Adrien.

Mum didn't argue when we asked to leave.

That was the first sign something was really wrong.

She barely even blinked—just stared past us, nodding absently, the same way she had the day Lou walked out.

Miss Weasley, bless her unstoppable Gryffindor heart, showed up an hour later like a damn general ready for extraction—Fred and George flanking her like two overgrown, mischievous bodyguards.

"Alright, girls!" she announced brightly, sweeping into the house like a hurricane with a purse the size of a small country. "Time to pack!"

"Is this a rescue mission or a kidnapping?" Katie muttered under her breath as we dragged our trunks to the door.

Fred grinned wickedly. "Bit of both, if you're lucky."

George leaned in conspiratorially. "If you hear sirens, don't worry. We're very good at plausible deniability."

Miss Weasley just sighed and swatted at them both with a rolled-up magazine.

By the time we crammed into the back of the Weasley's battered old car, Katie and I were already half-laughing despite ourselves—shoulders brushing, knuckles bumping like we were afraid to drift too far apart.

The Burrow smelled like fresh bread, an overgrown garden, and home.

I hadn't realized how much I missed these people until we stumbled inside, dragging our trunks over the threshold. Hermione was already there, seated at the kitchen table with a massive stack of books that looked like they were plotting world domination.

She looked up, took one look at us—at the wild exhaustion on our faces—and snapped her book shut. "Well," she said crisply, "you two look like you've been run over by a herd of Hippogriffs."

"Twice," Katie added helpfully.

I snorted and dropped my bag with a thud. "Is that the latest Hogwarts welcome, Granger? Insult first, tea second?"

Hermione smirked. "Tea's on the stove. Insults are free."

Katie and I exchanged a glance—something too tight in both of us relaxing just a fraction.

Then Ron barreled into the room, followed by Harry, both looking like they'd been outside wrestling garden gnomes.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, grinning wide. "You're here!"

Before I could think about it, before my usual defenses could slam into place, I threw my arms around him.

Ron froze.

So did Harry.

Katie's jaw dropped.

Hermione looked like she was considering writing a dissertation about it.

"Er," Ron said brilliantly. "Alright?"

I squeezed once more, then let go like the hug had burned.

"Don't get used to it," I muttered, brushing imaginary dust off my sleeves.

Katie cackled, half in shock, half in delight.

Harry stepped up next, offering a slightly hesitant, lopsided grin. I hugged him too—quicker this time, but no less real.

He patted my back awkwardly. "Good to see you too, Adrien."

"You're tolerable," I said, voice rougher than I wanted it to be.

More laughter—too loud, too shaky—but it felt good anyway.

Miss Weasley shepherded us all upstairs, setting up extra cots with the kind of efficiency that could have put the Hogwarts house-elves to shame.

"You girls have everything for school, yes?" she asked, hands on her hips, surveying the room like she was expecting a goblin uprising.

Katie and I exchanged a look.

"I mean," Katie said, "depends. Does existential dread count as school supplies?"

Miss Weasley just sighed and muttered something about "teenagers" and "too much trouble to hex."

Later, once the chaos of beds and blankets settled into a sleepy hum, we crammed ourselves into the cozy, slouching living room.

Harry perched on the arm of the couch, looking unusually tense.

It took a while for him to say it.

"A Dementor attacked us," he said finally, voice low. "In broad daylight. It—it tried to kiss me and my cousin, Dudley."

The room went still.

Even Fred and George, usually incapable of serious silence, sat frozen.

"They're not supposed to leave Azkaban," Hermione said, her voice brittle with shock. "Not without orders."

Harry just looked down at his hands, fists clenched tight in his lap.

Miss Weasley swept into the room then, carrying a tray of hot cocoa and fresh scones like a lifeline.

"Enough of that tonight," she said firmly. "Tomorrow we worry about the rest. Tonight you're safe. All of you."

Safe.

I almost laughed.

Nothing felt safe anymore. Not bloodlines. Not promises. Not even the people we thought we could trust. But I accepted the cocoa anyway, because sometimes, pretending was the only thing that kept you standing.

The kitchen got too loud too fast.

Between Harry's half-whispered story, Mrs. Weasley's clattering teacups, and the growing weight of everything I wasn't saying—I needed air.

