Adrien.

We were tangled in the middle of the wheat field behind the Burrow—sunlight spilling gold over everything, the tall stalks swaying like they were keeping secrets.

Fred had dragged out an old blanket, half a picnic, and a record player enchanted to loop a few old Celestina Warbeck songs slowed down to something jazzy and soft. It was absurdly romantic.

And it would've been obnoxious if he wasn't currently kissing me like he planned to ruin every other moment I'd ever have without him.

His mouth moved lazily over mine, confident and unhurried. Like he knew I'd let him have anything.

Which... was maybe the problem.

"You planned this just to get laid in nature?" I breathed, lips barely brushing his.

Fred grinned, rolling over until he was halfway on top of me, his hand sliding under the hem of my shirt like it belonged there. "No, but I'm not ruling it out."

I laughed—short, breathless. "You're impossible."

"And you," he said, dragging his mouth to my jaw, "are gorgeous when you're not pretending you don't want me."

I was already breathless. I was already done for. His fingers skimmed my waist, the wheat brushing against my bare skin as we shifted, wrapped up in each other like we were trying to get lost on purpose.

Fred's kiss turned hungrier. Slower. His hands moved with purpose, but it wasn't about speed. It was the knowing in his touch. Like he'd memorized every line of me and was retracing it just because he could.

Then—just when I thought he was about to get cocky with another stupid, hot one-liner—he froze.

Pulled back.

Looked down at me with something different in his eyes.

Something real.

"I love you."

I blinked.

He'd said versions of it before—tossed into jokes, buried under teasing, murmured against my skin like he wasn't sure I'd hear it.

And every time, I laughed. Dodged. Pretended it was part of the game.

So I did what I always did.

I laughed.

But this time... it didn't stick.

The second it slipped out of me, I felt the hollowness of it. The way my voice faltered halfway through. The way Fred's jaw tightened, just barely—but enough to crack something in my chest.

"You always laugh when you're scared," he said, quieter than I expected.

"I'm not scared."

He didn't push. Just reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with steady fingers. "You are. And it's okay. But don't lie to me."

I sat up, trying to untangle my legs from his. "Fred—come on. We're in a wheat field. You just said 'I love you' after trying to seduce me with pumpkin fizz and your best smile—"

"And I meant it," he said, cutting me off. "I didn't say it to trap you. Or to get a laugh. I said it because it's been true for weeks—months, and I couldn't hold it in anymore."

The wind rustled through the stalks. My pulse roared in my ears.

"I'm not ready to say it back," I admitted, voice raw. "I don't even know what that looks like for me. I don't know if I can say it."

Fred didn't move for a long beat.

Then—quietly—he nodded. "Okay."

"You're not mad?"

"No," he said. "I'm... hurt. But I'm not mad."

My throat burned. "Fred—"

He gave me a tired smile, the one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I just needed you to know, Adrien. I wasn't asking you for anything."

But I heard what he didn't say.

I just hoped you'd feel it too.

He stood, brushing wheat dust off his jeans, then offered me a hand. "C'mon. Let's pack up before George sends a glitter owl out to find us."

I took his hand.

And I didn't say anything else.

The next morning felt... off.

Fred was still Fred.

He made breakfast.

He ruffled George's hair when he walked by.

He cracked a joke about Rowan and Katie sneaking off like they'd invented hiding behind sheds.

But with me? He didn't touch me. Not like usual. No hand at the small of my back, no casual arm slung over my shoulders, no whispered "you look hot when you threaten people before coffee."

He was... polite. Friendly. Normal.

It was excruciating.

And Katie noticed.

She didn't say anything at first. Just tracked every subtle shift with her unnervingly perceptive eyes. And then Sage and Maddie showed up, and all three of them zeroed in on me like heat-seeking missiles.

So by late afternoon, I should've known what was coming.

"Hey," Katie said, poking her head into the living room. "Backyard. Now."

