Adrien.

3:00 AM

I checked the clock three times, just to be sure.

3:00 AM.

The kind of hour where the world feels paper-thin, like it might fold inward if you breathe too hard.

And I was definitely breathing too hard.

The black envelope sat on the floor between us—open now, its contents splayed out like a wound. Katie knelt beside me, eyes locked on the letter, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt.

We hadn't spoken in almost a minute.

Which, for us, was saying something.

Finally, she looked at me. "Wake them."

I didn't argue.

Maddie groaned as she was dragged upright by the sheer force of me yanking her blanket. "If someone's dying, they better be attractive."

"Someone might be dying," I muttered.

"That's not as fun," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Sage blinked at the overhead string lights like they'd personally offended her. "Is this about the envelope? Did it explode? Did we open a portal? Am I cursed again?"

"Not yet," I said. "But give it five minutes."

Katie slipped out to knock on the boys' door. A few moments later we heard George swear, Fred mumble something about banshees, and Rowan—bless him—say, "I swear to Merlin if this is about a spider again—"

They stumbled in one by one, hair messy, shirts wrinkled, George still half-draped in a sheet like he was cosplaying ghost-chic.

Fred blinked blearily at the lot of us, rubbing one eye like a toddler who didn't want to go to daycare. "Did someone die, or are we just having a deeply dramatic sugar crash?"

"Letter," Katie said, holding it up like it might bite. "It's bad."

Fred squinted at it like it might also be lying. "Define bad."

George yawned and shuffled in, still wrapped in a bedsheet like a sarcastic ghost. "On a scale of 'You left a love note in your old sock drawer' to 'the Ministry wants your soul,' where are we?"

"Somewhere near sacrificial prophecy with a splash of 'we're all going to cry later,'" Sage offered, already wide awake and alarmingly alert for someone in a donut-stained hoodie.

Rowan, still half-dressed and fully rumpled, took one look at Katie's face—sharp, focused, protective—and then at mine—pale, probably twitching—and didn't say a word. He just walked over and lowered himself behind Katie on the mattress, legs bracketing her, arms loose but ready. Her breath eased the second his chin brushed her shoulder.

Fred hesitated for maybe half a second, then moved toward me.

I was sitting cross-legged on the bed, half-coiled with tension, when he slid in behind me and pulled me into him without asking—just warm arms and soft flannel and the quiet kind of strength that didn't ask for permission. His legs flanked mine, his back pressed to the headboard. I didn't realize how much I'd needed to lean on something until I actually did.

He rested his chin lightly on my shoulder. "Alright, Trouble. Hit me."

Katie handed me the letter.

The black envelope was already discarded on the blankets, like it had delivered its poison and no longer needed to pretend it was harmless. I unfolded the parchment slowly, the corners still stiff like it had been sealed with something heavier than wax.

I cleared my throat.

And read it aloud—again.

They always wander back, eventually.

Curiosity is a flaw inherited like blood—and just as easy to spill.

You've had your little taste of freedom. Danced in the dark and called it safety. But shadows don't forget.

I was patient. I watched. I let you run.

Now it's time to see how well you behave when the leash tightens.

Don't look for me. I'll be closer than that.

Silence.

Sage broke it first. "Okay... cool cool cool. Anyone else feel like we just summoned the Dark Mark using bad poetry?"

Maddie made a strangled noise. "I feel like we just got emotionally waterboarded by a villain monologue. That was aggressively well-written. Like, do they workshop this stuff or—?"

"'Inherited like blood'?" George repeated, blinking. "That's not a letter. That's a threat written by someone who collects hair in vials."

Fred let out a low breath behind me. "Okay, first of all, absolutely not. Second of all—" his arms tightened around me, warm and grounding, "I'm making you tea. The nice kind. With the fancy honey. And I'm not asking."

"I'm not a fan of tea," I muttered.

"I know," he whispered into my hair. "That's how you know it's serious."

Rowan, leaning against the bedpost beside Katie, crossed his arms. "Not to interrupt the late-night villain analysis, but what even made you two open it? I thought it was sealed until one of you lost your last brain cell."

Katie turned toward Rowan, eyes sharp. "Draco."

It wasn't news—but it still shifted the room.

Everyone straightened slightly, the weight of it still fresh.

Adrien-level fresh.

"We already told you what we saw," she said. "He was in Knockturn Alley. With Borgin. Talking about the Vanishing Cabinet."

Rowan's brow furrowed, gaze dropping to the letter on the bed. "Right. Same one that connects—"

"To Hogwarts? Yeah," I cut in. "That one. And yes, he saw us. All of us."

Sage leaned over her pillow fort like a war correspondent. "That's the Draco thing I thought we were talking about earlier. Not the wrist-grab, emotionally loaded stare-off, fight-me-in-the-courtyard Draco thing."

"Different Draco crisis," Katie muttered.

"Too many Draco crises," Maddie added, flopping back dramatically.

"Can we declare a Draco moratorium?" I asked.

Fred kissed the side of my temple. "Only if I don't have to define 'moratorium' before three in the morning."

George gave a low whistle, eyes still fixed on the letter. "Draco's sketchy, but this? This is next-level stalker energy."

Katie had started pacing again, arms crossed so tight I swore her shoulders would snap. "We need to decide if this gets locked up or reported."

