Katie.

Adrien and I were still buzzing from the confrontation — the look on Blaise's face, Fred's shit-eating grin, Millicent practically vibrating with territorial rage. It was almost enough to make me forget that the world was actively trying to crush us under its boot.

Almost.

We rounded the corner back toward Gryffindor Tower—

—and nearly collided headfirst with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Again.

I blinked.

Adrien raised an eyebrow.

Harry froze mid-step like a deer in wandlight. Ron flushed so red it looked like a medical emergency. Hermione looked two seconds from staging a full evacuation.

"Going somewhere?" I drawled, crossing my arms.

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, bravely, lied: "No."

"Definitely not," Ron added, voice cracking worse than a first-year's hover spell.

Hermione winced. "We were... studying."

I snorted. Loudly. "At midnight. Dressed like you're about to rob Gringotts."

"That's commitment," Adrien deadpanned.

The three of them fidgeted — caught, guilty, cornered.

I exchanged a look with Adrien — the kind of silent conversation we'd perfected over years of battlefields disguised as schools.

We could press them.

We should press them.

But... did we want to?

Because here's the thing: It wasn't that long ago the Golden Trio barely trusted us. Judged us. Assumed we were trouble.

Hell, half the time, they weren't wrong — but it still stung.

Now they were sneaking around after hours, clearly up to something big — and suddenly we were supposed to just... play nice?

Adrien's eyebrow twitched like she was thinking the same thing.

Still—We were tired.

We were bleeding in ways no one could see.

And maybe — just maybe — we weren't the only ones anymore.

"Good luck with the 'studying,'" I said lightly, stepping aside.

"Don't get caught," Adrien added, her voice edged but not cruel.

Harry hesitated, like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. They shuffled past us, disappearing into the dark corridor, leaving behind a trail of awkward tension.

I leaned back against the stone wall, arms folded across my chest.

Adrien bumped her shoulder against mine. "You think we'll regret letting them off the hook?" she murmured.

I smiled — sharp and tired. "Almost definitely."

But not tonight.

Tonight we had our own wars to fight.

The autumn sun was half-hearted at best, barely warming the worn stone benches scattered across the courtyard.

I sat hunched over a battered Charms textbook, half-reading, half-keeping watch for Adrien to finish whatever meeting McGonagall had dragged her into this time.

My quill scratched across parchment, the words blurring together. My head wasn't in it. Not really.

And it definitely wasn't when I heard laughter — high, shrill, fake as hell — slicing across the courtyard.

I looked up. And there he was.

Draco.

Pansy clinging to his arm like a parasite in designer robes. Her hand brushed his chest — deliberate, possessive. She said something in a syrupy voice, loud enough for me to hear it over the courtyard murmur:

"Honestly, Draco, they're just jealous. Some girls don't know when they've been replaced."

Something in me snapped.

I stood up so fast my textbook slid off my lap and thudded against the stone. I didn't even bother picking it up.

"Oi, Malfoy!" I barked across the courtyard.

Heads turned.

Pansy froze, one hand still splayed against Draco's chest.

He turned slowly — lazily — like he couldn't even be bothered to pretend he gave a damn.

I stalked toward them, heart hammering behind my ribs.

"What?" he drawled, bored.

I stopped a few feet away — just out of arm's reach — fists clenched at my sides.

"You really enjoying yourself, huh?" I spat. "Parading around with her like nothing's changed?"

Pansy smirked smugly. "Jealousy's such a bad color on you, Blackwood."

"Shut it, Parkinson," I snapped, not even sparing her a glance. My eyes were locked on Draco.

He looked tired. He looked cold. He looked like someone I didn't know anymore.

"You're becoming exactly what you swore you hated," I said, voice low and shaking with fury. "You're becoming the enemy."

Draco's jaw tightened — just a fraction.

"We're surviving," he said flatly. "Blaise. Me. We're doing what we have to."

"Surviving?" I barked a hollow laugh. "There's surviving, Malfoy—" I took a step closer, voice dropping to a snarl—"and then there's betrayal."