I blinked. "What—"

"Don't make me drag you," she warned, already retreating toward the door. "You're being weird. We need answers."

Maddie was waiting on the deck with four stolen bottles of butterbeer and that terrifyingly sweet smile that meant she was about to emotionally waterboard me. Sage looked like she'd been prepped for war.

I stepped outside with a groan. "This feels like an ambush."

"It is," Sage said. "Sit."

I sat.

Katie crossed her arms. "Alright. What the hell is going on with you and Fred?"

"Nothing," I said too quickly.

Maddie handed me a bottle. "Try again, but with less lying."

I sighed. "We're fine. He's just—being distant."

"Because?" Katie pressed.

I stared at the grass for a second, twisting the bottlecap in my fingers. "Because he said he loved me."

Three sets of eyebrows shot up.

"And you said...?" Maddie asked.

"I laughed."

Sage winced. "Oh."

Katie didn't flinch. "Was it because you don't feel the same?"

"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. "It's not that I've never said it. I said it once—back when I thought I knew what it meant."

The girls stilled. Katie's eyes sharpened.

"With Blaise," I added, voice low. "And I meant it, in the way you think you mean something when you're in that position and desperate to believe it'll fix the hole in your chest."

I stared down at the condensation on the butterbeer bottle.

"But this? With Fred?" My throat tightened. "It's not the same. It's deeper. Louder. It gets under my skin in a way I don't know how to carry."

I glanced up, meeting Katie's gaze. "I don't know what it is exactly. But it terrifies me. Because what if it's real? What if I lose it? What if I mess it up because I don't know how to hold something that actually feels like forever?"

Katie didn't speak right away.

She just reached out and set her hand over mine.

"You won't," she said.

And for a second—I almost believed her.

"I think I broke it already anyway," I huffed, crossing my arms and looking away from them.

Katie sat forward, eyes sharp. "You didn't break anything."

"I might've," I muttered. "And now every time we're in a room together, I feel like I'm wearing a sign that says 'emotional liability.'"

"You're not," Maddie said gently. "But you might need to talk to him."

"Or seduce him," Sage offered. "That also works."

Katie snorted. "Not helping."

"I just—I didn't think he meant it," I confessed. "Not really. He says so many things. He's all fireworks and glitter and chaos. I didn't think he'd actually mean the one thing I couldn't say back."

"But you want to," Katie said quietly. She gave my hand a small squeeze, then leaned back in the grass and sighed like she was bracing herself.

"Okay," she said. "Let's talk this through."

I blinked. "Talk what through?"

"The difference," Sage chimed in, flopping onto her stomach with her chin in her hands. "Between Blaise and Fred. Because clearly, your heart needs a PowerPoint."

Katie nodded. "Exactly. Blaise made you question your worth. Fred makes you feel like you could rule the bloody world with a single wink."

I frowned. "That's not—"

"It is," Sage interrupted, raising a finger like she had a chart I couldn't see. "Blaise was all smoke and mystery and leaving you guessing. Fred? He's loud about it. He shows up. Consistently."

I bit my lip. "But what if I ruin it?"

"You won't," Katie said again, firmer this time. "You know how I know?"

"Because you'll kill me if I do?"

"That too," she said sweetly. "But also? Fred's already seen you at your worst. And he's still here."

I didn't answer right away. I didn't know how to.

The back door creaked, and two more voices joined us.

"What are we missing?" Hermione asked, stepping out with Ginny in tow.

Maddie sat up and gestured dramatically. "Emotional crisis. Fred declared love. Adrien panicked and laughed. Now there's unresolved sexual tension and crippling fear of happiness."

Ginny blinked. "Oh. Standard."

Hermione sat beside Sage, instantly alert. "Do we need tea or a battle plan?"

"Both," Katie muttered. "We're trying to help her get her head on straight."

Ginny arched her brow. "Adrien, let me put it simply: Blaise may have been a chapter, but Fred? He's looking at you like he's already memorized the whole damn book."