"To who?" George scoffed. "The Ministry? So they can misplace it next to last week's conspiracy file?"

"No," Rowan said, sitting up straighter. "McGonagall. Or Dumbledore. Someone who won't pretend we're imagining it."

I stared down at the letter, the words etched into me like scars. "We don't know who sent it."

"But we know the kind of person who would," Katie said. Her voice was sharper now. "Someone who knows us. Our history. Our worst fears."

"Which narrows it down to, what—Denzel or Anselme?" Sage muttered, plucking at a frayed thread on the blanket.

Maddie wrinkled her nose. "My vote's on Anselme. He's got that specific brand of creepy that pairs well with dramatic ink choices."

"Don't tempt me to burn it," I said.

"We're not burning it," Katie snapped. "Not until we understand what it means. What it really means."

"I don't want it near us either," I murmured. "But if we destroy it, we lose the only lead we have."

Fred shifted behind me, arms wrapped tightly, warm and steady. "Then we make a plan. Tea, toast, maybe a little arson if it helps. But a plan."

George nodded solemnly. "I'll prep the distraction fireworks. Something tasteful, but emotionally scarring."

Sage raised her hand. "I volunteer to manage the emotional damage spreadsheet. We're due for an update."

"I'll coordinate snacks," Maddie offered. "And a post-crisis blanket pile."

Rowan's hand found Katie's, his thumb brushing over hers. "We've got this. All of us."

I swallowed hard.

The jokes helped. The hands grounding me helped. But that line from the letter—it clung like smoke. Poison under my skin.

Now it's time to see how well you behave when the leash tightens.

Katie stood again, arms still folded but less like armor and more like a decision was building behind her eyes.

"We need to tell Arthur and Molly."

George blinked. "Now?"

"No. Tomorrow," she said, already thinking ahead. "We've already told them what we saw in Knockturn Alley. They took it seriously. They deserve to know. Especially if things escalate while we're still under their roof."

"They'll want to protect us," Maddie said.

"Exactly," Katie replied. "Which means we let them."

"I'll help," Sage offered. "I'm good at phrasing things in ways that sound less like we're about to be murdered."

"Great skill set," George muttered.

"And Dumbledore?" Rowan asked gently, glancing toward me.

Katie and I both answered at the same time. "As soon as we're back at Hogwarts."

Fred's arms tightened slightly around me. I felt it in the shift of his body before he said anything.

"I don't like this," he muttered, his voice low against my neck.

"I know," I whispered.

"I hate that I won't be there. I hate that there's a letter like that, and someone out there writing it, and that you'll be at school dealing with this while I'm stuck here playing shopkeeper."

"You're more than that," I said quietly.

"But not there," he replied. "And not next to you if something happens."

I turned slightly in his arms, enough to see the frustration etched across his face. The kind of frustration that only comes from loving someone you can't always protect.

Katie's voice cut in gently. "That goes both ways. Rowan and I were talking about it earlier—we're all feeling it."

Rowan nodded, his hand still loosely curled around Katie's. "It's hard not knowing what's coming. But I'll be with you. That counts for something—right?"

Katie leaned her shoulder against his. "It counts for everything."

Fred sighed. "It's not even that I think you can't handle it. Honestly, you two could probably out-duel a Dementor and hex his therapist in the same breath."

Maddie coughed. "Wait—Dementors have therapists?"

"Only after meeting Katie and Adrien," Sage muttered.

Fred cracked a tired grin, but his voice stayed low and serious. "I just... I hate not being there. Not knowing if you're okay the second I look away. Not being the one between you and whatever this is."

I reached back and squeezed his hand. "You are with me. You always are."

His arms tightened around me in quiet response.

Sage sniffed dramatically. "If I cry now, is it romantic or just peak sleep deprivation?"

"Both," Maddie whispered, curling deeper into her blanket pile. "And I support it."

Katie gave me a look—sharp and soft, like only she could manage. "We've survived worse."

"Barely," I said.

"But we did." Her voice didn't shake. "And we'll survive this. But smarter. Together."

"And with toast," George added, stretching like a cat and knocking over a throw pillow. "Toast fixes morale."

Fred kissed the side of my head again, softer this time. "If anyone so much as breathes wrong around you this year—hex first, write me later."

I smiled—actually smiled—for the first time in hours. "Deal."

No one moved at first.

Not because we were tired—though we were—or because the weight of the letter had settled. It hadn't.

We just... didn't want to break the moment.

Eventually, Sage stretched like a cat and muttered, "Well, since sleeping is canceled—breakfast?"

"Yes!" George sprung up off the floor as if he was resurrected.

Maddie perked up instantly. "Oh hell yes. Let's fry our emotional trauma in butter."

Katie stood, already pulling her hair up into a messy bun. "If we're telling Arthur and Molly, we're doing it with food as a buffer. They deserve that much."

I nodded, pushing myself upright with a stretch. "I can flip eggs. Probably."

Fred behind me made a sound that was suspiciously close to a snort. "Sure, love. You flip eggs."

"I've flipped worse things," I said, pretending I didn't absolutely burn every pancake I'd ever attempted.

"That's true," Katie muttered. "She flipped Blaise Zabini's reputation last year."

