Katie.

We were just finishing up the last charm on the ceiling—Ginny adding a floating lantern constellation, Hermione scolding her for almost catching a blanket on fire—when the bell rang downstairs.

Adrien, who'd been arranging the snack trays by spell type and sugar content, straightened immediately.

"I'll go—" she started, already halfway to the stairs.

I tossed a hexed pillow at her. "Yeah, no. You're not going down there alone. I still don't trust Fred not to have trapped the door with a firework alarm. Or a foghorn."

Adrien didn't argue, which told me she was more focused on food than fighting.

I threw on my hoodie and followed her down the stairs, the low hum of the enchanted radio still drifting up from the shop below. The air was cooler in the storefront, and the quiet gave everything a sleepy, after-hours feeling. Adrien stepped ahead of me and pulled open the door.

Then stopped cold.

Standing there, holding a stack of pizza boxes and a small bag of Honeydukes treats, was Zoe.

Zoe Barbier.

Zoe looked different—still striking, still poised, but muted somehow. Like grief had sanded down her edges. There was a stillness in her that hadn't been there before.

Adrien didn't speak right away.

Neither did Zoe.

They just stood there for a beat, the low hum of the city behind her and the warm golden glow of the shop casting Adrien in soft shadow.

Then Zoe's gaze lifted, flicking from Adrien's slightly stunned eyes to the crooked sign hanging above the door.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" she asked, her voice light but curious. "Weasleys... as in Percy, Charlie, Bill—?"

"Fred and George," Adrien finished, just as I stepped up beside her and gave the pizza boxes a once-over.

Zoe blinked, passing the receipt toward Adrien. "What are you two doing here?"

"We work here," Adrien replied, accepting the stack of boxes. "Just started, actually."

"Oh. Nice." Zoe nodded slowly. "With the Weasley twins or—?"

"Yes," I said, flatly, grabbing the receipt and scrawling my name across it with a half-smirk. "Boyfriend and all."

That got Zoe's attention.

"Boyfriend?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Last time I saw you two, you were dating that Malfoy and Zabini..."

"Keyword," Adrien snorted, shifting her weight, "were."

Zoe paused, then narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Fred or George?"

"Fred," Adrien admitted, the faint blush creeping into her cheeks enough to make me grin as I took the pizza boxes from her arms and checked the labels.

Zoe watched her for a long moment, something unreadable behind her expression.

Then—quieter, like it wasn't meant to carry past Adrien—she asked, "Do you ever think about it? About... us?"

It wasn't a plea. Not even a question wrapped in hope. Just a soft thread of memory pulled loose without warning.

Adrien blinked—caught off guard but not shaken. Her lips parted like she might respond, but all she gave was a small, shallow breath. Like something unsaid had snagged somewhere deep, but she wasn't going to say it.

And that was when I stepped in—because someone had to cut the tension before it swallowed the air completely. "Didn't expect to see you delivering food, last I heard, your family had an actual chef."

Zoe's smile wavered, but she didn't flinch. "They did. My mum passed away last spring. I've been off the map for a while—Beauxbatons, then nowhere. Just... needed time. And now I'm helping my dad run his side businesses. Delivery pays."

That hit harder than I expected.

Adrien's fingers tightened slightly around the bag of sweets Zoe handed her.

"I'm sorry," Adrien said, quiet, sincere. "I didn't know."

Zoe nodded, brushing hair off her cheek. "I didn't really tell anyone. Wasn't ready."

Another beat passed—awkward, but not sharp.

Then Zoe gave Adrien a small smile, more real than the others. "Glad to see you're still... you."

Adrien let out the smallest breath of a laugh. "Yeah. Mostly."

"Tell the others I said hi," Zoe added, already stepping backward down the shop steps. "Especially Sage. She was always my favorite."

I smirked. "That makes two of you."

Zoe gave one last glance at Adrien—gentle, unspoken—and turned, disappearing into the dark.

The second the door shut behind us, I turned to Adrien. "Well that wasn't loaded with unresolved emotion or anything."

Adrien stared at the floor, then shook herself out of it with a sigh. "Can we please eat now?"

"Absolutely. But next time," I said as we climbed the stairs, "we're ordering from somewhere that doesn't serve emotional flashbacks as a side."

Adrien snorted. "Next time, we're inviting Sage and Maddie."

"Damn right we are."

We didn't say much on the way back up the stairs.

