They woke early that morning, sunlight gently streaming through the curtains as they prepared for brunch. Luna brought him his coffee, the steam rising delicately from the cup. He lay there in bed, bare and exposed, his body relaxed in the early light, offering himself entirely to her without words. There was an intimacy in the quiet moments between them, in the way he trusted her presence—comfortable, unguarded. She smiled softly, her gaze lingering on him before placing the cup on the nightstand, savoring the quiet before the day began.
Sensing his desire, she leaned in closer to him, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. As their tongues intertwined, she let out a soft moan, her body pressing against his.
His hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch of her curves and teasing her nipples through the fabric of her lingerie. She arched her back, her breath hitching as his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body.
With a wicked smile, he stood up and pulled her to her feet, his hands gripping her ass as he guided her over to the plush armchair. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and spreading her legs wide open, exposing her dripping wet pussy to his gaze.
She let out a soft gasp as his fingers traced the outline of her soft and wet lips, teasing her and making her crave more. She rocked her hips, grinding her pussy against his fingers as he slipped them inside her, fucking her slowly and deeply.
His hand slid around the curve of her hip, the motion slow and deliberate, fingers spreading to grip the supple swell of her ass. He gave it a sharp slap, the sound cracking through the room like punctuation. She gasped, the sting blooming into heat that only made her grind harder against his fingers, already buried deep and curling inside her.
He struck her again, not cruelly, but with precision, watching the red flush rise beneath his palm like an offering.
She whimpered, a sound tangled with pleasure and aching need, her thighs trembling around his wrist as he fucked her slowly with his fingers, knuckles dragging against sensitive walls, thumb circling her clit with maddening pressure. Each thrust was deeper, more insistent, building her into something high and shaking and barely held together.
Her hands clutched at the armrests, knuckles white, breath coming in shallow gasps that pitched higher every time his fingers plunged inside her. He knew exactly what she needed. He knew how close she was. And just when her cries twisted into that breathless, broken plea, just when her hips bucked with frantic urgency, he pulled his fingers out, leaving her empty and aching.
She made a sound of protest, one that dissolved the moment he stood before her, unzipping his pants and releasing his cock with a low groan. It sprang free, thick and flushed and already slick with need. Her eyes widened, lips parting as her gaze dropped, her pupils blown wide with desire. Her breath hitched. Her thighs shifted restlessly.
He watched the way she looked at him, like she wanted to worship and devour all at once, and his grin turned feral. Taking his time, he gripped himself and stroked once, twice, then guided the head to her entrance, sliding it through her slick folds without pushing in. The tease made her whine, made her hips chase his.
When he finally sank into her, the breath rushed from her lungs in one long, desperate moan. Her walls stretched around him, impossibly full, every inch deeper making her gasp and clutch at him until he was seated all the way inside her, their hips flush, their hearts pounding in unison.
She clenched around him, her body fluttering with the effort to take all of him, and he rewarded her with a slow, brutal thrust that forced another moan from her lips. He didn't stop. He moved again, and again, each motion grinding her deeper into the chair, each one stealing another piece of her breath.
He leaned forward, kissing her deeply, tongue sweeping against hers while his hands moved between torment and reverence, one twisting her nipples until she gasped, the other gripping her thigh and spreading her wider. Every stroke was hungry. Every breath was laced with heat. His pace grew rougher, harder, fucking her like he was trying to leave his mark beneath her skin, to rewrite every nerve ending with the memory of him.
She clung to him, legs locked around his waist, nails dragging down his back as her voice broke on his name. Her body was trembling, burning, completely undone beneath him. Her orgasm came like a tide, sudden and consuming, her whole body clenching, pulsing, crying out as pleasure ripped through her. He felt it, the flutter of her around him, the desperate way she held him closer, the way her eyes rolled back as if her body could no longer contain the sensation.