"Valid," George called from the hallway, already following us downstairs. "That was a formative moment for me."

The kitchen lights flicked on with a soft charm from Sage, and suddenly it felt like morning, even if the sun hadn't dared show itself yet.

The girls moved like a well-oiled machine that had been hexed one too many times. Maddie claimed the skillet with alarming confidence, Katie summoned ingredients with precision, Sage tried to "lightly charm" the toaster into efficiency and almost made it catch fire, and I—

—I was mostly standing there holding a spatula like it might bite me.

Fred leaned against the counter behind me, arms crossed, watching me with a look that was far too smug for someone who hadn't lifted a finger.

"You good there, Gordon Ramsay?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

I flipped the spatula in my hand. "I'm about to be."

"Define 'about,'" he said, just as I dropped a cracked egg onto the burner without a pan.

A beat.

Sizzle. Immediate smoke.

Fred didn't even try to hide his laugh. "Babe—"

"I'm experimenting."

"You're free-range chaos," he grinned, stepping up behind me and gently plucking the spatula from my hand. "Let me show you how not to poison our friends."

"I was going for rustic," I said defensively.

"You were going for arson."

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my temple, and whispered, "Ten out of ten, would still eat it if you made it."

I turned, narrowing my eyes. "Because you're in love with me or because you have a death wish?"

"Yes."

Behind us, George was raiding the fridge. "If you two are done flirting with the stove, I'd like to live to see toast."

Rowan had perched himself on a stool beside Katie, watching her prep like he was witnessing a sacred ritual. "Are we cooking or staging an intervention?"

"Both," Sage said. "Omelets and emotional stability, served hot."

Katie flicked flour at her. "Don't test me. I'll starch your pillowcases."

By the time the food was finished, the kitchen smelled like safety—eggs, cinnamon, burnt toast, and too much coffee. The sun still hadn't risen, but the air felt different.

Lighter.

We hadn't fixed anything. The letter still existed. The threat still lingered.

But we had each other.

And breakfast.

The kitchen looked like it had been raided by a small army of half-functional culinary witches—which, to be fair, it had.

Piles of toast leaned precariously on mismatched plates. Bacon was stacked like battle rations. There were at least three different styles of scrambled eggs (Katie's looked refined, mine looked haunted), a pitcher of orange juice that Maddie had probably hexed to chill itself, and Sage was currently charming steam to curl dramatically off the pancakes like we were running a Michelin-star brunch.

Fred passed behind me, stealing a slice of toast and murmuring in my ear, "You're a menace with a whisk, you know that?"

"I used it once."

"Exactly."

Footsteps creaked above us. Doors opened. A muffled yawn echoed from the stairwell.

George grinned. "And here comes the audience."

Ginny appeared first, hair a mess, oversized jumper slipping off one shoulder. "Why do I smell bacon and trauma?"

"Because we cooked both," Sage said sweetly, refilling a coffee mug.

Hermione came in next, blinking like she was trying to solve the entire kitchen with logic. "What time is it?"

"Too early," Ron muttered from behind her. "And too loud."

Harry followed, glasses askew. "Why does it feel like we missed a war?"

Katie looked up from where she was slicing fruit. "You didn't miss it. We're just refueling before the next one."

Molly was the last to enter, apron already in hand despite the hour, only to pause mid-step when she saw the spread. "What on earth—?"

Arthur trailed in after her, adjusting his glasses. "Girls... did you raid the pantry or conjure a second one?"

"We cooked," Maddie said proudly, hands on her hips.

Sage added, "Emotionally. And also with eggs."

Fred popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and nodded. "Best coping mechanism they've ever had."

Molly stared at the buffet, then at the four of us—Katie, Sage, Maddie, and me.

And because she's a Weasley, she knew.

"You're trying to soften a blow," she said gently.

Katie wiped her hands on a dish towel. "Yes, ma'am."

Adrien-logic would've usually waited. Danced around it. Maybe nudged it toward Katie and let her take the lead.

But something about the kitchen—the cinnamon in the air, the soft clatter of mismatched plates, the hum of people I trusted—made it easier to speak.

"There's something we need to show you," I said quietly. "From the envelope."

Arthur's brow furrowed as he stepped forward. "You opened it?"

"We did," Katie confirmed. "Last night."

"It was sealed tight," I added. "We weren't sure what would happen if we broke the charm. But after what we saw in Knockturn Alley... we didn't want to wait."

Sage slid the letter across the table, handling it like something still venomous. She placed it in front of Molly with steady hands.

Maddie bit her lip and sat down.

Molly's eyes dropped to the parchment. Arthur leaned over her shoulder.

Hermione drifted closer instinctively. Ginny followed, tension flickering across her face. Ron and Harry exchanged a look before quietly stepping forward to join them.

The kitchen quieted.

Utensils stilled. Toast forgotten. Only the soft rustle of parchment as Molly read.

Her fingers tensed.

Arthur's glasses slid down slightly as he reread the final line.

Now it's time to see how well you behave when the leash tightens.

His voice was low. Serious. "This... is a threat."

Katie nodded once. "It was addressed to 'BLACKWOOD.' Not just me. Not just Adrien. Both of us."

Molly's brows pinched. "So whoever wrote it knows exactly who and where you are."

