Adrien.

The common room after curfew always felt different — softer, more secret.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing shadows along the stone walls. Katie sat curled up in one armchair, picking at a thread in the sleeve of her jumper, and I was sprawled across the worn rug, propped up on my elbows, a Charms book open but completely ignored in front of me.

That was when the portrait hole creaked open.

Katie stiffened.

I didn't move — just tilted my head lazily to watch as Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped in from the hall, moving like they expected alarms to go off.

Harry froze when he spotted us — tension coiling across his shoulders like a drawn bowstring. Hermione shot him a hurry-up look, shoving Ron through the gap with an elbow to the ribs.

I raised an eyebrow. Katie smirked faintly.

We didn't say anything — didn't need to.

Their secret was safe. For now.

Harry gave a tiny, grateful nod before herding his trio toward the stairs like a trio of badly-behaved shadows.

Once they were out of earshot, Katie huffed a quiet laugh and shook her head. "Subtle as a hippogriff in a china shop."

I flopped onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

The weight I'd been ignoring all evening settled on my chest again.

Katie let a beat of silence stretch — then asked quietly, "Are we going to talk about it?"

I didn't pretend not to know what she meant.

"Draco," she said when I didn't answer. "That whole... thing."

I closed my eyes.

Katie exhaled, frustrated. "Adrien, you saw him. He's a mess."

"Yeah," I said, voice flat. "Because life's so hard when you get everything you want."

Katie bristled immediately. "You know it's not that simple."

I sat up sharply. "Isn't it?"

The fire snapped sharply behind us.

We stared at each other — a line drawn in the ash between us.

Katie's mouth tightened. "And what about Blaise?"

I looked away.

Her voice softened, careful. "You think I don't notice you disappearing at night?"

I didn't answer.

Because what could I say?

That I was sneaking off to the Quidditch Pitch like some stupid lovesick girl? That every time Blaise kissed me, it felt a little less like victory and a little more like loss?

No. I couldn't say any of that.

Instead, I pushed to my feet and stretched my arms overhead. "I'm going to bed."

Katie opened her mouth — but whatever she saw in my face stopped her cold.

Without another word, I grabbed my book, turned, and fled up the stairs.

Later that Night, I noticed the moon was sharp overhead as I jogged across the dewy grass, my cloak snapping around my ankles.

It had been a week since I'd seen him. Too long.

Blaise was waiting by the bleachers, hood up, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

When he saw me, he smiled — small, crooked, wrecked — and for a moment, I hated him for it.

"Hey," he said quietly, like I was something he wasn't sure he deserved to speak to.

"Hey," I echoed, stopping a few feet away. The cold gnawed through my jumper, but I barely felt it.

"This is stupid," I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself. "Sneaking around like criminals."

Blaise stepped closer. Close enough that his breath ghosted across my forehead. "You think I don't know that?"

I tilted my chin up. "Then why are we doing it?"

He searched my face — his expression tired, older somehow.

"Because it's this or nothing," he said simply. "And I can't do nothing."

The words gutted me.

I dropped my forehead against his chest, breathing him in. "It's not enough."

His arms wrapped around me, fierce and unyielding. "It's what we've got."

For a long minute, we just stood there, letting the night fill the spaces between words.

Finally, Blaise broke the silence, voice rough against the wind. "Draco's losing it."

I stiffened immediately.

Blaise gave a hollow, humorless laugh. "Parents are riding him harder. Making him show face. Pushing him to rub elbows with every pureblood debutante like he's a bloody prize on auction."

"And he's letting them," I muttered, disgust curling in my gut.

"He's scared," Blaise said, softer. "Scared for them. Scared for himself."

I ripped away from him, pacing a few steps, anger crawling under my skin like an infection.

"So are we," I snapped. "And you don't see us crawling into someone else's arms, do you?"

Blaise flinched like I'd hit him, but he didn't argue.

Instead, he said quietly, "At least I'm trying."

The words hung there, raw and cutting.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the burn behind them back down where it belonged.

"I'm lying to Katie every single day," I said, turning on him. "Sneaking out like a bloody criminal. Pretending everything's normal when it's not. I can't even look her in the eye half the time."

Blaise stepped closer, his hands clenching and unclenching like he didn't know whether to grab me or shove me away.

"You think I don't hate this?" he rasped. "You think it doesn't kill me every time I see you across the Hall and I can't touch you? Can't claim you?"

