Katie.

I didn't like this.

The Malfoy Manor loomed ahead of me, beckoning with dark secrets and sinister electricity.

Adrien said it herself—you're allowed to have your own friends, Katie—but she'd said it lightly, like she didn't really believe it, like the words left a bitter taste on her tongue.

And now here I was, alone. Waiting.

The gates creaked open, slow and dramatic like they were designed to make your spine crawl. I shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet, chin up, shoulders squared. Malfoys loved a good show of power—you couldn't give them the satisfaction of looking small.

"Miss Blackwood," came a smooth voice from the shadows. A house-elf, so pristine and polished he barely looked like the horror stories I'd heard, bowed so low his nose nearly brushed the gravel.

"Mr. Malfoy is expecting you."

Great.

I stepped forward, the stones crunching under my boots. The house loomed closer with every step—white stone, towering spires, dark windows that looked like they were judging me. Beckoning with dark secrets and sinister electricity.

At the front door, another figure waited: Draco.

He leaned casually against the archway, arms folded, pale hair gleaming under the dying afternoon light. His face, when he saw me, flickered—something warm, something almost guilty—and then smoothed back into the perfect polished smirk.

"You came," he said, like he wasn't entirely sure I would.

"You summoned," I said flatly, stopping just out of reach. "Thought you'd at least bring snacks."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "Would've ruined the theatrics."

Before I could snap something else back, the door behind him opened.

And I was suddenly staring at Lucius Malfoy—the real Lucius Malfoy.

Tall. Cold. Eyes like polished knives. He didn't look me over the way people usually did. No, he weighed me. Like a chess piece he hadn't decided whether to keep or crush. Behind him stood Narcissa, all sharp beauty and sharper silence. She didn't smile. She didn't glare either. She just... watched.

I resisted the urge to shift my feet. To fidget.

Instead, I smiled. Cool. Controlled.

"Miss Blackwood," Lucius said. "Welcome."

I inclined my head slightly. "Thank you for having me."

Draco's hand brushed mine—barely, a whisper of a touch—as if to say I'm here, don't bolt. But the thing was—I wasn't the one who wanted to run.

Not yet.

They ushered me inside, into a grand hall that was all marble and ancestral portraits that glared down at me like I was tracking mud across their legacy.

Draco kept close, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps, but he didn't speak. He didn't look at me.

Neither did his parents. Not really.

They led me into a sitting room so spotless it looked like no one had dared breathe in it for a hundred years. A tea set—actual silver—steamed on a glass table.

"Sit," Lucius said.

It wasn't a suggestion.

I sat.

Narcissa poured tea with movements so precise it looked rehearsed. She offered me a cup with a delicate hand, and I took it with steady fingers, even though my instincts were screaming at me not to drink anything under this roof.

"So," Lucius began, seating himself across from me like a king preparing to interrogate a rival nation, "you've been... close to our son for some time now."

It wasn't a question.

It was a statement.

A loaded one.

I sipped the tea, buying a second to think, then set it down with a soft clink. "Draco's been good to me," I said carefully.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Draco stiffening slightly.

Lucius tilted his head, like he was examining a particularly tricky potion. "And yet, you run with... Gryffindors."

There it was.

I shrugged, casual. "House colors aren't everything."

A flash of something dark—approval? Disdain?—crossed his face, but it was gone before I could be sure.

Narcissa finally spoke, voice cool and low. "Bloodlines, however, are."

It was like a gauntlet being thrown.

I smiled sweetly, the kind that said I know exactly what you're doing and you won't win.

"I wasn't raised to care about blood," I said, voice even. "Only loyalty."

Lucius leaned back slightly, studying me. Testing.

For one electric heartbeat, nobody spoke.

Then—

"Good," he said, almost absently, like checking off a box on a list. "Loyalty matters."

He meant it. In a way that wasn't comforting at all.

Beside me, Draco let out a breath so faint I barely caught it.

Something inside me twisted.

Because whatever this was—it wasn't just tea and small talk.

I hadn't just been invited.

I was being measured. And I wasn't sure who they wanted me to be. Or what would happen if I didn't fit.

Lucius set down his teacup with a soft, deliberate click.The sound felt louder than it should've.

"And what of your... sister?" he asked, voice smooth as glass but sharp enough underneath to bleed.

I kept my face neutral. "Adrien?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed, not unkind exactly—but like she was peering through glass, studying the cracks.

"The—" He paused, glancing at Draco. "Muggle-born," he hissed, as if the word itself tasted sour.

