Please," George called from a few seats down. "You sulk when she sits more than three feet away."

"I do not sulk."

"You're literally sulking now," I added helpfully. I shook my head, but the grin tugging at my mouth wouldn't go away. Not this time.

Adrien leaned into Fred a little, nudging his side. "Don't worry. I'll leave the door cracked just enough to keep your ego in check."

He raised a brow. "That's so generous of you."

Ron stuffed the letter back into his bag. "You two are doomed, you know that?"

"Completely," I muttered.

But we were smiling.

Really smiling.

Because no matter what else we had to face — dark families, Deatheaters, ancient bloodlines — there was always something waiting for us on the other side.

A room.

A welcome.

A light.

A home.