Lysander
Theo was never far from her side these days. If anything, he hovered closer with every passing hour, his presence a constant shadow in every room, his gaze sharper, his movements more alert. He had always been protective in ways that veered toward possessive, but lately, it was as if the closer they got to the birth, the more his instincts dug in like claws. She didn't fault him for it. Not really. This was how he loved—relentlessly, all-consuming, with a kind of quiet desperation that clung to everything he touched. But that didn't make it any easier to bear.
Sometimes she could barely breathe with the way he watched her, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn't know whether to hold her or wrap her in bubble wrap. She moved through their bedroom, folding the tiniest set of robes she'd ever owned, her fingers lingering over the soft cream linen. Each piece had been cleaned and charmed by the elves, but she liked doing this part herself, touching each item as if to say, I'm ready. I'm waiting for you.
She bent to gather another pile of laundry from the low basket, and behind her, Theo's voice rose in immediate protest.
"Please don't bend down!"
She paused, hands frozen in mid-air, then slowly straightened, turning to face him with a wry expression. "Theo, I'm pregnant," she said patiently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "not made of spun sugar."
His mouth pressed into a hard line. "That's not funny," he muttered, stepping into the room like it was enemy territory. "You're eight and a half months along, Luna. You shouldn't be bending, lifting, walking too far, reaching too high, sleeping on your right side, standing too long, sitting too low—"
"The elves have helped," she interrupted gently, lifting her hands in surrender. "I'm not carrying sacks of dragon feed up the stairs. I'm folding a baby hat."
He didn't respond at first. His eyes scanned her body like he expected it to fracture at any moment, his shoulders stiff beneath his shirt, his whole being coiled with silent panic. She knew that look. It was the same one he wore in battle, the same one she'd seen during missions, when his mind was already ten steps ahead, cataloging every risk, every threat.
She reached for him without thinking, placing a hand on his chest. "Theo."
He closed his eyes at her touch, like he was trying to breathe through something sharp. "I just want everything to go right," he said, his voice low and strained. "I need it to go right."
She nodded, her thumb moving in a slow circle over his sternum. "I know."
He opened his eyes again, and the fear she saw there made her heart twist. It was fear he didn't name, not even to himself. Not fear of blood or pain or any of the things that might go wrong. It was fear of loss. Fear of watching her fall away from him, piece by piece. Fear of becoming helpless while the world made its cruel decisions around them.
And there was nothing she could do to promise that wouldn't happen. So instead, she leaned forward and kissed the space just below his jaw, whispering, "We're okay. We're going to be okay."
He let out a slow breath, one of those breaths that seemed to carry the weight of years, not just minutes. His hands came up to her face, careful and reverent, as though he was afraid she might vanish if he touched her too roughly. His palms were warm against her cheeks, his thumbs tracing just below her eyes, and for a moment, he just looked at her. Not with panic, not with frustration. Just looked. And in that silence, there was something deeper than words. A kind of quiet devotion that felt like it belonged to another lifetime.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and steady. Not rushed, not a formality. Just a quiet, grounding promise in the way his lips lingered there. As if he was trying to say all the things that scared him, all the things he couldn't shape into words.
Luna stepped closer, drawn to him like gravity. Her fingers found his, lacing between them in a way that felt like second nature. Like breathing. "It already is perfect," she said gently, her voice low, but sure. "We're in this together, remember?"
Her words anchored him, pulling him out of his own head and back into the room, into the moment. His shoulders dropped, the tightness that had coiled along his spine beginning to loosen beneath the warmth of her touch. She had always had that effect on him. No matter how high the tide of his thoughts rose, she could calm it with a single word, a single glance.
He turned her hand in his, lifting it slowly, and kissed her knuckles with such tenderness it almost broke her. There was something so vulnerable in that small gesture. Something ancient and quiet and full of the kind of love that didn't shout to be known.
"I hate feeling like I can't do anything," he admitted after a long pause, his voice quiet. "Like I'm just... standing here watching you carry all of it."
She gave him that soft, knowing smile, the kind that came from years of loving someone through their worst days and still finding the best in them. "You're not doing nothing," she said, brushing her fingers across the side of his cheek. "You're here. You're calming me down even when I pretend I don't need it. You're checking every detail, thinking ahead, making sure I don't forget to eat or sleep. You're helping me breathe when it gets hard to."
Her hand drifted to her belly then, resting there with a kind of reverence that made his heart ache. She tilted her head toward him, her eyes bright with something deeper than hope. "And you're about to be the father of our little boy. The kind of father who loves so fiercely it fills a room. She already knows that. I promise you, she does."
Theo stepped forward until there was no space between them, just warmth and shared breath and the soft brush of their joined hands pressing over her belly. The baby moved, a tiny, insistent kick, as if confirming Luna's words. His eyes widened, then softened, awe breaking across his face like sunlight. "Do you feel that?" he whispered.
She nodded, her smile blooming slowly. "He's strong."
He nodded too, almost reverently. "He's everything."
Their fingers stayed there, resting over that small sign of life, the room still around them as if time had stopped just to give them this one moment. A breath. A pause. A truth.
And when he finally spoke again, his voice had gone soft again, almost boyish. "Still," he said, pretending to frown. "You're not bending over again."
Luna rolled her eyes, letting out a laugh that was more affection than annoyance. "You're lucky I love you," she said, but her tone was gentle, touched with amusement and that unmistakable fondness that only grew with every argument and every truce.
He grinned, pressing his forehead to hers. "I know."
And for that moment there was no panic, no worry, no fear of what came next. Just them, in a room filled with tiny baby clothes and soft lamplight and a love so fierce it felt like it could carry them through anything.
The world could wait.
This was their now.
And it was enough.
~~~~~~
Theo had always prided himself on being composed under pressure. He could break through the tightest wards in under a minute, disarm a man in complete darkness, lie without blinking in front of the Wizengamot, and walk away from murder with no trace of blood on his hands. He'd once survived an entire week in the Northern Reaches with only his wand, a broken compass, and three bruised ribs.
But now, standing in the center of the nursery with a tiny wrench clutched in one hand and chaos exploding around him, he found himself staring down the single most infuriating challenge of his life.
The crib.
Or rather, the mess of lacquered wood, bent screws, inexplicably missing bolts, and the world's most insulting set of magical instructions, which had somehow folded itself inside out and caught fire at the corners the moment he muttered the first step incorrectly.
He blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face. "I've done a lot of questionable things," he muttered to no one in particular, "but this—this is where I meet my match."
The room looked like a battlefield. Planks were strewn everywhere like wounded comrades, the floor dotted with tiny silver screws that had rolled into the most unreachable corners. The mattress leaned drunkenly against the wall. A single leg of the crib stuck out at a crooked angle from the frame like it had given up halfway through the fight.
And in the middle of it all stood Theo, shirt rumpled, wand clenched between his teeth, trying to convince himself that the manufacturers of this hellish contraption had not, in fact, designed it specifically to test his sanity.