I slipped out the back door without bothering to tell anyone, the cool night hitting me like a slap.
The Burrow's garden stretched out wild and messy under the stars, the air thick with the scent of earth and leftover summer rain.

I leaned against the rickety fence, arms folded tight across my chest, staring out into the dark.

And tried to breathe. It didn't work.

I heard the door creak behind me and cursed under my breath.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

He sauntered out like he owned the place (which, honestly, he kind of did), hands stuffed into his pockets, hair catching the porch light like fire.

"You know," he said casually, stopping a few feet away, "you hugged everyone earlier."

I didn't answer.

"You hugged Ron," he continued, mock-hurt. "You hugged Harry."

Still nothing.

"You even made Hermione look like she was going to file an emotional damage complaint—"

"Fred," I said, voice sharp and thin. "Not tonight."

He shut up immediately.

And that's how I knew it was bad. Fred never shut up unless it was serious. He rocked back on his heels, studying me.

"You alright, Chaos?" he asked, quieter now. Not teasing. Just... Fred.

I huffed, because the only people that called me that—one was inside the other two were MIA and that tugged at my chest in a deeper way than I ever—ever—expected.

I looked away.

"Fine," I muttered, refraining from scolding him for using names or terminology that he wasn't around when it was bestowed.

"Bollocks," he said, not unkindly.

Something hot and furious twisted in my chest. I picked at the Zabini ring on my finger, twisting it around and around until it bit into the skin.

Fred caught the movement instantly, his gaze flicking down, then back up to my face.

"What's going on, Adrien?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. And then, because lying to Fred felt worse than saying nothing, I said:

"My parents—they're over."

The words landed between us like a dropped stone.

Fred was silent for a beat longer than normal.

"Shite," he said finally. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged, blinking hard at the fence post. "It's not a big deal."

"Yeah," he said dryly, "because you always sneak off into the night for fresh air when things aren't a big deal."

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

Fred stepped closer, careful. Like I was a spooked hippogriff that might bolt.

"And?" he said, voice low, almost teasing but not quite.

I shook my head. But my hands wouldn't stop moving—twisting the ring, rubbing the metal raw against my skin.

And when I spoke again, it cracked out of me before I could stop it: "I haven't heard from Blaise."

Fred's face softened, everything about him shifting subtly—less chaos, more gravity.

"That's not all," he said, watching me.

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

He didn't push.

"You tell me when you're ready," Fred said simply. "Not before."

The knot in my throat loosened just a little.

He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. Not flirting this time. Just reminding me: you're not alone.

It should've been stupid. It should've made it worse.

Instead, it made breathing a little easier.

Of course, that was when the door creaked again.

Katie's head poked out, her hair a wild mess around her face.

"You alive out here?" she called.

"Debatable," I muttered.

Fred smirked. "She's been upgraded to 'grumpy but breathing.' Progress."

Katie gave him a mock salute, then turned her full attention on me.

"Come back inside," she said, softer. "You don't have to talk. Just... don't be alone."

I hesitated.

Fred leaned in, stage-whispering like a traitor. "She made scones."

My stomach betrayed me with an audible growl.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. But if anyone tries to hug me again, I'm hexing them."

"There she is." Fred grinned, barely placing his hand on the small of my back and gently guiding me back towards the house. I caught him and Katie exchanging a look over my head.

It didn't exactly scream agreement.

But for once, I didn't fight it.

I let them steer me back inside, the door swinging shut behind us, the dark pressing tight against the windows.

The morning was pure chaos.

The Burrow buzzed like a kicked beehive — kids shouting, trunks clattering down stairs, Crookshanks yowling like someone was murdering him, George hexing Ron's shoelaces together "for good luck."

Katie and I stuck close to the kitchen door, trying not to get flattened.

Miss Weasley shoved toast into our hands as we stumbled toward the car.

"Eat! Merlin knows when you'll get a proper meal again!" she barked, hair flying everywhere as she tried to wrangle six kids, two trunks, and one highly disgruntled owl.

We were halfway to the front step when Mr. Weasley caught up to us.

"Girls," he said, a little breathless but still serious, "a moment?"

Katie and I exchanged a glance.

The others kept spilling toward the cars, shouting and jostling, too caught up to notice when we slipped aside into the shade of the Burrow's porch.