That was all it took. He groaned against her mouth, voice cracking, hips jerking in short, frantic thrusts as his own climax tore through him. He spilled into her with a low growl, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip so tightly it would leave marks. He stayed there, buried in her, kissing her like it was the only thing holding him to earth.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their breaths mingled. Their bodies trembled. And in that quiet, in that heat, wrapped in each other with hearts still racing, the morning sun found them again, tangled, spent, and more alive than they'd ever felt.
~~~~~~
"Who's on the guest list today?" Hermione asked, her voice calm but threaded with a faint nervousness she could not quite hide.
Ginny glanced around the opulent room, sunlight catching in her hair as it fell over one shoulder. "The usual suspects. Harry and Cho should already be on their way, and Luna and Theo said they would stop by too."
A genuine smile softened Hermione's expression. "It will be good to see Harry and Cho again."
"They should be here any minute," Ginny said, checking her watch. "Theo mentioned they might be a little late, but Luna is always early in her own way."
Draco looked around the room, his posture relaxed in a way Hermione still noticed every time. "It will be nice to see familiar faces again," he said quietly.
Hermione smoothed the emerald fabric of her dress and nodded. "It has been a while."
Ginny's grin widened, warmth bright in her eyes. "They are going to be thrilled to see you. And seeing you two together might just make their entire day."
The air felt charged with expectation. Hermione and Draco shared a glance that carried reassurance without words, a quiet agreement that whatever came next, they would face it together.
Luna's voice floated into the room before she did, light and unmistakable. Heads turned instinctively as she entered, her presence cutting through the formality with effortless ease. The radish earrings swung cheerfully as she walked, catching the light with each step. Her smile filled the space in a way that felt almost tangible, as though warmth itself had decided to take human form.
"Hello, everyone," she said brightly, her voice lifting the room with it.
Hermione felt the nervous flutter in her chest ease immediately. "Babe," she said with relief and affection, standing to meet her.
Luna hugged her with wholehearted enthusiasm. "Mimi. I missed you. You look radiant, like a moonlit forest."
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Thank you. It is really good to see you."
Theo followed a moment later, hands in his pockets, eyes sweeping the room with relaxed curiosity. His gaze met Draco's briefly, something unspoken passing between them before he turned back to the group.
"Sorry we are late," Theo said easily. "Luna had us tied up with something important."
Ginny raised a brow, amusement dancing across her face. "Important meaning delightful and slightly unhinged?"
"Obviously," Luna replied with a grin. "Details later."
Harry appeared in the doorway then, Cho at his side, her smile gentle and a little shy. Hermione's chest loosened at the sight of them. She stepped forward as Harry pulled her into a tight hug, familiar and grounding in a way only old friendships could be.
"Hermione," he said warmly. "It really has been too long."
"It has," she replied, holding him just as tightly. "I am so glad you are here."
Draco watched quietly as Harry turned toward him and offered a hand without hesitation. "Draco," Harry said simply.
"Potter," Draco replied, meeting the handshake with steady confidence.
Luna beamed at the scene. "It is so nice seeing everyone together," she said happily. "Now, who wants to hear about the Wrackspurts I found nesting in my attic?"
Laughter followed them to the table as everyone settled into their seats. The earlier tension faded into something softer, replaced by easy conversation and shared memories. Stories spilled out between bites of food, laughter ringing freely as old moments were revisited and gently reshaped by time.
Hermione leaned back in her chair, relaxed now, her shoulder brushing Draco's. When she glanced at him, she found him deep in conversation with Harry and Theo, a genuine smile lighting his face. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in her chest, something close to pride.
Theo broke a lull in the conversation with a grin. "So we have the eagle's nest, the lion's cave, and the snake's den all under one roof."
Draco let out a rare chuckle. "Almost all the houses represented. What do you think, Potter?"
Harry smiled back. "Just missing a Hufflepuff."
"Next time," Hermione said lightly, warmth spreading through her at the easy banter.
Ginny lifted her glass with a soft smile. "It really does feel like a reunion, doesn't it?"
Theo raised his own glass. "To Hogwarts. To surviving it. And to the strange friendships that came out of it all."
