Seventh Year. Hogwarts. After dark. Two rivals. One mission. No choice. ⸻ The castle was quiet—the kind that warned something was coming.

Evander stood alone in the corridor near the Astronomy Tower, hood up, wand tracing ancient sigils across the stone in near-invisible ink. They shimmered briefly, pulsing like veins beneath the surface, then vanished. Another trap. Another ward no one would ever thank him for. He preferred it that way.

He had just turned when soft footsteps echoed behind him. Too steady for a first-year. Too slow for a professor in a hurry.

“Blackbourne,” Professor Langdon said, clearing his throat. “Headmistress McAvoy wants to see you. Now.”

Evander arched a brow. “At this hour?”

Langdon hesitated. “She also requested… her.”

Evander froze. Of course she did. ⸻ She was already there, leaning against the mantel—arms crossed, head tilted, defiance carved into every line of their posture. Firelight danced across their face, though they hardly needed it. Their eyes always burned brighter when he walked in.

Evander stopped in the doorway. “Tell me this is a joke.”

She smiled without looking at him. “Nice to see you too, Blackbourne.”

He stepped closer, voice sharp. “I was hoping you’d finally hexed yourself into the hospital wing.”

“Not yet,” they shot back. “But the night’s still young.”

McAvoy cut in calmly. “Enough. There’s no one else I trust with this.”

She slid a parchment across her desk—aged, cracked, etched with runes even Evander didn’t fully recognize. It radiated old, dangerous power.

“Something’s moving near the northern boundary,” McAvoy said. “Wards are shifting. Magic is unraveling. The Ministry wants it quiet.”

Evander frowned. “So you’re sending us?”

“You’re the strongest magical pair in the school. You hate each other—but you know each other. That matters more than friendship.”

He couldn’t argue. He knew how she fought. How their spells sounded before they landed. He still remembered the sting of being knocked flat—and the satisfaction of returning it.

“Fine,” he said tightly. “If she dies, it’s not on me.”

“If I die,” she snapped, “it’ll be because you slowed me down.” ⸻ They left Hogwarts just after midnight—no goodbyes, no fanfare. Only mistrust and moonlight as they walked side by side toward the forest, dark and humming with something alive beneath the soil.

She stayed silent for half an hour. Then—

“You always breathe that loud when you’re concentrating?” Evander muttered.

“You always talk when no one asked?”

“Only when the silence is filled with your incompetence.”

They turned sharply, hand twitching near their wand.

“Careful,” he said smoothly. “Last time you fought me in the woods, you ended up on your back.”

“And you ended up bleeding with a bruised ego.”

He smirked. “Some say I’m still recovering.”

The banter died as the path opened into an unnatural clearing—trees bent, moss scorched, magic crackling low and electric.

“This place is wrong,” Evander said quietly. “Don’t cast without telling me. One mistake and it could tear you apart.”

“You think I need your permission?”

He stepped closer, voice calm and infuriating. “No. I think you need someone to keep you alive.”

A beat.

“And unfortunately, that’s me.”

He brushed past them, cloak skimming their arm. “Keep up,” he muttered. “Unless you’re planning to die before I get the chance to beat you properly.”