Their world had become a quiet refuge, wrapped in warmth and threaded with a kind of affection he had never known he was capable of holding. The manor, once defined by silence and shadow, now carried something living beneath its stillness. It was not loud or showy, but it was constant. The way his hands found her in the dark. The way his lips brushed her shoulder as he passed. The way time seemed to slow whenever she laughed.
These moments were everything to him.
He loved her with a devotion so deep it startled him at times, and with the gentle curve of her belly growing beneath his hands, there were mornings he woke up convinced he must still be dreaming. He adored her completely. And if he was being honest with himself, he was painfully aware that her pregnancy had done something permanent to his brain. Something instinctive. Something a little unhinged.
He might have had a problem.
Or, as Luna would have said with that amused glint in her eye, a tender fixation.
The universe, it seemed, had decided it was time to remind him that he was not in control of everything.
It happened without warning.
One moment he was tracing slow, reverent circles over the gentle swell of her abdomen, smiling as she laughed at something he had said, her body warm and relaxed against his. The next, her laughter cut off sharply. Her breath hitched, sudden and wrong, and her body went rigid beneath his hands.
Then she went still.
"Luna?"
His voice broke the quiet, barely more than a whisper, but something inside him was already on high alert. She sagged against him, her weight unexpected, her body too slack. He caught her before she could fall, panic surging so fast it stole the air from his lungs.
"Luna."
He lowered her to the floor, hands shaking, heart hammering wildly in his chest. His fingers fumbled at her wrist, searching desperately for a pulse. When he finally felt it, faint but present, a broken sound tore from him.
She was breathing. Shallow, uneven, but breathing.
Her skin felt cool. Her lashes did not flutter. The silence pressing down around them felt unbearable.
He gathered her against his chest, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach, as if holding her tightly enough could keep her anchored to him, to this world. She was his everything, and she was not moving.
"Luna, wake up. Please." His voice cracked as he brushed her cheek, his fingers trembling as he searched for any sign of response. "Please, my moon."
Panic broke free before he could stop it. "Mimsy," he shouted, the word tearing from his throat. "Get a healer. Now."
The house elf appeared at once, eyes wide with alarm, but Theo could not tear his gaze away from Luna. His entire focus remained fixed on her face, on the stillness he could not bear.
"Stay with me," he whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. "You have to stay with me. I need you."
For a moment, nothing happened. Time stretched unbearably thin.
Then her lashes fluttered.
A breath left him in a shudder as her eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first, distant, but unmistakably hers.
"Oh, Merlin," he breathed. "Luna."
Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly gave out. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as if he needed to convince himself she was real. Words crowded his throat, but none of them made it out.
Her fingers moved, weak but certain, curling around his wrist. "Theo?" she murmured.
"I am here," he said immediately, his voice rough with everything he was holding back. He lifted her carefully, holding her as though the smallest wrong movement might break her.
He carried her to the fireplace and lowered her onto the couch, every motion deliberate and careful. His hands shook as he pulled a blanket around her shoulders, tucking it close, as though warmth alone might protect her.
She looked up at him, her gaze still hazy but gentle. "I am alright," she said softly, trying to reassure him.
He dragged a hand through his hair, breath still uneven, his other hand resting firmly on her arm. "No, you are not," he said, steadier now but no less shaken. "You collapsed. You scared me."
"I am sorry," she whispered, giving his hand a weak squeeze.
His jaw tightened at the word. Sorry.
"Do not," he started, then stopped himself. That was not what mattered. He needed to act. He needed to make sure she was safe.
And suddenly, without hesitation, he knew exactly who he needed.
"Granger," he said, already standing. "I need Granger."
He looked down at Luna once more, taking in the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint colour returning to her lips. Enough to know she was still with him.
Then he turned toward the fireplace, his steps fast and certain, his mind racing ahead.
The last thing he saw before the flames swallowed him was Luna watching him go, her expression calm despite everything, her eyes full of quiet trust.
