Adrien.

"You're joking. You have to be joking."

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

Fred crossed his arms in front of me like a brick wall that smelled like gunpowder and cinnamon. Irritatingly attractive. Inconveniently immovable. And currently driving me up a wall.

"I'm not sitting this out," I said, standing toe-to-toe with him, heart pounding. "We've fought worse. We've trained for worse."

"And you've nearly died for it."

"So have you."

"Yeah," Fred snapped. "And I'd like to live long enough to marry you, thanks."

I froze.

So did Katie, just behind me. She let out a soft, surprised sound that was probably a laugh she tried to swallow.

Fred's eyes softened as soon as the words left his mouth, like he hadn't meant to say them out loud—but also wasn't taking them back.

He ran a hand through his curls, pacing now. "Look, we both know we're doing this manhunt after the wedding. I'm not exactly thrilled about that either. But I'm not leaving this mission with the image of you falling out of the sky stuck in my head. Not again."

His voice cracked on the last two words. That was what broke me. Not the logic. Not the mission.

Him.

The memory that still haunted both of us—me unconscious in his arms, my head wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, skin grey and lips barely pink. Four days in a coma.

Sure, I'd be in the Hospital Wing for other things, some worse—but that one was the one he always reverted back to when he was scared like this, whether it was out loud or in his eyes.

He'd held my hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

He'd whispered jokes I couldn't hear and promises I might not have lived to keep.

And when I finally woke up—hoarse and confused and terrified—he'd looked at me like he was seeing the sun rise after believing it never would again.

That was the image he carried.

Not a battlefield. Not scars. Not even blood.

Me, unmoving.

And him, unable to do anything about it.

My chest twisted.

"You don't get to lock me in a tower, Fred."

"I'm not," he said, stepping closer. "I just need you alive. That's it. That's the whole list. Everything else can wait."

Behind him, Rowan and Katie were mid-argument.

"You get to go, but I don't?" Katie hissed, her hands clenched.

"You're the rally point," Rowan said, voice steady but not unkind. "You're the backup plan. That matters."

"So I'm backup? Cool. Great. I'll knit during the explosions."

"You're not that kind of backup," he said, taking her hand. "You're the place we land when everything else falls apart."

Cassian leaned against the wall, calm as ever. "The girls are staying. Arthur's orders."

"Arthur can fight me," I muttered.

"He'll win," Katie sighed.

Molly reentered just in time to shut the whole thing down with one look and a tea towel. "Girls, this isn't about who's braver. It's about who's needed where. And right now, you're needed at Grimmauld. If something goes wrong tonight, we'll need people alive and capable on the other end of the fire."

We eventually backed down.

But not gracefully.

Fred pulled me aside before we left for Grimmauld Place, his voice low and rough. "When this is over, I want you waiting for me. There. In one piece. Can you promise me that?"

I wanted to be mad. Wanted to keep fighting. But I saw the way he looked at me. Like I was the last thing tethering him to this world.

"Only if you promise the same."

He cupped my face in both hands, kissed me like he meant it, and whispered, "Always."

We didn't wait for the polyjuice roulette. The second wands started waving and hair started getting yanked out of heads, we slipped out the side and apparated out of there.

Grimmauld Place was too quiet when we arrived.

The kind of quiet that presses against your ears, like the house knows what's coming and doesn't want to wake anything up that might be sleeping below.

We landed hard in the entryway, bags dropped, boots scraping across ancient floors.

"Alright," Sage muttered, storming into the kitchen like she owned the place, "if we're going to be grounded like misbehaving children, then we're going to be armed and caffeinated children."

She yanked open a cabinet with the energy of someone moments away from hexing something. Or someone.

"Tea or coffee?" Maddie asked, already summoning mugs like a barista with a vengeance.

"Both," Katie and I said at the same time.

"I fought Rowan on this for thirty full minutes," Katie snapped, pacing like a caged dragon. "And then he had the audacity to say I'd 'understand later.' Like this is some emotionally manipulative vision quest."

"I told Fred he could go as long as he remembered I'll be waiting with a hex and a wedding ring," I muttered.

Maddie snorted. "Cassian just blinked at me and said, 'You'll be safer this way.' Like he was tucking me into a panic room. I nearly turned him into a canary."

Sage dropped sugar into her mug like she was making a potion to raise the dead. "George gave me the full speech. Loyalty, necessity, strategy. Then kissed me so good I forgot how to breathe and left before I could throw something."

Katie scoffed. "Cowards. All of them."

We passed around steaming mugs and a plate of stale biscuits someone had glamoured to look fancy. Then we moved—no instructions needed.

Ten minutes later, we were on the roof.

We'd dragged our brooms, snacks, Maddie's half-functioning surveillance kit (courtesy of Cassian's paranoid brilliance), and a charmed record player that only played three albums—Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, and a Weird Sisters unplugged set that sounded like it was recorded in a dungeon.