Glasses clinked together, the sound ringing clear and sincere. The moment lingered, simple and full, built from shared history and hard-won understanding.
Things were not perfect. But they were moving forward together, and for now, that felt like more than enough.
~~~~~~
The others had already gone, their laughter thinning as it slipped down the corridor until it became nothing more than a memory pressed into the walls. Late afternoon light spilled through the tall windows in slow, golden sheets, stretching across the floorboards and settling over the dining room like a benediction. The air still held the scent of coffee, warm and familiar, threaded with cinnamon and roasted fruit from brunch. It was the kind of quiet that asked to be respected.
Luna and Ginny moved together without hurry, falling into an easy rhythm as they cleared plates and nudged chairs back into place. Ginny wiped the table with practiced efficiency, the motions second nature to her, while Luna sent a small stack of dishes drifting toward the sink with a gentle flick of her fingers. They did not speak at first. The silence between them was not awkward, only lived in, punctuated by the soft clink of silverware and the faint creak of polished wood.
"I'm glad Harry and Cho could come too," Luna said at last, her voice light, almost casual, as if she were remarking on the weather rather than brushing against something more fragile.
Ginny paused. It was barely noticeable, just a breath too long, but her fingers tightened around the plate she was holding before she caught herself and kept moving. "Yeah," she said easily. "It was really nice seeing them in person again. We have all been relying on letters for far too long."
Another plate floated toward the sink, settling neatly into place. Luna watched her from the corner of her eye, head tilted in that familiar way, like she was listening for something beneath the words.
"Isn't it a little strange, though?" Luna asked quietly. "You and Harry, I mean. Is it really not awkward?"
Ginny laughed, a touch too quick, a touch too smooth. "Between us? No, not really," she said, brushing a hand down the front of her blouse as though smoothing out an invisible crease. "It was never that serious, not compared to everything that came after. Honestly, it feels like another life." She shrugged, light and deliberate. "He's family now. We have been through too much for it to be anything else."
Luna hummed, thoughtful, as another dish drifted through the air. "That must be comforting," she said after a moment. "Having someone like that. Someone who stays, even when everything else changes."
Ginny turned toward her then, the late light catching in her hair and setting it aflame. She held Luna's gaze for a long moment, something unguarded softening her expression. "It is," she said, and this time the words came without polish. "That's what the war did, I think. It bound us together whether we wanted it to or not. Even when we end up with different people, different lives, we are still part of the same story."
The pause that followed was gentle, full without being heavy. Ginny glanced toward the open doorway, her eyes flickering as if she half expected to see a familiar figure pass by, all unruly hair and quiet gravity.
But the hallway was empty.
Harry had already gone.
And he had gone on with his life, just as she had.
Luna watched her for a moment longer, her expression unreadable in that way only Luna ever managed. She did not speak right away. Instead, she stacked the final plate with careful precision, movements slow and intentional, as though each pass of her fingers helped her decide what deserved to be said.
"Things change," she said at last, her voice soft and distant, as if she were speaking to the room as much as to Ginny. "But that connection never really disappears, does it?"
Ginny's breath caught before she could stop it. Her grip tightened around the towel, fingers curling into the fabric with a tension that did not quite match the calm she wore so easily. "No," she murmured, the word slipping free before she could temper it into something sturdier. "It doesn't."
She turned back to Luna with a smile that was bright and polished, the kind she had learned to use when the truth felt too large to carry openly. "It's comforting, I think. Knowing some things stay. That even after everything, we're still here for each other."
Luna's gaze stayed steady, silver and knowing, never wavering. "Like the roots of a tree," she said thoughtfully, her tone grounded rather than dreamy. "Even when the branches stretch far and wide, they are still tied to the same place. Still drawing strength from the same soil."
Ginny let out a small laugh that came from somewhere deeper than amusement, something closer to release. "That might be the most Luna Lovegood metaphor I have ever heard," she said, her voice softer now, less guarded. "But you're right. I think you're always right about things like that."
