Sharon folded her Transfiguration notes into thirds, watching Priya two tables over. The plan was perfect. Six variations mapped, every pause timed, every word sharp enough to make the whole class remember. But across the aisle, a girl Sharon didn't usually track was staring at her with a look that said she knew something. The girl slid a diary across the table. Gold edges, fancy lettering. Sharon opened it and her stomach dropped. The pages spelled it out in ornate script: Sharon's plan, Priya's name, even the third Thursday timing. Someone had been watching her rehearse. Sharon looked up and met the girl's eyes. The girl smiled and tapped the diary. Not a threat. An audition. Sharon closed the book and nodded once. If this girl wanted in, she'd need to prove herself useful. The plan just got bigger. Sharon met her after dinner at the Quidditch pitch. Empty stands, cold wind. The girl handed back the diary. Sharon held it and said the first decision tree variation out loud, testing her. The girl finished it without hesitation. She'd been listening longer than Sharon thought. Sharon tucked the diary into her robes and offered her hand. Two architects were better than one. Priya wouldn't see it coming. Sharon pulled the golden yo-yo from her pocket and let it catch the moonlight. The swirling patterns mesmerized as it spun down and back. The girl's eyes followed it, hooked. Sharon stopped the yo-yo mid-spin and named her terms. The girl would sit three rows back during the demonstration. She would laugh first, loud enough to start the chain. In return, Sharon would teach her the spell sequence she'd been struggling with in Charms. The girl nodded and reached for the yo-yo. Sharon pulled it back and smiled. She'd keep it until Thursday. Insurance worked better when you held something someone wanted. The girl understood. Sharon had her first recruit.

Sharon spent Friday running through the plan again. Every word polished. Every laugh mapped. The girl she recruited would start the chain reaction, and Priya would never recover. But Saturday morning in the library, a second Ravenclaw sat down across from her. A boy she recognized from her year but never bothered tracking. He leaned forward and said he knew about Thursday too. He wanted a role in it, or everyone else would know by lunch. Sharon kept her face blank and closed her notes. She led him outside to the pumpkin patch near the greenhouses where no one came this early. The vines were thick enough to hide anyone who wanted to watch. He smiled when she asked how he knew. He pointed to the rows of pumpkins and said he'd been harvesting for Herbology when she rehearsed the Priya lines out loud two weeks ago. Then he pulled out a telegraph device from his bag, brass keys gleaming, with a strip of paper tape hanging from the spools. The tape showed her exact words in coded dots and dashes. He'd written it all down the same night. Sharon ran the numbers. Two collaborators meant two weak points. But if she refused him, he'd burn the whole plan before Thursday even arrived. She told him he could have a role, but smaller than the girl's. He'd sit in the front row and ask Priya a question right before the demonstration. Something that would make her feel confident. He nodded and tucked the telegraph back in his bag. Sharon walked away knowing her ledger just got messier. That night she stood in front of her mirror and rehearsed again, but this time she added his question into the sequence. The timing still worked. The laugh would still land. But she couldn't stop thinking about the pumpkin patch and how long he'd been watching. She didn't control the plan anymore. The plan controlled her. She kept rehearsing anyway.

Sharon stood at the breakfast table Sunday morning and watched her parents announce that Sophie had officially joined the family. The six-year-old sat between them wearing a pink dress, smiling at everyone like she belonged there. Sharon's mother reached over and fixed Sophie's hair ribbon. Sharon waited until afternoon when her parents sat in the back garden near the treehouse. The structure rose from an old oak, all painted columns and golden trim, cherry blossoms falling across the railings. Sophie had already pinned a photo of herself to the railing, wearing some band's logo and making a heart shape with her hands. Sharon climbed the ladder and took the photo down, folding it twice before tucking it in her pocket. Then she walked back to the house and found the book her mother kept on the hall shelf, the one with candy-striped pages and mirrored edges that tracked family expenses. She pulled it down and carried it outside. She rehearsed the words in her head. Sophie costs too much. Look at the numbers. We don't need her. But when Sharon opened her mouth in front of her parents, her father spoke first. He said they'd already sold the treehouse to pay for Sophie's school clothes and the doctor visits she needed. The structure would be gone by Tuesday. Sharon looked back at the cherry blossoms and the empty railing where the photo had been. Her mother smiled and said Sophie was worth it. Sharon walked back inside and put the book on the shelf. She still had the folded photo in her pocket. She went upstairs to her room and stood in front of the mirror, but this time she wasn't rehearsing anything. She was trying to figure out why her plan never had a chance to land. Her parents had already decided. They'd given up the treehouse before she even knew to ask. She pulled out the photo and looked at Sophie's green eyes and freckles, then slipped it into her desk drawer under her Transfiguration notes. The plan against Priya needed her focus now. At least that one she still controlled.