Adrien walked quietly beside me, the pizza boxes balanced in my arms while she carried the sweets bag Zoe had handed her like it weighed more than it should have. The shop below was still, the echo of that weird little moment hanging behind us like smoke.

By the time we stepped back into the flat, the atmosphere shifted again—soft candlelight, charmed constellations blinking gently above us, and Hermione already setting out napkins with the precision of someone who'd run the Ministry if they'd let her.

"Took you long enough," Ginny called from her sleeping bag. "We were ten seconds from eating each other."

I dropped the pizza boxes onto the low table in the center of the room and flopped into the sea of pillows beside Adrien. "Be glad we didn't bring back emotional trauma as a side."

Adrien didn't comment—just opened the sweets bag and handed Ginny a chocolate frog like it was a peace offering. The food disappeared in minutes, all of us too hungry to talk much at first. Eventually, the silence filled with the soft sounds of chewing and contented sighs.

Then, as if on cue, Ginny licked her fingers, leaned back against the couch, and sighed, "Okay. Real talk. Can we just acknowledge how weirdly... normal this feels?"

"What," Hermione said with a smile, "eating junk food and sitting on the floor like we're first-years again?"

"No," Ginny said, glancing around. "Like... this. The four of us. Quiet. Together."

My heart tugged at that.

"Weird how fast things moved," I murmured, tracing the rim of my butterbeer bottle. "Feels like last year we were laying Slytherins out in the corridors."

Adrien snorted. "We literally were."

"Yeah," I said, laughing softly. "But now we're here. Working. Managing. Dating people we never thought would look twice at us."

Adrien arched a brow, but didn't get the chance to jump on the thought before Ginny grinned and leaned forward.

"Speak for yourself. I always liked Harry."

"Gross," Hermione muttered, nudging her with a pillow.

Adrien leaned back against a stack of enchanted cushions, her eyes flicking up to the glowing sky illusion overhead. "Sometimes I miss when things were simpler. Like, before the Ministry started watching us like ticking curses. Or before half the boys we knew got terrifyingly hot and emotionally complicated."

I shot her a look. "You're just still bitter Blaise couldn't handle your chaos."

Adrien scoffed. "Please. Blaise couldn't handle a sharp wind, let alone me."

Ginny snorted.

Adrien added casually, "Besides, I've upgraded to Weasley. Built-in mischief, and actually good with his hands."

Ginny choked on a handful of sweets.

"Do not bring Fred into this," I muttered. "Some of us are still recovering from broom-closet energy."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Broom-closet what?"

"Nothing," Adrien and I said at the same time.

That earned a round of laughter—soft, but real. The kind that bubbles up when you've been carrying too much in your chest and finally remember how to let it go.

"I think next time," I said, stretching out on my back across the cushions, "we should invite Sage and Maddie. They'd love this."

"Agreed," Adrien said without missing a beat.

"They're in France, yeah?" Ginny asked, propping her chin on her knees.

"Not for long," I said with a yawn. "We're due for some chaos."

Hermione gave me a knowing look. "You mean besides the chaos you're causing every time you argue with Rowan about snackbox shelf placement?"

I groaned. "I am not dating Rowan."

"You say that like your subconscious isn't already monogramming towels," Adrien teased.

Ginny raised both eyebrows. "And he looked real single when he stared at you like he forgot how brooms work."

"Merlin's pants," I muttered into a pillow.

"You love us," Adrien said sweetly.

"I tolerate you."

"And speaking of chaos," Ginny cut in suddenly, her eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that only came after sugar and very little sleep, "who's up for a cursed board game?"

Hermione froze mid-sip of her pumpkin fizz. "You did not bring the Ouija board."

Ginny grinned like she'd been waiting for this all night. "I absolutely did."

Hermione stared, aghast. "That thing is banned in at least three schools."

"That's what makes it fun," Adrien said, finally sitting up, her interest piqued.

I raised an eyebrow. "How do you even know how to use it?"

Adrien gave me a slow, unsettling smile. "Beauxbatons dorm room. Full moon. A mirror that wouldn't stop bleeding."

Hermione looked like she was about to contact the Ministry.

Ginny waved her off. "C'mon, Hermione. Live a little."

"I'm living," Hermione said stiffly, "but I'd prefer not to invite disembodied spirits into the room while I'm doing it."

"Relax," I said, already reaching for the board. "Worst-case scenario, it tells us we're all doomed."

"Best-case scenario," Adrien added, "it spells out the name of whoever's still in love with their ex."

Ginny and I slowly turned to look at Hermione.

"Don't even start," she warned.

