Katie.

I didn't go looking for trouble.

Not this time.

Honestly, I just needed to breathe — something that had been harder to do since the fight with Adrien... and Rowan... and everyone else I hadn't looked in the eye in over a week.

But the corridor on the seventh floor felt quiet in a strange way. Like the castle was holding its breath.

And when the wall shimmered and peeled itself open — the stone folding into itself like a trick of the light — I knew.

The Room was already in use.

I should've turned around.

Instead, I stepped closer.

Just enough to peek through the crack in the door. Just enough to see him.

Draco.

His back was to me, shoulders tight, one hand resting on the edge of a tall cabinet — old, towering, and cracked slightly open. Light pulsed faintly from within, soft and unnatural. Not warm. Not safe.

He was talking to it.

Low. Urgent. Words I couldn't make out but didn't need to.

Because I knew that look. The way his hand trembled just slightly. The way his eyes kept shifting like he was listening for something to answer him back.

The broom he broke.

The injury I healed.

The way he'd stopped meeting my eyes when I handed him his wand back.

It was all unraveling.

And for the first time... I felt it, too.

Whatever he was trying to do, he was close.

I didn't go in.

I didn't run either.

I just stepped away from the door and walked until my lungs started working again.

Adrien was in the dorm when I got back. She glanced up when I entered, probably expecting me to ignore her again — and honestly, I almost did.

But something about the look on her face — tired, drawn, like she'd just survived another round of rune-induced hell — made me stop at the foot of her bed.

"I saw him," I said quietly.

Adrien didn't move. "Where?"

"Room of Requirement," I said. "It opened on its own. He was already inside."

Her shoulders tensed.

"He was standing in front of a cabinet," I continued. "Old. Cracked open. Glowing." I met her gaze. "I think that's what he's been working on this whole time."

Adrien stood slowly, arms crossed. "And you still don't think he's gone too far?"

"He hasn't done anything yet."

Her eyes flared. "You don't stand in front of a cabinet that pulses like a dark artifact and whisper to it if you're doing charity work, Katie."

I flinched. "I'm just saying—"

"You're still trying to believe he's not lost."

"Because maybe he isn't!"

Adrien stepped forward, her voice sharper than it had been in days.

"He already is."

It landed like a hex — not loud, not cruel. Just final.

We stood there in the middle of our dorm, the silence between us swollen and aching. A thousand unsaid things pressed in around us like the walls themselves were listening.

I swallowed, hard.

"I didn't want to be wrong about him," I whispered.

My voice cracked on the last word.

Adrien's eyes flickered — and for the first time in what felt like weeks, I saw something other than disappointment in them.

"I know," she said, softer now. "I didn't want to be wrong about you."

That stung. Because I deserved it.

But when I looked up again, she wasn't angry.

Just tired.

Just hurt.

"I didn't lie to hurt you," I said. "I just... I didn't know how to explain what I was doing when I didn't understand it myself. I didn't want you to look at me the way you are right now."

Adrien's jaw clenched, like she was biting back something sharp.

Then she said quietly, "I've spent weeks being angry about this, but I didn't bother acknowledging the truth."

"And what's the truth?"

She looked at me — really looked.

"That I miss my sister."

That cracked something in me wide open.

And before I could think about it, I closed the space between us and threw my arms around her. She didn't hesitate. Just pulled me in like she'd been waiting for this, too.

We stood like that for a long moment — shaking slightly, breathing like we were trying to remember how to exist without all the weight.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her shoulder.

"I know," she murmured. "Me too."

And just like that, we weren't on opposite sides anymore.

Not Katie and Adrien, the girls who fought.

But Katie and Adrien — the girls who survived.

Together, like we always did.

The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore.

It was healing.

We didn't say much for the next few hours. Just moved around each other gently, like our friendship was something fragile we were afraid to bruise again.

It wasn't until after dinner that the dorm door burst open with the force of a sugar high and unresolved feelings.

Sage and Maddie stormed in with a sack of Honeydukes loot and exactly zero subtlety.

"We brought chocolate and judgment," Sage announced. "Where's the traitor?"

I was still sitting cross-legged on Adrien's bed, flipping through the edge of a notebook, when they both saw me.

Everything stopped.

Maddie's arms dropped to her sides.

Sage narrowed her eyes. "Oh."

Adrien tensed beside me.

I stood slowly. "I know I screwed up."

No one said anything.

"And I know I hurt you both. I didn't mean to, but that doesn't make it better." I looked at them — really looked. "I'm sorry."

Sage blinked at me. "Don't think chocolate's gonna fix this."

"Good," I said. "I wasn't banking on chocolate. I was banking on... you still loving me enough to be mad and stay anyway."

Maddie stared for another beat.