~~~~~~
Hermione was curled up on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her and a book balanced on her knee, when the Floo flared to life with a sharp roar. Smoke burst out in thick spirals, cloaking the room for a few heartbeats before it cleared just enough to reveal the figure stumbling through.
Theo emerged with wild eyes and an expression that made her chest clench, his face pale and drawn, like he had seen something that had torn the ground out from under him.
Before she could speak, he grabbed her arm with fingers that trembled against her skin, pulling her up so abruptly she nearly tripped over the edge of the rug.
"Granger, you're coming with me. Now." His voice was rough, too loud in the quiet of her living room, stripped of its usual bite and replaced with something jagged.
She blinked at him, her mind struggling to catch up. "What on earth—"
"It's Luna." His voice cracked on her name, and the panic in his eyes did something awful to her ribs. "Something's wrong. She collapsed. I couldn't wake her. I need you to come right now."
Hermione's book hit the floor without a second thought. She reached for the nearest jar of Floo powder and tossed a handful into the fire, calling out the destination with urgency tightening every word. "Nott Manor."
The green flames flared, and she stepped through, the panic already clawing at her from the inside.
She stumbled out into the living room just behind him, catching her balance as Theo rushed ahead to the couch. Her heart pounded as she braced herself for the worst—Luna pale and unconscious, barely breathing, some curse or illness stealing her away before help could reach her.
But what she found was Luna wrapped in silk, curled up in one of Theo's robes with her head resting against a pillow, looking more comfortable than anyone had a right to.
Luna opened one eye lazily, her voice still thick with sleep. "Oh, Mimi, it's you," she murmured, offering a soft smile. "I'm alright. I'm just pregnant."
Hermione stared. For a second, her brain flatlined, words scattering in every direction.
"Pregnant? But how—"
She looked between Luna's serene face and Theo's expression, which still hadn't recovered from whatever horror had sent him through the Floo like a madman.
Theo finally let out a shaky breath and dropped onto the edge of the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Surely even you know how babies are made, Granger," he muttered, the faintest hint of his usual sarcasm returning.
Hermione exhaled hard, part laugh, part sob, as her hand flew to her chest. "Theodore, please shut up," she said, though the words lacked any bite.
Her eyes turned back to Luna, and the relief hit her so fast it made her knees weak. "Luna, sweetheart, I'm so happy for you," she said, her voice catching as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
The weight of Theo's panic still hung in the room, thick and heavy, but Luna stretched with a quiet sigh, completely untouched by the tension.
"Oh, Theo, don't be so dramatic," she said softly, her tone light and unbothered. "I just felt a little faint. Perhaps you were being a bit too enthusiastic with your morning affections."
She tilted her head, her brows pulling together slightly in thought, clearly unaware of the slow-burning chaos her words were about to unleash.
Hermione, watching the exchange unfold, felt a stifled giggle rise in her throat at Luna's innocent explanation, a welcome release from the tight knot of worry that had formed in her stomach. Theo, however, sputtered incoherently, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet that rivaled the Gryffindor common room banners. "Anyways..." she said, stepping forward to break the awkward silence, a genuine smile replacing the tears that had welled in her eyes earlier. "Congratulations to the two of you," she continued, her voice warm. "I'm so incredibly happy for you both."
Good God, he'd simply perish if he couldn't be the most dramatic person in the room. The irony of simps—one moment, they're smug bastards, and the next, they're on death's doorstep because their wives sighed too prettily.
Theo needed to be physically removed from the room. Immediately. Preferably by force.
His frantic energy consumed the space like an unchecked wildfire, each agitated step across the kitchen floor only fueling the storm. His heart, a caged bird on the verge of breaking its wings, hammered wildly against his ribs. Panic wrapped around him like Devil's Snare, tightening with every breath, every tortured thought. "Granger, you had to see her!" he burst out, voice raw with hysteria. "Luna, my Luna—pale as death, crumpled on the floor like a broken doll!" His hands, usually so composed, trembled as he gestured wildly, pacing with all the grace of a man moments from combusting. "One minute, she was humming, her usual otherworldly nonsense, and then—nothing! Unconscious! Gone! Merlin's saggy—what if—?" His throat clenched around the words, the horrifying image flashing behind his eyes.
