Adrien.

Rowan and I didn't speak the entire walk up the stairs.

Not when the walls creaked in that tired, old-castle way.

Not even when we reached the dorm and I yanked the curtains off my bed like they'd offended me.

I didn't even realize I was shaking until Rowan gently shut the door behind us and crossed the room like he wasn't afraid I might combust.

Maybe he should've been.

Because I wasn't holding it together anymore.

Not really.

I sat down hard on the edge of my bed, hands clenched in the sheets, trying to remember how to breathe.

Rowan stood across from me, arms folded. Not closed off — just bracing.

"Talk to me," he said softly.

I blinked. "What do you want me to say?"

"Anything that won't turn to ash inside you."

That almost did it right there.

I looked away, jaw tight, eyes stinging.

"She lied," I said finally. "She let me stand on that pitch, scream at her in front of everyone, and she said nothing."

"I know."

"I humiliated her—"

"She let you."

I nodded, throat tight.

"She let all of us fall apart thinking it was our fault," I said. "And the whole time, she was sneaking off to fix bloody Malfoy like a hobby."

Rowan didn't say anything.

Because what could he say?

He was hurting too.

He sat on the floor across from me, knees bent, voice low. "You said once you'd rather someone scream at you than lie to you."

"I meant it," I muttered. "But I didn't think she'd be the one."

Silence stretched between us.

Thick. Tangled. Full of too many things we couldn't say out loud yet.

And then—

"She's not the person I thought she was," I said, and my voice cracked.

And that was the thing that snapped it.

Because it wasn't just betrayal. It wasn't just anger. It was grief.

"She's still the same person," Rowan gritted his teeth, zoning out. "Just...lost."

I frowned.

She was the girl who used to braid my hair during Astronomy. For the girl who hexed some mean girl for making me cry in Beauxbatons. For the girl who swore we'd never lie to each other. The girl that held my hand and got expelled with me after uncovered what Anselme was doing.

I pressed my palms to my face. "She was my sister."

"I know," Rowan whispered.

And that's when I broke.

The tears hit fast — ugly, heaving, raw. My whole body lurched forward like it didn't know how to carry it.

Rowan moved instantly, kneeling in front of me. I didn't push him away.

I couldn't.

Because I was burning alive from the inside, and he was the only thing keeping me tethered.

"It hurts," I sobbed. "It hurts and I can't stop it."

He pulled me into his chest, arms tight around my back. "I've got you. Adrien, I've got you."

But I didn't hear him over the way the magic in my skin began to hum.

Warm. Hot.

Too hot.

I gasped and pulled back, staring at my hands.

The runes.

Not pulsing like before — not flickering.

They were glowing brighter now, than ever before.

Glowing.

Deep, red-gold light swirled across my palms and wrists, climbing higher — past my sleeves, toward my elbows.

"Rowan," I breathed. "It's not stopping."

He grabbed my arms. "Try to breathe through it—Adrien—look at me."

I couldn't.

The air was thick. Heavy. Wrong.

The runes burned like my skin was about to split.

And then—

The door banged open.

"What the hell—" Sage froze. Maddie nearly slammed into her.

They both took one look at me and stopped dead.

"Shit," Maddie whispered. "She's flaring."

Sage bolted toward my nightstand. "Where's the obsidian charm? You had it yesterday."

"I gave it to Hermione—" I gasped, "she—wanted to test—"

"Brilliant timing," Sage muttered, already digging in my trunk for anything enchanted.

Maddie grabbed my other arm, face pale. "You need to ground it. Now."

"I can't," I said, panic rising. "It's not listening."

The heat surged again — bright and violent — and I bit back a scream.

Rowan didn't let go, not for a second.

"CASSIAN!" Maddie screamed at the top of her lungs as I started convulsing.

My vision swam. The runes on my arms blazed gold and red, crawling higher, flickering like they couldn't decide whether to sear or scar.

"Focus on something real," Rowan said, voice low but firm in my ear. "Something here. You're not alone."

I tried.

Tried to hold on to his voice — to the press of his hand against my spine, to the tremble in his breath. He was scared.

They all were.

But I was burning from the inside out.

The magic wasn't listening.

The door burst open again.

Cassian.

He crossed the room in three strides, already muttering. His wand was out, not raised — steady, precise. "Move."

Rowan backed off just enough for Cassian to kneel in front of me.

