Adrien.

The shop had settled into its usual chaos—products exploding with charm-based enthusiasm, customers coming and going in waves, and George making daily threats to charm the register to scream at anyone who didn't count change correctly. Summer was rolling toward its inevitable close, and with it came the thing I'd been avoiding since that last damned letter arrived.

Matthew Blackwood.

I stood just outside the shop, arms folded, heart thudding with that annoying, echoing rhythm of dread. Katie was beside me, calm on the outside but I knew better. Fred and Rowan were just stepping out of the building, already changed out of their shop vests.

"George says he'll hold the fort," Fred told me, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we started down the cobbled street. "So we're officially off duty."

"Great," I muttered. "Hope he remembers the drawer hexes I set up."

"You set up what?" Rowan asked.

"Don't worry about it," Katie said before I could answer, shooting me a look. "Let's just get through this lunch without you committing manslaughter."

We took a cab to the restaurant—a sleek, modern place tucked along a London side street that screamed, "Please don't touch anything unless you have a trust fund and a personal tailor." It was the kind of place with more glass than walls and menus printed in tiny fonts that assumed you were fluent in pretension.

The hostess, dressed like she could hex us with just a glance, led us to a quiet table near the back, where Matthew Blackwood was already waiting.

He stood when he saw us. Tall. Polished. Hair more salt than pepper now, but perfectly styled. His robes were crisp, tailored, expensive.

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Adrien," he said, stepping forward like a man trying to rehearse sincerity. "You look... healthy."

"Thanks," I said dryly.

His eyes slid to Fred and Rowan, assessing. "And these are?"

"Fred Weasley. Boyfriend." Fred offered a tight, polite smile and extended a hand.

Matthew shook it like it might be contagious.

"Rowan Woods," Rowan added. "Friend. Coworker. Quidditch player."

Matthew barely looked at him before turning to Katie. "And you must be Katie."

Katie crossed her arms. "Correct."

"Right," he said, as if mentally adjusting a file in his head. "Well. Shall we sit?"

The first fifteen minutes of lunch were a highlight reel of Matthew Blackwood's favorite person: Matthew Blackwood.

His new wife, Grace, was "positively radiant," the new baby was "ahead of every developmental milestone," and the townhouse in Kensington was finally finished—"just in time for the holidays," he added, as if we'd been waiting with bated breath for the interior design updates of his perfect little life.

He mentioned Ryan once.

Michelle and Marie? Not at all.

"So," he said eventually, eyes narrowing on me like I was a bad investment, "tell me, Adrien. What exactly happened at Beauxbatons? I've heard... bits and pieces. Nothing flattering."

I didn't flinch. "Then you should probably stop listening to the wrong people."

"Expelled," he said, like it was a diagnosis. "For violence. For associating with dangerous crowds."

"We got expelled for protecting people," Katie snapped.

Matthew blinked at her, voice going cool. "Both of you? That doesn't surprise me."

I narrowed my eyes. "Excuse me?"

He looked at Katie like she'd just confirmed every bad assumption. "If you both got expelled, then one of you was clearly a bad influence on the other."

Katie scoffed, arms crossing. "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about absentee fathers."

Matthew's expression flickered with condescension. "I wasn't speaking to you."

I didn't let the silence stretch. "Yeah, well, she was speaking to you," I snapped, voice low and cold. "So you can either deal with it... or choke on that overpriced salmon."

Fred let out a quiet laugh beside me. "That's my girl."

Matthew turned his glare on him. "You find this funny?"

Fred leaned in slightly, voice soft but biting. "No. I find it impressive. Adrien's survived more than you'll ever understand. And she did it without you."

Rowan was frowning now, shifting his eyes between us. "Wait—you both got expelled? For protecting someone?"

Katie crossed her arms. "We took the fall. It was worth it."

Rowan blinked. "That's... not what people say."

Katie muttered under her breath, "We'll fill you in later."

Matthew shook his head, disgust thin and practiced. "So you're proud of reckless behavior? Proud of being kicked out of one of the most prestigious magical schools?"

I met his eyes without flinching. "Better that than being proud of disappearing when people needed you."

Fred's fingers brushed mine under the table. A quiet anchor. Something real.

Matthew sipped his wine like we hadn't said a word. "Your attitude is still an issue, Adrien. Public image matters."

Fred shifted closer to me. "So does loyalty. Something she has in spades."

"And you think this is the crowd to be loyal to?" Matthew asked, gesturing at all of us.

I stared at him for a beat. Then said, "Yes. I do."

The rest of the lunch passed in tense, brittle conversation. Matthew didn't mention the letter he sent. He didn't ask what I needed. He didn't even seem to see me.

