Adrien.

The first day of classes had the usual flavor of chaos — books flying, students yelling, someone trying to levitate Trevor the toad halfway across the courtyard — but underneath it all, there was a new kind of tension this year.

Thick.

Heavy.

Like the walls of Hogwarts were bracing for something worse than Peeves or a rogue Weasley prank.

And it had a name. Umbridge.

By the time we slid into our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Katie and I were vibrating with the kind of sharp, defiant energy that always got us into trouble.

Today wasn't going to be an exception.

Umbridge stood at the front of the room, her pink cardigan straining against her shoulders, her beady eyes glittering like a cat that had cornered something small and squirming.

Katie and I made a beeline for the back corner — our usual spot.

Except when we got there—Blaise and Draco were already sprawled across the bench.
Pansy perched neatly beside Draco, and Millicent next to Blaise, looking smugger than should've been legal.

It was deliberate.

A line in the sand.

Katie stopped dead in her tracks, shoulders snapping straight. I almost laughed — the anger rolled off her so hot it practically crackled.

Blaise looked up — and for a half-second, just a half-second — I caught the regret flashing behind his eyes.

Then it was gone.

Replaced by cold, practiced indifference.

Katie arched a brow, razor-sharp.

"Must've taken hours to coordinate the seating chart," she said sweetly.

Draco didn't look at her. Didn't look at me.

Which somehow hurt more than anything else.

Pansy smiled — sharp and saccharine. "Some of us know how to choose the winning side."

Katie's knuckles went white on the strap of her bag.

I smiled — slow, vicious — and took a dramatic step closer.

"You're right," I said, voice low and syrupy. "It must be exhausting carrying all that cowardice around."

A few students nearby choked on badly-hidden laughs.

Pansy's face flushed scarlet.

Draco stiffened.

Blaise's jaw ticked once, like he wanted to move, wanted to say something—But he didn't.

Katie let out a low, humorless laugh and turned on her heel, stalking to the empty table at the other side of the room without another glance.

I followed.

We dropped into our new seats — like queens taking thrones, heads high, backs straight.

Not broken. Not bowed.

Let the whole bloody room watch. We didn't care. (Not about them. Not anymore.)

There were neat little packets stacked on every desk.

No wands drawn. No practicals in sight.

I exchanged a look with Katie — the same look we'd perfected years ago.

Oh, hell no.

Umbridge cleared her throat, voice syrupy sweet. "Good morning, class."

No one answered.

She smiled wider — all teeth. "You have all been given a Ministry-approved textbook that will adequately prepare you for your theoretical understanding of defensive magic."

Katie's fingers twitched on the desk.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Theoretical.

Meaning no practice. No real spells. No defense. Meaning no preparation. Meaning slaughter.

Harry raised his hand before anyone else could blink.

Umbridge's smile froze on her face.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" she said, syrup dripping off her tongue.

"How are we supposed to defend ourselves with theory?" he asked bluntly.

The class collectively held its breath.

Umbridge's eyelid twitched.

"Dear boy," Umbridge simpered, tilting her head like a deranged doll, "you won't need defense."

Katie let out a sharp, barely-contained snort.

I smiled — tight and dangerous — because we knew exactly how much "defense" Hogwarts needed.

We'd seen it.

So had Harry.

Harry straightened in his seat, every line of his body vibrating with fury. "You don't know that," he said, voice steady but lethal.

The class went still — the kind of stillness that only happened right before a fight.

Umbridge's smile didn't falter.
But something mean flickered behind her eyes.

"Lord Voldemort is back," Harry said loudly — daring anyone to deny it. "And if you think a textbook is going to stop him, you're as blind as the Ministry."

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. A few students actually gasped.

Umbridge's expression curdled. Her cheeks twitched once—twice.

"There is no evidence of that, Mr. Potter," she said, voice dangerously sweet.
"And it is not your place to spread falsehoods."

"It's not a falsehood," Harry snapped. "I saw him. He killed Cedric Diggory—"

"Enough!" Umbridge barked, the sharpness in her voice slicing through the room.

Katie's chair screeched back as she stood up without thinking. "You can't just erase what happened because it's inconvenient," she said, chin lifting.

Umbridge's beady eyes latched onto her like a hawk spotting prey.

"Miss Blackwood," she said, voice tightening, "you would do well to remember your... precarious place at this institution."

My blood burned.

I stood too — my chair clattering back — feeling the magic crackle faintly over my skin.

