Adrien.

It was dark.

But not the kind of dark that lives behind closed eyes.

No—this was thick, suffocating. A pressure kind of dark. Heavy as grief. Cold as betrayal.

I tried to move. Couldn't.

My arms were chained to the lake floor, thick rusted links cutting into my skin. My legs, too. Anchored.

The Black Lake.

The Triwizard Tournament—the second task.

Only this time, I wasn't coming back up. No one was swimming towards me.

The water pressed in from every side, and when I opened my mouth to scream, it just poured in—saltless, still, and endless.

My lungs burned.

I thrashed—futilely—until I caught a glimpse of something above the surface. Shapes moving in the shimmer. Shadows.

No.

Not shadows.

Sage. Maddie. Katie.

They stood at the edge of the water, watching me.

Unmoving.

Expressionless.

And then, like a film burning in reverse, the lake shattered around me—and I was standing in the ruins of Beauxbatons.

Or what used to be Beauxbatons.

The grand halls were crumbling. Fire licked the tapestries. The marble staircases lay in fractured pieces. Ivy curled through shattered glass windows, like nature had reclaimed it with vengeance.

I stumbled forward through the wreckage. "Katie?" I called.

But someone else answered.

Anselme.

He stepped out from behind a half-fallen arch, impossibly clean against the ash and ruin, hands clasped behind his back like he was strolling through a museum.

His smile could've sliced skin.

"My little Blackwood," he drawled, voice velvet-wrapped venom. "Still chasing fire?"

I backed up a step instinctively.

He tsked. "Funny thing about your sister," he went on. "Did she ever tell you what her name really meant?"

I clenched my fists.

He didn't wait for an answer. "Vexley. A name buried in blood and secrets. That girl isn't who you think she is, Adrien."

"I know who she is," I snapped.

"Do you?" he murmured, taking another step closer, as fire flared behind him. "When she realizes what's buried in her blood—what power was promised to her—she'll do anything to keep it. Even burn you."

"Liar."

He smiled. "I've never needed to lie. Especially not about this."

Then the fire grew brighter. Consuming.

And from it, I heard a voice.

Not Anselme's.

Older.

Familiar and wrong.

"Would you choose fire again, Little Vexley?"
"Would you burn your sister for the truth?"

I turned to find the speaker—but the voice came from everywhere.

The fire caught the edge of my robe.

Then my skin.

And I screamed—

I jolted awake with a gasp, chest heaving like I'd clawed my way out of a grave. Sweat clung to my skin. My sheets were twisted and damp, the corners scorched.

My palms were glowing.

Runes.

Still lit, faint and pulsing, like they'd tried to cast something in my sleep and gotten stuck halfway through. I pressed my hands flat to the wooden bedframe, grounding myself in the cool burn of it until the heat ebbed.

Then—

"Katie," I rasped, voice raw from a scream I didn't remember.

Next to me, someone groaned.

"What—" Katie's voice, slurred with sleep. "Did something explode again?"

Sage sat up with a dramatic flop, hair a puffball of tangled defiance. "Please tell me it's not another cursed howler. It's too early and I'm too pretty for PTSD."

Maddie blinked awake slowly, rubbing her eyes. "I was having a dream about kissing Cassian in a greenhouse and now I'm in actual hell."

"You're welcome," I muttered, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Katie squinted at me from under her blanket. "You look like you ran a marathon in your sleep."

"I might've."

That sobered her faster than caffeine.

She sat up properly, worry flickering across her face. "You had a Nightmare too?"

I didn't answer right away.

"Yeah," I said eventually. "Black Lake again. Then Beauxbatons. Then... something worse."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't push.

Maddie flopped dramatically back against her pillow. "Why do all of our nightmares involve magical trauma and not, like, normal teenage things? Where are the dreams about showing up to class naked or forgetting a test?"

"Speak for yourself," Sage said, yawning. "Last week I had one where I married Gilderoy Lockhart and he cried because I outshined him on our wedding day."

"That... actually checks out."

Katie swung her legs off the bed too, stretching with a groan. "Wait—what time is it?"

We all looked around.

No light pouring through the curtains.

No noise from the stairwell.

No Hermione either.

I turned to the enchanted clock on our wall.

"Oh shit," I said. "We slept through breakfast."

Sage let out a horror-movie gasp.

Maddie actually clutched her chest. "But I pre-dreamed my croissant!"

"You what now—?" Katie began, but I cut her off by standing.

"We've got fifteen minutes to make it to class or McGonagall's going to transfigure us into paperweights."

"Not it," Sage said instantly.

I grabbed a dress shirt and shoved it over my still-warm skin, tugging the sleeves low enough to cover the flickering runes. They were calmer now—dimmed, but not gone.

Katie was watching me.

I met her gaze, half-expecting her to ask.

Instead, she said, "I thought I was the one with the death dreams."

I snorted. "Guess it's a family trait."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"You okay?" she asked.

The words were soft.

I hesitated. "Depends what version of me you're asking."

She was quiet for a second.

Then: "Ask all of them. I'll wait."

That stopped me. Just for a second.

I looked at her—really looked.

She was still tired. Still wary.

But she was here.

I nodded. "I'll let you know when they answer back."

"Just don't let them talk over each other. That's my job."

We both smiled—crooked, tired things.

