Katie.

I was going to hex the next person who asked if I was "waiting for someone."

Because yes, I was standing near the top of the corridor like a bored portrait ghost.

And yes, I was checking the time every thirty seconds.

And yes, I was fuming.

But only because Adrien had promised—promised—that this was the last of her detentions with Blaise freaking Zabini.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. An eternity of "oh, it's not like that" and "he's different now" and "it's complicated." I swear, if he said one smug thing to her tonight, I was getting Fred to mail me one of George's nose-bleed hex bombs, express delivery.

When Adrien finally stepped out of the Defense classroom, I raised both eyebrows so hard I think they left my face.

"Well?" I asked, arms crossed.

She just grinned—soft, tired, and with that infuriating little flicker of something in her eyes.

"That's it," she said. "I'm officially detention-free."

"Congrats," I muttered, falling into step beside her. "Now tell me: has Zabini's tragic redemption arc held up? Or are we still one mood swing away from an exorcism?"

Adrien let out a laugh, brushing her hair over one shoulder—and that was when I saw it. That quiet distance in her gaze. Like she was here, but her head was still echoing with things she couldn't say out loud.

"He's... changed," she said, voice softer now. "I don't know if it's permanent. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like he wasn't pretending."

I blinked. "That's either incredibly sweet or horrifying."

"Maybe both," she said, smiling. "He said he missed the version of himself that didn't wreck everything. And—" she hesitated, "—he didn't ask me to forgive him. He just... owned it."

"Gross," I muttered. "Emotionally honest Blaise. No thank you."

Adrien elbowed me gently. "You're just mad because he said he liked my ring."

"He did not—"

"He did," she said, beaming now. "And I think it physically hurt him."

That made me snort. "Okay, I'll allow it."

We turned the corner, only to nearly crash into Rowan, who was coming back from the pitch with his broom slung over his shoulder, shirt sticking to his chest, and hair plastered to his forehead.

He looked exhausted. And stupidly hot.

"Hey," he said, slowing his steps as he spotted us. "Everything okay?"

"Detention's over," Adrien reported.

"Thank Merlin," Rowan muttered. "Now we can return to a drama-free life full of academic rigor and quiet evenings—"

A scream shattered the hallway.

All three of us froze.

It came from the direction of the second-floor bathroom.

Rowan dropped his broom instantly.

We ran.

By the time we reached the open door, the stench of blood was already in the air.

And Draco was on the floor—bleeding.

His shirt was soaked in red, slashed open in jagged lines across his chest and side. His wand had rolled several feet away. He was gasping—panicked, wide-eyed—and everything in me screamed to move, to help, to do something.

But I didn't move.

I couldn't. I froze in the doorway like someone had hexed my spine.

All I could see was the blood. Rowan's arms wrapped around me, dragging me back a step. "Katie—no—don't—"

But I lurched forward anyway.

And Adrien? Adrien didn't hesitate for a second.

She dropped to her knees beside Draco, hand already glowing, her wand forgotten.

"Hold still," she snapped, voice shaking but firm.

I saw her fingers hover over his chest—and then—

magic.

Not a spell. Not something spoken—just like she did in the Ministry for Harry. A surge of power, raw and terrifying and so bright it hurt to look at.

The runes on Adrien's arms lit up like flame.

She pressed both palms to Draco's ribs, and he screamed—but the bleeding stopped. Not completely, but enough. Enough for him to breathe.

And then—

"Enough!" Snape's voice cracked through the room like a whip, and the door slammed shut behind him. He was at Adrien's side in seconds, wand drawn, eyes burning.

"Back," he ordered.

Adrien flinched, but obeyed. Barely.

He knelt, checking Draco, muttering diagnostics and counter-curses in rapid succession. When he looked up again, his face was pale and furious.

"No one speaks of this," he snapped.

"But he—" I started.

"No one." His gaze cut to Adrien. "Not a word."

She nodded once.

"He was already like this when we got here," she said. "We don't know who did it."

Snape narrowed his eyes. But he didn't push. He waved his wand once, and Draco stirred—groaning softly.

"I'm not going to the Hospital Wing," he mumbled.

Snape's jaw clenched. "Fine. But you will be watched."

And then he was gone, in a sweep of robes and fury.

Adrien draped one of Draco's arms across her shoulders, tugging him up off the floor. He wobbled, bloody and pale and still breathing shallow.

"I've got him," she grunted.

"I'll help," Rowan added, releasing my waist and slipping under Draco's other arm with the practiced ease of someone used to handling unconscious Quidditch players.

I followed, because what else could I do?

I walked a step ahead, lighting the path with my wand and trying not to think about the blood soaking into Rowan's sleeve.

No one spoke. Not until we reached the wall.

Draco muttered the password—barely—and the stones slid open with a groan.