It wasn't loud yet. But it was there. Alive and dangerous.

"Our place," I said evenly, "is wherever the truth is."

Somewhere beside me, Katie smiled — a sharp, savage thing.

Umbridge's lips pinched so hard they practically disappeared.

"And you," she said, her gaze sliding back to Katie with a strange, lingering curiosity. "You... your file was most enlightening."

Katie's fists curled at her sides."My file?" she echoed, voice cold.

"A colorful family history," Umbridge said sweetly. "One might think — prone to... rebellion."

I took a step closer to Katie, ready to hex this woman straight off the bloody planet.

But Harry beat us to it.

"If standing up to liars makes us rebels," he said, voice low and shaking, "then maybe Hogwarts could use a few more."

Silence. The kind that felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Then Umbridge's smile snapped back into place — a brittle, terrifying thing.

"Detention," she said, practically purring now. "For all three of you."

I didn't blink. Katie didn't flinch. Harry didn't back down.

And somehow, as we stood there — breathing hard, hearts pounding —I realized something.

We weren't just surviving this year. We were already at war. And we'd just chosen our side.

Later that afternoon, as we dragged ourselves to the dungeons for "punishment," Katie nudged my side.

"You think if we're really charming, they'll let us duel instead?" she whispered.

"I'd rather duel a bloody Hungarian Horntail than sit through this," I muttered back.

Waiting for us at the corridor's mouth were our assigned prefect "guards" —Parkinson and Malfoy.

Because, of course.

Malfoy looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Pansy looked like she wanted to hex us just for breathing.

"Well, well," Pansy sneered, stepping into our path. "Looks like you two aren't so clever after all."

Katie smiled, slow and poisonous. "And yet here you are — babysitting us."

Malfoy's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close.

Before Pansy could whip back with something nasty, there was a sudden, ear-splitting bang behind us.

I whirled around just in time to see the corridor flood with pink soap bubbles — massive, fat bubbles that bounced off the walls, stuck to people's heads, and reeked of spoiled candy.

"WHAT THE—" Pansy shrieked, batting wildly at the bubbles.

Fred and George Weasley leaned casually against a side door, identical smug smiles plastered across their faces.

"Fancy meeting you two here," Fred said, winking at us.

"Need a rescue?" George added, twirling his wand.

Katie didn't hesitate, just long enough to shoot Draco a smug smirk before she grabbed my wrist and yanked.

We bolted — slipping through the soap-cloud chaos, laughing so hard it hurt.

Fred and George darted after us, cackling as Pansy's screeches echoed behind us.

We didn't stop until we crashed into a storage alcove halfway up the stairwell.

Breathless. Grinning.

For a moment — just a moment — it felt like the old Hogwarts. The one before fear crept into every crack of the stones.

Fred grinned down at me, hair wild, eyes bright.

"You know," he said, nudging my shoulder, "you could make an excellent honorary Weasley."

I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. "Please. You lot wouldn't survive me."

Fred's grin widened. "We like a challenge."

Katie snickered nearby, ruffling George's hair just to be annoying.

I didn't notice the other shadow across the corridor until we slipped out of the alcove, still grinning.

Blaise.

He stood halfway down the hallway, half-shrouded in the shadows —watching. He hadn't moved. But something in his face — something tight, broken, furious — flickered when he caught the sound of my laugh.

Our eyes locked.

And then — like he couldn't help himself — he turned on his heel and disappeared into the dark.

I exhaled shakily, heart slamming against my ribs.

Katie caught my arm, steadying me without asking.

I nodded once — I'm fine — even though I wasn't.

Later that night, when the castle had gone still and the moonlight spilled like silver across the floors, I found it.

I turned over, glaring around the room at the lack of sleep as I adjusted my pillow and folded under my pillow.

A letter.

I unfolded it with trembling fingers.

His handwriting — sharp, familiar, infuriating — blurred on the page:

Meet me.
Usual spot.
Midnight.
Please.
—B.

I closed my eyes, breathing through the thousand emotions tearing through me at once.

Katie shifted in her bed across the room, sighing in her sleep.

The castle creaked in the night — old, heavy, breathing with us.

Midnight.

Quidditch Pitch bleachers.

Like nothing had changed. Like everything hadn't.

I pressed the note to my chest for one second — just one — then shoved it deep into the pocket of my robes.

I had a choice to make.

And somehow, I already knew —This meeting would break something.

