Hogwarts was bleeding pink.

  Garnds of fluttering hearts floated along the corridors, enchanted roses bloomed mid-air, and enchanted cupids occasionally dive-bombed students with glitter arrows. Jake had been struck three times. He cimed it was a sign of destiny. I cimed it was karma.

  The chaos had begun early.

  By the first week of February, the castle had transformed into a stomach-churning vision of saccharine madness. The Great Hall was dressed in soft crimson and cream silks, the enchanted ceiling mimicking a sunset permanently locked in golden hour.

  Even the suits of armor had heart-shaped shields and were humming awkwardly off-key renditions of love balds. It was exhausting.

  I had, of course, tried to ignore all of it.

  It didn't work.

  "Caelum, my emotionally constipated comrade." Jake flopped into the seat beside me at breakfast, a box of animated chocotes clutched under one arm. “Today’s the day.”

  “For?”

  He grinned with the manic confidence of someone about to hurl himself off a broomstick blindfolded. “Confession.”

  “To a crime?”

  “To Evie, you emotionally-blunted goth bat.”

  “I’m not emotionally blunted,” I muttered, flipping the page of my Transfiguration textbook. “I just have standards.”

  “You’ve been reading about ancient wand theory during the week of love.”

  “Wand theory is useful. Chocotes that try to eat your fingers? Not so much.”

  He winked and held up the heart-shaped box. It snapped at my hand.

  I gred. “Romantic.”

  Jake had enlisted Desmond and Nathaniel into his crusade. They’d taken to referring to it as The Red Operation. I’d considered hexing the name out of existence.

  But even as the chaos of Valentine’s loomed, something else had found me first.

  It was after Potions css when the message came. A folded slip of parchment, delivered by a softly hooting school owl. No name. Just a wax seal — Slughorn’s personal crest.

  “Mr. Caelum Rosier,Kindly report to Professor Slughorn’s office at 6 p.m.Don’t be te.-H.S.”

  I stared at it longer than I should have. Jake peeked over my shoulder.

  “Ohoho, you’ve been summoned by the Potion Baron himself.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “He’s recruiting, you know. Handpicked students. Slug Club.”

  “I know.”

  “And?”

  “I’m not interested.”

  Jake looked scandalized. “You’re going to say no to free treats, rare connections, and a room full of stuck-up brats with egos bigger than their spellbooks?”

  “That’s exactly why I’m saying no.”

  6 p.m. – Slughorn’s Office

  The chamber smelled like sugared plums and roasted almonds. Candles flickered along crystal chandeliers. Bottles of rare elixirs shimmered in gss cases like caged stars.

  Slughorn beamed as I entered.

  “Caelum, Caelum! My boy!” He rose with the grace of a sleepy walrus and cpped his hands together. “Do sit down, sit down. Lemon tart? Pumpkin fizz?”

  “I’ll stand, sir.”

  “Ah. The brooding sort. Delightful.”

  He poured himself a steaming cup of something suspiciously glittery. “Now then! I thought it high time we had a proper chat. You’ve shown remarkable aptitude, my boy. Precision. Focus. And those eyes—so rare.”

  I said nothing.

  He leaned forward. “You’ve got the makings of someone... important, Caelum. I’d like to offer you a seat at my table. The Slug Club, we call it. A gathering of promising students. Future leaders. Brilliant bloodlines—though, of course, I care as much for merit.”

  “You invited me because of my name.”

  Slughorn smiled, unbothered. “And your talent. Your name might open the door, but your skills hold it open.”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t earned it. I haven’t done anything yet. Not enough to be acknowledged.”

  His smile faltered slightly. “Oh, come now. False modesty doesn’t suit a Rosier.”

  “This isn’t modesty.” I looked him dead in the eyes. “This is ambition. I’ll join your club when you ask me because of what I’ve done—not who I’m reted to.”

  Slughorn stared.

  Then, to my surprise, he chuckled. “Ahhh… there’s the Rosier spine. Very well, Mr. Rosier. Very well indeed. I look forward to the day you come knocking.”

  I left without taking the lemon tart.

  Later – Gryffindor Common Room

  It was absolute bedm.

  Jake stood on a chair, dramatically presenting Evie with a floating rose bouquet that periodically exploded in pink fireworks. The common room had been cleared for what he called “The Big Ask.”

  Evie, calm as ever, stared up at him.

  “Evie Lockhart,” Jake procimed, “I—Jake Dawson, the future Gryffindor Quidditch captain, the inventor of the triple-loop backflip dodge, the syer of Bludgers, and your most ardent admirer—am asking you to be my Valentine!”

  Silence.

  Then Desmond sneezed. Loudly.

  Evie blinked. She looked at me. Then at Jake. Then back to me.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Jake blinked. “You mean… not yes?”

  “I mean maybe.”

  Then she turned, smiled ever so slightly at me, and walked off—leaving Jake frozen in pce, the floating roses still popping fireworks above his head.

  Desmond whispered, “That’s not a no.”

  Nathaniel replied, “But that’s definitely not a yes.”

  Jake colpsed into the chair beside me, hands in his hair.

  “She’s killing me.”

  “You’ll survive.”

  “You think she’s falling for me?”

  “I think she’s ughing at you.”

  “Fair.”

  He sighed. “You really didn’t join the Slug Club?”

  “No.”

  He stared.

  “…You’re the weirdest pureblood I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you.”

  That night, as everyone celebrated or sulked or pnned round two of failed romantic gestures, I sat alone by the fire.

  There was something rising in me again.

  The memory of the Shinigami. Of eyes that burned when they shouldn’t. Of potential growing beneath my skin like coiled light.

  But I wasn’t ready to show the world.

  Not yet.

  Not until I had earned the name they whispered.

  Not Rosier.

  Not pureblood.

  Not even wizard.

  But Uchiha.

  [End of Chapter 21]