Luna beamed, her hands now free, and she turned in a slow, idle circle, the hem of her skirt brushing the air as if she were dancing with a feeling rather than a tune. "It makes everything seem lighter," she said. "Like no matter how far we go, or who we become, we are never completely lost to one another."
Ginny nodded, pressing the damp towel into the counter, grounding herself in the familiar motion. Her shoulders eased, just a little, and the tight spiral of her thoughts finally slowed. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I wouldn't trade that for anything."
She meant it. Fully. Without reservation.
Even if, in the hush of late night, when the house slept and the world beyond the windows lay silver and still beneath the moon, there were moments when she wondered. Moments when her chest ached for the girl she used to be. The girl who had once been chosen first. The girl who did not have to pretend she had never looked back.
~~~~~~
They arrived home late in the evening, the last strip of sunlight slipping behind the trees and stretching long shadows across the front steps of the cottage. The air had cooled, sweet with honeysuckle, and everything around them felt hushed, as though the world itself had decided to lower its voice.
Luna moved more slowly now, one hand resting on the gentle curve of her swollen belly, each step careful and deliberate. There were only a few weeks left. The thought filled her with wonder and excitement, but the discomfort had begun to test her patience. The weight, the restless nights, the questions neither of them could fully answer yet, all of it pressed in at once, even with him beside her.
He noticed the exhaustion in her eyes the moment the door closed behind them. Without a word, he knelt in front of her and began to unfasten the delicate straps of her sandals, his fingers moving with quiet reverence. He took his time. He always did. Each motion was careful and intentional, as if the act itself mattered as much as the relief it brought her.
She lowered herself into the armchair near the fire with a small sigh, sinking into the cushions. He was still crouched at her feet, sandals in hand, when her voice drifted across the room, light and curious and completely unbothered.
"My Sun," she said thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the flickering flames. "Do you have many ex-girlfriends?"
He froze.
His fingers tightened around the strap of her sandal as though it were the only thing anchoring him to reality, then stopped moving altogether. His breath caught painfully in his chest, and his heart did something alarming enough that he briefly wondered if this was how people discovered they were mortal.
He looked up at her slowly, like a man approaching his own execution, eyes wide and deeply betrayed.
"Ex girlfriends?" he repeated, though it sounded less like a question and more like a final confession.
She met his gaze with that maddening calm she always carried, eyes bright in the firelight. "Yes, my love," she said sweetly. "Have you had many?"
The universe collapsed inward.
Theo shot to his feet with enough force to make the coffee table rattle in protest, one hand flinging dramatically toward the fireplace as if calling on higher powers for mercy.
"Luna," he gasped, staggering back a step, "my moon, my stars, my celestial miracle. How could you drop something like that on me without warning? Do you want me to perish here on the rug? Is this how it ends? Death by casual curiosity?"
She blinked at him, unruffled. "I was only wondering. You do not need to be so dramatic."
"Dramatic?" His voice climbed an octave. "You ask me about ex girlfriends while you are glowing and barefoot and carrying our child, and I am meant to what, casually reminisce while unstrapping your shoes like a man with no inner turmoil? This is psychological warfare."
He began pacing, full loops around the room, dragging a hand through his hair until it stood in every direction. "I was not built for this conversation. I barely survived my adolescence. I was a disaster, Luna. A cautionary tale. I had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the romantic appeal of a flobberworm."
She watched him, entirely at ease, the corner of her mouth twitching with clear amusement.
"There was one girl before you," he announced, hands thrown skyward as if delivering testimony. "One. And she left me after two weeks because I could not make eye contact without breaking into a cold sweat. You think I had options? You think there was a queue of admirers for the brooding Slytherin who quoted dead poets and refused to speak at parties?"
He turned to face her, wounded disbelief written across his face. "And now you ask me this. As if someone else might have gotten away. Luna Lovegood, the only woman I have ever loved, the person who taught me how to feel, dares to imply there could have been another."
Her smile deepened, clearly enjoying every second.
He dropped onto the arm of the sofa, gripping it like a lifeline. "Is this about you, then? Do you have someone who got away? Some brilliant former flame who writes you letters in runes and smells faintly of herbs? A wandering philosopher in linen trousers?"