Or maybe, if we were lucky—It would save it.

The Quidditch Pitch was deserted at midnight. The bleachers creaked under my boots as I climbed up, the cold air biting against my cheeks.

He was already there. Blaise.

Leaning against the top row, arms crossed, shoulders tense like he was bracing for a punch.

Maybe he was.

Good.

I stopped a few feet away, arms folded tight against myself, the cold biting deeper than it should've.

Neither of us spoke.

The wind cut across the field, snapping through the empty stands.

Then—

"You gave it back," Blaise said quietly, his voice rough at the edges.

My throat tightened. I didn't move.

His eyes dropped to my hand — empty now. Bare.

Like it was some gaping wound we were both pretending not to notice.

I swallowed hard. "Why am I here, Blaise?" I asked, forcing the words out.

His jaw clenched. "You know why."

I laughed — short and sharp. "No. Enlighten me."

He shoved a hand through his hair — wild and wrecked, nothing like the calm, smooth Blaise Zabini the world knew.

"Millicent—" he started.

"Save it," I snapped, my voice cutting sharper than a curse. "You chose her."

"I didn't choose her!" he snapped back immediately, stepping closer. "I chose survival."

I lifted my chin. "Same difference."

Blaise's mouth twisted like he tasted something rotten."You think it was easy?" he said, low and furious. "You think it didn't kill me to take that ring back?"

I smiled — cold and vicious. "Looked pretty cozy from where I was standing."

His fists curled at his sides, knuckles whitening.

"I almost lost it," he muttered, each word like broken glass, "watching you laugh with Fred today."

I blinked, stunned by the raw jealousy bleeding out of him.

"Thought you gave up your right to care," I said flatly.

Blaise let out a bitter laugh — ugly and wrecked. "You think I forgot about last year?" he demanded, voice rough. "You think I forgot that bloody flower Fred gave you before the term?"

I stiffened. I remembered.

Apparently, some scars didn't fade.

Blaise stepped closer again, crowding into my space.

"You don't get it," he rasped. "They're watching me. Watching you. Every second."

I scoffed, curling my lip. "So you picked the easy option."

His jaw locked, whole body taut like he was one wrong word from breaking.

"You think it's easy," he growled, "standing next to her — when all I want to do is grab you and—"

He broke off, breathing hard.

The air between us snapped tight.

And then—

His hand caught the back of my neck, rough and desperate, yanking me in.

Our mouths crashed together — all teeth and anger and regret.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't kind. It was messy and furious and alive.

His other hand fisted in my jacket, dragging me closer until there was nothing left between us but the awful, aching things we couldn't say.

I shoved him back against the bleachers, teeth clashing, like hurting each other might somehow balance the scales. It spun out fast — too fast — my blood singing, the last sane thought slipping away—Until he broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressing against mine, fingers trembling against my hips.

"I have an idea," he rasped, voice wrecked. "Stay with me. Secretly."

I froze.

He was serious.

"I can't be seen with you," he rushed out, desperate. "But if they think I've moved on—no one will touch you. No one will come near you."

My heart twisted so hard it hurt.

Stay. In the shadows. Hidden. Like something to be ashamed of.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe.

Part of me — the part still bleeding — wanted to scream no. Wanted to shove him away and tell him to rot.

But another part — smaller, quieter, traitorous — whispered yes.

Because even broken, even bleeding —He was still mine.

And I was still his.

At least for now.

I opened my eyes and found him staring at me — raw, pleading, heartbreak written into every line of him.

And when he pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, his breath shuddering out, he didn't move away. "You're impossible," he muttered against my skin.

I huffed a tiny breathless laugh. "You're worse."

"Always knew you were stubborn," he said, a small smirk curling his lips, "but this? This is a whole new level."

"Don't act like you're surprised," I shot back.

He pulled back just enough to look at me properly, his thumb brushing my jaw, tender and rough all at once.

"I'm asking you to be reckless with me," he said quietly. "To trust me when it's stupid."

"You're very convincing," I said dryly.

He grinned — a flash of the boy I remembered, the one who could charm the teeth off a dragon.

"Come on, Chaos," he teased, using the nickname that made my heart stumble. "You know you want to."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're insufferable."

"And you love it," he said cockily.

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugged up — just a little.

Because damn it, he wasn't wrong.

Even now, even after everything, even after handing him back the ring like cutting off my own hand — some traitorous part of me still wanted him.