It was perfect.

The sky was dark but clear. The horizon looked empty.

Too empty.

"Okay," I said, settling beside the old chimney stack. "If we see broom-shaped figures flying toward us in flames, that's our cue."

"Copy that," Maddie replied, biting the head off a chocolate frog. "Also our cue to panic and scream a little."

"Do we even know which one is which?" Sage asked, squinting into the distance. "I mean, Fred and George both volunteered to be Harry. The world's not ready for that level of confusion."

"I don't think I'm ready for that level of confusion," I said. "Imagine trying to keep them straight mid-attack—'Harry, duck!' 'Which one!?'"

Katie groaned and pulled her binoculars tighter to her face. "I still say I should've been Fred. I'm the sassiest one here."

"Please," Sage said. "If I were Harry, I'd have already been captured for mouthing off to the Deatheaters."

"You'd flirt with one mid-fight," Maddie added. "And it would work. And you'd steal his wand and leave a glitter hex in his pocket."

"I have layers," Sage said primly, sipping her tea like she hadn't just planned a seduction-based security breach.

I laughed, but it caught in my throat.

Because somewhere out there—Fred was flying into the jaws of a trap.

Rowan and Cassian were pulling extra security, doing Merlin-knows-what behind the scenes to make sure the decoys didn't become casualties. Hermione was with them. Ron too. George. Everyone we loved, everyone we needed—up there.

And we were down here.

On a roof. With tea and coffee. Watching the sky for signs of death.

Fred had kissed me like it might be the last time.

If anything happened to him, to any of them—

No.

I pressed the thought down. Buried it.

We weren't helpless.

We were angry. We were ready. We were watching.

Petty and savage and scared as hell. Waiting for the world to catch fire.

The tea had gone cold.

None of us had spoken in at least ten minutes, which had to be some kind of record.

We were still up on the roof, curled in our jackets, brooms at the ready, snacks forgotten. The silence had turned heavy, like the night itself was waiting.

And then Katie said, "Storm's coming."

We all looked up.

At first, it just looked like a bank of clouds building low on the horizon—slow, pulsing, too thick for summer.

But then the lightning struck.

And it wasn't white.

It was green.

Sage stood, slowly. "That's not a storm."

"No," I whispered. "It's a cover."

Maddie leaned forward over the ledge. "They're hiding themselves—masking movement. It's not just weather—it's them. The Deatheaters."

Another burst of lightning, this time faster, slicing sideways across the clouds in jagged green spears.

Katie's jaw clenched. "It's not one target. They're chasing all of them."

Sage narrowed her eyes. "They knew."

The wind shifted. Shadows flickered behind the clouds—sparks, flashes, broom silhouettes moving too fast to track.

"They knew there'd be more than one Harry," Sage said grimly.

We rose—one by one—off our chairs, restless and helpless, hearts clawing their way up our throats.

The storm moved closer. Every time it lit up the sky, we saw more: brief outlines of bodies. Spells flashing in mid-air. A silhouette falling—then righting. A scream that echoed too far off to identify.

My whole body shook with stillness. I couldn't do anything. We couldn't do anything.

We just watched. Guarded. Waited.

Until the sky split wide open over the bay—and something fell.

Katie screamed first. "There!"

A streak—fast, spiraling, heavy—crashed through the wards at the edge of Grimmauld Place and plunged into the bay with a massive splash. There was no mistaking the motorcycle.

"Hagrid," Maddie said, already bolting.

Sage didn't even wait for a plan. "They're out there—go!"

The two of them disappeared through the attic door and thundered down the stairs.

Katie and I didn't move.

We stood at the edge, hands white-knuckled on our broom handles, watching the bay churn as the figures emerged through the mist. Hagrid's huge outline. Someone smaller slumped in front of him.

"Harry," I breathed.

One by one, the others started to land.

First Ron and Tonks, their landing rough and haphazard—Tonks skidded across the grass laughing breathlessly, already pulling Ron upright by the collar like he was a toddler who'd wandered too far.

Hermione and Kingsley were next—Hermione visibly shaking, hair plastered to her face from rain or wind or both. She clutched Kingsley's arm like she hadn't let go the entire flight.

Then came Bill and Fleur.

I blinked. "Fleur?"

She threw her hood back, hair tangled and face pale but still somehow radiant. "Mon dieu, I was not expecting to see Beauxbatons faces tonight."

Katie practically tackled her in a hug. "I didn't know you were part of this."

"Neither did I," Fleur muttered. "Bill said it was to 'distract me.' It did not work."

I would've laughed—if the next arrivals hadn't made my heart stop.

Fred and George.

But only one of them was upright.

Fred was half-carrying George, who was bleeding—a lot. The entire right side of his face and neck soaked through, red pouring from the side of his head.