Fifteen minutes later, Theo had successfully constructed… something. Whether it was a crib, a lopsided bookshelf, or the early stages of a cursed artifact was unclear. It had legs. Or maybe arms. One screw had vanished entirely, another had somehow ended up in his hair, and the whole contraption wobbled like a drunk goblin.
He stared at it in silence, then let out a long, exhausted breath. This was it. This was how he died—outsmarted by an inanimate object built to cradle infants. Defeated, he raised his wand, fully ready to set the whole thing on fire and just buy a fully-assembled one from France.
But just as he muttered the first syllable of the incantation, a more humiliating option occurred to him. One that made him wince before he even said it out loud.
The flames roared green as he tossed the powder into the grate. Moments later, Pansy stepped through with the kind of effortless confidence only she could summon in heels and silk. She took one look at his face and tilted her head, already smiling like she had caught him doing something idiotic, which, to be fair, she had.
"Theodore Nott, calling for help? That's rich." Her gaze swept across the room, pausing on the pile of tools, the suspicious scorch mark on the window frame, and what might have once been the instruction manual lying facedown on the floor. Then she gasped, loud and dramatic. "Merlin's saggy left tit, Theo. What in Salazar's name have you done?"
He rubbed a hand through his hair, which was already a mess and now stood up in every direction. "I was trying to surprise Luna. I thought it would be nice. You know, a gesture. Something heartfelt. For the baby. But this thing is cursed."
Pansy raised an eyebrow that could have cut glass. "It's not cursed, you tragic little man. You just have the spatial awareness of a flobberworm."
He scowled at her, arms crossed. "Rude."
She didn't even blink. "Accurate."
From her bag, she pulled a compact black case that looked expensive and unnecessarily sleek for something meant to assemble furniture. With a sigh that sounded too pleased, she clicked it open and pulled out a slim wand and a measuring charm. "Now step aside before you somehow enchant it to eat your future child."
He moved. Grudgingly.
She got to work, her hands precise and practiced, as if she'd done this a dozen times before. Probably had. Theo stood near the wall, pretending to supervise but mostly just watching her fix what he'd very nearly turned into a safety hazard. Her movements were quick and sure, everything he wasn't when it came to this sort of thing.
"By the way," she said lightly, as she flicked her wand to tighten a bolt, "please tell me you read the instructions."
His eyes darted to the crumpled booklet on the floor, still upside down and partially singed at the corner. "I glanced."
She didn't look up. "You mean you stared at them like they were ancient runes, panicked, and decided to rely on vibes."
He grimaced. "It's a crib. Not the Department of Mysteries."
"You say that, but somehow you managed to make it look like a sacrificial altar to a minor dark god."
He said nothing, because unfortunately, she wasn't wrong.
A few house-elves appeared without being summoned, clearly drawn by the scent of magical chaos. They exchanged looks that were far too judgmental for their size. One of them made a soft tutting sound. The other muttered something under its breath that sounded suspiciously like "first-time fathers."
Still, between Pansy's skill and the elves' subtle magic, things started to come together. Rails clicked into place. Screws twisted with a satisfying little snap. The wood glowed faintly as magic sealed it smooth. The room slowly began to feel less like a construction site and more like something real. Something safe. Something ready.
And then, with one final charm and a soft exhale from Pansy, the crib was finished.
Theo stepped forward, cautious but hopeful, and laid his hand against the smooth frame. It didn't wobble. It didn't burst into flames. It just stood there, whole and solid and real.
"See?" Pansy said, brushing her hands off with a self-satisfied smirk. "Not cursed. Just beyond your comprehension."
He looked at her. Really looked. And nodded. "Thanks."
She paused. The teasing faded just enough for something warmer to settle into her expression. "Of course. It's her baby too."
He nodded again, this time slower, and let the weight of that truth sink in.
He looked back at the crib, letting himself imagine Luna walking in and seeing it. Maybe she would touch the edge of it with that quiet reverence she always carried. Maybe she'd smile and see what he had tried to do, even if it had taken an entire team to get it right. He hoped so. He needed her to see that.
He stepped back and let out a long breath, his eyes fixed on the crib now standing at the center of the room. For once, nothing was burning, broken, or dangerously unstable. It looked like a crib. It looked like something real, something that belonged. The nursery, which had started the afternoon as a battlefield of warped wood and frayed nerves, now felt calm. There was a kind of stillness in the air that hadn't been there before, like the room had finally accepted its purpose.
"I owe you for this," he said, his voice still low from the hours of frustration, but touched with quiet gratitude.
Pansy smiled, pleased with herself in a way only she could be. She flicked her hair over her shoulder like she had just saved a kingdom, not built a piece of furniture. "Oh, I know. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I'll let Luna believe you did all of this with your own two hands. As long as you agree to name your next-born child after me."
Theo gave her a flat look. "Absolutely not."
She tilted her head. "Middle name?"
"Not a chance."
With a sigh far too dramatic for the conversation, she clasped her hands over her chest. "Fine. I'll settle for being the child's slightly unhinged, incredibly stylish godmother."
"That," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "was already a given."
They stood there together, not speaking for a moment, just breathing in the quiet that followed the chaos. The lavender-painted walls shimmered gently in the candlelight, the charm Luna had placed weeks ago now glowing faintly as if sensing the shift. There was a soft chair in the corner, still draped with one of Luna's shawls, and a stack of storybooks sat untouched on the windowsill. The crib was no longer a disaster. It was ready. And something inside him softened.
It was all becoming real now. Not just in the practical sense, not just the lists and the healer appointments and the names whispered between them late at night. This was real in the way his heart had started to pull toward something he hadn't met yet. Real in the way the silence of the nursery didn't feel empty anymore. He looked at the crib and felt everything he had been too afraid to say out loud. The worry. The joy. The aching love that made his chest feel too full.
He turned toward Pansy, his voice quieter than before. "Thank you."
She didn't answer right away. Her expression shifted just enough to betray how much she understood. Then she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, Merlin. Don't get sentimental on me, Nott. You're going to make me start crying, and I am wearing very expensive eyeliner. Go find your wife. Show her your handiwork. Lie through your teeth and let her be impressed. And for the love of magic, never attempt another do-it-yourself project again."
He gave her a mock salute, his grin crooked. "Noted."
With a final flip of her hair and a satisfied glance at the crib, she stepped into the hearth, threw down a handful of Floo powder, and vanished into the flames, leaving behind the faint scent of perfume and well-earned pride.
Theo stayed where he was for a moment, hands in his pockets, staring at the crib again. He imagined Luna standing beside him, her hand resting on the edge of it, her eyes soft. He imagined the baby in her arms. He imagined what it would be like to watch them both breathe in this room. To belong to something that gentle.
He didn't build it alone. He never would have finished without Pansy's help, and the house elves would absolutely be laughing about this by tomorrow. But none of that mattered now.
Luna wouldn't need to know how close he had come to setting the whole thing on fire.
Unless, of course, Pansy decided to tell her anyway.
Which, knowing her, was almost guaranteed.
~~~~~~
Theo had to leave for work. The kind of work that didn't come with a choice.