"And what buttons to press," I said. "It's someone who knows how to scare us."

"And when," Katie added. "It's not random. Not just cruel. It's timed."

"Coordinated," Sage said, arms crossed now.

"Calculated," Maddie echoed.

Arthur looked down at the parchment again, then back up at us. "You believe it's connected to Knockturn Alley?"

"We don't have proof," Katie said, "but it's too close to be coincidence."

"Too specific," I murmured.

Arthur was silent for a moment, eyes on the letter. Then he nodded.

"We'll handle this together," he said. Steady. Steeled. "You did the right thing opening it. And telling us."

"We're going to show it to Dumbledore the moment we're back at Hogwarts," Katie added. "That's already decided."

Molly looked up at us—at all four of us girls, standing there in flour-dusted jumpers and tired eyes like we'd aged a year overnight.

"You've both done enough," she said gently. "You've survived enough. You don't have to carry this alone anymore."

I exhaled slowly, my lungs stinging like I'd been holding that breath for days.

Molly didn't speak right away.

She reached for the kettle, her fingers still brushing the edge of the letter like she wasn't quite ready to let it go. The kitchen remained quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that comes after hard truths and harder decisions.

Then she inhaled, straightened her spine, and turned to face all of us—hands on her hips in a way that screamed Mum-in-command.

"Well," she said, "the shop is closed this weekend."

Fred choked. "Wait, what?"

George's toast froze halfway to his mouth. "Closed?"

"Yes," she said with a look that dared them to argue. "We're not opening again until Monday."

"But—"

She held up a finger, and Fred sat down like he'd just been hexed. "No arguments. There are enough fireworks in this house without adding customers to the mix."

Arthur nodded in quiet agreement, sipping his tea. "Seems like the reasonable choice."

Molly turned her gaze to the rest of us now—Katie, Sage, Maddie, me. "And as for the rest of you—no scheming. No spiraling. No trying to solve dark magical mysteries in the broom cupboard. This weekend, you're going to act your age."

Sage blinked. "...What age is that, exactly?"

"Sixteen. Not seventy-five," Molly replied smoothly. "You've got one week before you head back to Hogwarts, and two more school years before the world starts expecting you to be grown. So for the love of Merlin—go enjoy your second-to-last summer weekend."

Katie and I exchanged a look—surprised, then soft.

"No work?" Maddie asked, hopefully nudging me.

"No work," Molly confirmed.

"Rule flexibility?" Sage pushed, slamming her hand on Katie's shoulder.

"Within reason," Molly replied. "Don't make me regret it."

Fred was already grinning. "So just to confirm... full weekend off, sanctioned mischief, and minimal adulting?"

"You heard her," George said, clapping Fred on the back. "Time to live."

"Time to survive," I muttered, but I was smiling.

Molly pointed at us all. "Now finish eating. I expect laughter by lunch and chaos by dinner. And if I hear one whisper about cursed letters before Monday, I will personally throw it in the floo."

"Copy that, General Mum," Sage saluted with her coffee mug.

And just like that, the weekend opened wide in front of us.

No shop. No mission. No leash.

Just two days to breathe.

It was almost noon before we moved.

After days of stress, adrenaline, and uninvited threats from creeps with poetic flair, the six of us—me, Katie, Sage, Maddie, Hermione, and Ginny—had collapsed onto beach towels in the backyard like starfish in a solar coma.

It was warm. Bright. So still it felt illegal.

The sun beat down like it had something to prove, and we were sprawled in various states of pale, freckled, and absolutely not built for UV exposure.

Katie was curled on her stomach beside me, sunglasses perched on her nose, her red hair tucked in a knot that was already trying to escape. Hermione was attempting to read but had flipped the same page three times. Maddie had turned a Honeydukes bag into a pillow. Ginny had charmed a daisy chain into her hair. And Sage—

Sage was absolutely ignoring the fact she was wearing the smallest bikini out of all of us and twirling her wand like it owed her money.

"Remind me why we don't do this more often?" Maddie mumbled, sunglasses slipping down her nose.

"Because usually we're dodging death, exams, or both," Hermione sighed.

"Or George's terrible cooking," Ginny added.

"Speak for yourselves," Sage said, sitting up and stretching like a smug cat in the sun. "I was built for leisure."

"You were built for chaos," Katie muttered.

"Same difference."

I snorted, eyes drifting toward the deck where the boys were now very visibly watching us from the shade.

Fred, Rowan, and George were kicked back with chilled butterbeers, trying and failing not to look like an audience.

Fred raised his bottle when he saw me watching. "You look like a threat."

I adjusted my sunglasses. "You say that like it's not the goal."

He stood, wandered toward the grass with the lazy prowl of someone who knew he was being watched too. "Is this coordinated torment, or are you all just naturally this distracting?"

"Bit of both," I said sweetly.

Fred leaned down, his hand brushing lightly against my ankle. "You're gonna give me a heart attack, Trouble."

I gave him a slow once-over. "You say that like I'm not the cure too."

Behind him, Rowan choked into his drink.

Ginny cackled.

Katie turned her head just enough to squint at Rowan over her sunglasses. "You all right there, Woods?"

"I—fine. Great." He coughed once. "Hydrated."

"Because you're looking a little pink, sunshine," Sage said.

He raised a brow. "So are you."