Inside, it was quiet. Empty. Cold. Like the whole house was holding its breath. We settled him onto one of the green leather couches near the fire, careful, slow. He groaned, eyes fluttering shut, one arm draped over his ribs like they might split open again if he moved wrong.

Adrien hovered.

So did I.

And then Blaise stepped through the door behind us—silent. His eyes immediately found the blood on Adrien's robes. The deep stain along the sleeve that still hadn't dried.

He froze mid-step.

"That's not yours," he said slowly, but his voice was different now. Sharper. Searching.

"It's not," Adrien answered, clipped.

But he didn't let it go.

"If I'd been there," he started, tone tightening, "maybe none of this would've happened."

I narrowed my eyes. "If you'd been there, it probably would've been worse."

He ignored me. Still staring at her.

"Fred would've pulled you back before you lost control," Blaise said. Quiet. Deadly quiet.

"You think I did this?!" Adrien almost shouted.

Blasie pushed on, ignoring her question, "That's the thing, isn't it? He's not here anymore. And now you're burning through people like you're desperate not to feel it."

Everything. Froze.

I didn't breathe. Neither did Adrien.

He stepped forward—just slightly. Just enough.

"And I bet," he added, eyes on her mouth now, "that even you're starting to wonder what he'd think if he saw what you've become."

That was it.

Her magic flared before I could speak.

Before anyone could move.

The walls cracked.

Blaise hit the stone like a puppet with its strings cut.

His back slammed into the far side of the corridor with a sound that echoed off the bricks.

"ADRIEN!" I shouted, grabbing her arm too late.

Her runes were glowing—bright, terrifying, alive. The edges of her sleeves lit up like a fuse had been struck. Her eyes weren't red, weren't gold—just wild.

"Don't," she growled, breathing hard, "you dare say his name like you still have the right to."

Blaise didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Just sat there against the wall, breath knocked out of him, blinking like he couldn't believe what had just happened. Like he'd finally realized what Adrien's restraint had protected him from, all this time.

"Adrien," I hissed again, gripping her arm, trying to steady her. "We have to go—now."

Rowan was already moving, stepping between them before she could do anything else. His hand locked onto her shoulder, firm but careful, like she might splinter if he pushed too hard.

"Come on," he said low. "Before anyone else sees this."

Her runes were still glowing under her sleeves. I could feel the hum of her magic vibrating against my skin like it was trying to claw its way out of her bones.

She didn't argue. Didn't speak.

Just let us lead her away—one of us on either side, practically dragging her down the corridor. Behind us, Blaise stayed slumped against the wall, finally starting to catch his breath.

We'd just made it around the corner when the Slytherin portrait hole creaked back open again.

Snape stepped halfway through, robes swishing with the movement, his expression unreadable as ever.

He took in the scene in one glance—the scorched floor, the cracked wall, Blaise crumpled and silent. Then turned and caught sight of Adrien, halfway down the hall, barely keeping her magic under her skin.

His eyes met hers.

And without raising his voice, without stepping fully into the corridor, he said, "You can't protect everyone with power you don't control."

That was all.

No lecture. No threat.

Just that. And then he stepped back into the common room, sealing the entrance behind him with a quiet snap of stone.

Adrien didn't say a word. Neither did we. We just kept walking—her between us, magic still pulsing, heart still racing, hands shaking despite her silence.

And as we turned another corner, further from the wreckage, I realized...

He hadn't said it like a warning. He'd said it like a promise.

By the time we reached the Gryffindor common room, Adrien was barely holding herself together.

Her jaw was clenched. Her eyes glazed. Her hands were flexing at her sides like she didn't trust them to stay still. Like if she breathed wrong, she'd blow the whole Tower apart.

I muttered the password and Rowan shouldered the portrait open, guiding her through with one hand still braced around her back.

Sage and Maddie were already near the hearth, laughing at something Cassian had said—until they saw Adrien.

Everything stopped.

"Whoa—" Maddie was already on her feet. "What happened?"

"She's going nuclear again," Sage said, eyeing the faint glow beneath Adrien's sleeves. "Cass, you wanna work your magic before she combusts or starts speaking Parseltongue?"

Cassian stood, already pulling the pouch of stones from his coat. "I've got her."

Rowan helped Adrien lower into one of the armchairs, and Cassian knelt in front of her, pressing one palm to the back of her hand, murmuring something I didn't catch.

She didn't argue.

Didn't even blink.

She just nodded, silent tears slipping down her face as her breathing slowed under his spellwork.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"She lashed out," I said quietly. "At Blaise. He said—" I stopped. Swallowed. "He said something about Fred."

Maddie's eyes softened immediately.

Sage's jaw clenched. "Is Blaise okay?"

Rowan shrugged. "He'll live."

"Shame," Sage muttered.

Adrien didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the flicker of light glowing from Cassian's runestone now cupped in her palm.