We started anyway.

"Wait," Adrien said, sitting up straighter with a grin, "does Krum still write to you?"

Hermione stiffened just enough to confirm it.

Ginny nodded eagerly, clearly thrilled to sell her out. "Weekly. Handwritten. And sometimes poetic."

Adrien blinked. "What?! Since when?"

"Since the beginning of fifth year," Hermione muttered, tugging her blanket higher. "He's just being polite."

I stared at her. "Polite people send fruit baskets, Hermione. Not poetry from Bulgaria."

Adrien grinned wider. "Is that why Ron's been hovering around you like a flustered Bludger lately?"

Hermione's head snapped toward her. "What?"

Ginny cackled. "Oh my god, you hadn't noticed."

"Noticed what?" I asked, now fully invested.

"Ron's been trying to flirt," Ginny said, sing-song. "Badly. Like, 'accidentally complimenting your handwriting and then tripping over his own feet' flirting."

Hermione's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "He has not."

Adrien leaned over and whispered dramatically, "He offered to help you organize your History of Magic scrolls last week."

Hermione blinked. "He likes charts."

"He likes you," Ginny and I said at the same time.

Hermione looked vaguely horrified. "I need new friends."

"Oh no you don't," Adrien said, flopping back with a smug look. "You've been keeping this juicy little triangle from us."

Hermione, red-faced and retreating, reached for the nearest weapon—deflection. "And what about you two? What actually happened with Blaise and Draco? You were practically glowing at the Yule Ball."

My stomach twisted slightly, but I kept my voice level. "Yeah, well. Lights always look good right before something explodes."

Adrien snorted. "Draco was staring at your legs the entire night."

"I know," I groaned. "I just didn't want to cause a scene."

"You did, though," Adrien pointed out.

Hermione tried to hide her smile. "So... Blaise?"

Adrien shrugged. "It was fine until it wasn't. He looked at me like he wanted to figure me out, and I don't do well with puzzles pretending to be people."

That pulled a beat of silence. Real silence. Not awkward—just weighty enough to feel honest.

Then Ginny, ever the chaos enabler, slapped the Ouija board onto the floor between us like she was presenting a dark artifact in a drama club.

"Well," she said, chipper. "Let's summon something."

Hermione immediately sat back, hands up like the board was cursed. "Absolutely not. No. Spirits? In here? I draw the line."

Adrien grinned as she crossed her legs and set the board in the middle of our circle. "That line is about to be obliterated."

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny said, lighting the candles with a flick of her wand. The flames flared purple for dramatic effect. "It's not real magic. It's mostly for fun."

"Mostly?" Hermione echoed.

"Define fun," I added.

Ginny waggled her eyebrows. "The kind that makes you sleep with a light on."

"Perfect," Adrien said, already setting the planchette in place.

I leaned in slowly, adjusting one of the blankets under my knees. "Just saying, if this thing spells out Draco, I'm hexing it into the fireplace."

"Same," Adrien muttered.

"Alright," Ginny said, brushing her hair out of her face as we each placed two fingers lightly on the planchette. "Spirits of the beyond, if you're listening... we're bored, nosy, and we have sugar. Come say hi."

A pause.

Nothing.

"Maybe they don't speak Ginny," Adrien offered.

Hermione let out a relieved sigh. "See? Nothing's happening. It's all dramatics."

Then the planchette twitched.

Just slightly.

I froze. "Did someone move?"

"No," Adrien said quickly, eyes narrowing in fascination. "Not me."

Ginny went still. "Same. Hermione?"

"I—no," she said, voice higher than usual. "That wasn't me."

Another twitch. This time, sharper. Then a slow, deliberate slide toward the letter H.

"Oh no," Hermione whispered. "Absolutely not."

I snorted nervously. "I swear if it spells Hermione I'm leaving."

"Don't tempt it," Adrien said, her tone weirdly focused now. "Everyone stay still, don't leave the circle—it breaks the cycle."

"You know a lot about this," Ginny whispered as the four of us wide-eyed the board.

"She's the queen of horror," I retorted, earning a small grin from Adrien.

The planchette paused, then jerked again—this time faster, sliding toward an A.

"That's not me," I said. "That's not funny."

"I'm not doing it!" Ginny snapped.

"What the hell is it spelling?" Adrien muttered.

Before we could see the next letter, the lights flickered.

The candles flared—high and sudden—then blew out, plunging the room into darkness.

Something scratched at the window.

Hermione shrieked.