His mouth twisted. "You think this is easy? You think pretending, smiling, playing nice with the people who want to tear everything apart is fun?"

"No," I snapped. "I think you're a coward." The word hung in the air between us — ugly, sharp, real. Pansy let out a delighted little gasp, but I ignored her.

"You said you were different," I said, voice cracking despite myself. "You said you'd fight."

He didn't answer. He didn't move.

And that — somehow — hurt more than if he'd screamed back.

I laughed — broken, furious.

"We're not on opposite sides yet," I said, voice rough, "but you're standing so far away I can barely see you."

For a second — one brief, flickering heartbeat — I thought maybe he'd deny it.

Maybe he'd fight for me. For us.

He didn't.

And the bottom dropped out of my chest.

I shook my head, blinking fast against the stupid burn in my eyes.

"Enjoy your new friends, Malfoy," I said, voice sharp and final.

Then I turned on my heel and walked away —

—not running, not breaking.

Not until I was out of sight. Not until I was safely alone behind the greenhouses, fists pressed against my mouth to hold in the wrecked sound clawing up my throat.

Not until I let myself fall apart properly — where he couldn't see it.

Where no one could—which didn't last long.

I stayed hidden behind the greenhouse, sitting on the cold stone path, trying to stitch my insides back together.

Pathetic.

I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, breathing hard.

I didn't hear them coming until it was too late.

"Oi, Blackwood," came a familiar voice — careful, not mocking.

Fred Weasley.

I scrubbed my face with my sleeve and looked up — caught both twins peeking around the side of the greenhouse like they were scouting for treasure. Fred's grin faltered a little when he saw me — properly saw me — and nudged George in the ribs.

George elbowed him back without looking.

"You coming or what?" George said casually, jerking his head toward the courtyard.

Fred shifted awkwardly. "Got to...uh...scout the Great Hall," he said vaguely. "For... supplies."

He wasn't subtle. He wasn't supposed to be.

Fred gave me a lingering look — half invitation, half you're not alone — and then disappeared back around the corner, whistling low under his breath.

George stayed behind, rocking back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets.

"You look like you could use a bit of crime," he said conversationally.

I snorted — an ugly, broken sound — but some cracked, stubborn part of me straightened up.

George grinned wider, seeing it.

"Come on," he said. "Nothing heals the soul like sticking it to Umbridge... and Malfoy."

My brows lifted. "Both?"

George's grin went absolutely wicked. "Both."

I stood up, brushing off my jeans. "You have my attention."

He slung an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the castle like we were just two friends on a nice, casual stroll — not plotting absolute chaos.

"You see, Prefect Malfoy's got this new batch of paperwork he's supposed to hand in to Umbridge tonight," George said cheerfully. "Very important. Very official."

"Sounds riveting," I deadpanned.

"Right?" George beamed. "Except... someone's about to replace his ink with vanishing ink."

I paused, staring at him. "So when he hands it in—?"

"It disappears." George clapped his hands, delighted. "Right in front of Umbridge. Poof. Like his dignity."

A slow, evil smile stretched across my face. For the first time all day, it felt good.

Right.

"I'm in," I said immediately.

George patted my head like I was a particularly vicious golden retriever. "Knew you were smarter than you looked."

"Oi," I swatted his hand away. "You need me. I'm the subtle one."

He laughed, leading me through a shortcut near the kitchens.

"Subtle?" he echoed. "You called Malfoy a coward in front of the entire courtyard."

"Subtle for a Gryffindor," I amended.

George snickered. "Fair enough."

Later that night, we slipped into the Prefect lounge like ghosts — laughing under our breath, adrenaline buzzing.

I worked fast — sleight of hand, careful flicks of my wand, a little bit of the vanishing ink smuggled from the twins' secret stash. George kept lookout by the door, muttering fake coughing fits whenever someone passed too close.

It was chaos magic in pure form —

—and it felt right.

When we finally darted out again, hiding our grins behind our sleeves, George bumped my shoulder with his. "You're alright, Blackwood," he said.

I arched my brow. "You sound surprised."

"Shattered all my expectations," he said solemnly. "I thought you'd be too broody to prank."