Hermione, whose patience had been strained within an inch of its life, pinched the bridge of her nose before reaching out with a calming hand. "Theo," she said, firm but exasperated, "breathe. I am begging you, for the sake of my own sanity, slow the hell down and tell me exactly what happened. Luna is fine. You, however, are one dramatic hand-wave away from being Stunned and forcibly sedated."
He dragged a shaking hand through his already disastrous hair, his frustration practically tattooed across his forehead. "It was nothing! A faint, that's all! But seeing my Luna, my moonbeam, my everything, like that—Granger, it ripped the ground out from under me faster than a rogue Hippogriff." His voice cracked, the vulnerability slicing through the theatrics for just a second before he spiraled again. "The fear—it squeezed the breath from my lungs like a rogue Bludger to the chest. What if I lose her? What if—what if my child…" His voice wavered, his eyes shining with something she recognized instantly.
Pure, unfiltered, catastrophic love.
And as much as she wanted to throttle him for acting like a Shakespearean widow, she couldn't bring herself to blame him.
She took a slow breath, bracing herself against the storm raging in Theo's eyes. "Theo," she said gently, her voice a steady balm against the chaos in him, "Luna is strong. And you… you love her, don't you?"
The moment the words left her lips, something in him snapped. He slammed his fist against the table, the force of it rattling the teacups and making her flinch, but she held her ground. His breath came ragged, his entire body taut with barely restrained emotion. "Love her?" he repeated, voice hoarse, almost disbelieving. A tremor ran through him, as if the very word was too weak to contain the weight of what he felt. "Granger, love is a feeble, paltry thing—a pathetic excuse of a word. Calling what I feel for Luna 'love' is like trying to describe the sun as merely warm, or the ocean as just wet. It's—" he broke off, running a shaking hand through his hair before looking at her, truly looking at her, as if she could possibly understand the wildfire consuming him from the inside out.
"It's like a hurricane tearing me apart from the inside," he continued, his voice breaking. "A raging, endless storm that drowns me whole, yet somehow, I never want to breathe again. It's like Fiendfyre, unstoppable and all-consuming, but I don't fear being burned—I welcome it. I crave it. But what good is this all-consuming, ruinous devotion if I can't protect her? If I can't be the man she deserves? If I'm nothing more than a broken boy playing pretend at being her knight in shining armor?"
He collapsed into the chair beside him, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with the weight of everything he had never spoken aloud.
She exhaled slowly, her heart twisting at the sight of him unraveling. "Theo…" she murmured, but he wasn't done.
"She deserves the moon and the stars, all the beauty this world has to offer, and instead, she has me," he whispered harshly, his fingers digging into his scalp. "What if she sees it,? What if she finally understands what I've known all along—that I am nothing but the darkness trying to swallow her light? What if she realizes the monster I truly am?"
His voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time, she saw past the sharp wit and carefully composed mask. She saw the frightened boy who had spent years caged by the sins of his father, the boy who had lived in the shadow of war, terrified that one day, he might become the very thing he despised.
She reached out, not touching him, but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence. "There's a famous quote," she began softly, choosing her words carefully. "'The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.' But Theo, listen to me—you are not your father."
His head lifted slightly, eyes hollow, guarded, but listening.
"He chose darkness," she pressed on, her voice unwavering. "He let it consume him. You, Theo, chose differently. You survived. You fought for a different life. You hid because you refused to become part of their war. You have never hurt anyone—not then, not ever. And this love you have for Luna, this desperate, unrelenting need to protect her and your child? That is proof of who you truly are. Not a shadow, not a curse waiting to unfold, but a man who has the power to break the cycle. You are the one who gets to rewrite history—not as a Nott, but as Theo."