I clutched Ginny's arm. "That's not part of the board!"

Then came the whispers—low, eerie murmurs from the far side of the flat. A cold breeze gusted through the room, even though the windows were definitely shut.

"I didn't summon anything!" Ginny hissed.

A soft, echoing voice whispered from the corner:
"Why... did... you... call... us?"

Adrien grabbed her wand. "Absolutely not."

I scrambled for mine.

And that's when it happened.

One of the floating pillows levitated from the couch—eyes glowing red, mouth stitched shut appearing on the surface facing our circle—and came flying at us with a high-pitched, inhuman cackle.

Hermione screamed. Ginny nearly fell backward off the blanket fort.

"I'M SORRY I MOCKED THE DEAD!" Hermione cried.

That's when the lights came back on.

And the "cursed" pillow hit the floor with a thud, revealing a projection charm clumsily stuck to the underside. The floating whispers cut off in a snort.

From the staircase—

Laughter.

Rowan's voice rang out first: "Did you hear Hermione? That was a war cry."

Fred practically fell down the stairs laughing, followed by George, who looked like he might pass out from lack of oxygen.

"You should've seen your faces!" Fred managed, wiping his eyes.

"Oh my god," Adrien breathed, stunned. "You pranked us during a spirit summoning?!"

"To be fair," George said between wheezes, "we waited for the dramatic tension. Very respectful."

Hermione looked murderous.

Ginny looked impressed.

Adrien? She looked ready to kill someone—with glitter.

I reached for a throw pillow and launched it at Fred. "You're all dead."

Fred caught it and grinned. "Technically? That's what we were going for."

Eventually, once the death threats (mostly from Hermione) had been issued and the lights were firmly back on, the chaos softened into something easier—warmer.

Fred had taken over the couch like it was a throne, lounging comfortably with Adrien sitting between his legs, her back resting against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her middle, fingers loosely laced as he rested his chin on her shoulder, and despite the prank war he helped start, she looked dangerously close to dozing off.

"Honestly," Adrien muttered as George replayed Hermione's scream with a small sound charm, "you lot are lucky we don't hex your eyebrows off in your sleep."

Fred laughed, brushing his nose against her temple. "You say that like I wouldn't find a way to make singed eyebrows sexy."

"You wouldn't," she said flatly. "You'd look like a cursed caterpillar."

"I'm not even insulted," he replied, grinning. "You love my face."

"I tolerate your face," Adrien shot back.

George gasped in mock betrayal from across the room. "I feel personally attacked by the anti-Weasley slander."

"Not slander if it's true," Ginny chimed in, stealing a jelly slug off the snack plate.

Harry and Ron were still mid-Quidditch debate nearby, too loud and too stubborn for anyone to get a word in. Hermione sat beside them with a butterbeer, pretending to read a magazine while making increasingly exasperated faces at every mention of "keeper rotation" and "emergency bludger subbing."

"You cannot make a comeback from eight consecutive losses," Ron was saying.

"The Cannons can if they restructure—"

"They need a miracle, not a lineup!"

"You two sound like divorced parents fighting over custody of broomsticks," Hermione muttered.

George, clearly bored, flicked his wand. Ron's shoelaces tied themselves to the leg of the table. He didn't notice.

Yet.

I was just finishing off a pumpkin pasty when Rowan sidled up beside me, clearing his throat quietly.

"Hey," he said, his voice low. "Can I talk to you? Just for a minute."

I blinked, caught off guard by his tone—but nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

He glanced toward the stairs. "Downstairs?"

I glanced over at the group—Fred now whispering something that made Adrien roll her eyes and blush, George looking too smug, Ron seconds away from discovering the sabotage, and Hermione mouthing help me across the room.

"Okay," I said, setting down my drink. "Let's go."

I followed Rowan down the stairs, heart doing something stupid in my chest.

The noise from upstairs faded as we stepped down into the shop, the door swinging shut behind us with a soft click. It was quieter here—dimly lit, a little colder without all the body heat and floating candlelight. The shelves loomed like silent spectators.

Rowan stood by the counter, arms folded, gaze fixed on the display of Sugar Quills like he was debating biting one.

I leaned against the edge of the register. "You're not dragging me down here to fight about snackbox labeling again, are you?"

He huffed a laugh but didn't turn right away.

"No," he said, then added, "Though your labeling system is unnecessarily color-coded."

I rolled my eyes. "You're welcome."

That got a smile out of him—but just for a second.