Katie propped herself up on her elbows. "If you're going to ogle, Rowan, at least try not to spill your butterbeer next time."

Rowan looked like he had a comeback—then saw her bikini straps and promptly forgot how words worked.

"...Right," he muttered.

"You okay there?" she asked, pretending not to know exactly what she was doing.

"Peachy."

"Mm-hmm."

George, who had been quietly sipping and minding his business like a decent citizen, turned slightly toward Sage—and froze.

It wasn't subtle.

His eyebrows went up. So did his posture. The butterbeer almost tipped.

Sage caught him looking, of course.

She didn't say a word. Just smiled.

And George? George blinked. Like he'd just seen her for the first time in full color.

"Oh no," Ginny whispered gleefully. "It's happening."

"What?" Maddie asked, mouth full of chocolate.

"George just realized Sage is hot."

George cleared his throat. "I'm gonna—uh. I'll be back. Need—something. Somewhere."

"Aw, look at that," Sage cooed. "I broke a Weasley."

"Don't worry," I muttered, "they regenerate."

Fred smirked and settled beside me on the towel, resting back on his elbows. "We're in so much trouble."

"You started it."

"I intend to finish it," he said, leaning closer.

I raised a brow. "In front of an audience?"

He grinned. "That's half the fun."

Fred shifted closer, his fingers brushing a stray curl off my cheek like the gesture wasn't lethal in broad daylight.

"You know," he murmured, "I can survive a lot of things. Near-death, magical misfires, George's cooking—"

Ginny snorted somewhere down the line of girls.

"But you in that bikini? Bit much."

I tilted my head. "Want me to cover up?"

His eyes flicked down, then back to mine—fast, reverent, heated. "If you do, I'll only imagine what's underneath."

I grinned. "That's the point."

Then I kissed him.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

A real kiss. The kind that anchors and distracts and pulls everything else out of orbit. His hand slid to my hip. My fingers curled in his shirt. The world around us blurred for a moment—

"Oi!" George's voice rang out from the deck. "Fred!"

Fred broke the kiss with a groan. "If this isn't about an actual fire—"

"It might be!" George yelped. "Emotionally, anyway. I need you—now. Please."

Fred turned back to me with the world's most tragic sigh. "Rain check?"

I tapped his chest. "Better cash it."

He kissed my cheek—one last quick press—and jogged toward the house.

Rowan started to follow casually—except there was a deck chair.

And Rowan?

Did not see the deck chair.

He tripped spectacularly over it, nearly face-planting onto the towel pile.

Katie sat up so fast she nearly spilled her iced tea. "Rowan—what—"

"I'M FINE," he said loudly, like volume would erase the awkwardness.

"Oh my God," Ginny wheezed.

Maddie actually rolled sideways laughing. "He just crashed like a malfunctioning broom."

"That was so tragic," Sage added. "Ten out of ten, no notes."

From the kitchen doorway, Ron had arrived mid-incident—and was now redder than Fred's hair, eyes wide as he stared directly at the towels. Or maybe at Katie. Or maybe at all of us.

"Oh, he's blushing," Maddie crowed. "Look at that! Ron's going scarlet."

"I'm not—" Ron tried, voice cracking halfway.

He was.

Hermione, who had been diligently pretending to read through all of this, slowly lowered her book.

With great calm, she pulled off her sunglasses, adjusted them back on properly, and—without a word—made direct eye contact with Ron.

He froze like someone had Petrificus'd him with a look.

Katie elbowed me. "Oh my Merlin, she just outplayed all of us."

"Did Hermione Granger just flirt?" Ginny asked, stunned.

"I'm so proud," I whispered.

Hermione went back to her book.

But her smirk said everything.

By the time we made it down to the pond, the sun was brutal, the air was thick with sunscreen charms, and everyone looked like they were five minutes from either a nap or a brawl.

"Okay," Sage announced, yanking off her tank top with unnecessary flair. "I'm calling dibs on the raft and George's dignity."

George blinked. "Wait, what?"

Before he could protest, Sage snatched the button-down shirt he was halfway through unbuttoning and took off at a sprint toward the dock.

"HEY!" he shouted, chasing after her like a man personally wronged. "That was my cool shirt!"

"You had a cool shirt," she shouted back, already climbing onto the floating dock and striking a ridiculous pose like she was modeling for Witch Weekly: Lake Edition.

Maddie cackled. "Oh no. He's smitten."

"I am not—" George stumbled slightly, then turned back to us. "Okay, maybe. But she stole my shirt!"

"You're lucky she didn't steal your wallet," Katie muttered, adjusting her sunglasses as she waded in beside Rowan, who was suddenly very invested in helping her apply waterproof sun potion to her shoulders.

She didn't stop him.

I raised a brow, sprawled lazily across a half-deflated inflatable swan someone had definitely stolen from a Muggle pool party. One wing was half-sunk, and I was draped over it like a sunbaked villain mid-monologue. "Aw. Look at the chaos twins pretending not to flirt."

Rowan dipped his hand under the water and flicked it directly at me. "Don't make me dunk you, Blackwood."

"You won't."

"I will."

"You won't."

A moment passed. Then Fred casually waded up behind me, hands slick with pond water, and—without a word—grabbed me by the waist and flung me clean off the swan like I weighed nothing.