I stiffened before I could stop it. Draco's hand brushed the back of mine under the table again—faint, almost accidental. A silent warning. Or maybe an apology. My eyes flicked to him with a subtle we'll talk about this later.

He and Blaise said they weren't like their families, that the secret was safe with them—was it?

"My sister," I said evenly, voice soft but firm. "Yes."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Interesting choice of loyalty."

The room chilled by several degrees.

"I wasn't aware bloodlines determined loyalty," I said lightly, lifting my tea again. "Seems a bit... short-sighted."

Narcissa's lips twitched—maybe approval, maybe disdain.

Lucius didn't smile. He didn't blink.

"Beauxbatons expelled her too, didn't they?" he said, tone idle but words razor-edged. "Hardly the shining example of magical excellence one would hope to surround themselves with."

The breath in my chest tightened. "We were both expelled." I corrected, sipping my tea slowly, controlled.

Both Malfoys flinched at both, as if being incorrect physically burned them.

"Adrien," Narcissa said, voice low, "seems to attract... disorder. Impulsivity. Rebellion."

Like they were listing sins off a parchment. Like Adrien was a disease to be diagnosed.

Lucius cocked his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "You must be careful who you let tarnish your reputation, Miss Blackwood."

It wasn't a threat. It was advice. And it was worse.

I set my cup down carefully, the soft clink deliberate, smiling politely like I hadn't just been punched in the gut.

"Speaking of Beauxbatons," I said, bright and deflecting, "I believe Madame Maxime is still in talks with Hogwarts about hosting joint summer workshops."

Lucius's mouth twitched in displeasure. He didn't like the change in topic.

Good.

Narcissa smoothed a hand over her skirts, regal and unruffled. "A foolish notion. Hogwarts has no need for such dilution."

I bit the inside of my cheek and smiled wider. "Exposure to different magical traditions can only strengthen unity, don't you think?"

A dangerous glint flashed through Lucius's eyes. "Unity," he repeated, like it was a joke only he understood.

I leaned back, matching their stillness with my own, refusing to let the weight of their judgment press me down.

For a moment, there was silence again. A slow, simmering kind.

And then—

Lucius smiled. A real one this time.

Sharp.

Knowing.

"Still," he said, voice soft as a scalpel, "you Vexleys always were good at adapting."

My blood froze so fast I nearly forgot how to breathe.

Vexley.

Not Blackwood. He knew.

He knew.

Draco flinched beside me—barely—but it was enough.

I didn't let my face change. Didn't blink.

Instead, I tilted my head, the picture of polite confusion. "Excuse me?"

Lucius's smile widened, slow and cruel. "Nothing," he murmured, lifting his tea again. "Simply... old family names. Easy to confuse."

Liar.

Narcissa shot him a sideways glance—sharp, warning—but said nothing.

And Draco... Draco didn't look at me.

But he looked furious.

And guilty. And maybe even scared.

My hands curled into fists in my lap, nails biting into my palms. But when I spoke, my voice was sugar.

"I understand," I said, smiling so sweet it should've cracked my teeth. "Family histories can be... complicated."

Lucius inclined his head slightly, the picture of civility.

The predator humoring the prey.

But he wasn't the only one playing chess.

I smiled wider. And silently promised myself—Whatever game this was?

I'd survive it.

And I'd burn the board if I had to.

About an hour and a half later, Draco walked me out.

He didn't say a word.

The halls of Malfoy Manor stretched on forever, cold and cavernous. Not like they did last summer, inviting—impressive. Now they were guarded and cold.

My boots echoed against the marble, each step sharp in the heavy silence. His hand hovered near my back—not touching, but close enough that I felt it, a phantom warmth that didn't match the chill bleeding from the walls.

We didn't speak until the doors slammed shut behind us with a heavy thud.

Still, nothing.

The gravel crunched underfoot as we moved toward the gates, my arms folded tight across my chest. I could feel the storm building under my skin, boiling just beneath the surface, but I held it in.

Not yet.

Not until we were clear.

Clear enough that the manor shrank behind us like a fading nightmare.

Then—

"Care to explain," I said, voice deceptively sweet, "why your father knows my real name? That's something I never even told you."

Draco flinched like I'd hit him.

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing two steps ahead of me before spinning back, jaw tight. "I didn't know Sass," he snapped, low and rough.

"Bullshit," I shot back instantly.

His eyes flashed. "I swear, Katie, I didn't—"

"You didn't think, maybe," I hissed, cutting him off. "Or you didn't care."