Her voice softened, but the conviction in her eyes never wavered. "You think you're the darkness in her world? No, Theo. You are the light. And if you let this fear control you, if you let it convince you that you're unworthy of them, then you let your father win. You let him take from you what could be the greatest love of your life. And I refuse to let that happen."
A silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of her words.
Theo's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes burning with something unreadable. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "What if she regrets choosing me?"
Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Luna Lovegood is many things, but foolish is not one of them. She saw something in you worth choosing. And I think, deep down, you know that too."
For the first time since he had stormed into the room, Theo let out a shaky exhale—something between a laugh and a sob. "Merlin, Granger," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "You should've been a Slytherin."
She smirked. "Too late now."
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "So what do I do?"
"You go to Luna," she said simply, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You tell her the truth. And you love her with every ounce of that ridiculous, overdramatic heart of yours."
The weight of his confession pressed heavily between them, stripping away every ounce of his usual bravado. Theo's eyes shimmered, unshed tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes, but his pride refused to let them fall. He dragged a shaking hand down his face, his composure splintering as raw vulnerability took its place. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, as he asked, "Are we friends, Granger?"
She blinked, momentarily taken aback by the tremor in his voice. It was rare to see Theo like this—unguarded, stripped of his carefully curated indifference. And in that moment, something fierce and unrelenting swelled in her chest. "Of course, we are, Theo," she said, her voice unwavering as she squeezed his shoulder.
Theo exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath for far too long. His fingers dug into the wooden table as if steadying himself against a force greater than he could handle. "Because if we are," he choked out, his voice rough with something that bordered on desperation, "then I need you. I'm begging you—help me show Luna how much I love her. Merlin, Granger, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be the man she deserves. I'm terrified I'll ruin it, that I won't be enough for her, for our child. But the thought of losing them—" His throat constricted, and he shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. It was as if voicing the fear would give it power, would make it real.
She studied him for a long moment, her heart twisting at the sight of him unraveling before her. "Did you ever just… talk to her about your feelings?" she asked gently.
Theo looked at her like she had suggested he voluntarily jump into a nest of Acromantulas. "Oh, fuck no," he blurted out, his voice laced with sheer horror.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before leveling him with a knowing look. "Then show her," she said simply, her voice firm. "Show her how much you love her, Theo. Actions mean more than any poetic declaration you think you need to make. Be there for her, support her, remind her every single day that she's cherished, that she is your world. That's how you love someone."
Theo swallowed hard, nodding slowly as if her words were sinking into his very bones. Then, because he was Theo, he exhaled dramatically, running a hand through his already-messy curls. "Granger, you really missed your calling as a marriage therapist."
"And you missed your calling as a bard with all that over dramatic poetic nonsense," she shot back, smirking.
The heavy atmosphere gradually lifted, and somehow, they ended up spending the rest of the afternoon drinking, laughing, and playing board games. The earlier intensity melted into something familiar, something warm. Their friendship, battered but unshaken, held strong.
As Theo downed another glass of whiskey, his face set with renewed determination (and a mild buzz), he pointed a finger at Hermione. "I will win her over, Granger. Just watch me."
She chuckled, raising her own glass. "To love, friendship, and the courage to actually express our goddamn feelings. May they always win the day."
Theo clinked his glass against hers, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Merlin help us both."
~~~~~~
The three Slytherins were well into their third bottle of Firewhiskey, voices louder and edges softer with every refill. Blaise lounged back in his chair, smirk firmly in place as he tipped more amber liquid into his glass and flicked a glance at Theo.
"So," Blaise drawled, eyes glinting, "word is you're about to be a father."
Theo laughed, warm and loose, swirling his drink like he was savoring the thought as much as the whiskey. "Aye. Still doesn't feel real. Feels like yesterday we were sneaking contraband into the common room and now I'm about to have a child. Merlin help me."