Still wanted this. Still wanted us.

But I wasn't stupid.

I knew the cost. I knew the risk. I knew this wasn't a fairytale — it was war dressed up in stolen kisses and bruised promises. And I knew the second someone caught us, it wouldn't just be heartbreak this time.

It would be blood.

I dragged in a shaking breath."You're asking me," I said slowly, "to hide. To pretend."

His smile slipped a little. "I'm asking you to survive."

My chest ached. Because that was the thing. It wasn't just about us anymore. It was about surviving the wolves circling tighter every day. It was about living long enough to have a future at all.

And yeah — maybe it was stupid.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it would break me worse later.

But right now — standing here under the stars, with his hands on me and the whole world trying to tear us apart —

I wanted it. I wanted him.

Even if it was selfish. Even if it was doomed. Even if it would hurt like hell.

My chest ached.

Because that was the thing. It wasn't just about us anymore. It was about surviving the wolves circling tighter every day. It was about living long enough to have a future at all.

And yeah — maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it would break me worse later. But right now — standing here under the stars, with his hands on me and the whole world trying to tear us apart —I wanted it.

I wanted him.

Even if it was selfish. Even if it was doomed. Even if it would hurt like hell.

I nodded once, sharp and sure.

And then—A sharp, distant voice shattered the night. "Who's out here?"

I flinched. Blaise grabbed my wrist, already pulling me into motion.

We ran — quiet, fast, trained from too many nights sneaking back into dorms.

Another shout — closer this time.

A wandlight bobbing at the edge of the pitch.

Blaise swore under his breath, spotted the maintenance shed tucked under the stands, and dragged me with him.

We barely made it through the door before it slammed shut behind us.

The world narrowed down to dark, dust, and the furious pound of our hearts.

It was tiny — broomsticks, broken quaffles, and maintenance equipment jammed in every corner. And nowhere — absolutely nowhere — to hide.

I was pressed chest-to-chest against Blaise, his hands braced on either side of my head.

Too close.

Way, way too close.

I could feel the heat of him everywhere — feel the tension in his arms, the fast rise and fall of his breathing, the way his chest brushed mine with every shaky inhale.

Outside, the footsteps came closer.

Paused.

My heart nearly exploded out of my ribs.

I didn't dare breathe. Neither did he.

His fingers twitched — wanting to grab me, hold me tighter, move — but he didn't. He just stood there, solid and trembling and waiting.

And Merlin help me — it wrecked me.

Because I knew — knew — that if he moved even an inch closer, if he kissed me again, I wouldn't have the strength to stop it.

The footsteps eventually moved on — fading back toward the castle.

We stayed frozen for another long moment, just in case.

Finally — finally — Blaise dropped his forehead against mine, exhaling one slow, shuddery breath.

"You're gonna kill me," he whispered, rough and wrecked.

"Join the club," I whispered back, equally broken.

Another breathless second passed — neither of us willing to move.

Neither of us willing to let go first.

And then —I shoved at his chest lightly, just enough to create space.

"Come on," I muttered. "Before we really get caught by that gumball."

He chuckled — low and hoarse — but stepped back.

And that's when I saw it — the unguarded, unfiltered look in his eyes.

Like I was oxygen. Like he was starving for it.

For me.

It made my knees damn near buckle. I swallowed hard, forcing my heart back down into my chest. And nodded once, sharp and sure.

"Alright," I repeated, stronger this time."But we do this my way."

Blaise's smile broke wide open — bright and wrecked and a little victorious.

"Your way, huh?" he teased, voice low.

"Yeah," I said, shoving at his chest. "And if you slip even once, if you so much as look at Millicent like you enjoy breathing the same air, I swear to Merlin—"

He caught my wrist, pulling me back in, laughing softly.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he whispered, and kissed me again — desperate and grateful and a little bit doomed.

We stayed like that for a while — breathing each other in, clinging to something we weren't sure we could save.

The night was thick and quiet again — but not safe. We stayed low, slipping between shadows, moving fast across the grass.

"We need a plan," I hissed as we moved.

Blaise huffed a soft laugh. "You mean besides not getting caught and expelled?"

I elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "I'm serious."

He caught my wrist again, tugging me close as we darted under the bleachers.

"In public," he murmured, voice low against my ear, "we fight."

I blinked up at him, half-out of breath. "Fight?"

He nodded grimly. "Bicker. Argue. Scowl. You know—"His mouth twisted into a smirk. "Everything you're already unnaturally good at."