But I saw the people around me.

Katie's quiet fury. Fred's steady protectiveness. Rowan's dawning realization.

I saw who had stayed. Who had shown up.

The moment we stepped out of the restaurant, I felt the weight hit.

Not anger. Not even sadness.

Just... heavy.

I barely registered the conversation happening beside me as we made our way back through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, the crowd swallowing us up like nothing had just happened.

Katie walked ahead with Rowan, their steps falling into sync without meaning to.

"So what did happen?" Rowan asked, voice low but earnest.

Katie didn't flinch. "There was a Professor practicing dark magic, sacrificing girls—the missing girls of Beautbaxton—"

There was a flicker of recognition across Rowan's face as Katie continued.

"We came across it and through some months of blackmail and strange brooding, when he threatened our best mate, Sage—we exposed him. But to save face, he somehow convinced the Headmistress it was a better idea—they kicked us out, that's when we transferred to Hogwarts."

Rowan blinked. "They expelled you for that?"

"Well that and the Potions ring..." She smirked at Rowan's shift of amusement. "They expelled us for making noise about it," Katie said evenly. "Beauxbatons doesn't like when their prettiest glass shatters in public."

He let out a slow breath. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah," Katie said, looking ahead at me. "Exactly."

I didn't turn around.

I didn't say anything at all.

By the time we reached the shop, I barely heard George calling out from behind the counter or the familiar chime of the bell as we stepped inside.

I couldn't do the small talk right now. Or the half-jokes. Or the way Fred's hand ghosted against mine, like he wasn't sure if I needed him to hold it or let go.

I needed air.

Without a word, I slipped past them—through the narrow stairwell at the back of the shop and up to the flat above. The door clicked shut behind me with a quiet finality.

And finally, I let myself exhale.

Alone.

For now.

I didn't even make it to the couch.

The second the door clicked shut behind me, the pressure in my chest snapped.

The letter from Matthew, the stares, the implication that I was a blemish on his shiny new life—it all hit at once. I kicked the side table hard enough to knock it off balance, the vase on top tumbling and shattering across the floor.

Glass scattered.

My breathing broke.

I braced both hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, bowing forward, trying to steady myself. My stomach twisted. My eyes burned. I wasn't crying—but I was close. Too close.

He didn't see me. He never saw me. Not when I was ten, not today.

And the worst part?

Part of me still wanted him to.

"Goddammit," I hissed, slamming the drawer shut hard enough to rattle the mugs inside. "What did I expect? A bloody hug? A 'Sorry for missing a decade of your life' coupon?!"

A beat of silence.

Then a knock.

"Adrien?" Fred's voice—low, steady, stripped of the usual mischief.

I didn't answer.

But I didn't tell him to go away either.

The door creaked open. I didn't look up as he stepped inside, didn't move as his footsteps crossed the flat. He saw the kicked side table, the shattered vase, the tension humming off me like static.

He didn't speak.

Didn't try to fix it.

He just stood close, waiting.

"You don't have to say anything," he murmured after a long beat. "I just didn't want you up here alone."

I swallowed. "He made me feel like I was inconvenient. Like being his daughter was some mess he never asked for."

Fred didn't flinch.

"He talked about his new family like I'm the embarrassing chapter he doesn't mention in polite company. And I hate that it still hurts."

His eyes didn't leave mine. "You have every right to be pissed. You have every right to hurt."

My hands were shaking, sparkling even.

A beat of silence.

"You're not an inconvenience," he said. "Not to me. Not to Katie, or Rowan, or George, or Ginny, or Hermione, or Sage, or Maddie. And definitely not to me."

I felt a tug in my chest at that. A different type of of tug, a hot one.

"You're the spark in all of this, Adrien. You're the glue. You're the fight when everyone else would've folded. You've been holding everyone up—and I've been starving for you through all of it."

I turned to him, breathing hard, eyes burning.

"You matter more than he'll ever get," he finished, voice rough, gaze locked on mine. "And I'm done pretending I don't feel it every damn second."

And then—without thinking—I crossed the room and shoved him, hard, against the flat door. His back hit with a solid thud that sent a thrill straight through me.

Fred let out a low, breathless laugh—then grinned like I'd just made his week. "That's one way to say you missed me."

He reached behind him and flicked the lock.

Click.

"I'm not looking for comfort," I muttered, fisting the front of his shirt in my hands.

Fred's voice dropped, dark and filthy. "Good. Because I'm not here to soothe you. I've been walking around for weeks thinking about all the ways I'd take you the second you stopped pretending you didn't want me just as bad. Against this door, this wall—anywhere I can make you come apart."