I hit the water with a scream.

Surfaced spluttering. "TRAITOR!"

Fred just grinned from the bank, shirtless, smug, and absolutely infuriatingly hot in the worst way. "Told you someone would dunk you."

"You're lucky I'm too tired to hex your swim trunks off."

"That's bold talk from someone clinging to the wreckage of a pool toy."

I swam back with a dramatic splash, hair plastered to my face, already plotting revenge. But the moment I hit the shallows, Fred leaned down, offered a hand, and—

—did not stop looking at me.

Not the casual kind of looking. The scorching kind. His eyes dragged from the water running down my neck to the way my top clung, then back to my face with zero shame and even less subtlety.

"You're staring," I said, low.

"Yeah," he murmured, leaning in so only I could hear. "I'm gonna be thinking about this later. Hard."

"Fred," I warned, heat creeping up my throat.

"What?" he said, all faux innocence. "Just mentally cataloguing my favorite lake memories."

I bumped his chest with mine. "You're a menace."

"You like my menace."

I did.

God help me, I really did.

A sharp splash cut through the air—Rowan had tossed Katie over his shoulder and into the pond mid-laugh. She surfaced, grinning and flipping her wet hair back like a movie heroine, then promptly dragged him under with a shriek.

"Ugh," Maddie groaned from a rock near the edge, eating licorice. "You're all disgusting. Rom-coms. All of you."

"Come swim," Hermione offered gently from the shallows, water lapping at her waist as she adjusted her braid with one hand.

Maddie, still perched on her sun-warmed rock like a gremlin guarding her licorice stash, shook her head. "No thanks. I refuse to be the only single one and soaked. One or the other. I have boundaries."

"Technically, Harry and Ginny aren't being disgusting about it," Ron mumbled beside her, trying way too hard to sound casual while very clearly not looking at Hermione.

Ginny, meanwhile, was floating on a lazy charm circle next to Harry, giggling as she repeatedly flicked water into his hair to spike it into the worst possible shapes.

He just sat there, letting her do it, smiling like an idiot.

"They're being cute," Hermione said softly, watching them for a second too long.

"Oh please," Maddie said, flopping dramatically onto her towel. "Like you and Ron haven't been making goo-goo eyes at each other since we got here."

Ron immediately choked on his Butterbeer.

"I—what?! I do not—"

"Mmhm," Sage called from the dock. "Louder, Ron. The awkward tension can't hear you from here."

Hermione flushed a little, but didn't deny it.

Instead, she reached for her wand and flicked it at Maddie's licorice bag—sending one flying into the water.

Maddie gasped like she'd been personally betrayed. "You hexed my snack?"

Hermione just smiled innocently. "Must've slipped."

I was floating nearby, and raised an eyebrow "Foreplay via snack sabotage. Classic."

Ron turned pink.

Hermione was sitting in the shallows, ankles deep now, in the water, leaning back on her hands with the kind of smug calm that only came from knowing something before everyone else.

She glanced over at Ron, who was sitting beside her but very carefully not looking at her, then said, "Enchanted by proximity, Weasley?"

Ron blinked. "What? No! What does that even mean?!"

I paddled closer, my arms draped over the edge of my sad inflatable swan. "It means," I drawled, "you're going to combust if you don't just ask her to swim with you like a normal person."

His ears lit up. Instant Weasley Red™.

Hermione didn't deny it. Didn't even blink. She just dipped her fingers back into the water, a sly smile tugging at her lips like she'd already won something the rest of us weren't privy to yet.

Maddie let out an exasperated noise from her sun-warmed rock. "Okay, this is blasphemy. All of you. You're either shirtless and in love, or you're pretending not to be shirtless and in love, and I'm just here like a decorative plant with commitment issues."

"You're not a plant," Sage called from her floating dock throne. "You're a snack."

Maddie blinked. "...I am."

"Damn right," Sage said, already reaching for her Butterbeer. "Now someone toss me another drink before I hex this dock into a chariot."

George, who had been watching her like she was the eighth wonder of the wizarding world, scrambled to oblige. He tossed the Butterbeer—

—overshot it by two feet.

It hit Sage square in the chest with a hollow thud.

She caught it without even flinching, popped the cap, and took a long, smug sip.

Then winked at him.

George sat down like his knees gave out.

Ginny burst out laughing. "He's gone."

"He's so gone," Katie echoed.

I grinned. "Should we hold a memorial for his ego or wait until she finishes that drink?"

Sage lifted her bottle. "To emotional devastation!"

George groaned softly into his hands.

The next day, Midday—again—after some much-needed sunscreen and aloe vera, we realized there were exactly two kinds of Quidditch matches at the Burrow.

Organized.

Whatever this was.

The field had barely been marked when Hermione conjured a striped ref sash and a whistle like she was preparing for a Ministry-regulated tournament.

Everyone else?

Absolute goblin energy.

"No cursing," Hermione warned, floating just above the ground, looking far too serious for someone reffing a match where the Beaters were literally Fred and Sage. "No sabotage. And no using wand magic mid-play—Sage, I'm looking at you."

"I didn't do anything," Sage called sweetly, already palming her wand behind her back.