Then he finally looked at me, something quieter in his eyes. "Actually... I wanted to say something about earlier."

My brain did a quick rewind. "Earlier as in...?"

"That customer," he said, running a hand through his hair. "The one who was eyeing you like you were up for bid."

"Oh," I said, blinking. "Right."

Rowan let out a slow breath. "I don't know what came over me. I got... weirdly overprotective—"

"Jealous." I corrected, but he ignored me.

"And I'm sorry. You're more than capable of handling yourself—I know that."

I didn't say anything at first. Just crossed my arms, watching him.

"I mean it," Rowan said, fidgeting—just slightly. "You don't need me swooping in like some over-caffeinated hippogriff every time a guy flirts with you. You've survived worse. Hell, you've hexed worse."

I raised a brow. "How would you know what I've survived?"

He hesitated. Then shrugged, almost casual—almost.

"I heard about Malfoy," he said, not unkindly. "People talk. You don't strike me as the type who gets wrecked easily... but I'm not blind. Whatever that was? It left something."

Something in my chest gave the slightest lurch. I looked away for half a second—just long enough to gather myself.

"Fair enough," I muttered.

Rowan let out a breath and leaned back against the counter, his arms crossing like he needed to do something with them or risk saying too much.

"I just mean," he said, more carefully now, "I get that you don't need anyone to play defense. You're sharp. You're strong. And yeah, you've probably been through worse than some idiot who can't take a hint."

He looked at me then—really looked. Like I was more than just quick comebacks and snarky bravado.

"But the thing is," he continued, voice softer now, "I guess I just... care. I don't always know where the line is between being a friend and being too much."

He gave a self-deprecating little laugh, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "I appreciate you. As a person. As someone I work with. Even as a friend—"

"Bold." I shot, earning a small chuckle between us.

"And unless you ever want me to step in—I won't."

The silence stretched for a second too long.

Then he scratched the back of his neck and said, "Though I wouldn't mind knowing when that might be."

I raised a brow. "When what might be?"

"When I can step in," he said, voice quiet but laced with that maddening confidence he wore like a badge. "Not because you need it. Just... because I want to."

There it was.

Not a confession. Not a move.

Just a shift. The tiniest admission.

I stared at him, trying not to let my expression show too much.

And then—because I'm me—I smirked. "Are you flirting with me, Woods?"

He grinned, all cocky charm. "I mean... if I was, you'd know."

"Oh?" I tilted my head. "Because it's been so subtle up until now."

His laugh was low, rough around the edges. "You're not like anyone I've met, Katie. I usually know what I'm doing with people. I don't with you. That's... probably a compliment."

"Probably?"

"Definitely."

I held his gaze a second longer than I should've.

And then I said, "Thanks. For earlier. And for... this."

He nodded, something unreadable flickering behind his grin. "Anytime."

Before I could figure out what to do with the heat in my face or the tight coil of something in my chest, the stairwell creaked above us.

Fred's voice cut through the moment, casual and way too loud. "Oi, Woods! You vanishing down here to steal stock or to make googly eyes?"

I stepped back before I even realized I had, trying to will the flush off my cheeks.

Rowan rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, "Timing. Flawless as ever."

Fred was halfway down the stairs now, followed by George, Ron, and Harry, all stretching and yawning dramatically like they'd been through something physically taxing instead of just sitting in a blanket fort being menaces. Adrien trailed behind Fred, clearly in no rush—but the second she hit the bottom step, her eyes cut between me and Rowan.

Once.

Then again.

Her brow arched so hard it practically levitated off her face.

Fred turned as Adrien stepped around a yawning Ron and he slipped an arm around Adrien's waist and pulled her flush against him like he hadn't just orchestrated a haunted pillow attack.

"Come on," he murmured, lips brushing her ear, "don't tell me you're still mad about the haunting."

Adrien didn't even blink. "You're lucky I didn't hex your lips shut mid-scare."

Fred grinned, that lazy, cocky one that always made her roll her eyes—right before kissing him anyway. "That's a shame. Could've found other uses for them."

Her brows arched, sharp as a blade. "Keep talking and I'll enchant your broom to vibrate every time you lie."

George walked past, muttering, "Merlin, get a blanket."

"Get two," Ron added, rubbing his temples.

Fred chuckled, completely unbothered. He pressed a kiss to Adrien's temple, slow and smug. "Reckon I'm the lucky one."

Adrien tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "You are."

Meanwhile, Rowan stood beside me—quiet, hands in his pockets, the others filing out around us. But he didn't move right away. Not like the rest of them.