I didn't kiss him. I held him there. Breathing in his heat. Letting the air go heavy between us—coiled and electric.

"You always do this," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Say the right thing. And make it worse in the best way."

His lips brushed my jaw. Not a kiss. Just a ghost of one. "Tell me to stop."

I didn't.

My fingers slid down, finding his belt. "I don't want soft."

Fred's breath caught.

His hands found my hips. Tight. Grounding. "You want reckless?"

"I want you. Right now. Right here."

He growled something low and rough, spun me—my back replacing his against the door as his mouth caught mine with a heat that stole the breath from my lungs.

"This is a terrible idea," he rasped against my mouth, already pushing my shirt up.

"Too late."

His kiss turned hungry. Desperate. We tangled together like gravity had given up on holding us down.

It wasn't sweet. It wasn't slow.

It was heat and teeth. Hands in each other's clothes. Mouths clashing like we were trying to devour all the time we'd wasted not doing this.

He grabbed my thighs and lifted me like he couldn't wait another second, my back hitting another wall, with a breathless gasp as I locked my legs around his waist.

Clothes shoved aside—barely. My shirt pushed up, his belt yanked loose.

It was messy.

Impatient.

Everything that had been building for weeks, snapping free like a breaking curse.

His hand slid up my spine as his mouth found my neck, trailing heat that made my stomach twist and clench. He kissed lower, harder, biting just enough to leave the sting, to claim. Every movement of his hips pressed me tighter into the wall, every exhale against my skin made my heart stutter.

The flat groaned beneath us. The sharp thud of the wall at my back—again. The creak of floorboards like they couldn't handle the weight of us, and maybe neither could I.

My hands tangled in his hair, tugging until he groaned into my skin, until he was swearing under his breath like it was the only language he remembered. When I bit his shoulder in return, he let out something between a growl and my name.

"Adrien," he rasped, like it meant something more. Like it broke him.

His hands on my hips tightened, grounding, needing. I could feel the strain in every muscle, every breath he stole against my collarbone like he couldn't get close enough.

And I didn't want soft.

I didn't want space.

I wanted to feel him—completely.

And I did. Every inch of him.

We didn't stop. Didn't slow down. Didn't care if the world outside exploded and the shop caught fire around us.

Because right now—

Fred Weasley was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

And I needed to burn.

Fred was still breathless as he reached for his shirt, dragging it back over his head with that ridiculous, satisfied grin he hadn't even tried to hide.

"I think we broke the wall," he muttered.

I smirked, straightening my skirt, still flushed and vaguely vibrating. "I think we broke physics."

He laughed—deep and low—and leaned over to press a final kiss to my jaw, like he couldn't help himself. "You're going to wreck me."

I shrugged, smug. "Maybe you like being wrecked."

He grabbed his belt, looping it lazily through the loops with that practiced casual confidence that did absolutely nothing to settle the flutter in my stomach. "Not denying it. Just wondering how I'm supposed to focus downstairs now that I've got your lip gloss still on my collarbone."

My eyes flicked to the faint pink smear just beneath his collar. "That's your problem."

"Oh, that's how we're playing it now?" he asked, stepping closer again, eyes dragging over me with heat that still hadn't cooled. "You think you're gonna walk into that shop looking like you didn't just destroy me and expect me to behave?"

"I expect you to try." I raised an eyebrow as I reached for the doorknob. "Failing spectacularly is optional."

He groaned dramatically, snatching his wand and tossing it in his pocket. "You're a menace."

"And yet," I said, turning to flash him a wicked grin over my shoulder, "you're still following me."

"I'd follow you anywhere," he muttered, mostly to himself, and it hit me square in the chest—but I didn't let myself react. Not yet.

We descended into the shop like nothing had happened—except, of course, everything had.

Katie looked up from the counter as I breezed in, eyes narrowing just slightly. Then her gaze flicked to Fred... and back to me. Her mouth twitched.

"Really?" she mouthed when Fred turned to grab something from the back shelf.

I just raised a brow and gave the smallest, most unapologetic shrug.

Katie rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk, and didn't press it.

We decided to finish the shift—too much energy in our veins, too many nerves to sit still. Besides, we owed George a full day, and I needed something to focus on that wasn't Fred's mouth or the memory of his hands gripping my hips like I was made for him.

But we were useless.

Completely, wonderfully useless.

Fred couldn't stop looking at me—like he'd just found out magic was real all over again. His eyes tracked me every time I passed him in the aisle, and when I leaned over to restock a shelf, I could feel his gaze on the backs of my thighs like a hex.