I didn't even breathe. I flew.

"George!" I hit the ground running, skidding to my knees beside them.

Fred was already pressing his hand to George's head. "He's okay, he's okay—Adrien—baby, look at me, he's okay."

George cracked one eye open. "Define okay."

Adrien. Breathe.

"I swear to Merlin, if you die, I will murder you myself," I choked, trying not to sob.

George blinked at me. "Bit late for that, love. Already lost my bloody ear."

He grinned. Lopsided. Bloody.

"You can tell us apart now," he said, voice rasping. "I'm Holy, Fred."

Fred groaned like he was going to be sick. Molly sprinted out the door behind us, Katie and Sage hot on their heels. Molly went straight to George, sobbing into his uninjured shoulder.

Sage stared at the missing ear with a horrified expression. "So now when I yell at you, you'll only half listen."

"Yell in my good ear," George said, trying to wink and flinching instead.

I finally turned around to count heads.

Everyone was accounted for except—

"Moody," I whispered.

Arthur appeared shortly behind Fred as I whispered, his face changed. Molly froze.

"Moody was with one of the groups," I said again, louder this time. "Where's Moody?"

No one answered.

My stomach dropped.

That's when I saw her—tall, wiry, magenta hair in a messy bob—helping Hagrid carry Harry toward the house.

"Tonks," Katie murmured beside me.

We'd never met her in person—but we knew the name. Lupin's fiancée. Auror. Member of the Order.

And judging by the tightness around her eyes, the way she refused to look up—she knew something we didn't want to hear.

Maddie and Sage reappeared, soaked, winded, helping Harry stumble inside. He looked pale, battered. Dried blood caked into the collar of his shirt. His glasses were cracked.

"He's okay," Maddie said. "Just shaken."

Harry didn't speak at first.

And then—quietly, barely audible over the wind—

"Hedwig."

He swallowed.

"She was hit. During the chase. She was—she was just flying. And she—"

He didn't finish.

Katie's hand curled into mine. We didn't speak either.

We didn't need to.

Minutes passed. Everyone was inside. Safe, but not whole.

The Polyjuice started wearing off slowly—first George's shoulders shrank, Hermione's curls began creeping back in.

When Fred finally looked like Fred again, I collapsed into him.

He caught me without a word, arms tightening so fiercely it almost hurt.

"You're here," I whispered.

"And you're here," he said, kissing the top of my head.

Sage walked past George, poked him lightly in the ribs.

"So," she said, deadpan. "Guess you won't have to listen to my rants anymore."

He gave her a tired grin. "Only half of them."

"Wait," Katie said suddenly, eyes scanning the room. "Where's Rowan?"

Maddie looked up from helping bandage George's ear stub. "And Cassian?"

The mood, which had just barely stopped trembling, dropped into full-body tension again.

I whipped around, mentally counting again—Fred, George, Ron, Bill, Arthur, Harry, Hagrid, Kingsley, Tonks, Lupin (who had silently appeared), Hermione, Fluer, Fletcher (another Orders Member)—dammit.

"I swear the numbers checked out," I muttered, panic rising. "They weren't part of the main flight pattern, they were security, they should've—"

Before I could spiral completely, the kitchen door creaked open.

Rowan walked in, calm as ever, holding a mug of black coffee like he hadn't just been declared missing in action. Cassian followed, sipping tea and looking faintly amused by the chaos.

"We were checking perimeter spells," Rowan said mildly. "And also, uh... caffeine."

Cassian raised his mug. "Priorities."

Katie launched a dishtowel at Rowan's head.

"You could've said something!"

"I left a note."

"You did not."

"Oh, well—I thought about leaving a note."

Fred snorted into his hands as relief finally exhaled from the room like a held breath. We were safe. We were staying put for the night.

Kingsley and Arthur coordinated watch rotations, and one by one, people started crashing wherever they could find space.

Fred caught my hand just as I was about to head upstairs with the girls.

"C'mon," he whispered, his thumb brushing over mine. "We've got a room."

My stomach flipped—because I knew the room.

Third floor. Back corner. The same room where we'd been together for the first time. Post-nightmare, post-stress, post-everything. A night of limbs and honesty and breathless relief.

It looked almost the same. Same creaky floorboard. Same scuffed desk. Same curtains that didn't quite shut all the way.

We didn't turn on the lights. Just let the moon filter through.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Fred locked the door behind him.

Neither of us spoke for a second.

Then I said, quietly, "Don't make me do that again."

Fred's head snapped up. "Adrien—"

"Watching the sky," I said, voice shaking. "Waiting for you. Seeing green lightning and shadows and not knowing. I can't—" My voice cracked. "I can't do that again."

Fred crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees in front of me, hands curling around my thighs. "I'm here," he said. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."