I shrugged. "Turns out heartbreak and chaos go hand in hand."

George's grin turned real, bright and reckless. "You're gonna fit in just fine."

And somehow — for the first time in days —I actually believed it.

By the time we rounded the last corner toward the Gryffindor common room, I was still buzzing from the sheer adrenaline of what we'd pulled off. George was grinning like a kid who'd just robbed a candy shop blind.

"Remind me," I said, bumping his shoulder, "to commit crimes with you more often."

He winked. "Stick with me, Blackwood. We'll take the Ministry down before breakfast."

I snorted—and then slowed.

Because there, outside the common room entrance, were Fred and Adrien.

Talking.

And not casual-talking. No, this was serious talking—low voices, heads bent close, Fred smiling a little too much, Adrien flipping her hair like she wasn't trying to kill him with her sarcasm.

George noticed too. He arched an eyebrow and muttered, "Oh, bloody hell, he's pulling out The Face."

"The Face?" I whispered.

"You know," George said grimly. "The one that got Angelina to punch him and agree to a date at the same time."

I was still processing that horrifying piece of Fred Weasley trivia when the portrait hole swung open. And out tumbled Harry, Ron, and Hermione — all three looking suspiciously shifty.

They froze when they saw us.

"Hey," Harry said, too casually.

"Just, uh, going for a walk," Hermione added brightly, clutching her massive bag like it contained the secrets of the universe.

Ron nodded, face red as a tomato. "Night air. Good for... digestion."

I blinked. George blinked. Fred and Adrien shared a look.

George opened his mouth—probably to say something that would land us all in detention—but Fred elbowed him hard and said, "Brilliant plan. Love the digestive health focus. Very responsible."

"Cheers," Harry muttered, and the trio scurried off down the corridor.

George looked like he wanted to follow. Fred shot him a look that screamed shut it. And then, weirdly, both twins started after them.

In the same direction. Way too fast.

I turned to Adrien, crossing my arms. "We following them, or...?"

Adrien cracked her knuckles. "It's like you don't even have to ask."

We exchanged grins and took off after them, sticking to the shadows like seasoned criminals. We followed them through a twisting series of hallways until they stopped at a blank stretch of wall.

And then — bizarrely — Harry started pacing back and forth.

Three times.

I frowned. "Is he... doing laps?"

"No," Adrien muttered. "He's lost his mind."

Then—A door melted into existence in the wall.

I grabbed Adrien's sleeve. "Move!"

We darted forward just as Fred, George, and the others slipped inside—and managed to duck through the door just before it melted away behind us.

Inside—I froze.

The room was massive — high ceilings, flickering torches, walls lined with cushions, bookshelves, and practice dummies.

There were at least twenty other students inside, scattered in little groups.

It was a war room.

And in the middle of it all — Harry Potter was standing there like some scrappy little general, explaining something about counter-curses.

I let out a low whistle.

"This is..." I breathed.

Adrien's mouth was hanging open.

Then—Fred turned around.

Saw us.

And absolutely beamed.

"Look who finally made it," he said loudly, clapping George on the back. "Told you they'd stalk us eventually."

"You lot are terrible at sneaking," George added, mock-disappointed.

"You left a trail a blind troll could follow," Adrien drawled.

Fred pointed at her with an approving nod. "See, George? This is why we should've had her plan the route."

Harry and Hermione noticed us then, their expressions flickering between alarm and resigned suffering.

"Um," Harry said, clearing his throat. "This is—uh—"

"The part where you threaten us with Silencing Charms?" I offered dryly.

Hermione sighed. "No. Though, in hindsight..."

"This is the part where you explain what the hell you're doing," Adrien said, arms folding.

Harry and Hermione traded glances—and then, together, launched into a rushed explanation.

The Room of Requirement.

The Defense group.

The idea to train themselves—because Umbridge was teaching them nothing.

Because they needed to be ready.

Because the Ministry was lying.

Because Voldemort was back and no one in power cared.

I felt Adrien shift beside me.

Felt my own gut twist.

Because—They weren't wrong.