At one point, I dropped a box of Skiving Snackboxes, and as I bent to grab them, Fred cleared his throat from a few feet away.

"Don't bend like that," he muttered, eyes wide, voice strangled. "I'm trying to be good."

"No you're not," I said sweetly, brushing past him so close our fingers brushed.

He made a sound like a dying man and accidentally knocked over a shelf sign.

Katie snorted so hard from the counter, she had to cover it with a fake cough.

By the time we neared closing, my lips were still swollen from kissing, Fred's hair was completely out of place, and every glance between us was a silent dare.

And Katie? Katie just shook her head and said, "Merlin help us if George ever finds out."

Fred leaned on the counter next to her and muttered, "If George ever finds out, he'll demand a full reenactment. For educational purposes."

"You're disgusting," Katie said.

"And glowing," I added, brushing my hair back from my face, smug and unbothered.

Fred winked at me. "You're the one that lit the fire, sweetheart. I'm just enjoying the heat."

And I couldn't stop smiling.

Because for once—it didn't feel like I was falling apart.

It felt like I was falling into something.

And maybe, just maybe, I was ready for it.

The sun had dipped low by the time we made it back to the Burrow. The heat of the day had softened into something golden and slow, the kind of evening that made you forget bad days ever existed.

We ended up on the back deck—Fred and I stretched out across one of the old bench swings, me curled comfortably in his lap, his hands lazily circling my waist like he didn't know how to not touch me anymore. Katie and Rowan were lounging on the steps just below us, close enough to feel the tension radiating off each other like a live wire, but not close enough to call it anything yet.

"You two are disgusting," Katie said, tipping her butterbeer bottle toward me and Fred.

I smiled sweetly, tilting my head back against Fred's shoulder. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you."

"I'm not jealous," she shot back. "I'm just saying if I have to hear another low whisper from Fred while you giggle like a drunk pixie, I'm hexing someone's mouth shut."

Fred chuckled, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. "Can't help it. She keeps looking at me like that."

"I am not looking at you like anything," I said, even though my face said otherwise.

"Like I'm your next spell ingredient," he whispered. "Like you're about to bottle me up and drink me."

"Okay," Rowan muttered, shielding his eyes. "That's enough. Go snog in the shed like normal people."

Katie elbowed him. "Says the guy who stared at me for ten minutes while I organized the fireworks display earlier."

"I was impressed with your strategic placement," he said, all mock sincerity.

"Right," Katie drawled. "You were definitely looking at my firework strategy and not my ass."

Rowan turned, grinning. "Not my fault the two happened to be in the same place."

I choked on my drink. "Merlin."

Fred's hand slid a little higher on my waist. "Let them have their moment. I'm too busy thinking about how fast I can get us alone again."

"I can hear you," Katie said, face flushed, but eyes laughing.

"Good," Fred murmured, mouth brushing the back of my neck now. "I'm not exactly being subtle."

We all settled into a lull after that—just easy breathing and the buzz of insects somewhere in the distance. The kind of quiet that settles deep in your chest and makes everything feel right for five seconds.

Until Rowan opened his mouth.

"I still say the Holyhead Harpies only win because no one wants to get smacked in the head by a chaser with anger issues."

Katie sat up straighter. "Excuse me?"

"Oh no," I muttered, sitting up just enough to glance down at him. "What did you just say?"

Rowan looked far too pleased with himself. "I said, I think the Harpies play dirty to compensate for weak formations."

"You've got a death wish," I said, already pulling myself off Fred's lap.

Fred groaned, leaning back on the bench. "Here we go."

Rowan was on his feet now too, grinning like an idiot. "What? You disagree?"

"I breathe Quidditch, I'm a Chaser," I snapped. "And I know for a fact their counter-flight formations are some of the best in the league."

"They're all speed and no strategy," he teased, walking backward toward the yard like he was baiting me on purpose.

Katie didn't even try to stop him. "Let her kill you. You earned it."

"Want to prove it?" he called over his shoulder, already summoning a broom from the shed.

I crossed my arms. "You want to get shown up in front of an audience?"

"I want you to admit you're wrong."

Fred leaned over the rail, completely unbothered. "Five galleons says she knocks him out of the sky in under ten minutes."

Katie grinned. "Ten? Please. She's warming up."

"Bring it on, Blackwood," Rowan said from the middle of the yard, now straddling the broom like some cocky poster boy for terrible decisions. "Show me what you've got."

I rolled my sleeves up.

"Oh," I muttered. "You're about to see everything."

And then I marched down the stairs, leaving Katie and Fred laughing behind us—because whatever the outcome, someone was going to bleed confidence tonight.

And it wasn't going to be me.