And then Sage tripped over her own boot and face-planted into a pile of clean laundry, yelling something about betrayal and sock sorcery, and the mood broke just enough for all of us to breathe again.

We barely managed to pull ourselves together, rushing through teeth-brushing, robe-wrangling, and spell-checking to avoid looking like total disasters. Not that it worked.

By the time we slid into the corridor outside our first class, we were still tucking shirts and wiping sleep from our eyes—totally inconspicuous.

Until—

"Well, look who decided to join the land of the living," Rowan called, leaning casually against the doorframe like he'd been waiting there all morning just to judge us.

Cassian stood beside him, arms crossed, an eyebrow arched with the full weight of unspoken "what the hell happened to you lot?"

"We had a collective spiritual experience," Sage said, deadpan, still fixing her ponytail. "Deeply cleansing. Very sweaty."

Rowan eyed Sage skeptically. "You're five minutes late and two socks short of a full outfit."

"One was cursed. It betrayed me," Sage huffed. "I refuse to discuss it further."

Cassian gave an exaggerated nod of understanding. "Tragic. Send it to Azkaban."

Then his eyes flicked to me, mouth twitching. "You look like you wrestled your sheets in your sleep and lost."

"I did," I muttered. "Thanks for noticing."

"You're welcome," he said, then casually nudged me with his elbow—just enough to knock me slightly off balance—before turning to Maddie and planting a warm kiss at the corner of her mouth.

She blinked, surprised for half a second, then grinned like she'd just won something.

Katie elbowed Rowan lightly as we filed past. "Not a word."

He gave her a look—all mock innocence—then grabbed her wrist, pulled her in, and kissed her square on the mouth in front of everyone.

Not rough. Not rushed.

Just intentional.

The kind of kiss that said: Good morning. You're mine. And I don't care who knows it.

Sage made a gagging noise. "Ugh, please. It's too early for heterosexual nonsense."

Maddie smirked. "Speak for yourself."

Katie pulled back, cheeks a little pink, but eyes daring anyone to comment.

Rowan just smiled.

And I? I tried really hard not to think about the fact that the person I wanted to kiss was no where near here, he was probably opening the shop right about now—I frowned to myself, sighing heavily before following Katie and Rowan down the corridor.

Maddie, Cassian and Sage flanked myself, Katie and Rowan like usual before the the end of the morning bickering ended.

Maddie swatted at Cassian's shoulder. "You could've woken us up."

"I did," he replied. "Telepathically. It's not my fault you're magically resistant to common sense."

"Unbelievable," Maddie muttered, rolling her eyes.

"You're welcome," Cassian and Rowan said at the same time.

We shoved them from opposite sides, causing them to collide shoulder to shoulder before trudging into the classroom before we could collect any more commentary, half-choked with laughter and one shoe still untied.

Apparition training was an absolute joke.

And not the good kind.

The instructor—Professor Twycross, who looked like someone had wrung out a wet towel and given it a soul—stood in the center of the Charms hall—The Great Hall minus the tables—with his unusual haunted expression and the posture of a sentient twig.

He clapped his hands together like it might help. It didn't.

"Visualize your destination," he droned, voice like dry toast. "Intention. Precision."

Sage raised her hand. "What if my intention is to disappear from this school entirely?"

Twycross blinked. "Then you should not Apparate at all."

"Copy that."

I barely made it into my chalk circle before the floor tilted sideways. My stomach flipped, and I had to clench my jaw to keep my knees locked.

Magic pulsed outward from my skin—too much, too fast—and chalk dust exploded around me like I'd dropped a mini hex.

Twycross actually jumped.

"Oh," he said, blinking rapidly. "Miss Blackwood, are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine," I lied, which was increasingly becoming my catchphrase.

My spine felt like it was on fire. The runes were flaring again—quietly, but enough that the edges of my fingers were starting to glow beneath my sleeves. I tried to roll my shoulders back like it might help me balance, but that only made the pressure worse.

Behind me, someone scoffed lightly.

I didn't have to turn to know who it was.

Blaise.

He'd been watching me all week. Not in the obvious I'm still in love with you but emotionally stunted way.

More like... a scientist waiting for a creature to mutate.

Every time my magic flickered, he was there.

Not smirking. Not speaking. Just waiting.

Maddie nudged me from her own circle, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, "Zabini is staring at you like you're the last riddle in a cursed crossword puzzle."

"Let him," I muttered. "If I spontaneously combust, he'll be the first to catch fire."

Sage cracked her knuckles. "Ten galleons says if you actually do Apparate today, you'll land in the Slytherin common room just to spite him."

"Or in his lap," Maddie whispered. "Which, honestly, might make his brain explode."

"Not helping," I hissed, though my lips twitched. "Plus I'd rather be at the shop..."

Sage and Maddie's eyes softened at the implication of Fred, and I sighed heavily while twisting the engagement ring on my finger, allowing it to ground me.

Twycross clapped again—pointlessly. "Let's all focus now. Deep breath. Feel the magic within you."

"I always feel the magic within me," Sage muttered. "That's not the problem."

I inhaled.

Visualize. Intention. Precision.

The world spun—heat curling around my ribs like a fuse winding too tight—and I blinked hard to fight off the rush.

Still in the circle. Still not splinched.

Progress? Maybe.

Behind me, I could feel Blaise shift again.

Watching. Waiting.