Then she rolled her eyes, walked over, and tossed a caramel bar at my face.

"Fine. You're on probation," she said. "Emotional probation."

Sage pointed a chocolate frog at me like it was a wand. "You pull anything like that again and I will replace your shampoo with glitter slime."

"Fair," I said, catching the caramel and biting back a smile. "Completely fair."

Adrien let out a breath like she'd been holding it for a week. "Now that our coven's back in one piece..."

I snorted. "Barely."

Maddie flopped onto her bed, rifling through the sweets bag. "Alright. Someone spill. What the hell did we miss while you two were avoiding eye contact like it was contagious?"

Adrien glanced at me.

I nodded.

"We found something," she said.

Sage raised an eyebrow. "Define something."

I sat up straighter. "Draco was using the The Room of Requirement last night. I took a peak..."

Maddie's jaw dropped mid-sugar quill. "You went in?"

"No, Draco was already inside," I said. "He didn't see me. But I saw what he was doing."

Adrien picked up the thread. "He was standing in front of a cabinet. Old. Half-cracked. Glowing."

Maddie froze.

"What kind of cabinet?" she asked slowly.

Adrien and I shared a glance.

Sage leaned forward. "Why do you sound like you know something we don't?"

Maddie's voice went quiet. "Because we've seen it before, in Knockturn Alley," she breathed. "We snuck behind the Golden Trio, before the shop opened, that one day this past summer?"

Sage's jaw dropped. "The Vanishing Cabinet. That's what it was."

My stomach sank.

"Are you saying Draco's trying to fix it to...connect them?"

"No," Adrien said quietly, face pale. "Sounds like he already has."

Maddie's voice dropped to a whisper. "The second one is in Borgin and Burkes."

Adrien stilled. "Should we tell Dumbledore?"

"Tell him what?" Maddie said, tossing a chocolate frog onto her bed. "That two Vanishing Cabinets are connected and we're pretty sure Malfoy's not just trying to streamline the owl post?"

My stomach turned.

"That's the other one," I said. "It has to be."

Before anyone could answer, the door to the dorm creaked open.

Rowan and Cassian stepped inside, mid-conversation, but the second they saw us — all sitting too still, too quiet — they stopped cold.

Cassian looked around, then said, very slowly, "Okay. Either someone's dead... or someone's planning a high-level crime. Possibly both."

Rowan's eyes met mine.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

And for a second, it was just... us. Everything we hadn't said. Everything still knotted between us.

He gave me a small nod — the kind that meant we'll talk, just not now.

I nodded back.

Adrien cleared her throat. "We're going to Beauxbatons."

Cassian blinked. "I'm sorry. You're what now?"

"You can't just drop that in the middle of a murder-mystery staring contest," Sage said, straightening up from her sprawl on Adrien's bed. "Some of us still haven't recovered from the Cabinet drama."

"Cabinet—?" Rowan blinked, but was ignored.

Maddie nudged Adrien's elbow. "Just show them."

Adrien reached beneath her pillow and pulled out three worn pieces of parchment, edges frayed from rereading. She didn't hesitate, just laid them flat on the bed between us — like a quiet dare.

Four words stared up in faded ink:

The Labyrinth of Bones.

Sage leaned forward. "It's not just a legend. It's buried under Beauxbatons. A training ground. Older than the school. Older than a lot of things, probably."

"And Snape's been hinting about it for weeks," Maddie added, arms crossed. "Cryptic one-liners. Word games. Riddle-level misdirection."

Adrien looked at me, then to Rowan and Cassian. "He gave me this weeks ago remember?" she said, tapping the parchment. "I went to him the other day to talk about my runes, and told me that if I wanted answers — about the runes, even about the bond Katie and I share — this is where I'd find them."

Rowan raised a brow. "So what? Magical field trip into an ancient underground maze? That's your big plan?"

"Not just that," Adrien said quietly. "I think that's where Alice is."

The breath left my lungs like I'd been hit with a bludger.

Sage sat up straighter. "Katie's mum."

I stared at the page, the ink, the tremor in Adrien's voice.

"She's not guessing," Maddie said. "The cursed letter talked about fire. Blood. Sisters. Then Snape said the exact same thing. He's never been direct — but this? This was practically yelling for him."

"And Alice?" I asked, barely able to form the words.

Adrien's eyes met mine. "He didn't say it. But he didn't have to."

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, but even if she's down there — if anything is — this still sounds like the kind of place where people die just from sneezing in the wrong direction."

"We're not going for fun," Adrien said. "We're going because this is where it all leads. The runes. The cursed magic. The bond. The things we've only begun to understand."

"This isn't a field trip," Maddie added. "It's a retrieval mission. A survival one."