Maddie sat cross-legged on the sideline with a butterbeer and a charmed megaphone. "Welcome, witches and warlocks, to today's emotionally unstable match-up of chaos versus control! Let's see who cries first!"

Katie zipped by overhead, adjusting her gloves. "Loser does dishes all week!"

Fred pulled up beside me on his broom, flashing that cocky smile I'd almost forgiven him for. "You sure you're ready for this, Trouble?"

"I've been ready since you dunked me in the pond, Weasley."

He leaned closer mid-air, his voice low. "I like you when you're vengeful."

"Good," I said. "Because I'm about to ruin you."

Hermione blew the whistle—and all hell broke loose.

Fred peeled off laughing, already taunting George. Katie bolted for the Quaffle with Rowan close behind, the two of them practically tangled mid-flight as they fought for control. I caught a blur of red and black as Sage dove—

—and hexed one of the Bludgers to chase George exclusively.

"WHAT THE HELL, SAGE?!" George screamed as he dodged left and immediately got clocked in the shoulder.

"You called me dramatic yesterday!" she shouted back. "This is growth!"

Hermione's whistle blew again. "SAGE, THAT'S A FELONY!"

"Only if it lands!"

Maddie's voice echoed through the megaphone: "And Sage Sun continues her reign of vengeful terror. George Weasley now leading the league in 'bludger-related trauma.'"

I looped low, snatching the Quaffle from under Rowan's pass and blew Katie a kiss as I bolted toward the hoop.

"Cheater!" she yelled, but she was grinning.

Rowan caught up beside her, brushing his shoulder against hers mid-turn. "Wanna team up and take her down?"

"Absolutely."

"I can hear you!" I shouted back.

Fred reappeared above me, hovering upside down on his broom like a show-off. "You're so cute when you're panicking."

"I'm not panicking."

"You will be—"

He dove, stole the Quaffle right out of my hands, and winked on the way past.

I nearly missed a turn slamming into laughter.

Maddie raised the megaphone again. "Fred Weasley flirting so hard mid-air it should be a foul. But it's hot, so we'll allow it!"

Hermione groaned into her hands.

Ginny swooped into the game late, immediately taking out Ron with a perfectly-placed elbow, while Harry just laughed and shook his head.

And through it all—shouting, taunts, bludgers, chaos—I couldn't stop smiling.

This was summer magic.

That night, the stars were just starting to glow when the projector floated into place, suspended midair and humming softly above the Burrow's back lawn. A white bedsheet was charmed tight between two trees, glowing faintly with old magic as a grainy Muggle film flickered to life.

We spread out across conjured cushions and oversized blankets like a pack of overfed strays. The smell of popcorn and melted chocolate drifted on the breeze.

Fred and I claimed a corner of the biggest blanket. He pulled me into his side like it was second nature now, his arm wrapped comfortably around my waist, his other hand fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie like he couldn't help needing to touch something.

Maddie pointed at the screen. "Okay but who chose this film? The CGI is offensive."

"It's a classic!" Hermione argued from her blanket beside Ginny, clutching a thermos of tea like it was her moral compass.

"It's a tragedy," Ginny deadpanned. "This man just punched an alien dog."

George—on the opposite end of the blanket—shrugged. "I like it."

Sage, curled up beside him in one of his oversized sweatshirts she'd definitely stolen earlier, raised a brow. "Of course you do. It has explosions, emotional stuntedness, and absolutely no plot."

"I'm sensing judgment," George whispered dramatically.

She leaned in, smirking. "You're lucky I find you charming."

"I am lucky," he said, and for once... didn't ruin it with a joke.

A few blankets over, Katie sat with her knees tucked under her, Rowan close beside her. He was tracing slow patterns on the back of her hand with his thumb, his voice low as he murmured something that made her expression soften.

She didn't pull away.

Not once.

Ron was snoring somewhere to the left, already asleep twenty minutes in.

Fred kissed the top of my head, his voice low and amused. "Ten galleons says Ron wakes up screaming during the chase scene."

"He did last time," I murmured, settling my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, and so was his hold on me.

"Still worth betting on," he said, then paused—quieter now. "Kinda wild having you here all the time."

I tilted my head slightly. "Wild how?"

"Good wild," he said. "Like I finally got used to missing you... and now I don't have to."

That made my chest ache in the softest way.

"Don't get too used to me," I whispered. "I'm still dangerous—and have school."

He grinned into my hair. "Yeah, and I've got five months to figure out how I'm supposed to focus while you're off setting Hogwarts on fire."

I looked up at him, raising a brow. "That sounds like a you problem."

He leaned in, close enough to brush his nose against mine. His breath was warm, his voice lower now—more promise than joke. "It is. And I plan on making it your problem too—every time you're home."

I tangled my fingers with his, tightening just enough to feel the way his grip responded instinctively.

"Home," I murmured, almost to myself.

His gaze flicked to my mouth. "That's what this is now, yeah?"

I smiled—slow, dangerous. "If it is, you're awfully handsy for a welcome mat."

Fred smirked, leaning closer, the space between us now more suggestion than air. "You didn't see what I wanted to do when you showed up in that bikini."

"Is that so?" I whispered, tilting my head slightly, like I wasn't seconds from kissing him in front of all our friends.

His hand slipped to my thigh under the blanket, warm and grounding and just barely appropriate. "Mmhm. And now you're leaving me with a memory and no outlet."