Hermione nodded. "And if he makes you feel safe enough to be afraid... that's not a bad thing. That's just real."

I looked around at them—all of them—and felt something twist tight in my chest.

Not panic.

Not fear.

Just... possibility.

"I think I already love him," I admitted softly. "I just don't know how to let myself say it without feeling like the ground will fall out from under me."

Katie smiled, soft but sharp. "Then maybe it's time we show you how to stand on it anyway."

I cleared my throat, the weight of their words settling like embers in my chest. And maybe that was enough emotional vulnerability for one sitting because the next thing that flew out of my mouth was—

"Alright, enough about me—can we talk about what you were doing last night after Fred and I left you and Rowan to close up?"

Katie blinked. "Wait, what?"

Sage's head shot up so fast she nearly knocked Maddie over. "Yes. Let's."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "What happened?"

Hermione tilted her head, suspicious. "You didn't say anything at breakfast."

Katie instantly looked cornered. "Because there's nothing to say."

"Then why do you sound defensive?" Maddie grinned.

"I do not—"

"Oh my God," Sage gasped, dramatic and delighted. "Did he kiss you?"

Ginny grabbed the pillow she had swiped off the back deck and was cuddling in her lap and smacked Katie with it. "You liar! You totally kissed him!"

Katie groaned, tugging the pillow over her face. "Okay—maybe—there was a kiss."

That was all it took.

A collective shriek echoed across the yard.

I smirked. "Was it... accidental? Or, like, wall-pressing, shirt-fisting, world-ending levels of hot?"

Katie peeked out from under the pillow, half-flushed. "More like... months-of-flirty-staring exploding all at once."

Hermione looked mildly scandalized. Maddie looked like she'd just won a bet.

"Details," Ginny demanded. "How long? Tongue? Hands?"

Katie swatted at her. "Merlin, I'm not giving you a play-by-play!"

"Fine," Sage said, eyes glittering. "Then we'll just ask Rowan."

"Do not ask Rowan," Katie hissed.

I leaned in, smug. "You like him."

She huffed. "I'm trying not to."

Ginny laughed. "You kissed him like you were trying to memorize the shape of his mouth."

Hermione gasped. "You are into him."

Katie finally sat back, arms crossed over her chest, exasperated. "Okay, yes. I like him. I didn't mean to. He's... good. And grounded. And actually sees me."

The last words slipped out quiet, soft, and we all went still for a beat.

Then I nudged her knee. "You deserve someone who does."

"And who'll happily kiss you into a wall," Sage added helpfully.

"Twice," I muttered.

Another round of chaos erupted.

And for the first time that afternoon—between the spiraling laughter and flushed cheeks and half-joking threats to make Polyjuice versions of Rowan for testing—I didn't feel so afraid of the word I hadn't said yet.

Because somehow, even the scariest parts of love felt a little easier when we were all falling together.

The bell above the shop door jingled as Katie and I stepped inside for our closing shift, the scent of sugar powder and sulfur already clinging thick to the air.

"Think we'll beat our sales record today?" I asked, brushing glitter off the front counter.

Katie didn't answer.

Because she was staring.

I hesitated and followed her gaze, and now I was too.

Fred was behind the counter—leaning just slightly toward the girl in front of him. Blonde. Bright-eyed. Laughing at something he'd just said like it was the funniest thing she'd heard all year. Her hand brushed his arm like she'd done it before. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Is that...?" I whispered.

Katie's mouth twisted. "Katie Bell," she muttered. "His ex."

My stomach dropped.

Of course I remembered her—Quidditch captain, long legs, always looked like she belonged on a chocolate frog card. She was smart, confident, radiant in the sort of way that made people stop talking when she entered a room. The kind of girl people picked.

And Fred?

He looked happy to see her.