My heart hammered so loud I almost missed the next part.

"You think I don't want to hex every bastard that looks at you like you're free game?" he snapped. "I can't even hold your hand without risking everything."

I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Because if we slip," I said bitterly, "if anyone catches us—"

"They won't," Blaise said immediately, stepping into my space again, his heat rolling off him in waves. "We're smarter than that."

I laughed, sharp and broken. "No, Blaise. We're reckless. We're stupid. And we're playing with a ticking clock."

His eyes burned into mine — furious, desperate.

"I'd rather have you like this," he said, low and guttural, "than not at all."

And that broke something in me.

I grabbed him by the front of his jumper and yanked him forward, our mouths crashing together — messy, bruising, furious.

He responded instantly, hands threading into my hair, gripping my waist, shoving me back until I slammed against the bleachers.

But it wasn't enough.

We stumbled blindly, mouths never parting, until we found the old locker room — dark, abandoned. The door slammed shut behind us, rattling on its hinges. He shoved me back against the nearest wall, hands everywhere, mouths battling for dominance.

It was reckless. Stupid. Dangerous.

His jacket hit the floor. My jumper soon followed.

Every kiss, every desperate drag of his mouth against mine, said all the things we couldn't say out loud.

I gasped against him when his hands slid under the hem of my shirt, and he froze — forehead pressing to mine, panting.

"We have to stop," he ground out, voice wrecked.

"Yeah," I whispered, even as I arched into him.

Neither of us moved.

The air between us sizzled — electric, crackling, devastating.

I tightened my hands in the front of his shirt, trying to ground myself.

But it was impossible.

Because this — him — was the only place I felt anything close to whole anymore.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Blaise pulled back just enough to catch my eye.

His pupils were blown wide, his chest heaving.

"You're it for me, Blackwood," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You always have been."

And somehow, despite everything — despite the sneaking and the lying and the bloodlines and the bullshit—I believed him.

Even if it was going to kill us both.

Later that week, it was our first McGonagall Private Lesson.

Thursday after last period, Katie and I trudged up the winding staircases toward McGonagall's office, still sore from practice dueling — and still wearing the tension of everything we weren't saying out loud.

When we stepped inside, McGonagall was already waiting — stern and regal as ever, her tartan robes crisp and immaculate, her wand tapping against the side of her palm thoughtfully.

"Sit," she said briskly, and we obeyed without a word.

She surveyed us for a long moment, gaze sharp enough to strip paint. Then—

"You two are dangerous," she said flatly.

Katie blinked. "Um. Thanks?"

McGonagall's mouth twitched — not quite a smile. "It wasn't a compliment. Not yet."

She stood and moved toward the center of the room where three battered training dummies stood frozen against the far wall.

"The kind of magic you demonstrated last year—wandless, speechless—rarely appears so young. And it rarely, if ever, appears so... volatile."

Adrien and I exchanged a glance.

"So," McGonagall continued crisply, "you will learn to control it. You will learn to choose when and how to use it — or you will find yourselves a danger not only to others but to yourselves." She turned, fixing us with that razor-sharp gaze again. "And make no mistake — there are people in this world who would kill to exploit what you can do."

I swallowed hard.

Katie straightened slightly, fists curling.

"Now," McGonagall said, drawing her wand with a sharp flick, "we begin. Your first lesson," McGonagall announced, "is control. Focus. Without drawing a wand, without muttering a single word."

She pointed to the training dummy. "I want you to disarm it."

I snorted. "It's not armed."

McGonagall's eyes glinted. "Use your imagination."

Katie shot me a grin and closed her eyes, concentrating.

For a moment, there was nothing—

—and then the dummy staggered backward, its dummy-wand clattering to the floor.

Katie's eyes snapped open, triumphant.

"Excellent," McGonagall said, nodding once. "Miss Adrien?"

I blew out a breath, focusing hard—and pushing the fact she just said my first name out of my mind.

Disarm.

Force.

Breathe.

The dummy's fake wand exploded out of its hand, soaring halfway across the room and slamming into the wall with a heavy thud.

I flinched.

McGonagall's lips thinned. "Control," she said sharply. "Not obliteration."

Katie smothered a laugh behind her hand.

"Next," McGonagall said, setting her wand aside, "defense. Reflex. You won't always have time to think."

Without warning, she flicked her hand sharply — and a burst of magical force blasted toward Katie like a battering ram.

Katie didn't even blink.