He had known it the moment the letter arrived, marked with the seal that meant no excuses. No delays. He'd read it once and already started pacing, his wand clenched in one hand, the other running anxiously through his hair. His steps were uneven, sharp and restless, like the movement alone might solve the problem. The idea of leaving—of stepping away from this house, from her, from the life they had fought so hard to build—felt wrong in a way he couldn't explain. Like the floorboards themselves were trying to hold him in place.
She was so close now. Any day, maybe even any hour. The baby had shifted lower in her belly, her sleep broken and shallow, her breaths slower, heavier, sometimes pained. The healers had said it was normal. That everything was on track. But the thought of something happening while he wasn't here tore at him. He couldn't stop seeing it. Her calling for him in the middle of the night, no one around. Her trying to stay calm through the pain. Her delivering their child without him.
He tried to swallow the thought. It stuck in his throat.
"I'm not sure I should go," he said aloud, though no one had asked him to explain himself. His voice was tight, held together by whatever restraint he had left. His fingers pushed through his hair again, slower this time, as if that could soothe the ache growing behind his ribs. His eyes drifted toward the nursery, where she had been resting just moments ago. She had looked so peaceful curled up in the chair by the window, her hand on her belly, a book slipping from her lap. He hadn't woken her. Couldn't.
The front hall felt too quiet now. The silence wrapped around him, pulling tighter.
Then came the sound of footsteps. Soft ones.
He turned, heart leaping without permission.
She stood at the top of the staircase, barefoot and backlit by the afternoon sun pouring through the tall windows. The light caught in her hair, softening everything, turning her into something that didn't feel entirely real. She wore one of his old shirts beneath her robe, and her fingers curled around the banister for balance, the other hand resting protectively against the curve of her stomach.
Even now, she looked calm. Steady. Like the storm inside him hadn't touched her at all. Like her very presence was enough to quiet everything that had been tearing through him only seconds before.
"You're still here," she said gently. Her voice held that same soft lilt it always had when she was trying to soothe him without making it obvious. "That means you're thinking of not going."
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her.
Then she began to descend, one slow step at a time. She moved carefully, her body adjusting to the weight of everything it was carrying, but there was no fear in her. Only intention. Only grace. She stopped at the bottom step and came to stand in front of him, close enough for him to see the faint lines of fatigue near her eyes, the pink smudge of sleep still on her cheek.
"I shouldn't leave you," he said, quieter now. "You're too far along. What if something happens while I'm gone?"
She looked up at him for a long moment, her hand still resting over the curve of her belly. "Nothing is going to happen," she said, steady and sure.
"You don't know that."
"No. I don't." She reached for him then, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. "But I know what you're like when you leave here unsure. And I know what that does to you. I want you to go knowing I'm alright. That we're alright."
His breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to try to find the calm she carried so easily. But it was hard. Everything about her felt fragile to him now. Sacred. The idea of something hurting her lived just beneath his skin, always waiting to break through.
"I don't want to miss anything," he said.
She gave him a soft smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You won't. And if something does happen while you're gone, I'll tell you everything. I'll write it all down. I'll wait to say the words out loud until I can say them to your face. I'll hold it all for you."
That was what undid him.
Not the reassurance. Not the logic. But that promise. That quiet certainty in her voice that said she would make space for him even if he couldn't be there in the moment. That she would let him still belong to something he might miss.
He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her, careful, gentle, protective. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and held her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the ground. Her hands came up to rest between his shoulder blades, light and steady, like they always had.
They stayed like that for a while. Long enough for him to memorize the rhythm of her breathing. Long enough for her to know he would have chosen to stay, if he could.
When she finally pulled back, she didn't let go of him. Her hands moved to the front of his coat, smoothing down the collar like she was seeing him off to war.
"Go do what you have to do," she said softly. "And then come home."
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly. Her lips were warm. Familiar. Her fingers curled around his wrist, keeping him there for just a moment longer.
"I love you," he said.
Her eyes softened. "I know. That's why I can let you go."
And that was what gave him the strength to finally step away. To pick up his coat. To gather his things with slower hands. He kissed the top of her head once more and whispered something that only she could hear.
She stayed where she was as he crossed the room, one hand resting on her belly, the other trailing along the edge of the stair post. She didn't follow him to the fireplace. She knew he needed to go, and he knew she would be right there when he came back.
He looked over his shoulder before stepping into the flames.
She was still standing there, watching him. Her eyes were full of light. And because of that, he went.
~~~~~~
Everything inside her told her this wasn't fine. It wasn't normal. And it certainly wasn't safe.
The moment he disappeared into the fireplace, the warmth he left behind vanished with him. It wasn't gradual. It wasn't something she could ignore. It struck without warning, a sudden, searing pain that ripped through her lower belly so fast and so sharp it knocked the air from her lungs. Her entire body jerked, her arms clutching instinctively around the ache as if she could hold it in, contain it, stop whatever had begun. Her mouth opened around a gasp, but no sound came out at first.
She staggered, reaching for the nearest wall, her palm slamming against the wooden paneling with more force than she meant to. Her other hand stayed pressed against her stomach, her fingers spread wide as though she could feel for answers beneath her skin. The house blurred around her. The light filtering through the windows seemed off, somehow too dim, too distant. Familiar things took on strange shapes. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, and every muscle in her body felt tense and unsure, as though her bones no longer trusted the ground beneath her feet.
This wasn't what it was supposed to feel like.
This wasn't the mild tightness she had read about in books. This wasn't the gentle rise and fall of early labor, the slow rhythm of a body preparing itself for birth. This was sharp and sudden, like something had torn loose. It felt wrong. Deeply, instinctively wrong.
Her nails scraped down the wall as she fought to keep upright. Her heart was thundering, fast and wild, so loud she could hear it in her ears. A cold, prickling sweat broke across her skin, sliding down her back and making her shiver. She tried to breathe through it, just like they had practiced, just like the healers had told her. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. But the pain didn't listen. It came in waves, each one more unforgiving than the last, crashing through her with no pattern, no mercy.
For the first time in her pregnancy, she felt something close to terror. Not worry. Not discomfort. Real, unshakable fear.
Her thoughts scattered, none of them clear. She knew she had to move. She had to find something. She had to do something. She couldn't stand there and wait. Her body screamed at her to act, to search, to try. Even if she didn't know what she was looking for.
She pushed herself off the wall and took a step forward. Then another. Her legs shook beneath her, her balance thrown completely off. Every step sent a fresh pulse of pain up her spine and into her chest. Her robe twisted around her legs as she shuffled down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall, the other still cradling her belly.
Theo's office. That was the only thought she could hold onto. If there was anything in the house that could help her, it would be there. Potions. Books. Anything he might have kept in case something went wrong. Something had gone wrong.
She didn't cry. Not yet. Her eyes burned, but the tears didn't come. There wasn't time. There wasn't space for anything but movement.
The hallway seemed longer than usual, as though the house itself was resisting her steps. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her body felt heavy, dragged down by pain and panic. But she kept going, willing herself to make it to the door, to reach something, anything, that might ease the storm inside her.