Rowan looked between us — his jaw tight, arms folded like he was trying not to cross a line he'd regret. "You're really going?"

Adrien nodded once. "We are."

He didn't protest.

Not yet.

But the room shifted. Quietly.

The kind of quiet that comes before everything changes.

The kind that meant we weren't running anymore.

We were going in.

Adrien rubbed a hand down her face. "Okay. We can't leave yet."

Cassian, halfway through tying up the Honeydukes bag, blinked. "Thought this was a life-or-death mission."

"It is, I never said we were leaving now!" Adrien said. "But we can't risk Dumbledore stumbling onto it before we know what we're walking into. If he finds out, he'll either lock us in a tower or go down there himself—and I need to understand what this is before that happens."

Sage raised a brow. "So... what's the hold-up?"

"We need a portkey," Adrien said. "Something off the books. Secure. Trace-proof. And we need it now."

Maddie's eyes lit up. "You want me to forge a Department of Magical Transportation certificate again, don't you?"

"No," Adrien said flatly. "I want you to steal one. Quietly."

Cassian whistled low. "That's hot."

"At the most, we have a month—but if these episodes get worse we need it now," Adrien continued. "In the meantime—Cass, I need you to intercept owl traffic. Anything addressed to me, Katie, Sage or Maddie gets held. If McGonagall asks, we're deep in our NEWT revision spiral. Don't forget the cursed research!"

Cassian nodded. "Still working on that—but I got the rest. I'll fake sleep deprivation and a mild academic breakdown. That's believable, right?"

"Painfully," Sage muttered.

Adrien turned to Rowan. "You've got rounds, Potions excuses, and everything else. Charm our schedules. Keep an ear out. If anyone even whispers about the Room of Requirement or Malfoy—"

"I'm already on it," Rowan said.

Then his eyes shifted to me.

"And if I'm covering for you lot while you flirt with ancient death and mysterious maternal ghosts—if you insist on me not going—I need five minutes to clear some things up with my girlfriend."

The word hung in the air.

Girlfriend.

He hadn't said it like a dig. Just... a reminder.

Something that still lived in the space between us.

Sage blinked. "Is he going soft again?"

"He's definitely doing the thing," Maddie whispered dramatically.

Adrien sighed and stood, grabbing the sweets in one hand the letters in the other, shoving them back under her pillow before starting to leave. "Alright, back to the war room. Let the emotionally stunted ones speak in peace."

Sage held the candy bag to her chest like it was her firstborn. "Touch the dark chocolate almonds and you'll never walk properly again."

"Noted," I muttered.

Maddie pointed two fingers at Rowan's chest. "Be nice to her. We just got her back."

Cassian smirked. "And if she hexes you mid-confession, blink twice. I'll come back in swinging."

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

And the quiet that followed wasn't awkward.

It was waiting.

Rowan leaned against the desk, arms crossed—but not like he was shielding anything. Just like he was trying to decide where to start.

"Hey," he said finally.

I looked up at him.

"Hey," I echoed.

And just like that, it was only us.

No portkeys. No missions. Just the space between two people still trying to figure out if we could be salvaged, too.

He didn't move.

Just stared.

Like he was waiting for me to crack.

I crossed my arms. "If you've got something to say, say it."

Rowan let out a short, hard laugh. "Oh, I've got plenty to say."

I stepped closer. "Then grow a pair and spit it out."

"You really wanna do this now?" he snapped.

"I'm not the one who walked in here like I'm on trial."

"No, you're the one who lied to everyone and then expected us to pretend it didn't matter."

"I never asked you to—"

"You didn't have to!" His voice was raw, sharp at the edges. "You didn't need to ask because I would've done it. I did do it. I showed up. I stayed. I covered for you while you ran off to help him."

I flinched.

"Draco," he spat, like the name physically hurt. "You think I don't know what that was?"

"You don't know anything."

"I know he's not the one standing here!" he roared. "I know I'm the one picking up the pieces every time you blow your life to hell."

I got in his face, nose to nose. "Don't you dare make this about you."

"It is about me!" His hands were fisted at his sides. "Because I was yours. And you still chose him. Over and over. You lied to me. You shut me out. You don't get to act like you're the victim."

"I'm not," I hissed. "I'm the idiot who thought I could fix something broken without dragging you down with me."

He scoffed. "Too late for that."

The air between us snapped — tension stretched too tight.

And then I shoved him.

Hard.

His chest hit the edge of the desk and his eyes went wide — with fury, with something darker.

He didn't hesitate.

He grabbed me by the waist, spun me, slammed me back against the door — and kissed me like he'd been dying to do it or dying to stop.

I gasped into his mouth, nails clawing at his shoulders. He grunted — low, desperate — and lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist without even thinking.