I stepped forward anyway, forcing my face into something neutral. "Fred," I said, aiming for light. "You want to help me restock the Fanged Flyers upstairs?"

He glanced over, barely sparing me more than a half-second before turning back to her.

"In a minute," he said.

A beat passed.

Bell turned toward me with a polite little smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

I smiled back. All teeth. "You visiting, or applying for a position?"

She tilted her head, voice like honey. "Just catching up. It's been ages."

Fred laughed at something she said next. Not the awkward laugh he gave customers. The real one—the one he gave me.

Except not right now.

I swallowed the burn at the back of my throat. "Fred," I said again, sharper. "Upstairs?"

He didn't even look this time. "Adrien, we're fine down here."

That landed.

I stood there, blinking. Like I'd been splashed with cold water.

Katie gave me a look—supportive, but tense. She didn't need to say anything. I already knew how this would go.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and headed for the backroom. I didn't slam the door.

But I wanted to.

I shut the stockroom door behind me and leaned back against it, hard enough that the frame groaned.

My heart was still beating too fast—tight and hot in my chest like it didn't know whether to shatter or burn.

Katie Bell.

Of all the people. Of all the moments.

Her eyes—Her laugh, it had hitched when he leaned in. She touched his arm like it still belonged to her.

And Fred?

He didn't pull away.

Not once.

I squeezed my eyes shut, dragging in a breath through my nose and letting it out slow. My hands were shaking, and not from nerves. From rage. From betrayal. From the sting of knowing I'd let myself feel safe.

Idiot.

This was why I didn't say it back.

Why I laughed every time he got close to saying something real. Because love—real, loud, inconvenient love—was messy and dangerous and full of landmines, and I'd stepped on one with both feet.

But I wasn't going to cry over this.

Not in this storeroom. Not over him.

I was Adrien Blackwood.

I'd survived expulsion. Beauxbatons. Blaise Zabini. Professor Anselme. My father.

I could survive Fred Weasley's wandering attention.

I straightened up slowly, each movement deliberate. My blood was still boiling, but I wasn't about to let it show—not like that.

No.

If Fred wanted to act like I was just another chapter, I'd make damn sure he remembered I was the whole damn book.

I peeled off my outer shirt, fingers steady, and tossed it onto a shelf behind me. The air was cooler against my skin now, brushing over the sliver of toned stomach exposed above my high-waisted trousers. The black tank top underneath clung like it had been made for a moment like this—thin, low, tight in all the right places. I slipped my shop vest back over it and tugged it down, the press of fabric lifting my chest just enough to be obvious.

Purposeful. Controlled.

Deadly.

Then I turned to the glass panel on the cabinet door and swept my hands through my hair, gathering it into a messy bun at the crown of my head—quick, efficient, and ridiculously hot. A few strands slipped down around my face, framing it in that "I didn't try but I know I look like sin" kind of way.

Perfect.

I conjured a compact with a flick of my wand and leaned in, eyes cool and collected as I touched up the smudged liner around my eyes. Darker. Smokier. Hotter. I added a swipe of wine-red lip gloss, letting my lips part just slightly as I pressed them together.

When I stepped back, I stared at the girl in the glass.

No, not a girl. Not anymore.

A storm in silk and sweat. A wildfire with lip gloss and control.

My smile came slow—like a loaded secret.

Let Katie Bell sparkle.

Let Fred watch.

Because I was stepping out there not to prove a point.

But to own the room.

And when he looked at me?

He'd remember exactly who the hell I was.

The second I stepped into the shop, it was like flipping a switch.

All three boys looked up—Rowan, George, and Fred.

Rowan blinked.

George did a full double take.

And Fred?

Fred stared.

Like I'd walked out of a fever dream and straight into his regret.

My stride didn't falter. My lips didn't twitch. I walked past the front counter like I didn't see any of them. Like I hadn't spent the last few minutes rehearsing every second of this entrance.