He didn't touch me.

He knew better—apparently.

Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a runed stone — not obsidian, but something older. Etched with markings I couldn't place through the blur of my vision.

"Adrien," he said calmly, like I wasn't about to explode, "you need to take this. Right hand. Palm open."

I didn't move.

My body wasn't mine.

"Now," he said — not harsh, just unshakable.

Sage knelt beside me, helping pry my fingers open. Cassian pressed the stone into my palm, then placed his hand over mine.

And for the first time in minutes... the burning started to dim.

The rune glow flickered.

Still there. Still dangerous.

But less.

"Don't let go," Cassian murmured. "Breathe through it. Anchor to the stone. Not the pain."

My breath came in stuttering gasps. My forehead dropped against my knees, my whole body shuddering from the effort of staying together.

I felt sweat roll down my back. My hands were trembling. My chest ached from sobbing.

And still, Cassian didn't move.

Just held my hand. Kept whispering words I didn't understand.

Until finally, finally, the heat broke.

My body collapsed forward — not unconscious, but not far from it.

Silence followed.

Then Maddie's voice — soft. Wrecked.

"This is happening more often, isn't it?"

I didn't answer.

Because we all knew.

Rowan sat beside me again, pressing a cool cloth to my neck. His eyes were red. He didn't say anything.

Sage moved around the room, collecting what she could — my scorched sheets, the cracked crystal that had shattered near the desk, the broken ward charm that used to hum at my bedside.

Everything I had tried to hold together — magic, trust, myself — was splintering.

Cassian finally let go of my hand, but not before checking the stone. His brow furrowed.

"This isn't a flare," he said quietly. "It's a shift."

"A what?" Maddie asked, her voice tight.

He glanced at me, then away. "She's not losing control. She's changing."

The words chilled me more than the sweat on my skin.

Changing.

Not healing. Not stabilizing.

Changing.

Cassian stood, grabbing the cracked pieces of the crystal. "You need to tell Snape."

"I already did," I whispered, voice barely mine. "He warned me."

Cassian looked at the burn marks etched into the floor beneath me. At the runes still glowing faintly under my skin.

He nodded. "Then you already know he's not going to just warn you again."

And the worst part? He was right.

The next day I noticed the castle felt colder today—wasn't sure if it was the weather or my recovering pores.

Not the wind. Not the stone.

Maybe the space between things.

Between people.

Between me and her.

I turned a corner near the dungeons and saw her.

Katie.

She was standing just beyond the stairwell, head down, one hand pressed to the banister like it was holding her up. Her robe sleeve slipped, exposing a patch of skin at her wrist. Pale. Trembling.

She didn't see me.

Or maybe she did and pretended she didn't.

Either way... I didn't stop.

Didn't speak.

Didn't breathe, really, until I passed her.

But my chest still ached as I reached Snape's door.

I raised my hand and knocked once.

"Enter."

I stepped inside.

He didn't look up right away — just finished scribbling something onto a parchment, the quill in his hand barely making a sound. The room was dim as always, lit only by the eerie green flicker from the jar-lined shelves.

"You're here about another episode," he said.

Not a question. A statement.

I nodded. "Yes."

Snape finally looked up from the parchment on his desk. His eyes, as always, gave nothing away.

"And?"

"It's getting worse."

A pause stretched between us. Heavy. Measured.

He folded his hands, gaze unreadable. "I suspected it might."

I took a step forward, my pulse ticking in my throat. "In the library... you told me I was being blocked. That I wasn't ready."

He didn't respond.

"Tell me what's blocking me."

He studied me for a long, silent moment — the kind that made you want to flinch, even if he hadn't moved an inch.

"The message I gave you," he said, "do you still have it?"

My eyes narrowed. "Yes."

His own gaze didn't flicker. "Then you already know the name. But not what it means."

My fingers curled at my sides. "The Labyrinth of Bones."

Snape inclined his head.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rose slowly from behind the desk, his robes rustling like a warning.

"Some say it was once a training ground," he said. "Buried beneath Beauxbatons. Hidden behind old magics. The sort of place that tests not just power, but lineage."

My breath hitched.

"What kind of training?"

He gave a thin smile. "The kind Beauxbatons doesn't advertise—anymore."

I swallowed. "And you said... Alice—"

"I said," he interrupted smoothly, "that the message suggests it may be where she lies."