"I hate you," I breathed against his lips.

"Liar," he growled, biting my bottom lip.

I kissed him harder. It was all teeth and tongue, bruising and breathless.

He carried me to the bed like he didn't remember how to walk, only that he had to get me there.

Clothes came off fast — messy — like we were both sick of pretending we didn't want this. Like our bodies had been waiting for our weeks to stop lying.

His hand tangled in my hair as he hovered over me, both of us panting like we'd just fought a war.

"Still want me to say it?" he asked, voice ragged.

"Say what?"

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear.

"That you're mine."

I gasped — sharp and involuntary.

"You say it," he growled again, hips grinding down just enough to make me cry out.

"Yours," I whispered. "Yours, Rowan."

And he kissed me again — softer now, but no less consuming.

And that night? I didn't run. I let myself break.

And he held every shattered piece like it still belonged to him.

Because it did.

Afterwards, the room was still.

The kind of quiet that only comes after chaos.

My limbs felt like they were made of velvet and fire, tangled with his beneath the covers. My head rested against his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart — like it had been waiting for mine to sync with it.

His fingers were trailing gently down my spine. Not in a way that begged for more.

Just... to touch. To be here.

To stay.

"You scared the hell out of me," he whispered into my hair.

I didn't answer right away.

Didn't need to.

His voice was low, but sure. "I want to be there for you. I am here for you. But it's hard to do that when you don't let me in."

I closed my eyes.

"I know."

He kissed my forehead. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything the second it happens. I get it — sometimes you need time. Sometimes you don't know how to say it yet."

His voice dropped even softer.

"But I can't stand watching you break and pretend you're fine. I hate seeing you carry all that weight alone."

I turned my head, pressing my mouth to his collarbone. "I didn't mean to shut you out."

"I know," he murmured. "But Katie... you can't do it again. Not like that."

I nodded slowly, my fingers tracing circles on his chest. "Okay."

He was quiet for a beat.

Then: "And look, I don't like him."

I didn't have to ask who he meant.

"But I'm not going to pretend I don't get it. There's history there. Some kind of... gravity."

His jaw flexed under my cheek. "I don't have to like it. But I want to understand it. And I will trust you — if you let me."

I swallowed hard.

He looked down at me, eyes soft but unwavering.

"Next time?" he said. "Include me. And Adrien. You don't have to carry it all. We'll carry it with you."

That cracked something open in me all over again.

Not the guilt this time.

But the grace.

I kissed his chest, slow and sure, and whispered, "Next time, I'll tell you everything."

His arms tightened around me like he believed it.

Like he believed in me.

And I knew — even if the world was still falling apart — I wasn't alone in it anymore.

Not with him. Not like this.

We stayed tangled in the blankets, in each other, a rare kind of stillness settling between us.

Peaceful. Whole.

Then—

The door slammed open.

"Okay, mission update," Adrien called as she marched in. "Cassian thinks he can rig a portkey from an old chess piece if—"

She stopped.

Dead.

Right in the middle of the room.

I lifted my head from Rowan's chest just in time to see her expression cycle rapidly from confusion... to realization... to full-body betrayal.

"Oh my god!"

Sage skidded in behind her, already chewing on a piece of chocolate. "What—"

She stopped.

Squinted.

And then shrieked.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?"

I scrambled for the sheet, pulling it up like it might protect me from their judgement and the fires of hell.

Rowan, to his credit, did not move.

At all.

He just sighed like this was inevitable.

Maddie arrived a beat later, took one look at Adrien's face, then at the state of the bed — her bed — and screamed.

"THAT'S MY BED!"

Adrien pointed at me like I'd just hexed her favorite book. "You absolute menace."

"In my defense," I said quickly, "the beds aren't labeled."

"Mine has seven runes carved into the headboard and smells like peppermint rage," she snapped. "You KNEW."

Sage was crying from laughter. "I just—oh my god—Rowan looks so proud of himself."

He stretched, unabashed. "Just saying, that was a recon mission well executed."

"GET OFF THE BED," Maddie wailed.

I flopped back dramatically. "We were emotionally compromised!"

Adrien pinched the bridge of her nose like she was rethinking every life decision that led her here. "I leave you alone for ten minutes. Ten."

Sage smirked. "Honestly, I'm more impressed than mad."

"I'm both," Maddie said. "Equally. Deeply."

I buried my face in the pillow and groaned. "We're never living this down, are we?"

"Not in this life," Adrien said. "Or the next."

And despite everything — the tension, the weight, the looming chaos ahead — we all started laughing.

Loud. Unfiltered. The kind of laugh that comes when the world's ending but your people are still here.

Even if they're yelling at you for sex crimes against shared furniture.