Katie caught it instantly. She was behind the register, sorting receipt slips, and when she clocked Fred's expression—mouth slightly open, jaw tight, eyes locked on me like I was a spell he didn't dare cast—she smirked.

Proud. So proud.

"Good afternoon," I said to no one in particular, flicking my wand to adjust a lopsided product display. "Hope no one burned the place down while I was gone."

George let out a low whistle and muttered, "She's in one of those moods again."

"Shut up," Rowan said, elbowing him lightly—but even he didn't take his eyes off me.

Katie leaned closer to Fred and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "Careful. She might accidentally forget your name next."

Fred looked like he was trying to swallow glass.

Katie Bell, bless her oblivious heart, finally excused herself with a polite little goodbye to George and Fred, her smile too sweet to be accidental.

The door chimed as it closed behind her.

Fred turned immediately. "Adrien, can we—"

A customer walked in at that exact second.

I didn't even pause. "Welcome to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! Can I interest you in a box of Unbreakable Ink or a Pygmy Puff with abandonment issues?"

Fred blinked, mid-sentence. "Adrien—"

I walked right past him, breezing toward the customer with a smile sharp enough to hex.

Katie didn't even try to hold back the snort that escaped her.

"Guess that's a no, then," she muttered, loud enough for Fred to hear.

George tried to bite back his grin.

Fred stood there for another second, like he hadn't quite accepted that I'd really just iced him in his own damn shop.

"Two for one on Instant-Invisibility Mints," I purred to a group of sixth-year Hufflepuffs, leaning just far enough over the front counter for Rowan to drop an entire display of decoy detonators. "Buy three, and I'll throw in a glitter hex you'll never be able to scrub off. Even with a cursebreaker."

They bought five.

Fred was at the other end of the aisle pretending to stock the Shield Cloak display, but his eyes never left me.

"Adrien," he called softly, circling behind the counter. "Can you help me with the new Skiving Snackboxes? We need to—"

I didn't even twitch.

"Adrien?"

Still nothing.

Rowan looked up from restacking his detonators and raised an eyebrow. "She heard you."

I rang up another customer with a syrup-sweet smile and tossed a glitter-charmed pamphlet into their bag like a final blow.

Katie breezed past, grinning. "You're absolutely wicked."

"I know," I said, winking at the kid next in line.

Fred tried again an hour later, clearly sweating now, cornering me by the Daydream Charms shelf.

"Adrien," he said, low and deliberate, like he was trying to anchor us. "Can we just talk?"

I turned, lips parting—just in time for George to slide in like a human shield.

"Adrien, please grab more Exploding Eyeliner from the back?" he asked, voice about two octaves too high.

I smiled wide. "Absolutely."

Fred didn't even get the chance to finish his breath. I was already gone, sauntering past him without a glance. If looks could kill, his would've hexed the air out of the room.

Even the Sneezing Soap coughed.

The shop was busy. I made sure of it. I flirted, I sold out an entire batch of Whoopee Cushions With Teeth, and I charmed a new floating sign that flashed "ASK FOR ADRIEN" in gold and lavender glitter every fifteen seconds with a twirl of my wand.

I sold a love potion sampler to a hen party by speaking entirely in a fake French accent, blowing kisses at the end like I was born on a runway in Paris.

Fred watched the entire thing from across the store like I'd slapped him and kissed someone else in the same breath.

"Adrien," he said again, finally managing to get close enough to hand me a box of sample kits.

His eyes searched mine, voice low. "Just... take a second?"

I reached out, took the box from him—

And didn't even pause before turning to Katie. "Where do these go?"

She didn't even miss a beat. "Window display. Obviously."

"Perfect." I shot Fred a dazzling smile—but not for him—and turned away.

Fred was left blinking, hands still half-raised like he didn't understand what had just happened. George muttered something under his breath about needing hazard pay. Rowan quietly mouthed "damn" and went back to stocking shelves like it was a defense mechanism.