When she reached the office, her fingers fumbled at the latch. She pushed it open and leaned heavily against the doorframe, her body trembling with the effort of staying upright.
The room was dim, lit only by the fading light spilling in through the narrow windows and the soft, perpetual glow of a single enchanted sconce in the corner. The scent of parchment and old ink hung in the air, mingling with something fainter and more personal. A trace of his cologne lingered near the doorway, subtle and familiar, the kind of scent that usually calmed her. But tonight it clung to her lungs like smoke.
She moved slowly, her hand trailing along the edge of his desk before she turned toward the far wall, eyes sweeping over the shelves that lined it. Her breathing was shallow, uneven, every breath tight in her chest. She didn't know what she was looking for. Only that she had to find something. A pain reliever. A grounding draught. Something to help her feel less like she was being torn apart from the inside.
Her fingers trembled as they moved over the bottles, their glass necks cool against her skin. She scanned their labels, eyes blurring slightly from the lingering pain. Her hand paused over a particularly ornate vial with a silver cap and a delicate charm dangling from the neck. She reached for it, careful, almost hopeful, but as she lifted it, her knuckles brushed against the edge of a large leather-bound book beside it.
There was a click. Sharp. Hollow. Out of place.
She froze.
The bookcase beneath her hand gave a sudden shudder, wood groaning in protest, and then slowly, with a creak that seemed to echo into every corner of the room, a hidden panel slid open. The passage behind it exhaled a rush of cool, dry air that wrapped around her ankles and coiled up her legs like mist. It smelled of stone and dust. And beneath that, something else.
She caught it before she saw anything.
The metallic tang of blood.
It hit her in the back of her throat, unmistakable and cold. Her stomach clenched, not from pain this time, but something deeper. A sick awareness that told her she was about to see something she could never unsee.
Her pain, just moments ago sharp and all-consuming, faded into the background like an echo left behind. Her hand fell away from the bookcase as she stepped closer to the opening, one foot forward, then another, drawn in by a pull she couldn't name. The air inside the hidden space was colder than it should have been. Her bare arms prickled with goosebumps as her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
What she saw made her stop completely.
The walls were lined with weapons, each displayed with exacting care, arranged not in haste or panic but with a kind of reverence. Long, gleaming blades rested in custom brackets beside enchanted crossbows and glass-tipped arrows. Firearms she recognized from old Muggle war texts sat polished and silent beneath a protective charm that kept them from collecting dust. There were wands too, some bound in leather, others stacked neatly in lacquered trays. No two pieces were the same. Every single one had been chosen. Every piece had a place.
It was meticulous. Terrifying in its precision.
But what truly turned her stomach were the photographs.
Tacked to the far wall in a rough line, held in place by charmed pins and silent spellwork, were dozens of images. Some were small, black and white, clearly taken from a distance. Others were more recent, printed on modern paper with timestamps burned into the corners. The faces in the photos were strangers to her. Men. Women. A few younger than they should have been. Their expressions ranged from indifferent to startled, from unaware to unmistakably afraid.
She stepped closer without meaning to. Her eyes caught one photograph in particular. A man in a crowded café. His head was turned, mid-laugh. The background was blurred, but the lens had caught every line in his face. Whoever took it had been close. Very close.
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if that would calm the pounding of her heart.
She had always known. Somewhere, deep down, she had always understood that his work was not clean. That the calm, composed man she shared a bed with had a life that existed far outside the soft walls of their home. She had known, and she had chosen to stay. She had loved him through it. Past it.
But this?
This was not the kind of danger you accepted. This was not the quiet burden of a man trying to protect others from the dark. This was something colder. Sharper. He had not stumbled into this life. He had carved it out for himself.
She could barely breathe.
The air around her felt heavier with every step she took, pressing in on her lungs and clouding her thoughts. She leaned against the frame of the bookcase, needing the touch of something solid beneath her hand. Her other arm curled instinctively around her stomach. The baby had shifted slightly, as if unsettled too, as if it could sense the tension pouring off her in waves.
She couldn't stop looking at the photos.
And in that moment, the weight of it all sank into her.
This man, the one who pressed his hand to her belly every night and whispered about the future. The one who kissed her shoulder when he thought she was asleep. The one who made her tea and watched the stars and ran his fingers through her hair like it was a form of worship.
He was also this.
The illusion of peace that they had built together cracked around the edges. It didn't shatter. Not yet. But the fracture was there. And it would not be forgotten.
She stood in the doorway of a world she had never been meant to enter.
And for the first time since falling in love with him, she wondered if she had truly known the man at all.
A sound broke free from her before she even knew it was coming. It wasn't quiet or controlled. It was raw and jagged, pulled straight from somewhere deep inside her chest. A sob, hoarse and shaking, cracked through the air and echoed against the stone walls like something torn apart. It startled even her, the force of it, the helplessness in it.
Her feet moved before her thoughts could catch up. Panic surged through her body, rising fast and wild, drowning out everything else. Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the world. She turned sharply, her eyes stinging, her breaths shallow and fast, and without thinking, without planning, she reached for her magic the way a drowning woman might reach for the surface.
The pop of Apparition was loud in the silence, sharp and uneven.
She landed hard.
The soles of her feet hit the living room floor with too much force, and the sudden shift of gravity sent her crashing forward. Her hip knocked into the edge of the coffee table, a sharp, jarring pain slicing through the haze of her panic. She barely registered it. The breath knocked from her lungs as she stumbled and fell to her knees, catching herself with shaking hands on the thick rug.
The room was dark. The fire had burned low, throwing faint golden light across the walls in slow, flickering waves. Everything else was still. Too still. The warmth of the space did nothing to touch the chill in her bones.
She couldn't get up.
Her knees buckled under the weight of it all, and she stayed there, hunched over, hands cradling the swell of her stomach as another wave of pain rolled through her. It gripped her from the inside, sharp and deep, but even that didn't compare to what was happening inside her chest.
The hurt there was deeper. Older. It wasn't just pain. It was betrayal, confusion, and grief all tangled together, pressing against her ribs until she could barely breathe.
She folded in on herself.
Her arms wrapped around her belly, not just to ease the cramping but to shield something. Anything. Her sobs returned, louder now, wracking her entire frame. Her shoulders shook with them. Her hands clenched into the fabric of her robe. The tears came fast, hot and unrelenting, soaking into the sleeves of her shirt and dripping down her chin.
She felt like she couldn't breathe. Like the air had thickened with everything she didn't understand.
She had trusted him.
Gods, she had trusted him so deeply, so blindly. She had believed in the love they had built, the quiet kind, the steady kind. The kind that made her feel safe enough to share her future, to bring life into the world with him, to imagine peace. But now, all she could see was that hidden room. Those weapons. Those photographs. Those lives catalogued like they meant nothing.
What did it mean?
What did it say about him?
And what did it say about her that she had loved him so completely?
Her fingers lifted to her face and tried to brush away the tears, but they just kept coming. Her hands shook. Her whole body trembled. The strength she had always counted on, the calm she had been known for, had slipped through her fingers like sand.
She wasn't weak.
She had never been weak.