"Lies as in—?"

"Interpret as you will," Snape said coldly. "But don't mistake myth for mercy."

My skin prickled.

"Vague, Motherfuck—," I muttered before I could stop myself—then immediately shut up when his eyebrow arched like it was about to cast a hex.

"You think she's down there," I whispered. "Alice, Katie's mother."

He looked at me. Really looked.

"I think," he said carefully, "that if you want answers about what's happening to you... and the magic you and Miss Ve—Blackwood share... that is where you'll find them."

I pushed past the name slip. "What's waiting for me?"

Snape tilted his head slightly. "That's not the question you should be asking."

"Then what is?"

His voice sharpened like a blade being drawn.

"Ask yourself if you're willing to open the door. And what will crawl out when you do." A beat. "If you're willing to burn your sister for it."

I stopped breathing.

My head tilted just slightly. "Professor," I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady as he sat back behind his desk like nothing had happened.

"Is there something else, Miss Blackwood?" His gaze sliced across the room like it could take out a window.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Felt my heart hammering in my ears.

"N—No."

I slipped out and closed the door behind me, not realizing I'd been holding my breath until it escaped in one sharp exhale.

If you're willing to burn your sister for it.

My eyes went wide.

I didn't stop walking until I was back in the common room, halfway up the girls' stairs, and tearing into our dorm like a girl with a conspiracy board in her head.

"Sage—" I gasped.

"Adrien?" Sage's voice came from the bathroom, muffled.

"We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Maddie asked from her bed, but when she saw me drop to my knees and start ripping through my trunk like it owed me money, she slowly stood and shut the door.

"Snape happened," I said, breathless, yanking out a folder and a handful of letters. "Okay. We owled Mr. Weasley, told Dumbledore—covered all bases, right?"

"Pretty sure," Sage called, now emerging in a towel, another towel twisted around her head and her toothbrush still sticking out of her mouth. "Unless the base was cursed and we set it on fire, in which case—flawless execution."

Maddie came over, arms crossed. "What's going on, Adrien?"

I spread the letters across my bed. "Mr. Weasley sent me copies. I asked for everything."

"Wait," Maddie blinked, pointing to one closer to my headboard. "Is that a letter from Fred?"

"Focus." I pointed sharply. "Just... trust me."

I placed the first one face-up:

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

I slammed the second one next to it.

"The Labyrinth of Bones is where Alice lies."

Sage blinked. "Tell me you didn't keep the cursed one."

"I didn't keep that one," I said quickly. "I kept a copy. For... evidence."

I pulled out the third letter — the worst of them — and laid it down:

"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."

"Okay," Maddie said, rounding the bed, "so what exactly are we looking at here? Do I need gloves?"

I pointed to the first letter. "Snape just said this. Almost word for word."

Both of their faces paled.

I slapped my palm on the second. "Then he said this is where I'll find answers about these—" I yanked up my sleeve. The runes were faintly glowing, like they knew they were being talked about.

Sage pointed at the long one. "Okay but this one? This feels like something you find carved into the wall of a serial killer's crawlspace."

I nodded. "Exactly. Look—'Don't look for me, I'll be closer than that.'" I looked between them flinching as if they were bracing for something, wide-eyed. "The runes."

Maddie's eyes widened. "Wait—do you think the runes are—like, watching you?!"

"I think they're connected to whoever wrote this," I said, tapping the third letter.

"Okay." Sage dropped onto her bed. "So we're dealing with a mythical death maze full of ancient magic and maybe Katie's mom's ghost and your skin is doing glowy Morse code?"

"Pretty much," I deadpanned.

"Cool cool cool," she said, still brushing her teeth. "Do we need snacks? I feel like snacks are going to be involved."

Maddie flopped back dramatically. "I'm gonna need stronger tea. Or a binding spell. Possibly a priest."

I sank to the floor, surrounded by letters, my heart still racing.

"Whatever this Labyrinth is," I said quietly, "it's not just a place. It's a key. And someone—something—has been trying to shove me toward it since the runes first appeared."

They both went quiet.

For once.

Sage broke it with a whisper: "Well... we're definitely not skipping school for this one."

Maddie sighed. "We're going to die in a French crypt, aren't we?"

"...Probably."

