Katie.

The smoke was thicker this time.

Choking. Blinding.

My lungs clawed for air as I stumbled through the wreckage of the Ministry—walls collapsing, spellfire ricocheting off marble and bone. Screams echoed around me, familiar voices twisted by panic and pain.

"Fred!" I turned just in time to see him disappear beneath falling stone.

"No—" My legs refused to move fast enough.

A flash of red.

Sage—on the ground, not moving.

Maddie bleeding from her temple.

Cassian yelling my name, holding his wand like a shield as something massive surged from the smoke behind him.

And Rowan—

God, Rowan.

He was crumpled in the middle of the atrium, wand outstretched, blood soaking through the front of his shirt. His eyes met mine—terrified.

And then—

"BLACKWOOD!" Draco's voice cut through everything. A shout. A warning.

I turned—

And saw Adrien, backlit by fire, arms outstretched like she could hold the world back with just her magic. Her runes burned red. Blistering. She was screaming something I couldn't hear.

The fire swallowed her whole.

"NO—!"

I jolted awake, heart slamming against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

My skin burned.

Sweat clung to me in thick, sticky patches. My breath came in gasps. The sheets were tangled, damp—again. My fingers were curled into fists so tight my nails left crescent moons in my palms.

Beside me, Adrien stirred. "Katie?"

I didn't answer.

She sat up slowly, her voice still thick with sleep. "Was it—another one?"

I nodded once, but it was a lie. It wasn't just another one. It was the worst yet.

She moved like she always did—instinctively. Reaching for me, brushing the blankets aside, trying to touch my wrist.

I flinched.

Just a small movement. A twitch of my shoulder. But she felt it.

She froze.

"I'm fine," I said, too fast, forcing myself to turn away, biting the inside of my cheek.

"You're not," she said, just as quickly.

I gave her a tired smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Just a dream."

But even I didn't believe it.

Three weeks of restless nights, tense atmospheres and sneaky nights, I realized the lies were getting easier.

I'd stopped counting them after the first dozen.

Just tired. Didn't sleep well. Got caught up at the library. Working on a project. Nothing's wrong.

They stacked on top of each other like bricks in a wall. And I could feel it getting taller. Thicker. Colder.

The same wall that was beginning to separate me from everyone...some part of me—the part that still cared about the truth—told me I should explain.

Eventually.

Eventually, I'd tell Adrien about the dreams. About the broom. About Draco.

Eventually, I'd tell Rowan why I couldn't look him in the eye anymore.

Why his kisses didn't land quite the same. Why I kept holding my breath when he touched me, like I was waiting for the guilt to drown me.

But I didn't. Instead, I kept smiling when they looked at me.

And every time Adrien's brow creased with concern, every time Rowan reached for my hand, every time Maddie or Sage asked if I was sure I was okay—

—I just nodded.

Eventually, I told myself.

But eventually was turning into never.

The corridor was colder at night.

My breath fogged in the air as I knelt beneath the window, wand balanced between my teeth and a pile of scrap parts scattered across the floor beside me. The soft click of brass fittings and muttered enchantments echoed faintly through the stone hall.

Draco's broom lay across my lap—splintered handle, scuffed bristle bindings, and a jagged crack near the footrest that kept refusing to seal.

The wand holster was another story entirely.

I tightened the strap around the base, whispering a low restoration charm under my breath, watching the weaves re-stitch along the handle.

Every repair I made felt like a stitch in my own chest. Like maybe if I put this together, I could ignore how much I was falling apart.

I adjusted the alignment rune near the grip—

—and nearly dropped the screwdriver when I heard footsteps.

Fast.

Three sets.

Shit.

I shoved the broom under the fabric of my cloak and kicked the repair kit into the shadow of the nearest suit of armor.

The figures came around the corner fast—hoods pulled low, wands in hand, loud whispers carrying down the hall.

Adrien. Maddie. Sage.

Of course it was them.

Adrien froze when she saw me.

"So this is where you've been sneaking off to," she said, folding her arms. Her eyes flicked to the cloak bunched at my side. "You weren't at the dorm. Or the library. Or anywhere else people usually spend their nights."

Sage squinted. "What are you even doing down here?"

Maddie tilted her head. "Wait—is that the Weasley repair kit Adrien's been hoarding?"

I straightened, brushing imaginary lint off my sleeves. "It's nothing. Just... spell-recoil study. I was running some tests. On a wand core. For class."

Adrien narrowed her eyes. "With enchanted bindings and a wand sheath?"

"Experimental," I said flatly.

A beat.

The silence stretched.

Too long.

Adrien's eyes lingered on me—long enough that my skin started to crawl.

But then Maddie rolled her eyes. "You're such a nerd. Warn us next time before you go full night gremlin."

Sage nodded. "We thought you'd been kidnapped by Merfolk like someone else..."

Adrien didn't say anything.

Not yet.

But her eyes said everything.

And I knew—I knew—she didn't believe a damn word I'd just said.

Still, she didn't press.

Not tonight.

I waited until their footsteps faded, until I couldn't hear Sage muttering something about goblin glue and Maddie arguing about wand wax preferences.