His expression shifted, softening in a way neither of them missed. "Luna though. She's glowing. Truly glowing. Like something out of a Renaissance painting. Botticelli would have thrown his brushes into the sea out of sheer inadequacy."
Blaise snorted. "Radiant goddess, is she? Sounds familiar."
He leaned back further, smirk sharpening. "Ginny's got that energy beat. Have you seen that redhead lately? Absolute fire."
Theo nearly spat his drink across the table. He coughed, wheezed, then laughed hard enough to earn a disgruntled snort from a goblin dozing nearby. "Ginny? Fiery? Zabini, have you been cursed?"
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Look past the hand me down jumpers for half a second. Hair like a bloody sunset. No, better. Like the sky's on fire. And those eyes. Green and sharp and absolutely lethal. You cannot tell me she doesn't do something to you just looking at her."
Theo shook his head, still smiling. "Alright, alright. But Luna's magic is different. Wild. Uncontainable. Botticelli couldn't capture her and neither can you with your nonsense poetry."
Blaise laughed loudly. "We'll see which muse wins."
Then he nudged Theo with his elbow, grin widening. "Speaking of tortured muses. Draco's been sulking like a storm cloud. What is it, mate? Did your lioness scratch you? She's a handful."
Draco's grip tightened around his glass. "Don't ever talk about my wife like that."
Blaise raised a brow, unbothered. "Relax. I'm teasing. Though now that I think about it." His grin turned wicked. "Have you actually done anything about it? You look wound tighter than a cursed watch."
Draco scrubbed a hand down his face. "We kissed. A few times."
Silence.
Then Blaise absolutely lost it. He slammed his palm on the table, howling with laughter as a nearby pixie squeaked and fled the shelf it had been perched on.
"Kissed?" Blaise gasped. "That's it? You're married. Living together. And all you've done is kiss? Merlin's bollocks, Malfoy, are you twelve?"
Theo leaned back, shaking his head solemnly. "Tragic. Genuinely tragic."
Draco scowled, neck flushing red. "You think I don't want to? Every morning I wake up and she's there. Her hair, her mouth, the way she bites her lip when she's reading. I'm losing my bloody mind. But if I push even a fraction too far she'll hex me into oblivion. So yes. I am stuck wanking."
Blaise nearly fell off his chair. "That is the saddest thing I have ever heard. Draco Malfoy. Wealthy. Married. Still wanking like a desperate schoolboy."
Draco shot him a murderous glare.
Theo raised both hands. "Alright. Let's not provoke a homicide. But mate, you need to do something. A compliment. A bit of effort."
"Do not say candlelight," Draco snapped.
Theo blinked. "I wasn't going to."
Draco slammed his glass down and stood abruptly. "I need air."
Blaise smirked. "Running away won't save you from the truth."
Draco ignored him and stalked outside, the cool night air doing absolutely nothing to douse the fire under his skin. He braced his hands against the stone wall, breathing hard.
Blaise was right.
And that realization sat heavy in his chest.
Theo and Blaise stayed behind at the pub, the sharpness of their earlier teasing dulled by Firewhiskey and the easy comfort of familiarity. Whatever tension Draco had left in his wake faded quickly, replaced by something softer, warmer. This was the kind of quiet that came from years of shared trouble, shared survival, and the shared realization that somehow, against all odds, they had fallen completely and hopelessly in love.
Theo leaned back in his chair, glass cradled loosely in his hand, eyes unfocused as he watched the amber liquid swirl. When he spoke, his voice had lost its usual edge, settling into something thoughtful and sincere.
"You know," he said quietly, "Luna has this way of making the world feel enchanted. She surprised me the other day with a picnic in the garden. Nothing elaborate. Blankets, fresh fruit, these ridiculous little pastries she insisted we eat with our hands. But Merlin, it felt like stepping into somewhere sacred. Like the world had paused just for us." He smiled to himself. "She doesn't just live in the world. She changes it. Sometimes I look at her and think Botticelli would have snapped his brushes clean in half trying to paint her."