He sprang back to his feet, clutching his chest. "Say the word and I will duel him under the moon. I will write a sonnet in blood."
At last, she reached for him, catching his wrist mid spiral with a gentle tug. The contact grounded him instantly, like the sudden quiet after a storm breaks. His breath hitched again, this time softer, as she drew him closer.
"Theo," she said gently, fingers brushing the sensitive place where his pulse raced. The touch was light, but it slowed him all the same. "Breathe. Calm down."
"I cannot," he rasped, though the fire had already drained from his voice. He let her guide him down without resistance, sinking to his knees in front of her and pressing his face into her lap with the desperation of a man who had narrowly escaped drowning.
She rested her hands in his hair, steady and warm, holding him there as if this, too, was something sacred.
A faint smile curved her lips as her fingers slid through his hair, slow and patient, the kind of tenderness that made his chest ache in a way he could never quite prepare for. "Listen to me," she murmured, her voice soft, like sunlight gliding across water. "There is no one else. There never was. Not before you, not during, and not in any future I can imagine."
He tried to lift his head, but she cupped his face gently, guiding him until their eyes met. Her thumb brushed his cheek with quiet certainty, grounding him completely. "It has always been you. From the moment you looked at me like I was something worth holding onto. You are my only. My always."
He fell apart all over again, this time from relief so sharp it stole the strength from his limbs. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, as if holding her could convince the universe to stop testing him altogether. "Thank Merlin," he groaned, words muffled against her dress. "You cannot ask questions like that without warning. My heart is held together with string and tea leaves. It is fragile. It cannot survive surprise emotional catastrophes."
She laughed softly and pressed a kiss into the crown of his hair. "You are completely ridiculous."
"And yet you married me," he muttered, still clinging to her like a man rescued from the sea. "Which means you are trapped with this nonsense forever. You made your bed, and now I am in it. Loudly."
Her smile softened as she threaded her fingers through his hair again, slower now, more deliberate. "Forever," she said quietly. "My dramatic, impossible Sun."
They stayed that way for a while, wrapped in a calm that only comes when two people know every corner of each other's chaos. The fire crackled low in the hearth, spilling golden light across the room.
Then, with no warning and no ceremony at all, she spoke again, thoughtful rather than teasing. "I did not mean to frighten you. I was just thinking."
He lifted his head enough to squint at her. "Thinking is dangerous. What were you thinking about?"
"Ginny," she said, almost absently. "Do you think she is truly happy with Blaise?"
Theo blinked, clearly thrown. "Wait. What?"
She looked distant now, her voice wrapped in that calm stillness that usually hid something sharper beneath it. "Sometimes I watch her," she said softly. "And I wonder if she is really happy. Or if a part of her still loves Harry."
He sat up straighter, rubbing at his temples like he needed to reset his entire existence. "How did we move from my nonexistent romantic history to Ginny's emotional state?"
"I am not sure," she replied gently. "She has carried so much. And I have seen the way she looks at him sometimes, when she thinks no one is watching."
Theo frowned and reached for the nearest pillow, gripping it like a man bracing himself. "That is nonsense. She chose Blaise. She married him. If she still had feelings for Potter, Blaise would know."
Her gaze stayed steady. "Would he?"
"Yes," Theo said firmly, though a trace of hesitation crept into his voice. "Blaise is not blind. And he is certainly not foolish. If there were even a hint of something unresolved, he would feel it."
She tilted her head, studying him with that unnerving clarity she wielded so effortlessly. "And if he did feel it?"
Theo leaned forward, seriousness settling into his features. "Then I would not want to be nearby when it happened. Blaise does not process heartbreak quietly. He would either fix it with terrifying precision or burn everything down and rebuild it without remorse."
Silence stretched between them, thin and fragile.
"That is what I am afraid of," she said quietly.
He looked at her, confusion flickering across his face before understanding followed. His expression softened, concern replacing disbelief.