But in that moment, she felt fragile. Not just tired. Breakable.
And she hated it. She hated the vulnerability crawling across her skin. Hated the way it made her feel small in her own home. Hated the uncertainty that now lived inside her heart, where there had only ever been love.
She curled tighter, forehead pressed to the rug, her breaths coming in soft, uneven bursts as she rocked slightly, trying to soothe herself, trying to believe that this would pass. That she would understand. That she would be able to look him in the eye again and still see the man she had loved before that hidden wall opened.
But she didn't know if that was true anymore.
And she didn't know what would happen if it wasn't.
Barely ten months into their marriage, she had once believed their love to be unshakable. It had felt like something ancient, something woven not only from passion and affection but from trust, from shared truths, from the kind of intimacy that rooted itself in quiet gestures and steady presence. They had built their life slowly, carefully, word by word, glance by glance, until she had come to believe that what they had could not be undone. Not by the world, not by fear, and certainly not by each other.
And yet, here she was.
Alone.
Curled on the floor in the flickering light of the fireplace, her arms wrapped protectively around the swell of her belly, her body still aching from the pain, her heart raw in ways she hadn't known it could be. The house was quiet now, far too quiet. Her sobs had faded into silence, but the grief hadn't left. It had only changed shape. The stillness that settled over her was heavy and slow, the kind that filled a room like water, creeping into every space until even her thoughts felt too weighted to rise.
There was no sound, no voice to pull her back, only the soft hiss of the dying fire and the echo of her own breathing.
It wasn't just confusion that clung to her. It wasn't only the sharp betrayal of secrets kept in shadows. It was the growing awareness of something she couldn't name. The sense that something underneath them—beneath the life they had crafted, beneath the vows they had spoken—had shifted without warning. Something essential. Something foundational. She no longer knew if it would hold.
She had always known he was dangerous. That truth had never been hidden from her. It lived in the sharp edges of his posture, in the way he moved through a room with silence and control, in the darkness that lingered behind his eyes when he thought no one was looking. That part of him had never frightened her. She had made peace with it long ago.
But this? What she had seen behind that hidden panel, buried beneath his books and locked behind charmwork and silence?
That was different.
This was not just danger. This was something cold and curated. This was method. Precision. This was a side of him he had never spoken about, not once, not even when she asked what his work truly required of him. A shrine to death. A gallery of violence. A room built for the careful tracking and disposal of lives.
She had not been prepared for that.
And now, sitting here, curled in the silence with her hands pressed tightly to her belly, she began to ask herself the questions she had avoided for far too long.
Had she been naive? Had she fallen so completely in love with the warmth he showed her, the tenderness he reserved for her alone, that she had allowed herself to ignore what lived beneath it? Had she convinced herself that love was enough to keep the darkness at bay? That their late-night conversations and gentle mornings and soft laughter between shared cups of tea would somehow make all the violence outside their door irrelevant?
And after everything—after the vows, after the shared plans, after the tiny heartbeat now fluttering inside her—could she still say she knew him at all?
The thought shattered something inside her.
Not with a scream. Not with fresh tears.
But with a stillness.
A quiet, aching stillness that rose up inside her like a tide and swallowed everything else.
Her fingers curled over her belly. The pain had dulled for the moment, though it lingered in the background, heavy and constant. The baby didn't stir, but she could feel its weight, feel the pulse of life beneath her hands, feel the quiet insistence of something new beginning.
And that was when it hit her.
What she felt wasn't just heartbreak.
It wasn't just the grief of a wife who had seen something she couldn't unsee. It wasn't even the fear of what came next, of how to speak to him when he returned, of whether the foundation of their life could ever be made whole again.
This was something older. Something deeper. Something primal.
This was motherhood.
It rose up inside her like instinct. Like a promise. She would protect this child with everything she had, even if the world turned sideways, even if every truth she thought she knew collapsed around her. Even if the man she loved turned out to be a stranger in ways she could never have imagined.
She would not break.
Not for this.
Not now.
Not when someone else was depending on her to be whole.
The realization struck her with terrifying clarity, cutting clean through the confusion and heartbreak like a blade through fog. It came suddenly, without warning, but once it was there, it refused to leave.
She wasn't just a woman sitting on the floor of her living room, unraveling under the weight of her husband's secrets. She wasn't just a wife left reeling by the discovery of a world she had never been invited into. She was something else now. Something more.
She was a mother.
And her child—their child—deserved better than this. Better than fear. Better than uncertainty. Better than being born into a moment shadowed by betrayal and grief.
Her body tensed again as another pain tore through her, sharper this time, deeper and more commanding. It wasn't just discomfort now. It wasn't the echo of the earlier cramping or the twisted knots of anxiety still pulling at her chest. This was something different. Her breath hitched, and she bent forward slightly, her hands instinctively pressing against her belly as if to steady herself against the inevitable.
This wasn't stress.
This wasn't fear.
She was in labor.
A tremor moved down her spine, cold and quick. For a moment, she froze, every thought spinning wildly around a single, spiraling point. Not now. Not like this. But she knew that thinking it didn't change the truth. Her body had already made the decision. Her baby was coming.
Panic rose fast, clawing at her throat, but she forced it back down, pushed it into the background where it couldn't reach her. There was no room for it now. No time to fall apart again. Everything else—what she had seen, what she had learned, every question still screaming in her head—could wait.
Her baby could not.
She shifted slowly, her body still trembling as she pushed herself upright. The rug scraped against her palms as she braced herself, breath coming in slow, measured counts. Her dress clung to her damp skin, and she could feel her heartbeat thudding hard against her ribs, but her mind was clearer now. Not quiet, but focused.
She had to move.
She needed to get to the nursery, to the overnight bag they had packed weeks ago, to the list of instructions pinned above the kitchen counter. She needed warm towels, water, a wand within reach. And more than anything, she needed him.
Her heart clenched at the thought.
Would he even answer if she called? Would he feel the pull of her pain through the bond they had always claimed to share? She didn't know. And she didn't have the luxury of guessing.
Another contraction struck, harder than the last. She doubled over with a soft cry, her fingers curling around the edge of the coffee table to steady herself. The pain was fierce now, deep in her back, low in her belly. Her body was gathering itself, preparing for what was coming. There would be no stopping it.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, not to calm the child inside her, but to anchor herself. Her baby. Her reason. The world could be burning down around her, but this was the one thing that mattered now.
She had to bring this child safely into the world.
No matter what it cost her.
No matter what she had just learned.
Her legs were unsteady as she stood, her balance swaying for a moment before she righted herself with one hand against the wall. She took a breath, then another. The fear was still there, coiled tight in her chest, but it was no longer in control.
She was.
Her throat was dry, but she swallowed hard and turned toward the fireplace. If he didn't answer, she would call the healer. If the healer didn't arrive in time, she would do it herself. She would survive this. Her baby would survive this.
The world had changed tonight, cracked open in ways she hadn't expected.
But she hadn't.
She was still here.
And she would not let anything touch her child.