Across the common room, I saw someone move.

Harry.

He was trying not to be seen—hood up, steps quiet as he passed behind the couch, heading for the boys' staircase.

But I caught the look on his face.

Guilt.

Heavy, raw, familiar.

I watched him disappear up the stairs before I turned back to the others, voice sharper than I meant it to be, "It's time we tell Dumbledore."

All heads turned to me.

Cassian's hands didn't stop moving, but he glanced up with a frown. "Tell him what, exactly?"

"The cabinets," I said. "The one Draco's been using... it's not just some repair job. It's connected, they have to be."

Sage leaned forward. "We've been doing research on those."

"We cross-checked the descriptions," Maddie added. "There's only two recorded. One in Knockturn Alley..."

"And one," Sage finished grimly, "here."

Cassian swore under his breath. "Twin anchors. One door in. One door out."

"Which means," I said, heart sinking, "he's not just hiding something."

Everyone stared.

"He's trying to bring something—or someone in."

The room went still.

Maddie dropped her sugar quill.

Sage's face went pale.

Rowan looked at me—really looked—and I knew he was thinking it before he said it.

"And you knew," he said, voice quiet but sharp. "This whole time. You helped him."

"I didn't know it was this," I snapped, chest tightening. "I didn't know what he was doing in that room—I only figured out the cabinet later. And I told you guys."

Sage and Maddie both nodded.

"We've been over this," I said, breathing hard. "I was trying to keep him from dying."

"You were trying to protect him," Rowan said, jaw tight. "And now you want to protect everyone else by handing him over?"

I didn't deny it. Couldn't. Because maybe he was right. Maybe I was already too far down this road to turn around. I turned toward the fire, fists curled at my sides, and muttered, "I'm choosing a side."

A beat. Then Rowan's voice behind me—quiet, but clear. "Finally."

Cassian rose from where he'd been kneeling, brushing off his hands, eyes scanning Adrien's now-sleeping form.

"She's stabilizing," he said, voice low. "But not for long. The power she's channeling... it's old magic. Deep. Twisted."

He glanced between us, gaze heavy.

"If she keeps pushing like this—it's going to tear straight through her."

None of us spoke for a moment.

I looked down at Adrien curled under the blanket, Cassian's rune stone still glowing faintly in her palm. And I knew exactly what he meant before he said it.

"She keeps pushing like this—it's going to kill her."

We didn't bother trying to sleep, not when Adrien was literally recharging downstairs, with two bodyguards hovering—Cassian and Rowan insisted they stay put.

Not when we were heading into ancient magic territory, not with Adrien scorching another crack in the wards, and definitely not when we still had to plan an international magical infiltration mission disguised as a wellness getaway.

Sage stood at the foot of Adrien's bed, arms crossed, surveying the wreckage of the room like she was building a battle map.

"All right," she said, dead serious. "We need three things: rogue packs, decoy homework, and under-eye concealment charms."

"And portable snacks," Maddie added from the floor, where she was shoving parchment and chocolate into her bag with equal priority. "We're not surviving a French death labyrinth on pumpkin pasties alone."

"I think I might've left my emergency cloak under Hagrid's compost pile," I muttered, digging through Adrien's trunk. "If I die in dragon dung because I forgot it, I'm blaming all of you."

"Noted," Sage said. "We'll tell the Daily Prophet."

As Maddie packed, she spotted the folded parchment on Adrien's nightstand and tilted her head. "Is that..."

I reached over and picked it up.

Unsent. Unsealed.

Folded too cleanly.

I recognized Fred's name on the front in Adrien's handwriting and something in my chest pulled tight.

"I'm sending it," I said before either of them could stop me. "If we're going to Beauxbatons without her, he should know what's going on."

"You know we're not going without her," Maddie muttered, rising to her feet. "She won't let us."

Sage and I tensed at Maddie's sentiment.

Sage nodded, turning to me. "He's gonna lose it."

"I know," I said, I pulled the unsealed envelope apart, pulling the letter out and grinning at the quick scan of pre-marriage flirting she wrote. I smirked as I snatched a quill and jotted down some details on the back of the letter, then snatched another piece of paper and did the same. "One to Fred, one to Mr. Weasley..." I sighed, already slipping it into my pocket. "But if anyone can keep her grounded..."

"He'll be waiting," Maddie said softly.

I knelt by Adrien's bed, reached under her pillow, and pulled the three letters she'd been collecting—The cursed one, the one from that terrified child in Hogsmeade and Snape.

"We're sending these, too. Mr. Weasley needs to see them," I said, rising to my feet.

"Those are her copies," Maddie pointed out, snatching them out of my hand and dropping them into her bag. "Mr. Weasley is already aware, according to Adrien."

"Fine," I sighed, adjusting my robes. "We're still sending these out," I patted my robes. "They need to know."