A shimmer of pure magic sparked off her skin, deflecting the blow midair.

McGonagall didn't pause. She sent a second blast — this one toward me.

I reacted instinctively — hands up — and a thin, crackling shield erupted around me, humming so hard my fingers tingled.

McGonagall lowered her hands, studying us both.

"Better," she said. "Still rough. But better."

We stumbled out of McGonagall's office an hour later, sweaty, disheveled, and buzzing with leftover magic.

"My fingers are tingling," Katie muttered, flexing her hands like she could shake the energy out.

"I feel like I stuck my face in a lightning storm," I grumbled.

We made it halfway down the hall before Katie slowed, her gaze distant.

"You think we can actually control it?" she asked finally, low and uncertain.

I hesitated.

Then I bumped her shoulder, flashing a grin I didn't really feel. "We're Gryffindors," I said. "If we can't beat it into submission, we'll just burn the castle down trying."

Katie laughed — tired and sharp — but real.

And for a moment, it was enough.

Two weeks flew by, between our constant push and pulls with Professor Umbridge, the weird looks Draco and Katie would exchange—with nothing but heat behind them—then there was me, sneaking out to have a night with Blasie about once or twice a week.

The weight of the secret was starting to weigh me down, but somehow Blasie made it sound so easy, so right. Although there was a part of me that was screaming to end it—get it out—but then what?

The Career Advice appointments were a disaster waiting to happen — and naturally, Katie and I were scheduled back-to-back.

I stepped into the office first, finding Umbridge perched behind her desk like a pink, poisonous toad.

"Miss Blackwood," she purred. "Sit."

I sat. And immediately wished I hadn't.

Her office was a nightmare of lace, kittens, and looming Ministry pamphlets. It smelled like moldy sugar and something worse.

"I see you've expressed an interest in... Auror training," she said, flipping through my file with a disdainful curl of her lip.

I smiled sweetly. "Thought I'd put my talents to good use."

Umbridge's smile tightened into something almost predatory. "Aurors require impeccable discipline. Impeccable loyalty."

"Good thing I'm loyal to the right people," I said, tilting my head innocently.

Her eyes glittered dangerously. "We'll see about that."

When she dismissed me, she leaned forward, voice dripping with saccharine malice. "I'll be keeping a very close eye on you, Miss Blackwood. Both of you."

Katie was waiting outside, pacing.

"What did she say?" she muttered as we hurried away down the corridor.

"That we're on her watchlist," I said. "Again."

"Perfect," Katie deadpanned. "I've always wanted a stalker."

I snorted, bumping her shoulder with mine. "We're trendsetters, Blackwood. Always have been."

But then there was the duel disaster... it was Katie's brilliant idea, really.

If Umbridge was going to try to "reform" us, why not reform ourselves... publicly... at Dueling Club? We stepped into the Great Hall — where Umbridge had graciously "permitted" a new Dueling Club under her strict supervision.

Her eyes narrowed immediately when she spotted us.

Fred and George spotted her spotting us — and practically bounced over.

"Morning, Minister's Minion," Fred said brightly, sketching an elaborate bow.

George grinned. "Here to monitor excellence?"

Umbridge's mouth twitched violently. "If you two expect to avoid expulsion—"

"Oh, we're counting on it," George said cheerfully. "Makes the inevitable victory taste sweeter."

Katie elbowed me lightly, smirking.

And that's when Draco and Blaise drifted closer from the Slytherin side — watching everything unfold with narrowed, wary eyes.

"Oh, fantastic," Fred stage-whispered loudly enough for half the Hall to hear. "The snakes have slithered over to watch the fireworks."

"I love a captive audience," I said sweetly, tossing my hair over my shoulder — letting it catch the light just so — because I caught Blaise's gaze clenching tightly... and I meant for him to see it.

Katie caught Draco's look too — guarded, tense, something ugly flashing across his face.

Good.

Let them stew.

Let them burn.

Umbridge's voice cut across the Hall, sharp and syrupy. "Miss Blackwood. Miss Blackwood." She clasped her hands together. "Since you seem so eager to participate... perhaps a demonstration."

My smile sharpened."Wouldn't miss it."

Katie gave me a look that said I'm going to kill you and still stepped up beside me, wand already in hand. We squared off across from a pair of Umbridge's new pet Prefects — smarmy little Ravenclaw boy and a Hufflepuff girl who looked like she ironed her robes daily.