"Luna," he said gently, "Ginny loves Blaise. I know them both. Whatever shadows exist there, they have chosen each other. And Blaise would never stay where he was not wanted."
She hummed softly, fingers brushing over the curve of her stomach, still thoughtful. "Perhaps," she said. But the doubt did not fully leave her eyes. It lingered there, small and quiet, like a shadow slipping beneath a closed door and waiting to be noticed.
That intuition was called a tracker in Ginny's bracelet.
Her expression softened as she looked down at him, a small, tired smile finding its way to her lips. "You're right," she said gently, the words light as breath. "I think I'm just overthinking everything lately. This pregnancy has my thoughts scattering in every direction at once."
He looked up at her with that steady, unwavering focus that always made her feel seen. Without hesitation, he reached out and rested his hand against the curve of her belly. Beneath his palm, something shifted, barely there but unmistakably real, and it stole the breath from his chest. Life, warm and quiet and miraculous, moving in its own time.
"There's nothing for you to worry about, love," he said, his voice low and certain, drawn from somewhere deep and immovable inside him. "Everything is settling where it belongs. Blaise and Ginny. Harry and Cho. And most of all," he added, his mouth curving into that slow, familiar smile meant only for her, "you and me. Exactly where we are meant to be."
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, her warmth lingering against his skin. "You and me," she whispered, letting the words wrap around them both. "Always."
He answered with an exaggerated sigh and collapsed across her lap like a man felled in battle, burying his face against her. "You nearly ended me," he groaned. "Do you have any idea what that question did to my fragile, overworked heart?"
Her laughter spilled out, light and musical, filling the room with something that felt like ease. Her fingers slipped into his hair, slow and indulgent. "Oh, my love," she said fondly, "what would I ever do without your endless dramatics?"
"You would be unbearably bored," he muttered, still refusing to lift his head. Then, without warning, he straightened and swept her into his arms, ignoring her surprised protest and the halfhearted scolding that followed.
"Bed," he announced with theatrical authority. "You and our little star need rest. And I require at least ten years to recover from the emotional upheaval you have just caused."
She rolled her eyes but relaxed against him, her head settling easily on his shoulder as he carried her toward the stairs. He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring the weight of her in his arms, the soft rhythm of her breathing, the way she fit against him as though this was always where she had belonged.
And in that quiet climb, with her heartbeat steady against his chest and the shape of their future unfolding one step at a time, he knew without question that this was home, and that he needed nothing more.
But who was he trying to fool, really, when the truth sat heavy and undeniable inside him.
He was just as consumed as ever, wrapped tight in the same obsessive undercurrent that had always defined him. Every glance at her stirred something raw and possessive, a deep, instinctive need to reassure himself that she was still his.
The ring on her finger should have been enough. It was meant to be a promise, a boundary, a quiet declaration that she belonged with him and always would.
Still, his eyes found it again and again, as if love could vanish without warning, as if someone could take her simply by wanting her badly enough.
Luna remained his calm, the still point at the center of his restless thoughts. Her days unfolded with a gentle rhythm, soft and intentional, shaped by small rituals that always carried her back home.
She wandered the market in the mornings, stopping to chat with familiar faces, collecting herbs she likely did not need but loved all the same. In the afternoons she visited Pansy or shared tea with Hermione, sometimes lingering in the garden with Ginny until the light thinned and the sky softened. Her laughter had a way of warming everything it touched, and people noticed. They always did. Strangers lingered too long, drawn to her without understanding why, their attention lingering in ways that tightened something in his chest.
But she always returned. She came back through the door with wind-tangled hair and that same quiet brightness in her eyes, as if leaving had never crossed her mind. She gave him no reason to doubt her, no crack for mistrust to slip through.
And yet reason had never been strong enough to quiet the fear that lived beneath his ribs. It pulsed there like a second heart, steady and unrelenting. What haunted him was the thought of losing her, the idea that something so precious could be taken from him without his consent. It twisted inside him, sharp and ugly, whispering questions he hated himself for thinking. What if someone reached for what was his. What if she slipped away without warning.