Blaise chuckled and lifted his glass in easy agreement.
"I get that. Ginny's magic is different, but it's just as real. It's not only how she looks, though that hair could start wars and those eyes could convince a man to burn down kingdoms. It's her spirit. She doesn't bend. Doesn't soften herself to fit where she's told to stand. She pushes back. And when she walks into a room, you feel it, not because she demands attention, but because she carries this fierce kindness that catches you off guard." He shrugged slightly. "You think she's chaos, and maybe she is, but there's something steady underneath it. Something you can lean on without realizing you needed to."
Theo nodded, smiling into his drink.
"I know exactly what you mean. Luna's pull is quieter, wrapped in something gentler. People think she drifts through life, lost in thoughts no one else could understand. But then she says something that cuts straight through you. You realize she sees everything. She makes the impossible feel inevitable. Like it was always meant to happen."
Blaise tipped his glass toward him, his grin mischievous but genuine.
"Ginny doesn't let me coast. She challenges me. Calls me out when I'm being an idiot. Keeps me sharp. Being with her means staying on my toes, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. She drives me mad, but I'd be a fool to want anyone else."
Theo laughed softly, shaking his head as something tender settled behind his eyes.
"Luna has this quiet defiance. She won't dim herself just because it makes people uncomfortable. She lives like the world could be better, and somehow that makes it feel possible. When I spiral, she doesn't try to fix me. She just finds me. Sometimes with words, sometimes with a look, sometimes just by taking my hand. And every time, I find my way back. She keeps me grounded. She's the one constant I never expected, and now I can't imagine a world without her."
Blaise lifted his glass once more.
"To our wives. Brilliant, impossible, and far too good for us."
Theo clinked his glass against his, smiling without restraint.
"To Ginny and Luna. The only women in the world who could make men like us fall this hard and not regret a single moment."
They drank, Firewhiskey burning warm as laughter filled the dim corners of the pub. Stories followed, loose and affectionate, time slipping by unnoticed. And beneath the haze of alcohol and memory, something steady remained.
Whatever chaos had shaped their lives, whatever darkness they had survived, they had somehow landed exactly where they were meant to be.
~~~~~~
He stumbled through the front door with the kind of carelessness that only came from too much Firewhiskey and far too much feeling. His steps were uneven, his shirt half untucked, his hair a disaster, his expression caught somewhere between awe and complete emotional ruin. When his gaze finally landed on her in the hallway, standing barefoot beneath the soft glow of a single lamp, he stopped short as if the world had finally made sense.
There she was. Luna. Calm and radiant, waiting like she had somehow known he would arrive exactly like this.
"Oh, my Moon," he breathed, his voice thick and slow, leaning heavily against the doorframe as though gravity had suddenly doubled. "You are the most precious creature in this entire world. The sun only shines because it gets to look at your face every day."
He blinked, solemn and sincere, as if he had just uncovered a universal truth.
Luna tilted her head, warmth and quiet amusement shining in her eyes as she stepped closer and slid her hand around his arm, steadying him before he could slide down the wall entirely.
"That's very sweet, Theodore," she said gently. "But I think our first priority should be keeping you upright. You need a shower and quite a lot of water."
He nodded far too eagerly, swaying with the motion. "Yes. Absolutely. But also," he added, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret meant only for the cosmos, "you are the brightest star in my entire galaxy. Everything else just… orbits you. I orbit you."
She laughed softly and began guiding him toward the stairs. He clung to her with more enthusiasm than coordination, missing steps but never missing the way he smiled at her like she was made of starlight.
"You're very poetic tonight," she said, fondness curling through her words. "I suspect the Firewhiskey is helping."
"The Firewhiskey only wishes it could speak like this," he replied, attempting a dramatic gesture that nearly sent them both sideways. "You inspire me. You're my muse. My masterpiece. My miracle."
She didn't roll her eyes, though it was a near thing. Instead, she maneuvered him into the bathroom, adjusted the water, and calmly reached for the buttons on his shirt when it became clear he had forgotten how they worked.