"Don't," he bit out, stepping closer. "Don't pretend like this was some trap I set."

I laughed, sharp and humorless. "Feels like one."

We stood there, the wind tearing through the trees around us, both breathing too hard for how still we were.

"I would never," Draco said, quieter now, voice cracking at the edges. "I would never set you up like that."

I stared him down, arms still folded. "But you let me walk into that house blind."

His face twisted. "I didn't know they were going to—" He broke off, fists clenching like he needed something to hit. "I thought it would be normal. For once. Just... tea. Civilized."

"Nothing about them is civilized," I said, voice low, seething. "You knew that."

"You think I don't know that?" he barked, stepping into my space. "You think I don't see it every bloody day?"

I didn't back up.

Neither did he.

We were so close now I could see the strain tightening his jaw, the wild, frantic glint behind his storm-grey eyes.

"You said it last year," I said, the words like acid on my tongue. "You and Blaise—you said you weren't like them."

He flinched again.

I pressed on, the crack in my voice slicing through the space between us. "You swore. That Adrien—that I—were safe."

"I meant it," he rasped.

"Yeah? Tell that to your father," I snapped. "Tell that to the way he spit the word 'Muggle-born' like it burned. We both knew what he wanted to say."

Draco closed his eyes, his whole body tensing like he was holding himself together by threads.

"I didn't tell them anything," he said, desperate. "I didn't—I would never."

"Then tell me—how the hell do they know about the Vexleys, Draco?" I said, stepping even closer, voice a low, lethal hiss. "That name is buried. Forgotten. Even I didn't—"

I cut off, throat closing. Because how the hell could he know?

His jaw clenched so hard I thought he might shatter something inside himself.

"I don't know," he said finally, wrecked. "I swear."

The wind snapped at us, tearing across the empty grounds.

I studied him, my chest heaving. I wanted to believe him.

God, I wanted to.

But it felt like standing on a trap door, waiting for it to fall.

"You should've told me," I said, voice trembling with anger I couldn't swallow. "You owed me that."

He stepped in again, so close I could feel the heat rolling off him.

"I was trying to protect you," he said, hoarse. "I thought—if I kept you out of it—"

"You thought lying would keep me safe?" I cut him off, shoving at his chest.

He didn't move.

"If you think I need your protection, Malfoy," I said, all teeth now, "you don't know me at all."

He smiled then—small, broken, wrecked.

"I know you're stronger than all of them," he said, voice raw. "I know you're the only person in that bloody manor I would ever take a hex for without thinking."

I stared at him, heart hammering.

"You don't get to decide when to protect me," I said, quieter but fiercer now. "You fight with me. Or you stay the hell out of my way."

He glared.

"I thought after last year—" I cut myself off, pressing my lips together.

His chest heaved once, like he was holding something dangerous back. And then—He dropped his forehead against mine, just for a second, just enough to feel the crackle of everything between us.

"Fight with you," he whispered. "Every bloody time."

The anger didn't leave me.

But something in my ribs unknotted, just slightly.

I let him stay there, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing like we'd just barely survived something.

Maybe we had.

By the time I finally left the Malfoy gates behind, my head was pounding worse than any Quidditch concussion I'd ever had.

The street felt too empty. The town too quiet. The sky too dark, even for late summer.

By the time I stumbled back into our house, something was... wrong.

The living room was trashed—pillows everywhere, a cracked lamp half-shoved against the wall. A chair knocked over. Dishes abandoned in the sink like they'd been mid-argument and bolted.

Heart hammering, I kicked my boots off and sprinted upstairs two steps at a time.

Adrien's door was half-shut. Light spilled out into the hallway.

I shoved the door open. "What the hell—?"

Adrien sat cross-legged on her bed, wearing one of Lou's old sweatshirts, a book open in her lap, looking so eerily calm it actually made my skin crawl.

She looked up lazily, like I hadn't just barged in. "Hey,"

I gaped at her. "What happened down there? Is Mum okay? What the hell is going on?"

Adrien shrugged, the most aggressive shrug I'd ever seen. "Don't worry about it."

I blinked. "That's... not reassuring."

She tossed something at me—a folded piece of parchment.

I caught it automatically.

"What's this?" I demanded.

"Sent your creepy letter off to the Weasleys," she said lightly, picking invisible lint off her knee. "You know, just in case it was a death threat."

"You what?" I sputtered, unfolding the paper. "Adrien—"

"They figured it out," she cut in, ignoring me completely. "Mister Weasley recognized the symbol."

I froze. Looked down. My mouth went dry.