It was terror that ruled him.
~~~~~~
Luna visited Pansy as she always did, though lately stepping into Parkinson Manor felt less like a friendly call and more like entering the command center of a woman preparing for war.
Pansy had always thrived on drama, but wedding planning had turned that talent into something truly formidable. It clung to the walls, seeped into the air, and wrapped itself around every poor soul unfortunate enough to cross the threshold.
Before Luna even reached the door, Pansy's voice cut through the house with surgical precision.
"I said ivory, not eggshell. Do I look like someone who wants to walk down the aisle wrapped in a tragic bedsheet?"
Luna paused, inhaled slowly, and stepped inside.
Chaos greeted her with open arms. Fabric swatches covered every surface like a fallen silk snowstorm. Florists argued heatedly near the windows, gesturing wildly about the emotional superiority of peonies over roses. Assistants scurried in tight circles, clutching parchment and ribbon like their lives depended on it.
At the center of it all stood Pansy, gripping a quill as if it were a wand, her posture radiating barely contained hysteria.
"Luna, thank Merlin you're here," Pansy cried, charging toward her with the intensity of someone seconds away from collapse. "I am surrounded by incompetent imbeciles."
Luna smiled serenely, entirely unfazed. "Hello, love. You look busy."
"Busy?" Pansy repeated, aghast. "Busy implies control. I am on the brink of disaster." She flung herself onto a chaise lounge, one arm draped dramatically across her forehead like a tragic heroine in the final act of a play.
Luna stepped carefully through ribbons and pearls, her voice calm and even. "I'm sure everything will come together. You always make it work."
"Oh, you sweet, hopeless optimist," Pansy groaned, sitting upright with wild eyes. "I am marrying Neville Longbottom. I cannot afford 'comes together.' I need flawless. Do you have any idea what people will say if there is a wrinkle in the tablecloths?"
"I don't think people notice tablecloths very much," Luna offered gently.
Pansy recoiled as if struck. "Luna." Her hand flew to her chest. "The tablecloths are the foundation of the entire reception aesthetic. Everything depends on them."
Luna nodded solemnly. "Of course. Very important."
Pansy brightened immediately. "Exactly." She leapt to her feet and began pacing. "And the flowers. The florist brought coral roses instead of blush pink. Coral. Can you imagine the insult?"
"They both sound lovely," Luna said honestly.
Pansy stared at her in horror. "Lovely is for forgettable garden parties. This is my wedding. I need flowers that make people cry."
Luna patted her arm. "I'm sure they will."
"Do not comfort me with reason," Pansy snapped, though there was affection beneath it. "My hairdresser canceled this morning. My hairdresser. The only person I trust to make me look like the goddess I am."
"I'm sure we'll find someone else," Luna said soothingly.
Pansy collapsed back onto the chaise. "This is an epic disaster."
Luna sat beside her, resting a gentle hand on her arm. "You love Neville. You're getting married. That's what matters."
Pansy stared at her. "You think love fixes chair sashes and floral disasters? No. Details fix weddings."
An assistant burst into the room, holding up two ribbons. "Miss Parkinson. Champagne or ivory for the chair sashes?"
Pansy squinted at them. "Champagne. Obviously. Do I look like someone who hosts events in budget hotel ballrooms?"
The assistant fled.
Pansy sighed and looked back at Luna. "I don't know how I'm going to survive this."
"You're doing wonderfully," Luna said softly.
For just a moment, Pansy's expression softened. "Yes. I suppose I am."
Then the tension returned full force as she spun back toward her staff, barking out new commands with renewed vigor.
Luna moved to the window, watching it all with quiet amusement and fond affection. She knew Pansy well enough to see past the chaos and perfectionism.
Beneath it all was simply a woman who wanted everything to be perfect because she loved deeply and fiercely. And if that love came wrapped in silk swatches, dramatic speeches, and near hysteria, Luna found it rather beautiful.