He looked at me again—just for a moment. Longer than casual. Longer than friendly.

And something in his eyes made my stomach flip in a way I hated.

It wasn't a smirk. Or a tease.

It was steady. Focused. Unspoken.

I didn't look away.

Not until Adrien turned toward us and very clearly tracked the line of his gaze—then mine—and back again.

Rowan nodded, just once. "Night, Katie."

"Night," I said, quieter than I meant to.

Then he turned and followed the boys out, the door jingling shut behind them.

I barely had a second to breathe before Adrien rounded on me with a look that could level cities.

"So," she said, deceptively casual. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" I asked, already retreating for the stairs.

"Oh no you don't." She grabbed my sleeve like a woman possessed. "You are not weaseling out of this one."

"I wasn't weaseling—"

"Ginny!" Adrien shouted up the stairs. "Katie's blushing! Start the interrogation!"

"I am not—"

"You are," Hermione called from the top of the landing.

Ginny's head popped around the corner, her face lit like it was Christmas. "Did he kiss you downstairs?"

"No!"

Adrien dragged me the rest of the way up. "Yet."

I groaned as I collapsed into the cushion pile. "You're all the worst."

Adrien dropped beside me, eyes narrowed and smug. "And yet you keep us."

Hermione handed me a drink. "Start talking."

I buried my face in a blanket.

This was going to be a long night.

"Alright," Hermione said, crossing her legs like she was about to chair a disciplinary hearing. "What exactly happened downstairs?"

I groaned, burying my face in a blanket. "You're making this a thing."

"Because it is a thing," Ginny said, bouncing like a Niffler near gold. "Do you know what kind of look Rowan gave you before he left? It was very much lingering gaze that says 'I'll think about you until sunrise.'"

Adrien nodded solemnly. "It was definitely not a 'see you at work' look."

"It wasn't anything," I insisted, muffled by fabric. "We just... talked."

"Alone," Adrien added, tugging the blanket down so I could see her eyes. "After a whole day of enemies-to-flirty-banter. We saw the tension. My skin saw the tension."

"He apologized," I muttered. "For getting weirdly protective. Said he knows I can handle myself. It was... actually kind of sweet."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "That was considerate of him."

Ginny grinned. "But also—hot."

"Can we not?" I begged, even though my stomach wouldn't stop fluttering.

Adrien grinned like a shark. "He likes you. And not just in a 'let's throw boxes at each other' kind of way."

"Well," Hermione said, leaning back into the pillows, "I for one think it's lovely. Especially after the... Malfoy Saga."

Ginny shot her a look. "You say that like it was a dramatic opera."

"It was a dramatic opera," Adrien muttered.

I groaned again and tossed a pillow at all of them.

"Okay, enough about boys," I said, voice flat. "Let's talk about revenge."

All three girls perked up like cats hearing the can opener.

Adrien turned slowly toward the window that overlooked the shop floor below, her eyes narrowing like a general surveying the battlefield.

"You're right," she said. "We've been far too forgiving."

"After the prank they just pulled?" Ginny scoffed, arms crossed. "Justice is required."

Hermione raised a cautious hand. "Before we sentence anyone to glittery doom, let's acknowledge that Harry and Ron were involved too."

I sat up straighter. "Which is interesting... because Fred and George were recruiting them earlier."

Adrien turned sharply, eyes gleaming. "For what?"

"They're covering tomorrow's shift so we can have it off—allegedly," I said, unable to suppress my grin. "Along with Rowan. All of them."

A slow, dangerous smile curled across Adrien's face. "Perfect."

Ginny leaned in across the cushions. "You're scheming. I can feel it."

Adrien crossed the room and crouched beside the couch like a woman about to propose organized chaos. "Tomorrow," she said solemnly, "the shop becomes a trap."

Hermione tilted her head. "A trap?"

"An aesthetic one," Adrien replied, practically glowing. "If—and when—they inevitably ignore the perfectly color-coded, painfully clear organization system we spent hours putting in place, a curse goes off."

Ginny's eyes widened. "What kind of curse?"

Adrien's grin sharpened. "The Great Glitter Curse."

Hermione looked vaguely horrified. "Oh no."

"Pink glitter," Adrien said reverently. "Airborne. Ceaseless. Falling from the ceiling like snow—nonstop—until the original caster lifts it."

I leaned in, smirking. "Which, of course, we will not tell them."