He watched her fingers, then her face, then back again, his voice suddenly quieter, weighted with sincerity that cut through the haze.
"You take such good care of me. Better than I deserve. I don't know how I got this lucky, but I know I'm never letting it go."
The words were messy and slurred, but every one of them was true. Her hand paused briefly over his chest, and something soft flickered across her expression.
She didn't need to answer. She was already there, still holding him steady, still choosing him even when he could barely stand.
When he emerged later wrapped in a towel, steam trailing behind him, she met him at the door and guided him toward the bed with the same patient care. He followed without protest, exhaustion settling deep in his bones, his eyes finding hers and staying there.
He reached for her hand, barely brushing her fingers before sinking onto the mattress.
"Thank you," he mumbled, already drifting.
She pushed damp hair back from his forehead and pressed a gentle kiss just above his temple.
"You're welcome," she whispered. "Rest now. I'm here."
His lips parted as if he meant to say more, but sleep claimed him within seconds, his breathing evening out at last.
She stayed beside him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, smoothing the blanket, keeping the room quiet, keeping her hand close in case he reached for her in his dreams.
Eventually, she lay down beside him, close but gentle, her fingers resting lightly against his. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned toward him, eyes still open.
No matter how many nights he came home full of Firewhiskey and too much love, no matter how many dramatic declarations he slurred into her shoulder, she would always be here.
She was his constant. And he was hers.
~~~~~~
He had always been a man driven by ambition, but when it came to showing her how deeply he loved her, ambition turned into something bordering on obsession. His thoughts spiraled through possibilities late into the night, each idea more elaborate than the last, each one fueled by the same certainty. Whatever he did had to be worthy of her. It had to feel like magic.
The realization struck one crisp spring morning that flowers simply would not do. Luna was not someone who belonged to ordinary gestures. Her world was strange and luminous and full of wonder, and he wanted to meet her there. Flowers felt small. Jewels felt hollow. He needed something that spoke in the language of devotion, something that said I see you and I choose you in a way words never could.
His first idea involved flowers anyway, only on an absurd scale. Not a bouquet, but a mountain. He imagined petals cascading like a living waterfall, every bloom a declaration of love. He contacted florists across Britain, commissioned enchanted arrangements, and very quickly discovered that ambition had consequences. Enchanted roses turned feral. A misrouted delivery ended in a spectacular Dungbomb mishap that took weeks to air out. As the costs mounted and the chaos grew, clarity finally followed.
Flowers faded. Luna did not.
He needed something that endured.
That was when the idea of a Hippogriff took hold. A living, breathing symbol of wonder and loyalty. Majestic. Unconventional.
Perfect.
He negotiated with questionable dealers, survived a disastrous run in with an irritable Niffler, and very nearly caused a small magical incident involving a misfired containment charm. Eventually, battered but victorious, he secured the creature.
When the day arrived, his nerves were shot. He had planned drama. Fireworks. A flawless descent from the sky. What he got instead was a Hippogriff that looked mildly offended and fireworks that fizzled into embarrassment. The creature had clearly tangled with a stubborn thestral along the way and looked like it had opinions about the journey.
Still, he waited, heart pounding.
When Luna opened the door, her eyes widened, and then she laughed. Not startled. Not overwhelmed. Just delighted.
"Oh, Theo," she said warmly. "A Hippogriff. How unexpected."
She stepped forward without hesitation, greeting the creature like an old friend and offering it the strangest assortment of snacks he had ever seen. Theo watched in stunned silence as the Hippogriff accepted the offering with surprising enthusiasm. The moment was nothing like he had imagined, and yet it was somehow perfect.
The story became legend among their friends. A grand gesture gone sideways, softened by love and Luna's unwavering joy. The Hippogriff, later named Fawkes for its fiery feathers, became a permanent and very messy addition to their lives. It shed constantly. It adored Crumple Horned Snorkack Horns. It left feathers everywhere.