By closing, the tension in the air was so thick you could've sliced it with a Severing Charm.

George hovered by the counter, hesitant. "Do I need to sweep the back for cursed parchment or are we just... pretending this isn't happening?"

Rowan added under his breath, "I'm just relieved I'm not the one getting hexed."

Katie turned a slow, surgical look on Fred.

"Maybe," she said sweetly, "next time don't flirt with your ex in the same room as the girl you claim to love."

Fred looked like he wanted to defend himself—but the words died on his tongue.

I still didn't look at him.

Not even a flicker.

Because if I cracked—if I gave him an inch—I knew I'd fall right back into the fire.

And he didn't deserve the flame.

Not until he knew exactly what it felt like to be burned.

The shop was quiet. Too quiet.

Katie, Rowan, and George had slipped out with barely disguised looks — the kind that said we're not dumb, but we're not getting in the middle of this either.

Fred and I were alone.

And the silence between us was sharp enough to cut.

I grabbed the ledger and slammed the register drawer shut with more force than necessary.

He didn't say anything.

Just watched me.

I felt it — his eyes on me like a curse. Like he didn't know whether to touch me or throw something.

"Seriously?" he said finally, his voice low and tight. "You're really not going to talk to me?"

I didn't answer.

Not until I turned around, arms crossed, fire already boiling under my skin.

"I think I've said plenty."

Fred scoffed. "Oh, right — your passive-aggressive silence? Super informative."

I stalked past him, headed toward the shelves. "Don't start with me."

"You've been ignoring me all day!"

I spun on my heel, fire already rising. "Like you ignored me the second Bell walked in?"

Fred's jaw clenched. "She said hi, Adrien."

"She said it like she was hoping to crawl back into your lap."

His hands fisted. "She's from before you."

"Yeah?" I snapped, stepping into his space. "Then why the hell did she look at me like I was just a bookmark until you flipped back to her chapter?"

Fred's eyes flashed, his voice low and cutting. "Maybe because you made yourself look temporary."

My breath caught — sharp and deep and painful.

Because that?

That hit somewhere I didn't want to admit existed.

And it only made me angrier.

Fred didn't stop.

"You laughed, Adrien. I told you I loved you, and you laughed. And then you walked in and acted like I was the one who broke something."

"I was going to talk to you!" I shouted. "But then I saw you standing there with her, grinning like the world hadn't shifted under my damn feet!"

"And what?" he spat. "You decided to punish me for it?"

"No," I hissed, stepping into his space. "I decided to remind you who the fuck I am."

Fred's jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. "You really think I forgot?"

"You looked like you did."

He stepped closer. I didn't move. Couldn't.

"You think I want her?" His voice dropped, low and furious. "You think, after everything we've been through, I'd trade you in for someone who never even looked at me the way you do?"

"Then why didn't you tell her to fuck off?"

"I did!" he shouted. "You just didn't stick around long enough to see it!"

The silence cracked like glass.

"I told her I was taken. I told her I was yours. But you were already halfway to the stockroom, turning me into the villain in your head before I could open my mouth."

My heart slammed in my chest. "I panicked, Fred. You told me you loved me and I panicked, and then I saw her, and—"

"And you bailed," he snapped. "You spent the entire shift pretending I didn't exist. You iced me out like I hadn't just told you something I've never said to anyone."

I swallowed, hard. "You always joke. You're always smirking or teasing or dodging when things get real and I thought—I thought this was just another Fred Weasley punchline."

His face twisted. "That's what you think of me?"

"No." My voice cracked. "I think you're the first person who's ever looked at me like I'm not a mistake. And it scares the hell out of me."

Fred stepped back like I'd hit him. "So I get punished for loving you."

"You think this is easy for me?" I said, heat spiking again. "You think it's simple to fall for someone who might actually mean it?"

He didn't speak.

Neither did I.

Just breathing, shaking, burning in the silence we made.