"We need Katie." I huffed, earning their eyes. "I'll talk to her—"

"Are you sure?" Maddie leaned over, tapping my knee.

"It makes sense." I sighed, sliding all three letters under my pillow as I picked up the one from Fred.

"Read that," Sage pointed with her toothbrush and started back towards the bathroom. "Write him back—you fiance will make you feel better."

"I'll start gathering snacks." Maddie nodded as I grinned after them and sighed heavily down at the letter from Fred I hadn't even opened.

I dropped onto my bed and gently tore open the envelope, grinning at the shimmering ruby on my finger as I did so and grinned down at his handwriting.

The envelope was already charmed with little golden hearts that popped and fizzled every time I touched it — very Fred — and somehow still smelled like cinnamon and chaos.

I opened it slowly, unfolded the parchment, and had barely made it through the first two lines before Maddie materialized over my shoulder like a nosy, well-dressed ghost:

Adrien, my love, my chaos, my reason the shop's explosion quota increased by 12% last summer,

I was going to start this letter with something poetic — something about how the rain reminds me of the freckles on your shoulders or how the shop smells like you when someone accidentally blows up the rose-scented prank candles. But George stole the good quill and I'm writing this from the floor behind the counter with an ink stain on my sleeve and a customer arguing with a love potion vial.

So... we're improvising.

I miss you. Stupidly. Excessively. The kind of miss that makes me walk into a room and forget what I'm looking for because it's not you.

We started renovations in the back room. (You know, the one where the walls used to leak that ominous green goo when the temperature dropped?) We're thinking about converting it into a "Restricted Experiments" section. There's even talk of putting in a hex-proof viewing box so customers can watch things go wrong in real time. You'd love it. Or ban it. Possibly both.

I was going to plan a trip to Hogsmeade — surprise you with a ridiculous picnic setup and a bottle of that overpriced champagne you pretended not to like but drank anyway — but the shop's been overloaded. February's been mad. Apparently "seasonal mischief" is a real thing now. Who knew? Half the second-years are stocking up on products like it's mischief apocalypse prep.

George says hi, by the way. But he's lying — he just sneezed into a pepper powder cloud and temporarily lost his voice. He's currently communicating only through violent gestures and a puppet he enchanted to insult me every hour on the hour.

Oh — before I forget — if Blaise is still breathing in your direction, hex him for me. No, really. Don't hold back. I've started a "Blaise Needs a Restraining Order" suggestion jar at the shop and it's currently half full. Of knuts. And one particularly unhinged howler from Angelina.

But more than anything, I hope you're okay. I know things are heavy right now — darker. I know the magic is shifting around you. I can feel it, even from here.

But I also know you.

And I've never known anyone braver. Or sharper. Or more heartbreakingly brilliant.

You've carried so much on your own shoulders. I'd carry it for you if I could. But until we figure out how to share cursed runes and emotional trauma through owl post, this letter will have to do.

I love you, Adrien.

More than I can say. More than I can explain. More than the number of secret tunnels you mapped out of Hogwarts in case of a dramatic exit.

If you need me, I'm here. If you don't, I'm still here. Always.

Come home soon. Or write back and tell me when I can sneak up to Hogsmeade for the night. I'll bring cinnamon buns. And fireworks. And, obviously, me.

Yours — ridiculously and entirely,
Fred

P.S. Tell Sage if she keeps sending me explosive biscuits disguised as care packages, I will retaliate. With glitter. The pink kind. You've been warned.

"Oh my god," she breathed, eyes widening. "He opened with 'my chaos'? Can we bottle him? Can I get one? Just for the aesthetic."

"Get off me," I grumbled, already blushing, even though I didn't stop reading. "Go find Cassian!"

"Absolutely not," she said, perching on the edge of my bed like this was the most important literary event of the season. "Continue."

I tried to angle the letter away, but she was committed.

By the time I got to the line about the explosion quota and seasonal mischief, Sage strolled in, saw the situation, and immediately flopped on my pillows like she'd been summoned.

"What's happening?"

"Love letter," Maddie whispered dramatically.

"Fred love letter?" Sage's eyes lit up. "Do we need tissues or popcorn?"

"Both," Maddie said. "And a fan."

"You're all impossible," I muttered, but my grin was betraying me.

They listened in silence as I read — Fred's words warm and ridiculous and stupidly perfect. Maddie made an exaggerated swooning noise when I hit 'you drank it anyway.'