Theo complained endlessly and loved every minute of it.
There were days he wondered why he had not chosen a cat. Or a pug. Something small and manageable. But Luna adored Fawkes, and that was reason enough. Her laughter when the creature followed her through the garden, her focus when she groomed its feathers, the quiet joy she took in its presence made every inconvenience worthwhile.
Over time, the Hippogriff stopped feeling like a mistake and started feeling like a promise. A reminder that love was rarely neat, often ridiculous, and always worth the mess.
Later, much later, he found himself pacing the library, candlelight flickering against the spines of ancient books. His heart was racing, his thoughts tangled. Tonight, he had decided, he would finally say the words he had been carrying for so long. Love. Devotion. Everything.
He had planned to be calm. He was neither.
Surrounded by warmth and history and the quiet hum of magic, he felt unmoored. His love for her was vast and consuming, and finding a way to speak it aloud felt impossible. He wanted perfection. The right words. The right moment.
What he did not yet understand was that Luna had never needed grandeur. She had only ever needed him, exactly as he was.
The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, her presence shifting the room before she said a word. Candlelight flickered across the walls, catching on petals and soft shadows, and for a heartbeat she simply stood there, taking it all in. The care in every detail warmed her chest instantly, but beneath it she could feel him. Taut. Waiting. Barely holding himself together.
"Theo," she murmured, grounding and gentle. "What's all this?"
He turned to her, and the look in his eyes stole the breath straight from her lungs. Wonder, longing, something almost painful in its depth. Whatever speech he had rehearsed was already gone.
"Luna," he said quietly. "I tried to plan this. I tried to find the right moment, the right words. But I can't hold it in anymore."
She felt it then, the fragile edge of him, the way he was bracing for something even as he reached for it. And she knew she could not let him stand there alone in that feeling.
She stepped closer, close enough that the air between them felt charged. "Before you say anything," she whispered, her fingers brushing his, steady and sure, "I need to say something first."
He inhaled sharply. "Luna, please, let me—"
"No," she said softly, meeting his gaze. "I need this."
She did not hesitate.
"I love you."
The words landed gently, and yet they shattered him completely.
He stared at her as if the world had tilted beneath his feet, as if the very thing he had been afraid to hope for had been placed into his hands without warning.
"I have loved you for a long time," she continued, calm and unwavering. "In all the quiet ways. In the moments between words. You are my home, Theo. You always have been."
His knees gave out before he realized what was happening. He sank down, reverent, overwhelmed, clutching her hands like a lifeline.
"My moon," he whispered, voice breaking. "You have no idea how long I've carried this. How much of myself belongs to you."
She knelt with him, pulling him into her arms, fingers threading through his hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You don't have to prove anything," she murmured against his temple. "Just stay with me."
His hands cupped her face, desperate and tender all at once. "Forever?"
She smiled, soft and certain. "Forever."
Their kiss was slow and full, the kind that carried every promise they had never said aloud. Time seemed to soften around them as they held each other, candlelight warming their skin, the world narrowing until there was only this.
Later, much later, she would begin to notice the edge beneath his devotion. The way his touch lingered longer. The way his gaze followed her with something fierce and protective. It was not cruel, not frightening, but intense in a way that made her pause.
When he held her, it was as if he was anchoring himself to the earth through her. When he kissed her, it was with a depth that spoke of fear and awe tangled together. He loved her with his whole body, his whole soul, and sometimes that love burned brighter than either of them expected.
She did not pull away.
She met him there, grounding him when the intensity swelled too high, reminding him with a touch or a whisper that she was choosing him, that she was safe, that they were together.
And when they lay wrapped in each other afterward, his arms tight around her, his breath warm against her hair, she understood something quietly and completely.
This love was not gentle because it was small.
It was gentle because it was strong enough to be.
She rested her hand over his heart and felt it slow beneath her palm, and in that moment, there was nowhere else in the world either of them needed to be.