Then, quieter: "You told me once that I terrify you. That every time I look at you like you matter, it scrambles your brain."

Fred met my eyes. "I meant it."

"Well now you know how it feels."

The air between us held.

Sharp.

Fragile.

Then Fred's voice broke through, hoarse and low: "You don't have to say it back."

"I know."

"But I need to know you feel it, Adrien. That I'm not just standing here waiting for someone who's already halfway out the door."

I stared at him—really stared—at the boy who kissed me like he needed oxygen, who fought with me like I was worth fighting for.

And I stepped into his space.

"I'm not halfway gone," I whispered. "I've just never felt anything this deep before. And I didn't know what it was. Not until the girls laid it out for me. Katie... Sage...Maddie... even Ginny and Hermione."

Fred's brow furrowed, uncertain.

"They said I don't look at you like you're temporary," I murmured. "They said I look at you like I already chose you. I just haven't admitted it out loud."

My throat burned. "And they were right."

Fred's lips parted—but I didn't let him speak.

I slid my fingers into his collar, pulled him just close enough to feel the tremble in his breath.

And then I said it.

Soft. Sure. Shaking.

"I love you."

The air left his lungs.

And I didn't wait for him to speak this time.

I kissed him.

Fierce. Deep. Desperate.

Like I was sorry. Like I meant it. Like I wasn't scared anymore.

His arms crushed around me like a dam breaking, and suddenly we were all hands and mouths and gasping apologies against the shelves. The kiss deepened until it was heat and need and everything we hadn't said—all of it pouring out between us.

His forehead dropped to mine. "You mean it?"

I nodded, breathless. "Yeah. I do."

Fred smiled, wrecked and shining. "Thank fuck."

We didn't leave the shop that night.

Fred glanced toward the back room, still holding me like I was something worth protecting. "Think they'll buy it if we say we stayed late doing inventory?"

I breathed out a laugh. "If we throw enough paper around and mess up the ledgers a bit? Definitely."

He pressed his lips to my forehead. "Then let's stay. Just us."

We climbed the stairs to the flat above, hand in hand, shoes kicked off, jackets hung with lazy flicks of our wands. Fred grabbed two butterbeers from the mini icebox and we collapsed onto the battered old couch, the air still thick with everything we hadn't said—until now.

We talked for hours.

About nothing. About everything.

I told him how the first time I saw him in the Great Hall—how I'd thought he was too loud, too cocky, too bright. And how that brightness became the only thing I looked for when the world started to go dark.

Fred told me he knew by the time we started putting pranks together and working around the clock to take down Umbridge. "You stormed into the common room that day, grabbed my list out of my hand, crossed out half of it, and rewrote the plan in thirty seconds flat."

I blinked. "That's what did it for you?"

He smirked. "You bossed me around, that time you hexed a display for being 'aesthetic sabotage,' and told George to stop breathing so loud. I was gone."

I snorted. "You're insane."

He nudged my knee with his. "No. I was obsessed. You were fire with a wand, and I knew—right then—I'd follow you into a war zone—if you asked nicely."

I raised an eyebrow. "Nicely?"

"Okay, or if you yelled," he amended, grin wide. "Honestly, that worked too."

I shook my head, laughing under my breath—but my fingers curled tighter into the hem of his shirt. Because even if I hadn't seen it then, I felt it now. All of it.

We didn't sleep for a while.

Just curled into each other, the weight of everything softened by the warmth between us.

And when things grew quiet again, Fred whispered, "Still terrifying, by the way."

I smiled into his chest. "Still yours."

He lay back on the couch, and I followed, settling against his chest like we'd been built to fit this way. His fingers traced circles into my spine, grounding me in the quiet. I could feel his heartbeat—steady, warm, real. His mouth near my ear.

"I never thought I'd get this," I whispered. "Someone who saw all of it. And stayed."