Not even a little.

When they finished, Harry looked at us, eyes steady.

"You don't have to join," he said, voice low and even. "But you can train with us tomorrow night if you want. See what you think."

Adrien and I exchanged a long, silent look.

We weren't stupid. We knew joining them made us a target—more so than we already were.

But trusting people we barely knew?

People who'd looked at us like strangers for months?

That was harder.

I smiled thinly, stepping back. "We'll keep your secret."

Adrien nodded sharply. "But we fight our own war."

"You sure?" George asked, almost disappointed.

"Positive," Adrien said sweetly. "We're terrible at sharing."

Fred smirked. "Our loss."

Harry gave us a small, grateful nod.

And somehow—I didn't feel like an outsider anymore.

Although, someone that wasn't an outsider when have been more in the loop about the Quiddich schedule—Gryffindor vs Slytherin, that fucking Saturday.

The Quidditch pitch looked like a living battlefield — gold and crimson clashing against green and silver. Noise roared from the stands, wild and vicious.

Fred elbowed me lightly as we jogged toward the lockers. "Guess who's playing Slytherin first game back?" His grin was wicked.

I groaned. "Great. Nothing says 'friendly competition' like cheap shots and actual hexes."

Adrien spun her broom lazily at her side, her hair whipping in the wind. "They're not even pretending to be subtle anymore," she muttered, nodding toward the Slytherin lineup across the pitch.

And there they were.

Draco Malfoy standing tall and smug, tossing his broom from hand to hand like he was already polishing a trophy.

Next to him — Blaise Zabini. Effortless. Dangerous. His gaze scanned the field until it landed — not on the hoops, not on the Gryffindor team.

On Adrien.

And he didn't look away.

My stomach twisted painfully.

Above us, Madam Hooch's whistle screamed, and suddenly it was chaos.

Bludgers whistled through the air. Fred and George were blurs of motion, weaving like maniacs.

Ron... well, Ron looked like he was going to throw up inside his helmet.

I kicked off, adrenaline hammering through my veins.

The game was brutal immediately. Draco cut across my path so close our brooms kissed.

"Missed me?" he called, all fake innocence and sharp teeth.

"Only when I'm aiming to knock you off your broom," I shot back, banking hard away from him.

He laughed — cold and mocking — and shot after me.

I twisted upward, catching a flash of Adrien below me, slamming her shoulder into a Slytherin Chaser hard enough to spin him sideways. She snatched the Quaffle like it was nothing and rocketed toward the goal.

And Blaise—

Blaise was already moving to intercept.

They met mid-air, shoulder to shoulder — too close, too familiar.

"You're reckless," Blaise said, grinning like he hated himself for it.

"You love it," Adrien snapped back without missing a beat, but her breath caught — just slightly.

And maybe no one else noticed, but I did.

The way he couldn't look away. The way she didn't want to.

My chest ached.

Down near the goalposts, Ron flailed miserably at another shot and missed. Slytherin racked up more points while their stands jeered and booed.

Still — Harry hadn't stopped moving. He and Draco were circling each other higher above the chaos, eyes locked, hunting the Snitch.

Then Harry dove — like a comet. Draco followed — a silver blur in his wake. The entire crowd surged forward, screaming.

I pushed my broom down, following the dive instinctively, heart in my throat.

Harry's hand snapped out —And the Snitch was his.

The whistle split the air.

Gryffindor won.

The stands exploded.

I barely had time to catch my breath before Fred swept in like a bloody hurricane —
catching Adrien first, grabbing her around the waist and spinning her off the ground, laughing like an idiot.

"You're a menace, Blackwood!" he shouted, beaming down at her. "Marry me immediately — save me the heartbreak!"

Adrien laughed — bright and reckless — and shoved at his chest without actually pushing him away. "Put me down, Weasley, before I hex you into a pumpkin!"

Fred didn't look remotely concerned. If anything, he just tightened his hold and spun her again for good measure, making her shriek half-laughing protests.

George whooped from somewhere nearby, tossing an arm around my shoulders. "Brilliant work, you maniac," he said, dragging me into a lopsided, sweaty half-hug.