Then I pulled the broom back out, my fingers trembling just slightly.

I stared at it for a long time.

At the fracture lines and worn edges.

At the ghost of someone who had once mattered more than he should've.

And still did.

Eventually, I picked up the wand again.

And kept fixing what no one knew was broken.

"You're getting better at lying," came a voice from the shadows behind me. "Almost made me believe you were just studying."

I didn't jump. Didn't have to. I knew that voice like I knew the rhythm of my own heartbeat.

I exhaled slowly, not turning around. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."

Draco stepped into the moonlight, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "I didn't. You were just too busy selling a story to notice."

His eyes dropped to the half-repaired broom still resting across my lap.

"You fixed the stabilizer," he said quietly. "I didn't think you'd figure it out without the balance rune."

"I didn't need the rune," I muttered, adjusting the leather bindings. "You were anchoring it wrong anyway."

A breath of a laugh. "Always so gentle with your critique."

I finally looked up.

He looked... tired. Paler than usual. One sleeve torn. A shadow beneath one eye like he hadn't slept in days.

"What happened to your arm?" I asked before I could stop myself.

He didn't answer. Just glanced down at the bandage like he hadn't realized it was there. "Doesn't matter."

"It does if you're bleeding through a glamour."

His jaw ticked.

I stood slowly, brushing the dust from my knees. "Why are you even here?"

"Same reason you are," he said simply. "Avoiding things."

My heart thudded once, hard.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not—"

"You lied to Adrien," he cut in. "To all of them. For me."

His words weren't smug. They weren't even surprised. Just... factual. Soft. Like he didn't expect anything different.

"I didn't lie for you," I said tightly.

He tilted his head. "No? Then why hide it?"

I didn't answer. Not right away.

Because I didn't know.

Because maybe I did.

Because maybe I hadn't stopped lying since the moment he walked back into my life.

Draco stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough to tilt the air between us.

"I didn't ask you to fix it," he said, voice low.

"I didn't do it for you," I snapped. Another lie.

His gaze searched mine. Slowly. Carefully.

"You keep saying that," he murmured. "But your hands are covered in ash, and mine are the reason."

I swallowed hard, throat burning.

"I'm not trying to be forgiven," he said. "I know what I am. What I've done."

"Then stop showing up like you haven't," I said, too fast, too sharp.

He didn't flinch. "You're the one who keeps answering."

Silence surged between us.

The broom sat forgotten at my feet.

He looked at it once more. "You finished it."

I nodded.

His voice dipped. "Can I...?"

I nudged it forward with the toe of my boot. He knelt, fingers trailing along the grain of the wood like it was something sacred.

When he picked it up, his hands trembled—just slightly.

He didn't look at me when he spoke.

"Thank you."

Not a whisper. Not a mumble. Just... honest. And cracked at the edges.

Something about it almost broke me.

"I should go," I said, backing away.

He stood slowly. "Katie—"

"Don't."

I didn't turn around.

Not even when he said my name again—quieter this time, like he didn't want the walls to hear it.

I walked away before I could change my mind.

And I didn't look back.

Because if I did... I wasn't sure I'd be able to leave.

I managed to slip into the girls loo and slammed my back against the door, slamming it shut. I reached up beside me, twisting the lock to secure my emotional breakdown. I couldn't breathe, my chest was tight, my heart hammered against my ribs and my vision was blurring.

It had started on the rooftop.

Where the wind made it harder to breathe, and the moon cut everything in silver.

I found him pacing along the far edge of the astronomy deck, his posture tight, like he was about to shatter from holding himself together.

I didn't say anything.

Just walked up, slow and measured, and pulled a healing balm from my pocket.

He didn't flinch when I pressed it to his cheek, where the skin had split. Just closed his eyes.

"Rooftop's an odd place to bleed out," I muttered.

"I like the view."

"You like the isolation."

His lips twitched. "Same thing."

My fingers lingered on his jaw longer than necessary.

He opened his eyes. "You always were the careful one."

"I'm not being careful right now," I said, quieter than I meant to.

He looked at me like he knew exactly how far I'd fall if he said the wrong thing.

But he didn't say anything at all.

Just watched me work in silence, like I was something sacred.

I clapped my hand across my mouth as I stepped in front of the aged, barley cracked mirror as I took in my appearance.

My eyes were bloodshot.

My cheeks were flushed.

My skin pale.

I had shadows under my eyes.

My robes were wrinkled and my hair—all over the place.

I sighed heavily into the sink as I ran some cold water over my hands.

We met in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement.

He was leaning against the stone wall, holding his wand like it had betrayed him.

"It won't cast properly," he said without looking up. "Recoil's off."

I took it from him, flipped it in my hand, muttered a charm under my breath.

The tip sparked — soft gold, clean.

"You're holding it wrong," I said, stepping closer. I took his wrist, adjusted his grip, guided the wand's angle.

He didn't move. Didn't blink.

Just let me touch him. Let me teach him.

"You always used too much force," I murmured, turning his hand slightly. "It's not a weapon, Malfoy. It's an extension."