Fred didn't hesitate. "I didn't just stay, Adrien. I chose you. And I'll keep choosing you—every time."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: "When I heard what happened at the Ministry... when George broke it to me you were in that coma, that you'd did whatever you did for Harry—I lost it."

I froze, breath catching.

"I went back to Hogwarts—to that hospital wing the minute I could," he continued, voice rough. "You were so still. Head wrapped. Pale. Like you were already halfway gone. And all I could think about was how I never got to tell you any of this."

I didn't speak.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. "You saved everyone. Again. And I was proud of you—so fucking proud—but I was also furious. Because I was terrified. I didn't know if I'd ever hear your voice again."

Tears stung my eyes.

"And then when you finally woke up," Fred said, brushing his thumb across my spine, "and started mouthing off to everyone, I knew I was done for. Completely, hopelessly wrecked."

I huffed a wet laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"About you? Yeah." He kissed my forehead. "But I meant every word."

That's when it changed.

The kiss wasn't urgent this time. It wasn't fire or fury or anything meant to burn.

It was slow. Intentional. Reverent.

I straddled his waist and let my hands slide under his shirt, feeling the muscles shift beneath my palms as he sat up, bringing his mouth back to mine. His fingers skimmed my sides like he was relearning every part of me, even the ones he already knew.

When our clothes came off, it wasn't messy.

It was quiet.

Soft.

Like a promise.

We made love on that couch with the windows cracked open to the night, the warm breeze curling through the room like it was trying to memorize us. Every breath, every sigh, every whispered "don't stop" felt like it was inked onto my skin.

Fred cupped my face like I was something sacred.

And when I whispered, "I love you," this time, he didn't flinch.

He said it back.

Pressed into my neck, whispered against my collarbone, like it was a secret only I was meant to hear.

"I love you, Adrien. So fucking much."

We didn't fall asleep so much as drift—bodies tangled, sweat drying, hearts steady.

And for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I just felt held.

Loved. Safe.

The next morning, we were halfway through tossing parchment around the flat in a valiant attempt to make it look like we'd actually been working when I peeled off my shirt and reached for the vest I'd stashed behind the couch.

Fred froze mid-step.

"New uniform?" he asked, voice already low—already fraying at the edges.

I smirked, sliding the snug vest over my tank top, the fabric pushing my boobs up just enough to earn a sharp inhale from him. "Inventory nights are brutal. I dress for survival."

His eyes didn't even pretend to behave.

Fred dragged a hand down his face like he was trying to physically recover. "You're doing this on purpose."

"What?" I said sweetly, brushing past him with the stack of receipts.

He let out a half-laugh, half-growl. "You spent all day yesterday ignoring me, dressed like sin, flirting with anything that blinked—"

I bent down deliberately, hips angled just right. "Maybe I was just selling with style."

He made a wounded noise, like the memory alone knocked the breath out of him. "Adrien. You were jealous."

I looked back over my shoulder. "And?"

His voice dropped, heat coiling behind every word. "And it wrecked me. Watching you... you weren't just angry. You were radiant. Lethal. Like you were reminding the entire bloody world who you are—and reminding me what it would feel like to lose you."

I turned slowly, crossing back toward him until there was only heat and tension between us.

"And what did it feel like?" I asked softly.

His gaze flicked to my mouth, then lower—then back up, like it cost him. "Like I couldn't breathe. Like I'd been replaced. And worse? I couldn't even blame you."

My breath caught.

"Because I deserved it," he murmured. "But hell, Adrien... if I had known all it took to get that version of you was breaking us—I would've begged for another way. Because I loved it. And I hated it. At the same time."

"You're such a mess," I whispered.

"I'm your mess," he said, stepping in. His fingers brushed my waist, slow and reverent, as if the memory of the day still haunted him. "And I'm still wrecked."

"You love it," I said, teasing, breathless.

"I love you," he said without missing a beat, like it had been sitting on his tongue all night.

I blinked.

And this time... I didn't laugh.