I shoved him lightly, but my heart hammered for a different reason now.

He wasn't joking. This was how it had to be.

"You're saying... we act like we hate each other?" I asked, a little hollow.

He lifted one shoulder, that smirk slipping into something softer. "Not hate. Just... serious irritation."

"Hardcore irritation," I muttered.

"Exactly," he said. "Enough that no one suspects anything."

I exhaled hard through my nose. It made sense. It was smart. It also sucked.

"And we understand—" I started.

"—That none of it's real," he finished quietly. "Not a word of it."

I nodded, setting my jaw.

We stepped out into the open again, slipping along the shadowed walls of the Quidditch shed.

Just as we reached the last cover before the castle grounds stretched bare before us, Blaise caught my hand again — halting me.

"And one more thing," he said, voice lower than ever now, serious enough that it sent a ripple down my spine.

I turned, narrowing my eyes. "What?"

He hesitated — just a fraction — then said it:

"You can't tell Katie."

The words landed like a slap across the face.

I jerked back a step, blinking. "What?" I snapped, louder than I meant to.

Blaise lunged forward, pressing a hand lightly over my mouth, glancing around frantically.

I shoved him off, scowling. "You're joking," I hissed.

"I'm not," he said, fierce and low. "If she knows, she'll treat you differently without meaning to. She'll worry. She'll make a mistake."

I shook my head, breathless and furious. "Katie doesn't make mistakes. Especially not when it comes to keeping secrets."

"Adrien—" he started.

"You think she can't lie?" I hissed. "You think after everything we survived, after Anselme, after Skeeter, she can't handle this? You do remember she was the one that laid out Skeeter, right?"

Blaise stepped closer, voice urgent. "It's different this time. Different stakes. They're looking for cracks. For weak links. You two are practically stitched together at the hip—if you start acting off—"

"We're better at this than you think," I snapped.

"I know you are," he bit out. "That's the problem. They'll notice anything off about you. They won't notice shit about me."

I sucked in a breath, fists clenching.

He wasn't wrong. And I hated that he wasn't wrong.

Katie could hold a grudge like no one's business, sure. But she couldn't fake it. Not the way Blaise needed me to fake it now. Not when it would mean treating him like the enemy on purpose.

"Trust me," Blaise said, softer now, almost pleading. "Please."

I glared at him for a long moment, every nerve in my body fighting itself.

Keeping something from Katie felt like cutting out part of my own heart.

But if it was the only way to survive—

"You're lucky I'm already making terrible life decisions tonight," I muttered darkly.

Blaise's mouth twitched — not a real smile, but something wrecked and relieved.

"Ugh, Chaos..." he whispered. And then he stepped in again — kissed me again —desperate and grateful and a little bit doomed.

But for one stupid, stolen moment? It was enough.

Breakfast, the next morning, was chaos.

The good kind. Mostly.

Katie and I moved toward the Gryffindor table, catching Fred and George's enthusiastic gestures, they were halfway through a very heated argument about whether it was possible to rig a self-exploding pumpkin.

Hermione looked scandalized.

Ron looked intrigued.

Harry looked like he was mentally calculating the odds of detention.

"Morning, ladies," Fred said brightly as we slid onto the Gryffindor bench, pushing a plate of toast toward us like a peace offering. "Sleep well? Or were you too busy becoming Gryffindor legends overnight?"

I smirked, snagging a piece of toast. "Wouldn't you like to know."

George leaned over, grinning. "Back Harry in front of a Ministry hag on day one? You lot might be worse influences than we are."

Katie lifted her goblet of pumpkin juice like she was making a toast."We aim to disappoint our enemies and terrify our friends."

Fred clutched his chest dramatically. "Poetry. Absolute poetry."

Across the table, Ron was grinning so hard he looked like he might pull something.

"You should've seen Umbridge's face," he said between bites of sausage. "I thought she was going to turn into a toad on the spot."

"Probably would've improved her," Katie muttered.

George snickered into his porridge.

"You realize," Hermione said primly — but her lips twitched — "you've just painted an enormous target on your backs, right?"

I shrugged, casual. "Good. Let her aim. Makes it easier to punch."

Fred howled with laughter. "Merlin," he said, leaning closer like he was sharing a state secret. "We're adopting you two. It's decided."

"Do we get badges?" Katie asked innocently, buttering her toast.