I whooped back, laughing until my ribs hurt.

The four of us — Fred, George, Adrien, me — ended up collapsed near the sidelines, breathless and tangled in limbs and pure adrenaline.

Somewhere in the chaos, Fred draped his arm casually — too casually — across Adrien's shoulders.

She didn't shrug him off. If anything, she leaned in, flashing him a sly grin.

And across the field —Blaise saw everything.

I saw the exact second Blaise's easy, practiced mask cracked.
His hands fisted at his sides, his whole body coiling tight, like he was one breath away from launching across the pitch.

Pansy clung to his arm, laughing at something — something he clearly didn't hear. Because Blaise wasn't looking at her.

He was looking at Adrien.

At Fred.

At Fred's hand curling a little lower around Adrien's waist as she threw her head back, laughing at something he whispered.

Oh, shit.

Blaise took a step forward, rage flickering over every sharp line of his body.

Fred saw it too.

And because Fred was Fred — he only smirked wider, tightening his arm around Adrien like he dared Zabini to make a move.

I could practically see the vein throbbing in Blaise's forehead from here.

Draco wasn't any better — stiff, silent, standing at Blaise's side, his storm-grey eyes cutting across the field.

First at Adrien. Then at me.

I lifted my goblet lazily in a mock-toast, smiling sweetly across the chaos.

Let them stew. Let them choke on it. Let them see exactly what they'd thrown away.

Katie Blackwood and Adrien Blackwood weren't breakable anymore.

We were wildfire. We were the storm.

And them? They were just casualties waiting to happen.

Adrien finally pried herself free of Fred's hold, collapsing onto the grass beside me, her broom clattering down beside her. She raked a hand through her wild hair, cheeks pink, eyes still crackling with leftover adrenaline.

I smirked and snagged a bottle of pumpkin juice from George's abandoned stash.

"You good?" I asked casually, taking a sip.

Adrien wiped the sweat off her forehead, grinning. "Never better."

I watched her for a beat longer — watched the way her gaze flickered, unbidden, across the pitch.

Toward the Slytherin team.

Toward Blaise.

He was talking to Millicent, sure — but his eyes weren't really on her.

And Adrien wasn't pretending not to notice.

"Speaking of better," I said, nudging her shoulder lightly, "you and Fred have been... cozy lately."

Adrien arched a brow. "Jealous?"

I snorted. "Of Fred? Please. I'm more worried about you starting a full-on scandal."

She rolled her eyes. "Fred's harmless."

"Fred's Fred," I said pointedly. "And you're not exactly... harmless yourself lately."

Adrien picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, pretending not to hear.

I nudged her again, harder this time. "Seriously. You and Fred—?"

She shrugged, way too casual. "We're just... talking."

I didn't buy it for a second. Especially when I caught the sharp flicker of her gaze back toward Blaise —and saw Blaise catch her looking, his whole face twisting into something dark and ugly.

Especially when Adrien smiled sweetly at Fred across the field —and Fred winked back like he knew exactly what game they were playing.

Maybe they were both playing. Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe it was already way too late.

"Just be careful," I muttered, tossing her the juice bottle.

Adrien caught it easily, flashing a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"When have we ever been careful?" she said.

I laughed — low, wrecked, and a little bitter.

"Point taken."

The high from the Quidditch match didn't even get a chance to settle.

Because the next morning—

"Hem, hem."

The Great Hall went silent.

I stiffened in my seat, exchanging a look with Adrien across the Gryffindor table.

Sure enough, there she was.

Umbridge, in all her pink, twitchy-eyed glory, smiling that tight, soulless smile.

Standing directly behind us.

"Miss Blackwood," she said, voice dripping syrup and acid, "and... Miss Blackwood."

The way she said our name made it sound like a disease.

I dropped my fork with a deliberate clatter. "Professor."

Adrien didn't even bother looking polite. She just arched an eyebrow.

Umbridge clucked her tongue. "I believe we have... unfinished business."

