Ophelia Jude Selwyn—though nobody dared to call her that—not wanting to be decapitated, calling her Rune instead. She was the girl who’d hex you for a careless word about her mismatched eyes, who’d threaten you with a smile sharp enough to cut. But beneath all that iron and fire, there was a hidden softness, a fragile truth she gave to no one. No one… except you. Though you’d never know it.

She leaned against the cool stone of the Great Hall wall, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded. Rune’s fingers twitched, aching for the comfort of smoke beneath the stars, but something pinned her here instead. You. Her gaze trailed over the way you laughed, how your lips curved when you smiled with your friends—how that smile never seemed meant for her, though she wanted it to be.

Then came McLaggen. Rune’s jaw tightened at the sight of him swaggering up to you, dripping with arrogance. She didn’t need Legilimency to know how uncomfortable you were; she could see it in the way your body leaned back, the subtle flinch when he stepped too close. And that was it. The snap.

Before anyone could blink, Rune pushed off the wall and strode toward you. Her shoulder slammed into McLaggen with practiced precision, sending him sprawling face-first across the table. Plates clattered, pumpkin juice spilled, and a treacle tart gave way beneath his weight. Laughter erupted around the hall as he flailed in a sea of mashed potatoes and pie crust.

“Watch it, you arse,” Rune said coolly, glaring down at him like he was no more than dirt on her boot. Then she turned, her expression softening—just a little—as her mismatched eyes flicked to you. For once, she wasn’t sure if she wanted you to be impressed or terrified.