~~~~~~
Luna could hardly breathe through the pain. It came in waves now, stronger than before, tightening across her abdomen with a force that made her knees tremble. The room swam around her, the colors too bright, the shapes of furniture bending at the corners of her vision. Everything seemed too loud and too far away all at once, as if the world was both pressing in and drifting from her.
But somewhere beneath the pain, beneath the ragged breathing and the sweat gathering at her brow, was clarity. This was happening. Not later. Not after one more hour of rest or reassurance. Now.
There was no time to be afraid.
She inhaled through clenched teeth, forced her legs to steady beneath her, and summoned every ounce of focus she could still hold. Her magic sparked on her fingertips, raw and flickering, but it answered her.
She summoned the house elves.
They appeared in a rush of warm light, three of them in total, blinking up at her with wide, eager eyes. There was no fear in their expressions, no hesitation—only joy, and something close to pride. They had been waiting for this. All of them had.
"Please," she said, her voice hoarse from the earlier screams, but still firm, still hers. "Finalize the birth preparations. The bathtub. Everything we discussed. Make it ready. Make it comfortable."
The elves nodded in unison and vanished, reappearing almost instantly in a flurry of quiet efficiency. The bathroom filled with the soft hum of movement. Linen robes were set out beside the hearth, warm towels floated into place and folded themselves neatly at the edge of the basin. Vials of potions were uncorked and lined in perfect order along the marble counter, their scents drifting into the room one by one.
Chamomile, to calm her nerves.
Peppermint, to steady her breath.
Lavender, to soothe her aching body.
One of the elves, a small one with trembling hands and a determined brow, scaled the edge of the tub and brushed the damp hair back from her face, murmuring in a voice too soft for words. Another appeared beside her with a cool cloth, gently pressing it to her forehead, whispering quiet encouragement that wrapped around her like a spell of its own.
Their tenderness steadied her, even as the next contraction curled through her like fire.
She gritted her teeth again, her hands grasping the edge of the vanity to anchor herself through the pain. It crested slowly and then fell away, leaving her panting, exhausted already, though she knew this was only the beginning. Still, she closed her eyes for just a moment, letting herself feel grateful. The elves were devoted. Gentle. Efficient.
But they were not him.
Her fingers curled around the porcelain sink, knuckles white with the effort. It wasn't enough. She was grateful, yes, but she was also alone.
And she wasn't supposed to be.
She had never expected a perfect life. She had known what came with loving him. She had known the world he moved through, the secrets he buried, the shadows he lived with. But he had promised her that when this moment came, he would be here. Not just in body, but in spirit. He had placed his hand on her belly weeks ago and whispered to the child growing there that he would never miss a moment.
He had sworn. With tears in his eyes and a fierce kind of reverence in his voice, he had promised.
And now he wasn't here.
He didn't know.
She couldn't bear it.
Another contraction gripped her, sharper than the last. Her knees buckled slightly and one of the elves rushed to her side to steady her, but the scream that tore from her throat had nothing to do with the pain.
It was his name.
"THEO!"
She screamed it from a place deeper than pain, deeper than love. It came from the center of her, from the very place where their child had taken root. It was raw and desperate, a sound meant to tear through time and space and reach the one person who was supposed to be beside her. It echoed through the walls, bounced through the halls, wrapped itself into every corner of the house until it didn't sound like a name anymore. It sounded like a spell. A summoning.
And he heard her.
Wherever he was, across whatever distance, Theo felt it. Not in his ears. Not in the room around him. He felt it in his chest, in his bones, in the part of him that had always belonged to her. It was as if the ground itself tilted beneath his feet. One moment he had been moving through the motions of the work he had once believed mattered, the next he was frozen in place, unable to breathe.
His name. Her voice.
He didn't know how he had heard it. He only knew he had.
Something had happened.
Something was happening.
Without a second thought, without explanation or farewell, he turned on the spot and disappeared, the world pulling itself apart around him as he willed himself back home.
Back to her.
Back to where he was needed.
His heart, already aching from the chaos of the night, twisted painfully the moment he Apparated home. The air inside the house felt wrong, heavy with tension and magic that still crackled faintly in the walls. There was no time to think. No time to pause. His feet were moving before he could tell them to, his breath catching in his throat as he took the stairs two at a time.
He didn't feel the sting in his legs or the way the wooden steps bit into his boots. All he knew was the thunder in his chest and the sound of his own voice, raw and frantic as it tore through the silence.
"Luna!"
It echoed off the walls, desperate and sharp, reverberating through the stillness like the cry of someone already halfway broken.
"Where are you? Luna, answer me!"
By the time he reached the bathroom door, his heart was a wild drumbeat in his ribs, his mind reeling with every terrible possibility, his magic trembling under his skin, barely leashed. He flung the door open, prepared for anything—prepared to fight, to beg, to destroy whatever had hurt her.
But the moment his eyes landed on her, the world slowed.
The bathroom was quiet and dim, the glow of candlelight flickering across the tiled walls in soft, golden waves. Steam curled gently through the air, carrying the scent of lavender and peppermint and something sweetly earthy that reminded him of her. The space had been transformed. Not just into a birthing room, but into something sacred. Something warm. Something safe.
And there, in the center of it all, was her.
His moon. His wife. His heart in human form.
She was in the tub, her body half-submerged, her skin damp and flushed with effort, her golden hair clinging to her temples in curling strands. She was gripping the edge of the basin with white-knuckled determination, her breath coming fast, her whole body taut with pain. But her eyes—those eyes that had always undone him—were already on him.
And they weren't just filled with fear.
They were filled with fierce, unwavering love.
He didn't remember crossing the room. One moment he was at the door, breathless and panicked, and the next he was on the floor beside her, his knees hitting the tiles without a thought, both of his hands reaching for hers as if the act of touching her could somehow fix the ache in his chest.
"Love," he breathed, the word breaking apart in his mouth. "I'm here. I'm here, I'm here."
Her fingers, slick with sweat and trembling with effort, wrapped tightly around his. Her grip was fierce, desperate, stronger than he expected. Another contraction hit her like a wave, and she cried out softly, her forehead creasing, her jaw clenched. But she never took her eyes off him. Not even for a second.
"Theo..." Her voice cracked on his name, barely more than a breath, and yet it nearly brought him to tears. "I need you."
That was all it took.
The sound of those three words, spoken through pain and trust and all the wild love she still held for him, shattered something inside him. It left him bare.
"You have me," he whispered, his voice rough and thick, tears stinging his eyes before he could stop them. "You have me. Always."
He leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently against hers, their skin damp and warm where it met. His lips found the corner of her mouth, then her temple, then the top of her head, reverent and slow, like he was praying to her without needing words. His hands never left hers. He held on like she was the only real thing in the world.
The house elves moved gently through the candlelit room, their usual chatter softened to quiet whispers, as if even they could feel the gravity of what was happening. Their magic flowed around the space like a hush, adjusting pillows, reheating towels, stirring soft plumes of calming herbs into the air. They worked with a kind of sacred urgency, a quiet devotion that mirrored the love they held for their mistress and the child she was about to bring into the world.
Theo barely registered them.
His entire focus was on her.