I exhaled softly. "Poor thing."

"I'm gonna make you miss me," he whispered, lips barely brushing my jaw.

"You already do."

The screen flickered—some Muggle car chase, probably.

I wasn't paying attention.

Because Fred was looking at me like a problem he wanted to have.

And suddenly, I couldn't remember a single line of dialogue in the movie.

After the movie...there was just the seven of us now.

Me, Fred, George, Rowan, Katie, Sage, and Maddie—all perched across the Burrow's sloped rooftop under a charmed warmth charm and a scatter of enchanted pillows. The stars pulsed softly above us, the air calm in that way it only ever was at three in the morning.

Fred sat behind me again, his legs flanking mine, his chest warm against my back as I leaned into him.

"Alright," Maddie said, flopping dramatically onto her side. "What's the rule on deep talks up here?"

"No crying unless it's romantic," Sage offered.

"No fighting unless it's a sexy fight," George added.

Katie arched a brow. "What does that even mean?"

Rowan's eyes flicked toward her. "It means don't hex me if I say I'm terrified about this year."

Everything quieted.

Katie reached for his hand. "Same."

They didn't say more—but I could feel the weight of what they didn't say hanging in the space between their fingers. War, secrets, Denzel, Anselme. Uncertainty wrapped in every slow breath.

Fred's hand crept under the hem of my sweatshirt, fingers warm against my skin like he knew I needed the contact even before I did. I didn't stop him.

"Tell me what's in your head," he murmured, voice low and meant only for me.

"It's loud," I whispered. "Everything feels too fast."

"I know."

I tilted my face back against his shoulder, swallowing thickly. "I'm not ready to go back."

His hand stilled.

"I'm not ready to leave you."

He exhaled slowly, like the words hit exactly where mine had come from. Then he tightened his arm around me, grounding. Fierce.

"You don't have to be ready," he said. "You just have to be there. You always are."

His voice cracked a little on the last part, rough with the truth he didn't know how else to say. Then, quieter:

"I can't protect you from everything. But you better believe I'm gonna try."

That cracked something wide open in my chest.

I shifted in his lap to face him, the night barely lighting his face—but I didn't need light to see it. That look. Like I was something sacred and volatile. Like he was daring the universe to try and take me from him.

"Fred," I breathed.

His gaze didn't waver. "You don't get to disappear again."

"I'm not trying to."

"But you're scared."

"Terrified."

His hand rose to brush a piece of hair behind my ear, lingering. "Then let me be the thing you run to."

The world fell quiet between us—only stars and breath and everything we weren't saying out loud.

And I knew then: I wasn't just scared to leave him.

I was scared of what it meant that I didn't want to anymore.

"You're staring again," I whispered, not looking away.

"I'm thinking."

"Dangerous."

His eyes didn't move from mine. "Only when you're sitting this close and I'm not allowed to act on it."

I licked my lips—slow, deliberate.

His gaze dropped instantly, lingering at the hollow of my throat.

Then he said it—quiet, rough, like it had been sitting behind his teeth all night.

"You're still wearing the sword."

I froze for a second.

The little silver pendant—Delicate. Sharp. His gift from last Christmas—rested against my skin, half-hidden beneath the collar of my sweatshirt. I'd worn it all summer. I just hadn't realized he'd noticed.

Of course he had.

"I never take it off," I said.

His jaw tightened like that meant more to him than he could say. "It kills me a little every time I see it. In a good way."

I smiled. "You're dramatic."

"I'm in love," he said simply. "Same thing, really."

He leaned in just enough for our noses to brush, like he was daring me to make the next move.

"I'm not good at staying away from you," he murmured.

"Then don't."

His fingers flexed against my side like he was barely holding on. His breath hitched.

"If I kiss you right now," he whispered, voice low and wrecked, "we're not stopping."

I met his eyes, sure of one thing.

"Then don't."

His eyes darkened even more, like the weight of wanting had finally tipped over the edge.

And for a second, I swore the stars held their breath.

But before anything more could happen, George cleared his throat—not loudly, just... enough.

"Alright, this is cute and all, but I'd rather not be emotionally scarred tonight."

Sage snorted. "Speak for yourself."

Fred pulled back with a muttered curse and a smirk so wrecked it made my stomach flip. "You're going to kill me."

I leaned in and whispered, "That's the plan."

He exhaled through a grin and sat back, eyes still on me like he hadn't figured out how to stop.

Katie gave me a raised brow from across the rooftop, and I answered it with a shrug and a smirk.

Rowan said something to her under his breath that made her laugh, soft and small, and it settled over the group like a blanket.

The rooftop quieted again—tired bodies, warm air, and that rare calm that only came after a long, reckless weekend of being young and alive.

Fred hesitated beside me, then leaned down toward Katie where she sat curled up against Rowan.

"Hey," he said, gently. "Can I borrow you for a sec?"

Katie blinked, surprised. "Sure."

He looked at me for half a beat before standing, his expression unreadable now. "Be right back, Trouble."

"Try not to cause trauma," I teased, though a flicker of curiosity stirred low in my chest.

Katie stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Don't cause any more," she added to me, and followed him down from the roof.

And just like that, the night shifted again—subtle but certain.