He looked at me then. Really looked.

And I felt it.

The shift. The pull.

He didn't kiss me. But he didn't have to.

Not when his eyes said everything his mouth never would.

I splashed the cold water over my face and felt myself trembling. The tremor the memories were shoving into my veins was uncontrollable.

I had been doing this too long.

I was in too deep.

What the hell was I doing anyway?

The abandoned storage room was still warm from whatever spell he'd cast to keep the windows from icing over.

He sat on the edge of the desk, shirt half-off, blood seeping through the bandages he'd tried—and failed—to charm shut.

"Whoever patched you up last time was a sadist," I muttered, kneeling in front of him and carefully peeling the gauze away from his shoulder.

Draco hissed as the fabric tugged free. "Remind me again why I keep letting you do this?"

"Because I'm the only one who doesn't pretend you're invincible."

He chuckled—low and wrecked—and leaned back against the wall. "You always did have a talent for ruining my ego."

I glanced up. "Someone had to."

His mouth twitched.

The wound was bad—deep, bruised along the edges. Some kind of impact spell, maybe laced with heat. The skin was raised and angry, but not infected. Yet.

I dipped my fingers into the salve, then gently pressed them to the edges of the wound.

His breath caught.

Not loud.

But enough.

"Stop tensing," I murmured.

"You're cold."

"You're dramatic."

"You're dangerous," he said softly.

I paused.

Our eyes locked.

He was too close.

I was too tired to lie about why I didn't mind.

I kept working, pressing balm into his skin, fingertips grazing the line of his collarbone. His breath hitched again—this time when I accidentally brushed lower, right where his chest met the curve of his arm.

"Still letting me do this?" I asked, not looking at him.

His voice was tight. "You already know the answer."

The silence stretched.

My hands slowed. Rested on either side of the bandage, holding it in place, but not moving.

"I shouldn't be here," I whispered.

He didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

Because when I looked up—slowly—his gaze was already on me, wide and dark and wrecked with something between longing and restraint.

"You came anyway," he said.

And gods help me—I didn't regret it.

Not even for a second.

My eyes found mine in the mirror and for a split second, I didn't recognize myself. This girl was lying to everyone; Sage, Maddie, Adrien, Rowan, Cassian...

I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh, only to pause.

Draco's cologne.

The common room was quiet when I pushed through the portrait hole—too quiet for this hour. Only one lamp still flickered near the hearth, casting long shadows across the floor and up the walls. The fire had burned low, just glowing embers now, the room dim and soft around the edges.

I froze halfway in.

Adrien and Rowan were sitting on the worn leather couch near the fire, talking. They both looked up at the same time.

Rowan's posture went rigid.

Adrien didn't move at all. She just stared.

And in that single, stretched second, I knew exactly what had just happened.

Adrien stood without a word. She didn't call me out. Didn't ask questions. Didn't throw accusations like hexes. She just looked at me—long enough to make my skin crawl—and then turned and walked straight up the girls' staircase.

No goodbye. No eye roll. No dramatic commentary.

Just silence. And that was somehow worse.

I stood there for a beat longer than I should have, the weight of everything I hadn't said pressing down like gravity. Rowan watched me from the couch, his eyes unreadable.

"I'm tired," I said, already heading toward the stairs. "Long day."

"Wait," he said.

Just that.

Soft. Not demanding. Not sharp.

But it stopped me cold.

I didn't turn around. "Can we not do this right now?"

He stood. "Do what?"

"You know what."

His voice followed me across the room. "I know you're lying."

That one hit.

I turned halfway, meeting his gaze over my shoulder. "About what?"

He stepped around the couch, slow and careful, like I might bolt. "About where you were. About why you're avoiding everyone. About... us."

I crossed my arms. "You want a fight?"

"No," he said quietly. "I want the truth."

I hesitated. "I said I'm tired, Rowan."

"And I said wait." His voice wasn't angry.

Just steady.

And that somehow made it harder to ignore.

"I don't want to do this right now," I repeated.

He nodded once, jaw tense. "Okay."

But he didn't move.

Didn't sit. Didn't walk away.

Just waited.

I hated that he always knew how to hold still better than I did.

"Whatever Adrien told you—" I started.

"She didn't have to tell me anything," he said. "She just told me where you were."

That stung more than I expected.

I sighed and sank into the armchair by the hearth, dragging a hand through my hair. "It's not what you think."

"Then tell me what it is."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Does it matter?"

He didn't answer. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at me like he was trying to read a language he didn't recognize anymore.

"You don't even kiss me the same," he said finally. "Did you know that?"

My heart skidded.

"I'm not trying to start a fight," he went on, voice quieter now. "I just... I don't know where you've gone, Katie. And I don't know how to follow."

I looked away, because the guilt was a living thing now—clawing and gnashing inside my ribs.

He took a step closer. "Just tell me if I did something wrong. If I messed this up somehow."

"You didn't."

"Then what is it?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

The fire cracked.

"I just needed air," I said softly. "That's all."

He didn't believe me. I didn't believe me. But he didn't push.

Not tonight. He just nodded—once—and let me go.