Sage gave a theatrical groan. "Great. Now we're emotionally compromised and carrying dangerous mail. Love this journey for us."

The Owlery was quiet this time of night, all feathers and eerie silence and moonlight streaming through slats in the tower.

We carried the two letters tightly—Fred's and one I had scribbled to Mr. Weasley explaining the runes had flared again, big time—and as Sage coaxed an owl into compliance, I heard footsteps behind us.

We turned just as a figure stepped into the moonlight.

Snape. Of course.

He looked sharp. Still unreadable.

"How is she?" he asked, voice quieter than I expected.

I held his gaze. "Stable."

"For now," Sage added.

Snape's eyes flicked to the letters in our hands.

He didn't ask. Didn't need to.

"Heading out?" he said mildly.

"Soon," I replied.

He paused, looking between us. Then said, "When the Labyrinth opens... it won't be kind."

"No one expects it to be," Maddie said.

"Then don't act surprised when it bites back," he said. And with that, he turned and vanished back into the shadows.

We stood there in silence.

Then Sage muttered, "Ten galleons says he just materialized from under the stairs like a broody dungeon bat."

"I knew I heard rustling," Maddie said.

I handed the letters to the owl, watched it vanish into the night sky, and whispered to no one in particular:

"Let them reach the right people."

And just like that, the countdown to Beauxbatons began.

By the time we made it back to the common room, the fire had burned down low, casting long shadows across the floor. The room felt quieter than it should've, like it was holding its breath.

Adrien was still asleep, curled up on the couch where we'd left her, Cassian sitting nearby with his arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, but sharp. Always sharp.

Sage crossed to the couch first, kneeling beside Adrien with a gentleness she rarely showed in public. Maddie followed, brushing stray strands of hair off Adrien's forehead and whispering something I couldn't hear.

"Hey, love," Maddie murmured, barely louder than the fire's crackle. "Time to come upstairs."

Adrien stirred.

Sage reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "We've got you. Come on."

It took a moment, but Adrien finally blinked up at them—groggy, drained, but breathing. Her fingers curled around theirs, and together they helped her stand.

"Come on," Sage said, throwing a wink over her shoulder at me. "Time to recharge the magical monster battery."

Adrien chuckled faintly as they guided her toward the girls' stairs, half-holding her weight between them like it was second nature.

Cassian lingered.

Still seated. Still watching.

"Are you headed back?" I asked, lowering myself onto the armrest of a nearby chair.

He nodded once. "Someone's got to keep an eye on the Slytherin dungeon. If anything shifts—if Draco moves again, or Blaise..." He trailed off. "I'll update you."

I nodded. "Thank you."

He stood, eyes flicking toward the staircase where Adrien had disappeared.

"She's going to need tethering. Whether I have the book or not...the book is talking to her. If that book keeps whispering to her—if the runes pull deeper—you'll need to be louder than the magic."

He turned to leave, but paused.

"She listens to you," he said softly. And then, like always, he vanished into the shadows—coat flaring, boots soundless.

That left just me and Rowan.

I felt him before he spoke. His presence, warm and steady, just behind me.

"I wish I could go with you."

I turned.

He was leaning against the stone column, arms folded, but not in that casual way he usually wore. He looked... worn. Worried. Like the idea of being left behind burned hotter than he'd let on.

"I know," I said. "But someone has to stay and cover for us."

He nodded slowly. "Doesn't mean I like it."

I swallowed.

He pushed off the column, walking over until he stood right in front of me. "It's not just that I don't trust Beauxbatons. Or the magic. Or whatever's waiting in that Labyrinth."

"It's Adrien," I said quietly.

"It's you," he corrected.

That hit harder than I expected.

He looked down, shaking his head. "I spent weeks wondering what I'd done wrong. Trying to make sense of the distance. Watching you slip through my fingers while you saved someone who never would've done the same for you."

I didn't know what to say.

Didn't know how to explain how much guilt had been pressed into every step I took toward Draco. Every lie I'd told Rowan with a half-smile and tired eyes.

"I was so scared of choosing the wrong person," I whispered. "And I ended up nearly losing all of you."

"You didn't lose me," he said, stepping closer.

His hand found mine.

"I was angry. Hurt. But I never stopped being in it. I never stopped being yours."

I blinked hard, trying to keep it together.

"And I know you have to go," he said. "I know this matters. But Katie—"

He paused. Then, softly:

"I love you."

The world stopped.

He said it like it had been sitting in his chest for weeks—months, maybe. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for me to finally be still long enough to hear it.

And I did. I felt it in my ribs, in my bones, in the cracks of my heart that had been splintered since last summer. I stepped into him, arms slipping around his waist, and buried my face into his shoulder.

"I love you too," I whispered.

His arms wrapped around me tight, grounding, fierce.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like I was running from something.

I was running toward it.