I grabbed his face, pulling him closer. "Swear it."

He nodded, eyes locked on mine. "Swear it. Vow it. Tattoo it. What do you want, Blackwood? Because it's already yours."

I kissed him.

It started soft—emotional, shaky—but when his hands slipped under my shirt and I gasped against his mouth, it shifted fast.

"Trying to make me feel better?" I asked breathlessly.

"I know how to make you feel better," he murmured, trailing kisses down my throat. "And I think we've earned it."

"Earned?" I smirked. "That's a big word for someone who got grounded tonight."

Fred growled. "You wound me."

"You wish I would."

Outside the door, someone passed by and muttered, "If they're not done by sunrise, I'm soundproofing the floor."

"That was George," Fred whispered, face pressed to my shoulder.

I laughed so hard I nearly fell backwards.

Across the hall, someone groaned and said, "They're at it again?!" followed by a chorus of muffled laughter from Sage and Maddie's room.

"Honestly," Maddie yelled, "If I'd known this was a hotel, I would've booked the honeymoon suite!"

Fred lifted his head, looking flushed and triumphant. "Tell them it's the romantic trauma relief package."

"I hate how good that is," I muttered, dragging him back down.

We didn't sleep much. But we stayed quiet—eventually. And he held me the way I needed: like he wasn't letting go.

I was still awake.

So was he.

The moonlight painted soft stripes across the sheets, and Fred's chest rose and fell beside me in a rhythm too steady to be sleeping.

My eyes were fixed on the ceiling, the cracks in the paint. The way the air felt heavier now, even though we were safe. The way "safe" didn't mean what it used to.

"Can't sleep?" I whispered.

Fred didn't answer.

I turned, propped myself up on my elbow, and pulled the sheet up over my bare chest. "Fred?"

His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling like it had answers he couldn't reach.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

I frowned. "That's a lie."

He sighed, then turned his head to look at me. "I just... I've been thinking."

"Well there's your first mistake."

That earned a half-smile, but it didn't stay long.

He looked away again, jaw working, then said, low, "There's talk."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.

"What kind of talk?"

Fred hesitated. "The Ministry. It's not confirmed. Not yet. But there's whispers coming through the Order."

I waited.

And then he said it: "They're talking about putting out Muggle-Born Tabs."

The words dropped like a stone between us.

I sat up straighter, my heart suddenly punching against my ribs. "Tabs?"

Fred nodded slowly. "Registry. Classification. Identification. 'For safety,' they're saying. But it's the Deatheaters. You know it is. And if it goes through..."

He trailed off, his throat working like it physically hurt to say the rest.

I stared at him. "It's not real. It's just a rumor."

"But rumors are how they start," he said. "Every war, every purge, every horror show—starts with a whisper that no one fights hard enough to shut down."

He sat up too, rubbing his hands over his face. Then he started counting on his fingers. "Katie—pureblood. Sage—half-blood. Maddie—pure. Cassian—pure. Rowan—pure. Me, George, Ron, Ginny, Bill, Charlie, Percy Mum, Dad—pure."

His hand dropped. His voice went quiet. "That leaves you. And Hermione. On their radar."

The room felt suddenly cold.

I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. I could feel it—the rage building in my gut, the terror right behind it.

Fred reached for me, cupping my cheek. "I'm not saying it to scare you. I'm saying it so you're ready. So we are."

I leaned into his hand, pressing my eyes shut. "I thought we were done being hunted."

"So did I."

A beat of silence passed.

Then I whispered, "I don't want to run again. I don't want to hide. I want to fight."

Fred nodded. "Then we fight. But we fight smart. We don't let them take you. Or anyone."

"I'm not afraid for me," I said. "I'm afraid for what you'll do if they come for me."

He laughed. Dark and soft. "What I'll do? Darling, I've already thought of sixteen illegal things and three war crimes."

"Just three?"

"I'm trying to show restraint."

I smiled faintly, then pulled him down beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, tucking my head beneath his chin.

His voice was quieter now. "I'm scared, Adrien. Not of the fighting. Not of dying. Just... of watching this world go backwards. Of losing people I love because of blood and names."

I curled closer. "Then we don't let it. We hold the line."

He nodded against my hair.

"I'm not losing you," he said again, more to himself this time. "Not to a policy. Not to a spell. Not to them."

"You won't."

"I'll hex the world before I let it happen."

I looked up at him, kissed him once, slow and full of everything I couldn't say.

"You're it for me," I whispered.

His voice cracked. "You've been it since the first time I saw you in the Great Hall."

"Romantic."

"Tragic," he murmured, brushing his thumb along my collarbone. "Can't believe I fell for the terrifying one."

"You like terrifying."

"I love terrifying."

We didn't sleep much that night.

But we stayed in that room. Wrapped in each other.

And ready for the war that kept getting closer.