She was clinging to him, her fingers clenched tightly around his, her whole body trembling with effort and pain. He could feel the way her muscles seized and released beneath his hands, how every breath she took was laced with exhaustion. Her skin was warm with sweat, her cheeks flushed and damp, her lashes heavy with tears she refused to shed.
And still, she was beautiful. Not in the way she always was, not with the delicate kind of loveliness he had first fallen for, but with something deeper. Something radiant and wild. Something that made his heart hurt just to look at her.
He leaned closer, pressing his lips to the back of her hand, then her wrist, then the inside of her palm, slow and tender, as if he could pour every ounce of love he had into her skin. His voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.
"We're almost there, my love," he said, his breath warm against her trembling fingers. "You and me. Just hold on. I've got you."
She nodded, once, a small motion that still carried the weight of everything she was holding inside her. Her chest lifted with another uneven breath, her jaw clenched against the next wave of pain that rolled through her. He could feel her struggling to stay upright, to stay grounded, and his arms tightened around her, steady and certain, willing his strength into her.
He wasn't sure if it helped, but he stayed. There was no question of that. He would not leave her side. Not for a single second. He would give her every part of himself if it meant making this easier.
Time faded around them. The edges of the room disappeared. He could no longer hear the fire crackling in the hearth or the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub. All of it vanished, swallowed by the sound of her breaths, the soft, broken sounds she made when the pain was too much, the silence that followed each contraction like the eye of a storm.
His world had narrowed to this. This moment. This woman.
Everything else—the name he had inherited, the power he once thought mattered, the secrets buried deep in the walls of their home—none of it existed now. None of it meant anything. Not here. Not in this sacred, terrible, beautiful moment where she was breaking and rebuilding herself in the same breath.
She was his entire universe.
And in that universe, he was helpless. He couldn't take the pain for her. He couldn't ease the pressure building inside her. He could only hold her, love her, and whisper again and again that she wasn't alone. That she was seen. That she was everything.
They had prepared for this. At least, they thought they had. There had been books, long conversations, hours spent listening to the mediwitch's gentle instructions. He had memorized every detail she'd given them, committed every spell and potion and breathing rhythm to heart like he was studying for the most important test of his life. He had practiced alongside Luna with quiet determination, held her through the false alarms, whispered encouragement when her back ached, rubbed gentle circles into the base of her spine while she breathed through the discomfort. They had rehearsed, planned, even laughed about how ready they were.
But nothing had prepared him for this.
Not for the sound of her voice breaking beneath the weight of real pain. Not for the way her body shook, how her fingers clawed at the sheets, how her cries carved through him like jagged glass with every passing contraction. He had felt pain before. He had known violence. He had lived through battles that left scars on his skin and deeper ones inside him. But nothing compared to this. Nothing had ever left him feeling so utterly helpless.
This was Luna. His Luna. And she was in agony.
And he could do nothing.
His grip on her hand was tight, almost painful, his fingers locked with hers like he could hold her steady by sheer force of will. She squeezed back with surprising strength, her nails biting into his skin, but he welcomed the pain. It grounded him. It reminded him that she was still here, still fighting, still with him.
His breath was uneven, shallow, like his body couldn't quite keep up with the chaos inside him. His pulse thundered in his ears. The helplessness clawed at him like a beast, digging deeper every time she cried out. He had spent a lifetime learning how to take control, how to win, how to fix every impossible problem thrown his way. But there was nothing here for him to fix. No enemy to fight. No spell to cast. No way to trade places with her, though he would have done it in a heartbeat.
He clenched his free hand into a fist at his side, his nails digging so hard into his palm that he felt the sting of broken skin. It didn't matter. He needed something to hold onto, some pain that felt useful.
"I can't stand this," he whispered. His voice cracked on the words. They came out raw, scraped from the bottom of his throat. "I hate this. I hate that I can't make it better."
She turned her head slowly, strands of damp hair sticking to her flushed cheeks, and through the haze of pain, she looked at him. And she smiled.
It was faint, more a memory of a smile than the real thing, but it was hers. It was tired and brave and beautiful, and when it reached her eyes, something in him broke wide open.
"Love…" she said, her voice so soft it almost didn't reach him. "Just stay with me. Your strength… it helps me more than you know."
His breath hitched. He didn't trust himself to speak.
She was crumbling in his arms, shaking from pain, clinging to the edge of herself. And still, somehow, she found a way to comfort him. To look at him like he was her shelter, her home, even while her body was waging the hardest battle it had ever faced.
His beautiful, impossible Luna.
He swallowed hard, the ache in his chest spilling into his throat. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to be what she needed. And somehow, even in this moment when everything felt too big, too raw, too frightening, she still gave him that. She gave him something to hold onto.
"I'm here," he whispered, the words catching in his throat as his forehead dropped gently to hers. His breath mingled with hers, warm and uneven, the only sound in the room beyond the sharp edge of her pain. There was no space between them anymore, only the closeness of skin and soul, the place where their fear and their love curled around each other and refused to let go. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving. I swear to you, love, I'm not going anywhere."
He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her face. The softness of the gesture, the gentleness of his touch, was at odds with the storm that raged inside him. "We're going to get through this," he said, barely managing to keep his voice steady. "I promise."
He wasn't sure if he said it for her or for himself. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe he just needed to say something, anything, to keep the terror from consuming him whole.
Another contraction tore through her, sudden and savage, and her body arched with the force of it. She cried out, and the sound broke something deep inside him. Her grip on his hand turned violent, her nails slicing into his skin, but he didn't even flinch. He welcomed the pain, embraced it like penance. He would have let her shatter every bone in his body if it meant she could be spared just a moment of this.
His jaw clenched, and for the first time in his life, he prayed.
Not to a god he believed in. Not to anything he could name. Just to the air. To the stars. To the universe that had seen fit to give him her, and now threatened to take something away. He would have given anything in that moment. His magic. His name. His life. Just to make sure she would be alright.
Let her be safe. Let her survive this. Let her come through it. I'll do anything, just let her come through.
And still, he stayed.
He held her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this earth, whispering whatever words came to mind. Not because they were perfect, but because they were hers. Because she needed to hear his voice, and he needed to speak. He murmured her name like a spell, told her how strong she was, how brave, how loved. He kissed her temple between contractions, let his lips linger against her skin like they could protect her.
He had never felt so powerless.
But he had also never felt more certain of his place in the world.
Because this—this fight, this pain, this love—it was theirs. It was brutal and raw and terrifying, but it was real. And they were in it together. If she had to walk through fire, then he would walk through it beside her, holding her hand, giving her every piece of himself until there was nothing left to give.
And soon, this would pass.
The pain. The fear. The helplessness. It would all fade, and in its place, there would be something new. Something small and impossibly precious. A life they had created together. A life born not just from passion or chance, but from every ounce of devotion they had poured into each other since the beginning.
And he knew, with a certainty that felt older than time, that the moment he saw that child take its first breath, his heart would never belong to himself again. It would belong to them. To their child. To the woman who had endured the impossible and still looked at him with love in her eyes.