There, scrawled in Arthur Weasley's neat handwriting:

"Old Family Emblem – Vexley Lineage. Tied to significant pureblood heritage pre-Muggle Wars. Rare. Dangerous reputation."

My head spun.

Vexley.

"I'm gonna be sick," I muttered, sinking onto the edge of my bed.

Adrien didn't say anything. Just watched me with those too-sharp, too-knowing eyes.

I shoved the letter into my pocket, breathing too hard.

"Okay," I managed, pressing my palms into my jeans. "Okay, so... we table the horrifying secret lineage bombshell for now."

Adrien nodded solemnly, like we were discussing what snacks to bring to a picnic.

"And now you're going to tell me," I said, voice low, "what the hell happened here."

Adrien smiled sweetly. It was terrifying.

"So," she said breezily, "how was Malfoy Manor?"

I stared at her. "You're deflecting."

"I'm redirecting," she corrected primly.

"Same thing."

"Semantics."

"Adrien."

"Fine," she said, stretching like a lazy cat. "But not here."

Downstairs, a door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.

Adrien winced.

"Park?" she offered.

I didn't argue.

We slipped out the side door, cutting across the overgrown lot, our shoes whispering through the grass.

It was almost second nature by now—slipping into the shadows, into the night.

Toward the park. Toward the only place that still felt normal.

The swings greeted us, creaking gently in the night breeze as we flopped onto the battered bench by the old merry-go-round.

"Spill," Adrien said, kicking at a rock with the toe of her boot.

I leaned back, staring up at the crooked stars overhead.

"It was a show," I said flatly. "A sick little parade of 'are you worthy of our son's attention.'"

Adrien snorted. "Sounds about right."

"And then Lucius Malfoy," I said, voice tightening, "called me a Vexley."

Adrien sat up straighter. "You're fucking kidding."

I shook my head slowly. "Dead serious. Didn't even blink when he said it."

She whistled low under her breath. "That's... not good."

"No shit," I muttered. "They know about your blood line too."

Adrien blinked, her fingers flexing around the edge of the metal. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"They know." I stated, grimly. "Draco swears he didn't say anything—but..."

"Do you believe that?" Adrien arched an eyebrow, turning to face me fully, pulling her legs in to sit indian style.

"I don't know." I confessed, my eyes attempting to burn a hole in the ground.

For a minute, the only sound was the lazy squeak of the swings in the dark.

Then Adrien said, softer, "You think they're digging?"

I nodded once. "Deep."

Adrien sat very still, her hands balled into fists in her lap.

"Your turn," I said eventually, nudging her leg with mine.

She didn't look at me.

"He's gone," she said quietly.

The world tilted for a second.

"I'm sorry, what?" I stammered. "Gone?"

Adrien stared straight ahead, jaw locked. "Lou. Left this afternoon After you left. Packed a bag and just... walked out."

The park felt colder the longer we sat there.

At first, it was easy to pretend. Easy to brush it off.

Maybe they were late. Maybe they got held up. Maybe Malfoy drama was leaking into tonight too.

I swung my legs idly off the bench, kicking at pebbles.

Adrien stretched out on the grass beside me, arms folded behind her head, looking up at the patchy stars.

"They're late," I said after a while, checking the battered clock face mounted crookedly on the old brick school across the street.

Adrien hummed. "It's Malfoy. Fashionably late is practically in the bloodline."

I smiled weakly, but it didn't reach all the way.

Fifteen more minutes passed.

The swings creaked in the dark. The streetlamps buzzed. An owl hooted once, somewhere deep in the trees.

Still no sign of them.

I checked the clock again.

Adrien sat up slowly, brushing grass off her jeans. Her mouth was tight. Her hands fidgeting without meaning to. "Maybe they got caught up," she said, but even she didn't sound like she believed it anymore.

"Maybe," I echoed.

But the pit growing in my stomach was louder than the excuses.

Blaise never missed a meeting.

Draco never broke a promise — not to me, not about this.

We stayed there anyway, stubborn.

We waited until the cold seeped into our bones.

Until the night shifted from familiar to wrong.

Until every shadow felt like a threat instead of a hiding place.

Still—No Blaise. No Draco. No one.

Adrien finally stood, slow and heavy, brushing invisible dirt from her palms.

"We should go," she said quietly.

My throat burned, but I nodded.

We didn't speak as we walked back through the darkened streets. We didn't have to.

The silence between us said it all.

They weren't late. They weren't caught up. They weren't coming.

Something had changed.

Something was coming.

And this time —we were on our own—again