A stack of guest lists and seating charts clutched to her chest, Pansy paced the length of the grand room, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "No. Absolutely not. I said peonies for the centerpieces, not lilies. Are you actively trying to sabotage me?"
Wedding planners hovered at a cautious distance, eyes wide and shoulders hunched, as if any sudden movement might provoke another outburst. Fabric swatches and lace samples lay strewn across a chaise lounge in a way that only Pansy could describe as intentional. Velvet cushions had somehow become part of the vision. No one dared question how.
Luna cleared her throat softly, standing just beside the chaise. Pansy did not notice.
"Pansy," Luna said gently, her voice calm and unhurried. "I brought you something."
"Unless it is the correct tablecloths or a divine miracle, I do not want it," Pansy snapped, still flipping through invitation designs and muttering darkly about font weight and gold foiling. "I am extremely busy."
Luna stepped forward with quiet confidence until she was firmly in Pansy's line of sight. "I really think you will want this."
Pansy groaned, finally looking up. "Luna, whatever it is, put it somewhere. Do you know how many people expect this wedding to be perfect?" She dragged a hand through her carefully styled hair, which was now on the brink of rebellion. "I am holding this entire event together with sheer willpower."
Luna tilted her head and smiled serenely. "It's weed, Pansy. The good kind. The one you like."
Everything stopped.
Pansy froze mid-page turn. Her eyes widened. Slowly, very slowly, she looked at Luna as if seeing her for the first time. "Why," she said faintly, "did you not start with that?"
In an instant, the frantic commander vanished. Pansy practically lunged across the room, gripping Luna's arms with desperate gratitude. "Luna Lovegood, you angelic creature, give it to me immediately."
Luna laughed softly and reached into her oversized handbag, producing a small, beautifully wrapped tin. "I thought you might need something to help you relax. You have been doing this nonstop for days."
"Days?" Pansy scoffed, snatching the tin and inspecting it with reverence. "Try weeks. Weeks of battling florists, negotiating with caterers, and explaining to grown adults why eggshell is not ivory. I thought planning a wedding would be charming. Flowers, cake, dress, done. Instead, it is war."
Luna settled into a chair nearby, her smile warm and knowing. "You have always been dramatic, Pansy. But even this is impressive."
"Of course it is impressive. I am planning the most important wedding of the century." Pansy collapsed onto the chaise beside her, opening the tin like it contained holy relics. She inhaled deeply, shoulders sagging as she exhaled. "Oh. Yes. This is exactly what I needed. How do you always know?"
"Because I know you," Luna said gently. "And because beneath all of this, you are nervous."
"Nervous?" Pansy scoffed, though the edge was gone now. "I am prepared."
"I did not say you were not ready," Luna replied. "I said you are nervous. You want everything to be perfect because it matters to you."
Pansy stared at the tin for a long moment, her voice quieter when she finally spoke. "Everyone is watching. The pureblood crowd. Society. They are all waiting for me to mess this up. If it is not flawless, they will never let me forget it."
Luna reached out and rested her hand over Pansy's. "Neville is not marrying the tablecloths. He is marrying you."
Something in Pansy's expression shifted. The tension eased, just a little. "I know," she said softly. "It is just hard to stop trying to be perfect when that is what I have done my whole life."
"You do not need to be perfect," Luna said. "You only need to be yourself."
Pansy let out a long breath, the kind that carried weeks of stress with it. "Maybe I am making this harder than it needs to be."
"You are," Luna agreed cheerfully. "That is why I brought the tin."
Pansy looked at her, lips curving into something like real gratitude. "I do not deserve you."
"No," Luna said brightly, "but you have me anyway."
Pansy laughed then, a genuine sound that echoed through the room and made the planners visibly relax. "You are impossible."
"Obviously," Luna replied. "Now I think we should light this and forget tablecloths exist for a little while."
Pansy grinned, all sharp edges softened. "Agreed. To hell with the tablecloths."
For the first time in weeks, the plans were set aside. The chaos quieted. And with Luna beside her, Pansy finally allowed herself to breathe.