She was his beginning. She would be his end.
And he would never stop thanking the stars for her.
The storm of labor had been relentless, an unforgiving tempest of pain and exhaustion, but his presence—his unwavering, unyielding presence—was her anchor through it all. His love was fierce, palpable, a force as steady as the rhythm of her own heartbeat. No matter how unbearable the agony became, no matter how much her body trembled under the sheer weight of it, he never wavered. He was there.
The elves worked around them with an ethereal precision, their delicate hands moving quickly yet gracefully, ensuring every detail was perfect. The air was thick with the scent of enchanted herbs, their carefully curated aromas easing her pain in ways words never could. Every breath she took was laced with chamomile and lavender, grounding her in the moment, keeping her from succumbing to the all-consuming pressure tightening around her. The warm water in the tub, enchanted to maintain the perfect temperature, cradled her body, offering a fleeting reprieve from the contractions that wracked her frame.
And then, just when she thought she had no more to give, it happened.
A sharp cry pierced the still air, shattering the tension in the room, filling the space with a raw, powerful new energy.
The sound was small, fragile, yet so incredibly alive.
Time seemed to stop.
Theo felt his chest cave, his breath catching in his throat as the realization crashed into him.
Their baby was here.
Theo made a choked sound, something caught between a sob and a laugh, like his heart didn't know whether to break or bloom. The world around him dissolved. He didn't feel the weight of his body as his knees gave out beneath him. He simply collapsed beside her, his hands trembling, his vision too blurred by tears to see clearly. The hours of fear and helplessness that had crushed him were gone in an instant, burned away by something that felt so big, so pure, it left him breathless.
Love. Not the soft, quiet kind. Not even the kind he used to dream about in secret when he thought he would never deserve it. This was something deeper. Fierce. Infinite. Sacred.
The baby was small, red-faced and wailing, a tiny body swaddled in a warm towel. The mediwitch handed him to Luna with gentle hands, her movements reverent, like she understood what this child meant before anyone even spoke a word. The cries filled the candlelit room, sharp and piercing, a sound more alive than anything Theo had ever heard.
Luna held him like she had been waiting her entire life to do so.
Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Her body was shaking, exhausted beyond anything he could imagine, but her arms were steady. Her hands were sure. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she looked down at their child, her eyes full of wonder and disbelief.
He had never seen her look more beautiful.
"Oh, my love," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. "Look at him."
Theo reached out before he could stop himself. His fingers brushed the baby's tiny hand, and that hand curled around his like it had always known him. Like it had always been meant to find him.
And that was when it hit him. Truly hit him.
They had a son.
A laugh burst from his throat, too full of tears to sound like joy alone. "It's a boy. Our boy." The words tumbled out, loud and joyful, and they echoed through the room like a spell. The house elves paused, their little hands over their hearts, their eyes shining with tears of their own.
Luna let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained from pain but soft with joy. Her head tipped toward Theo as he turned to her, their eyes locking.
"You did this," he whispered. "You brought him into the world."
Her lips curved, just barely. "We did this," she said, her fingers brushing gently across his jaw. "Together."
The baby whimpered, a soft, restless sound, and Luna instinctively adjusted him, pulling him close to her chest. His tiny body settled against her with quiet trust, his breathing softening. He had stopped crying.
Theo stared, completely transfixed.
His son.
His son.
The weight of it settled in his chest like something holy. He reached out again, touching the baby's cheek, and his heart nearly cracked from how soft his skin felt beneath his fingertips. It didn't feel real. None of it did. He had never held anything so precious in his life.
All around them, the elves worked gently, their footsteps light, their hands efficient as they cleared the room. The scent of lavender still lingered in the air, mingling with the steam from the water, the faint hum of magic, and the quiet rustle of fabric. But none of it touched Theo's awareness.
Because his entire world was here. His wife. His child. This moment.
He pressed a kiss to Luna's temple, his hand still resting on their baby's back. He whispered the only words that mattered, words that felt too small for what he felt, but were all he had.
"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you for him. Thank you for everything."
And though she said nothing, the way her eyes closed, the way she leaned into him, the way she held their son just a little tighter, said more than words ever could.
They were a family now.
And nothing else mattered.
A shuddering breath escaped him as he leaned in, his lips pressing softly to Luna's forehead. He let them rest there for a long, quiet moment, as if he could pour everything he felt into that single touch. Gratitude. Awe. The kind of love that had no language. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low and unsteady, but every word carried the full weight of his heart.
"Thank you," he whispered, barely able to speak. "For him. For this. For still loving me, even when I didn't know how to love myself."
Luna tilted her face toward him, her skin warm and damp, her eyes glassy with tears that hadn't quite fallen. She looked exhausted in a way that went bone-deep, but there was still light in her gaze. She didn't try to offer him some grand reply. She didn't need to. Her hand reached for his and threaded their fingers together, holding tight.
"Always," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "Always, Theo."
They stayed like that for a long time, knees pressed together on the floor beside the bathtub, the soft rush of steam rising around them. The air smelled like lavender and chamomile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet didn't feel heavy. It felt like peace. Luna held their baby against her chest, skin to skin, his tiny breaths matching the fluttering rhythm of her own. His cries had faded into soft whimpers, and now he simply existed in the space between them, so small, so warm, so alive.
Theo didn't even try to hold back the tears anymore. They slid silently down his cheeks, catching on his jaw, disappearing into the fabric of his shirt. His chest ached with the pressure of all he couldn't say. There had been too much fear. Too much helplessness. And now, somehow, there was just this. This miracle. This tiny, wriggling life that had cracked him open and filled every corner with light.
He didn't know how to make sense of what had just happened. He only knew he never wanted to forget it. Not a single moment.
The house elves moved around them in quiet reverence, clearing towels and vials, adjusting the lighting with soft, careful spells. They whispered to each other in hushed tones, but their eyes kept drifting back to the little family by the bath, their faces full of quiet wonder. Even they could feel that something sacred had taken place.
Theo hardly noticed them. His entire world had narrowed to the two people in his arms.
Their son. His wife. His beginning and his end.
He let out a breath that sounded more like a prayer than a sigh and leaned closer, resting his forehead against Luna's temple. She leaned into him instinctively, and he kissed her again, slower this time, as if the moment might vanish if he didn't hold on to it with everything he had.
"We did it," he murmured. "You did it."
Her eyes fluttered closed, a small, tired smile curving her lips. "We both did."
Theo looked down at their baby, who was nestled safely against Luna's chest. He reached out and gently ran a finger across his tiny back, barely able to believe the softness of his skin, the perfect weight of him, the way he already seemed to belong to this world. To them.
He had lived a thousand lives before this. He had fought, bled, survived things that had taken pieces of him. But none of that compared to this moment. None of that had prepared him for the way his heart cracked open the second his son took his first breath.
This was what he had been searching for. Not power. Not redemption. Just this.
Love, in its truest form.
And in that moment, as the room grew quieter and the world outside faded away, Theo Nott knew with absolute clarity that his life had just begun again. He would never be the same. He didn't want to be.
Because now, he was a father.