"Until one of them—Fred, George, or Rowan—admits they didn't follow the system," Adrien finished, sitting back with the smug satisfaction of someone crafting poetic revenge.

Ginny let out a high-pitched squeal. "You're letting me in on a prank?! Do you know how long I've waited for this day?"

Adrien held out her hand, solemn and dramatic. "Welcome to the big leagues, Weasley."

Ginny slapped her palm like she was joining a secret society, eyes shining with delight.

Hermione sighed deeply. "You're all absolutely unhinged."

"You love it," I said, flopping back into the cushions with a tired grin.

Hermione shook her head—but she was smiling. "I really do."

Later that night, long after the laughter had faded and the Ouija board had been shoved back under a cushion like it was cursed (which, let's be honest, it probably was), the four of us crept downstairs like first-years on a mission.

Ginny clutched the pouch of enchanted glitter like it was sacred contraband.

Adrien moved ahead, wand drawn and glowing faintly as she murmured the base enchantment.

Hermione followed, clearly torn between concern and curiosity, and I brought up the rear, arming myself with the laminated system folders from behind the counter and a deep sense of personal vengeance.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Hermione whispered, wide-eyed.

"I can," I muttered, sliding behind the counter. "I've never believed in anything more."

Adrien raised her wand and began to trace the shimmering sigil into the air above the center of the shop. The curves and lines shimmered pink as they formed, then sank upward into the ceiling like smoke. She moved next to me behind the counter as I opened both folders for Adrien to wave her wand over, slowly and precise before those strokes illuminated pink and they, too, sank upward into the ceiling.

"Alright," Adrien said, stepping back. "We've got the trigger enchantment set to activate when someone ignores the system—either skips sorting receipts or leaves inventory paperwork out of order."

"And it'll keep falling until the original caster lifts it," I added, placing the folders beneath the register drawer like the holy grail they were.

Ginny was practically vibrating. "Okay. But who's casting it?"

Adrien turned to her with a wicked grin. "You."

Ginny blinked. "Me?"

"They'd never expect you," I said. "They think you're too nice. Or too distracted. Or too busy pretending not to know what they're up to."

Hermione blinked. "You're weaponizing underestimation."

"Exactly," Adrien said proudly.

"Thank you." I shot in almost-unison with Adrien.

Ginny grinned like she'd just been sorted into the House of Chaos.

Ginny stepped into the center of the room, pulling her wand out gently and silently before glazing at the three of us—myself, Adrien and Hermione now hoisted onto the counter and watching her with nothing but pride—with the glitter pouch clutched in one hand, wand in the other.

She took a breath, then spoke the incantation Adrien had taught her—a blend of prank magic, containment spells, and a minor truth-revealing loop for good measure.

The glitter shimmered in midair, then vanished.

The room hummed for a second. Silent. Settling.

It was done.

"Alright," Adrien said, sliding off the counter and beaming. "If—when—they ignore the system, the ceiling will start raining pink glitter. Gently. Continuously. And it won't stop until the one who messed up admits it."

Ginny looked like she might cry from pride. "I have never felt more powerful."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, trying and failing to hide a smile as she and I slid off the encounter to join Adrien and Ginny. "You're all dangerous."

"Accurate," I said.

We turned back toward the stairs, moving silently, each step up a giddy victory.

Tomorrow was going to be fun.

We were barely through the front door of the Burrow when Fred nearly walked into us—half-dressed and fighting with his shirt like it had personally wronged him.

"Need help, or are you planning to duel it?" Adrien asked, raising a brow as she sidestepped him.

Fred groaned dramatically, arms tangled halfway through his sleeves. "I swear this thing's cursed."

"It's not cursed," George said, strolling in behind him with a crumpet in one hand and his wand tucked behind one ear. "You're just bad at clothes."

Fred shot him a look, then turned his attention to Adrien—who was already stepping in like she was about to cast a charm on him.

"Hold still," she said, brushing his hands away. She smoothed out his collar and adjusted his sleeves with that casual ease that only made Fred smirk harder—like her fussing over him was his favorite part of the morning. He didn't move as she worked. He just beamed down at her, watching her every move.

Adrien didn't notice the significant shift of the moment, obviously—considering she was whispering to herself and too focused on the adjusting.

Hermione, Ginny, and I noticed though and exchanged knowing smiles as we watched.

When Adrien adjusted the crooked tie he'd somehow already gotten halfway on, Fred leaned down slightly, voice dropping low.

"You're dangerously good at this. I might have to marry you out of principle."