"Bow," Umbridge chirped.

We dipped low, exchanged a wicked grin—And unleashed chaos.

It wasn't technically against the rules to disarm your opponent, levitate their shoes onto a chandelier, and turn their hair neon pink.

It just wasn't... encouraged.

"Oops," Katie said as the Ravenclaw's robes snapped over his head mid-duel.

"Training accident," I said innocently as the Hufflepuff girl shrieked, clutching at her violently fluorescent curls.

The Hall roared with laughter.

Fred and George actually whooped.

Even Harry let out a low whistle.

Across the floor, Umbridge turned a shade of pink so bright it could've been a Ministry emergency beacon.

"DETAIN THEM," she screeched, voice cracking.

"Catch us if you can," Fred called brightly.

George winked at Adrien. "Internships still open!"

Katie and I bolted — laughing so hard we could barely breathe — weaving between stunned students and scrambling Prefects.

We barely made it down two flights of stairs before Fred and George Weasley came careening around a corner, nearly bowling us over.

"Oi!" Fred barked, skidding to a dramatic stop in front of us and pressing a hand to his chest like he'd survived a near-death experience. "Blimey, Blackwood — should come with a warning label."

Katie smirked beside me. "Hazardous when provoked?"

George snapped his fingers. "Exactly what I was thinking."

I rolled my eyes and leaned casually against the wall, crossing my arms. "You two always this dramatic, or is it just when you know you're losing?"

"Harsh," Fred said, grinning wide. "Unfair. Accurate."

George clutched his heart. "Tragic."

Before I could bite back a comeback, Fred slid into the space next to me — a little too close — his arm propped above my head like we were in some cheesy romantic drama.

"Join forces with us, Blackwood," he said solemnly. "Imagine the carnage. The legacy."

Katie snorted. "You just want plausible deniability."

"True," George said shamelessly, bumping Katie with his shoulder. "But also — we like you lot. You're dangerous."

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Dangerous and unhinged? Sounds about right."

Fred beamed, like I'd complimented his mother.

"So it's official, then," Fred said, extending his hand dramatically. "A binding contract of glorious rebellion."

I laughed — a real, chest-deep one — and shook his hand. "You're on."

He didn't let go immediately. Instead, he gave my hand a tug — pulling me just half a step closer — and dropped his voice low.

"You know," he murmured, "if we're going to be partners in crime... might as well get to know each other better. Maybe dinner? Some firewhisky when we break out of Hogwarts?"

It should've been ridiculous. It should've been a joke.

But the way he said it — teasing, sure, but serious underneath — made something tighten low in my gut.

I blinked at him — just a little thrown.

And that's when it happened.

Footsteps echoed from down the hall — heavy, irritated footsteps — and when I turned my head, I locked eyes with Blaise Zabini.

He wasn't alone, Millicent Bulstrode was draped around him like a second skin. But it wasn't Millicent's smug, cloying smirk I noticed.

It was Blaise.

Blaise — frozen mid-step, staring at me and Fred like he wanted to set the whole corridor on fire.

His jaw locked. His hand flexed at his side like he was fighting every instinct not to storm across the hall.

For half a heartbeat — a long, thrumming second — nobody moved.

Then Blaise sneered — loud enough for the whole corridor to hear —

"Slumming it now, Blackwood?"

Millicent tittered beside him, looping her arm tighter around his.

My blood went ice-cold.

Before I could even think about lunging for him, Fred stepped closer to me — still loose, still easy — and smirked.

"Jealousy's one thing," Fred said, voice all fake-cheerful venom. "But breaking a girl's heart and demanding the ring back? Classy move, mate. Real impressive. Bet Millicent's thrilled to be the consolation prize."

George barked out a laugh, loud and unbothered.

Blaise's face darkened — thunderous — but he didn't move. Didn't dare.

Because to move would mean admitting it.

Admitting me. Admitting us.

And he couldn't.

Not here. Not now. Not with Millicent hanging off his arm like a participation trophy.

Katie looped her arm through mine, squeezing just hard enough to say let it burn — and I sucked in a breath through the white-hot rage sparking just beneath my skin.

We turned away in perfect sync with the twins flanking us naturally — cool, casual, untouchable — our laughter sharp and easy as we walked.

Behind us, the tension boiled.

If looks could kill, Blaise would've left Fred Weasley a bloodstain on the corridor floor.

And I would've helped him mop it up.