She pulled two official-looking slips of parchment from her hideous cardigan — the kind that usually meant detention. She held them out delicately, as if they might contaminate her.

Adrien plucked both out of her hand before I could move, flashing a sweet, razor-sharp smile.

"For what, exactly?" Adrien asked, voice all innocent danger.

Umbridge's lips twitched. "You think I don't know about the little prank with the Prefect paperwork?" Her voice dropped to something ugly. "Vandalism. Disruption. Deliberate disrespect of authority."

I bit back a smile. Because the way she said it? It sounded like a damn trophy list.

"Oh," I said, wide-eyed. "We've been busy."

The veins in her neck pulsed. Umbridge leaned closer, her fake smile stretching until it showed teeth. "You girls," she said, low and vicious, "are a cancer in this school. But don't worry — I intend to excise the problem."

I felt Adrien tense beside me, but neither of us flinched. She straightened, brushing invisible lint off her robes, and said in a voice bright enough to carry across half the Hall, "Careful, Professor. Dumbledore might think you're trying to overstep."

Several heads swiveled toward us.

Hermione dropped her goblet.

George started coughing violently into his toast.

Even Draco — halfway down the Slytherin table — turned his head sharply toward the scene.

Umbridge's face flushed an ugly shade of purple.

"I think it would be best," she said, words clipped and seething, "if you two... had separate detention assignments. Separate hours. Separate supervision."

Her meaning was clear: Divide and conquer.

Adrien leaned back lazily, throwing an arm across the back of the bench.

"We're a package deal," she said, sweet and lethal.

"Can't separate what's already stitched together," I added coolly.

Umbridge's nostrils flared. Her little eyes glittered with rage.

She opened her mouth — probably to threaten expulsion — but just then, McGonagall rose sharply at the head table, her chair scraping loudly across the stone floor.

Umbridge's mouth snapped shut like a trap. She gave us one last, furious glare, spun on her heel, and stormed off in a flurry of pink lace.

Adrien dropped the detention slips onto the table like they were trash. "Charming," she said.

Fred and George leaned over instantly from their spot across the table.

Fred grinned wide enough to crack his face. "That woman's going to develop an ulcer before Christmas."

George snorted. "Bet it's already started. Did you see the way her left eye twitched? Looked like she was about to combust."

"Noticed it," I said dryly, snagging a piece of bacon off his plate without guilt. "Nearly offered her a mirror."

Adrien bumped her shoulder against mine, casual and lethal at the same time.

Across the table, Fred leaned in conspiratorially. "So," he said, eyes gleaming, "what's the plan, ladies?"

"Plan?" Adrien echoed innocently, twirling a piece of toast like a knife.

"Yeah," George said, tossing a lazy arm over the back of the bench. "You don't strike us as the 'quietly serve detention and behave' types—you did jump on our rescue attempt."

Adrien grinned — a slow, dangerous thing. "Separate detentions," she said, voice dropping to something gleeful, "means twice the chaos."

Fred's eyes lit up. "Merlin's balls, you're going to destroy her."

"One stroke at a time," I said sweetly. "She wanted us apart? Fine. She gets two separate disasters."

"Divide and conquer?" George mused.

Adrien shook her head. "Divide and obliterate."

Fred laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. "Need any supplies? Decoy Detonators? Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder? Skiving Snackboxes?"

I tilted my head, pretending to think. "We'll let you know when we run out of ideas."

"Which will be," Adrien added, "never."

George mock-wiped a tear. "They grow up so fast."

Adrien clinked her goblet against mine. "To unstoppable chaos."

I clinked back, sharp and sure. "To her ulcer."

The table around us buzzed with muffled laughter and whispers, the Gryffindors practically vibrating with secondhand adrenaline. Across the Hall, I caught Draco and Blaise glancing over — cold, guarded — but they didn't approach.

They wouldn't dare.

Because they could give us all the detentions they wanted.

They could glare. They could threaten. They could try to divide us.

But they'd already lost the war.

Katie Blackwood and Adrien Blackwood weren't going anywhere.

Separate? We were lethal.

Together? We were unstoppable.

And for the first time in a long time —I actually believed it.