Sage nearly choked when I read the bit about Blaise breathing in my direction.

"Oh my god, he started a restraining order jar? I want one. I want to marry him. Move over, Adrien, I'm claiming next."

"Absolutely not," I said without missing a beat.

"He said you're braver than anyone," Maddie murmured, quieter now. "That's... kind of everything."

I folded the letter gently, holding it to my chest like it could keep my heart steady.

"I miss him," I admitted.

Sage nodded like she got it. "You gonna write back?"

I reached for my parchment. "Already halfway there."

Maddie leaned in dramatically. "Say something like 'bring pastries or don't come at all.'"

"Tell him you had a vision of your wedding and he was late because he got hexed by your cousin," Sage added. "Romantic and threatening."

"I'll tell him Sage is banned from the planning committee," I muttered, dipping my quill in ink.

"Rude."

"Accurate."

I rolled my eyes.

Then Sage suddenly sat bolt upright, grabbing the letter off the bed and pointing to the bottom.

"EXCUSE ME?!" she gasped. "Did he just—did he just threaten me with pink glitter?!"

Maddie leaned over, snorting. "He did. 'Tell Sage if she keeps sending explosive biscuits disguised as care packages, I will retaliate. With glitter. The pink kind.'"

"You know that's a war crime, right?" Sage shouted, flailing a little in her towel like a dramatic wizarding gladiator. "I hope his engagement ring turns his finger green. I hope his nose hair grows in curly."

"You literally hexed a delivery owl last week for bringing the wrong shampoo," I deadpanned.

"IT. DROPPED. IT. IN. THE. LAKE."

Maddie wheezed into a pillow.

I smirked, gently tugging the letter back from Sage's grip. "If I die in a pink glitter explosion, I'm haunting both of you."

They both giggled and fell back into the pillows like this was just another Tuesday, and for a moment... it felt like it was.

Normal. Safe. Whole.

I looked down at the parchment, my heart thudding softly in my chest, and began to write:

Fred, my favorite fire hazard,

First of all: rude.

I'll have you know your threats of pink glitter retaliation have been documented, archived, and forwarded to three cursebreakers and a minor chaos deity. You'd better hope I don't add that note to our wedding vows — or worse, hand it to Sage. You've been warned.

Second: I miss you. So much it's stupid. So much that I read your letter three times in a row and then once more out loud just so Maddie and Sage could swoon and yell and collectively propose to you on my behalf. (I declined. You're already taken. By me. Permanently. No take-backs.)

I'm glad the back room's finally being converted — though I still think "Restricted Experiments" sounds a little too professional for what you and George get up to. Maybe something more accurate like "Boom Box" or "Regret Alley." Just spitballing.

Also — you're adorable for trying to plan a Hogsmeade visit. You could've just written: I'm overworked, covered in glitter, and two prank boxes away from losing my last brain cell — I'd still fall for you.

I'm still trying to figure everything out here. The runes. The shifts. The part of me that feels like it's waking up into something I didn't ask for but might be mine anyway. It's terrifying and fascinating and kind of feels like falling — the bad kind and the good kind, at the same time.

But then I get your letter. And your dumb little jokes. And your handwriting that curls weird in the corner when you're trying not to smudge the ink. And I remember: I have an anchor.

You.

You've always seen me — not just the magic, not just the mouthy Gryffindor with a hex in her sleeve — me. And I didn't know how much I needed that until you gave it to me like it wasn't even a question.

You're still the best thing I've ever accidentally fallen in love with.

(Also the most flammable. But we're not judging.)

Write me again soon. Send me a photo of the renovations, or a cursed prototype, or your freckled nose under bad shop lighting. I'll take whatever I can get.

Yours — magically, completely, a little more than I should be,
Adrien

P.S. I'm still wearing your hoodie. Yes, the one I swore I didn't steal. No, you're not getting it back.
P.P.S. If George keeps letting that puppet insult you, I will enchant it to recite every line of my Potions essays until it combusts. Love you. Mean it.

I smiled at the creases as I folded the envelope silently and grinned over my shoulder at Maddie and Sage arguing over wedding dresses.

I frowned forward though, placing the letter on my end table that stood between mine and Katie's bed.

It was empty.

Unmade.

I sighed heavily, feeling my eyes stinging.