Mr. Weasley looked tired — not physically, but tired in the way people get when they're carrying things they can't explain.

He glanced around, like he didn't trust the open air, then leaned in slightly."The letter you sent," he said, voice low. "The emblem — it's not nothing. You understand that, don't you?"

I swallowed hard.

Beside me, Katie shifted, that same stubborn set to her jaw she got when someone tried to back her into a corner.

"We found it," she said breezily. Too breezily.

Mr. Weasley's gaze sharpened.

"Found it," he repeated slowly.

"Yeah," I chimed in, forcing a smile that felt razor-thin. "Washed up near the house. Thought it was weird. Thought you'd know what it meant."

Not technically a lie.

Just... not the whole truth.

Mr. Weasley didn't look convinced. Not even a little.

But he didn't press.

Instead, he just nodded, slow and grim. "Be careful," he said quietly. "Both of you. That name — it's old magic. Old blood. The kind that doesn't stay buried forever."

The words crawled under my skin, cold and certain.

Katie and I just nodded.

And then we were running, dragging our trunks toward the battered cars before anyone could see the cracks starting to show.

Platform 9¾ was a roaring, shrieking mess of kids and parents and trolleys gone rogue.

I barely dodged a rogue baby owl as we barreled toward the barrier.

"Incoming!" Fred yelled, dragging George by the sleeve as they both launched through.

I tightened my grip on my trunk handle and sprinted through the barrier with Katie at my heels.

The sudden blast of steam and noise hit like a physical wall. Hogwarts Express gleamed under the cloudy sky, its scarlet paint a beacon cutting through the chaos.

We pulled to a breathless halt near the luggage carts, trying to catch our bearings.

That was when Harry found us. He was flushed from running, hair sticking up worse than usual, but there was something solid in his face — a weight he hadn't carried before.

He stepped in front of us, fidgeting like he didn't know how to start.

"Hey," he said, awkward but determined. "I never... properly said thanks."

Katie raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For last year," Harry said firmly. "For backing me up. For standing with me when everything turned sideways. And... for fighting your own battles too. I didn't know about what happened with that professor at your old school. If I had—"

"You would've gotten yourself expelled," I said dryly.

Harry cracked a small, real smile. "Maybe. But it would've been worth it."

Something hot and tight twisted in my chest.

"If you ever need anything this year," Harry said seriously, "anything — you've got me."

Katie and I exchanged a quick glance — something unspoken flashing between us.

We nodded.

"Right back at you, Potter," Katie said, smirking.

Harry clapped me lightly on the shoulder, like we were soldiers instead of teenagers.

Then he disappeared back into the madness, Ron shouting something about sandwiches in the distance.

Katie and I drifted toward the far end of the platform, weaving through the shouting families and the steam hissing from the train.

That was when I saw them.

Draco and Blaise.

For one, breathless heartbeat, I actually smiled.

There they were — alive, in one piece — leaning against the side of the train like they hadn't missed a single step. Katie caught the sight of them too, and I felt the way her shoulder brushed mine — relief so sharp it almost hurt.

I could already hear the jokes we were going to make, the shoves, the "what the hell were you thinking"s layered with too-tight hugs.

They were here.

They were—

My heart cracked sideways.

Pansy Parkinson was draped over Draco like a silk scarf, laughing too loud, her hand tracing patterns on his sleeve.

Millicent Bulstrode hung off Blaise's arm, smiling in that slow, heavy way that said mine, mine, mine.

And the boys?

They weren't looking at us.

At all.

In fact — Draco shifted, turning slightly so Pansy blocked his line of sight.

Blaise leaned in toward Millicent, pretending like something behind her was suddenly fascinating.

They saw us.

They knew we were standing there.

And they were doing everything in their power not to meet our eyes.

The relief inside me curdled into something sick and sour.

Katie's breath hitched once — just loud enough for me to catch — and then she masked it, her face folding into that sharp, brittle smile she wore when everything hurt too much to show.

I didn't say anything.

Neither did she.

We just stood there, frozen to the spot, while the world roared and blurred around us.

The Hogwarts Express let out a shrill, impatient whistle behind us.

The clock over the platform ticked down the last minutes to departure.

And for the first time since last summer — Since Anselme, since the duels, since everything —I felt like we were standing completely, utterly alone.