George grinned wickedly. "No, but you get plausible deniability if anything explodes."

"Dreams really do come true," I said, deadpan.

They bickered lightly over breakfast — arguing about prank strategies, teasing Hermione about her fourth schedule revision already, and her Prefect badge to match Ron's — but I...

I wasn't really there.

I kept stabbing at my eggs without eating them. Kept glancing at the Slytherin table without meaning to. Kept feeling like the walls were pressing in a little tighter than usual.

Katie noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Her knee brushed mine under the table, a quiet are you okay?

I forced a tiny smile. Forced myself to laugh when George said something stupid about charm-proof underwear. Forced myself to sit up straighter, to join the banter—

And then Umbridge swept past.

The air shifted — heavy, toxic.

She was dressed in even more pink, if that was possible. A hideous bow perched like a dead bird on top of her head. Her eyes skimmed the Gryffindor table — lingered on Harry — then caught me and Katie.

And sharpened. A smile stretched across her face, thin and tight and wrong.

Katie stiffened beside me. I smiled back at Umbridge.

All teeth. No warmth.

For once, something in me felt steady — vicious, even.

I wanted her to know we'd skipped detention. I wanted her to know we weren't scared. I was still grinning when Fred bumped his shoulder into mine lightly.

"Proud of you, Blackwood," he said, voice low and playful. "Giving heart attacks to Ministry stooges before breakfast."

I smirked. "It's a gift."

He gave me a mock-wounded look. "You wound me. Here I thought I was the only one you liked to terrify before breakfast."

"Oh please," I said, tossing a grape at him. "You're my warm-up act."

Fred caught it one-handed, grinning like I'd just offered to run away and join his chaos circus.

"If you ever want to trade sides, love," he said brightly, "I'm recruiting."

"Careful, Weasley," I drawled, resting my chin lazily in my hand, letting my smile curve slow and sharp. "I might just take you up on that."

Fred didn't miss a beat — he leaned in closer across the table, all bright grin and infuriating mischief. "Dangerous promises, Blackwood," he said, his voice dropping just enough to send a little electric jolt down my spine.

Katie choked on her juice beside me, coughing into her goblet like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

George thumped her on the back helpfully, looking like he was absolutely living for the chaos.

And across the Great Hall — I saw him.

Blaise.

Not laughing. Not lounging lazily like he usually did.

Staring.

Straight. At. Me.

His fork hovered halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten. His jaw was tight — furious. His knuckles white around the silverware. Those stormy eyes of his — usually lazy, half-lidded — burned across the hall like a curse.

A slow, dangerous smile curled at the corner of my mouth.

Good.

Let him see. Let him feel it.

I turned back to Fred — deliberately, playfully — and reached across the table to steal a slice of toast off his plate.

Fred caught my wrist before I could retreat, grinning like I'd just made his whole damn day.

"Thief," he accused warmly.

"Victim," I said innocently, flipping my hair over my shoulder like I wasn't actively flirting for my life.

Fred leaned closer, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Guess you'll have to pay the toll," he said, voice low and teasing.

"Oh yeah?" I smirked. "What's the toll?"

He tapped his cheek — a request for a kiss. Casual. Teasing. So Fred.

But the way he was looking at me now—Sharp. Interested. Real.

It threw me for a half-second.

I laughed — a real, startled sound — and bumped his shoulder with mine, shaking my head. "Nice try, Weasley."

Fred just winked, utterly unbothered. "I'll collect later, sweetheart. Count on it."

He released my wrist only to catch my hand and peer down at my bare finger. His eyes locked on mine and a silent wave of conversation came over us as he gave my hand a small squeeze without breaking eye contact.

The thing was—He wasn't joking anymore. Not completely.

And somehow, that hit harder than it should have.

Out of instinct, I glanced back across the hall —Right into Blaise's storm-cloud eyes.

Still watching.

Still burning.

Still gripping the table like he wanted to snap it in half.

I smiled at him.

Sweet. Innocent. Absolutely lethal.

Blaise's jaw clenched so hard I swore I heard it crack from here.

Katie — who had been quietly tracking everything with hawk-level precision — nudged my ankle under the table.

I didn't even look at her.

Didn't need to.

Because we both knew—something dangerous had just shifted.

And Blaise Zabini? He had no idea how much worse it was about to get.

I could practically feel the questions stacking up behind Katie's teeth. And knowing Katie? It was only a matter of time before she demanded every bloody answer.