Adrien didn't miss a beat. "You're lucky you're cute when you're wrinkled."

"Don't tempt me to wrinkle more things."

"Fred."

"Yes, love?"

"Go to work."

He grinned and kissed the air just beside her temple—just enough to make her blush before she shoved him gently away.

Rowan appeared at the base of the stairs, still barefoot and half-asleep, his shirt slung over his shoulder. "You lot look like you're just here to gloat about something, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Ginny said sweetly.

"Or maybe we just wanted to see if any of you would behave," I added, biting back a grin.

Rowan narrowed his eyes, but George just waved it off. "They're bluffing. There's no way you lot had time to pull something after that sleepover."

"We're brilliantly efficient," Adrien said mildly, already walking toward the kitchen for tea.

Harry and Ron shuffled in last, yawning like they hadn't seen a sunrise in years. Ron's hair was sticking out in every direction, and Harry's glasses were askew like he'd put them on in a sleep haze.

The boys were completely oblivious.

They had no idea that the second one of them forgot to log a receipt or stacked products by color instead of by product type, the shop would transform into a glitter storm worthy of a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes grand opening.

But the teasing died the moment Mr. Weasley appeared at the end of the hallway.

He didn't speak right away—just gave us a small, tired smile and said, "Katie? Adrien? A word, please?"

Something in his voice shifted the air.

Mr. Weasley's voice cut clean through the hallway.

Adrien and I both stilled.

My stomach twisted instantly, that cold, crawling tightness settling just beneath my ribs. I caught Adrien's eyes and I knew—she felt it too.

Fred, halfway through fixing his cuff, froze.

Rowan, still on the last step of the stairs, stopped moving altogether, his posture sharpening like a reflex. His eyes flicked from Mr. Weasley to myself and back again.

The mood shifted fast.

Adrien glanced toward Fred, then stepped closer and placed a quick kiss against his cheek. "It's okay," she murmured, giving him a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Fred searched her face like he wanted to argue, but said nothing.

Rowan's jaw tightened slightly. He didn't say anything either.

I met his gaze, steady and sure, and gave him a short nod. "We'll fill you in later," I said gently. "Go on."

Rowan hesitated a beat longer, but finally nodded back and stepped through the front door with the others.

Mr. Weasley waited quietly until the door closed behind them.

And then Adrien and I followed him into the sitting room.

The second we crossed the threshold, it hit me—that sharp, cold awareness that something was off. Like the air was holding its breath.

Something bad had happened.

Or worse... something bad was coming.

Mr. Weasley was holding something.

A black envelope.

Thick. Elegant. Wrong.

It practically buzzed in the air between us. And across the front, written in delicate silver script, was one name:

BLACKWOOD.

He didn't offer it immediately. Just looked at us with quiet kindness, like he was carrying something too sharp to speak aloud.

"It came by owl this morning," he said, voice low. "No markings. No seal. The owl vanished the second it dropped it at the doorstep."

Adrien's entire stance shifted—arms folding tight, jaw clenching, eyes fixed on the envelope like it might move on its own.

Mr. Weasley took a breath. "I've checked it for curses. It's not hexed. But the energy... it felt deliberate. And because it's addressed to you, I wanted to give you a choice."

"A choice?" I asked, wary.

He nodded. "You don't have to open it now. You don't have to open it at all—not until you're ready. You've both earned a little peace this summer."

Adrien stepped forward, careful, reaching out like she was grabbing a live wire. Her fingers closed around the envelope slowly, like it weighed more than it should.

I just stared at it, at our name inked in someone else's hand.

"I don't want to open it yet," I said quietly.

Adrien nodded once. "But we'll keep it."

Mr. Weasley gestured toward the stairs. "There's an empty drawer in your room. You can lock it, seal it, whatever you need. It'll be safe there."

Adrien glanced at me. "We lock it?"

"We lock it," I agreed.

We turned to leave—and saw Fred standing just outside the archway, arms folded, eyes on us, but they lingered on Adrien. Rowan stood beside him, shoulder against the wall, watching me, then his eyes flicked to the envelope in Adrien's hand like he was bracing for it to explode.

Neither of them asked.

But neither of them moved until we were upstairs.

Adrien placed the envelope in the bottom drawer of her side table and pulled her wand. With a low murmur and a flick of her fingers, she sealed it with a layered charm I didn't recognize.

The wood glowed faintly for a moment before fading.

It was locked. Contained.

Waiting.

"Later," she said.

"Later," I echoed.

And for now... that was enough.