Fatherhood settled over him like something he had been waiting for his entire life without knowing it. There was no resistance, no fumbling. Just a quiet, steady shift, as natural as breath. He had always been a protector, a partner, someone who would burn the world to keep his family safe. But this was different. This was softer. More sacred. He had become a man entirely undone by the sound of his son's breathing, by the weight of that tiny heartbeat against his chest.
Even the smallest whimper from their newborn had him moving before Luna could stir. Exhausted, running on little more than instinct and love, he responded to each cry with the kind of precise urgency he used to bring to the battlefield. The same hands that had once drawn a wand without hesitation now cradled warm bottles and swaddled tiny limbs with reverence.
He, who had survived wars and lived among shadows, now stood in the soft hush of the nursery at three in the morning, gently rocking a restless infant in his arms. His voice, rough with sleep, offered up lullabies that made no sense to anyone but the child he held, each note spoken like a spell meant to protect something far more precious than anything he had ever guarded before.
Luna often caught herself standing still in doorways or pausing mid-step, completely entranced by the quiet transformation unfolding before her eyes. Her husband had been reshaped by the smallest soul he had ever held. His hands, so steady in duels, so sure when handling dangerous spells or delicate potions, now fastened tiny buttons on impossibly small onesies with a kind of reverence that made her breath catch. She watched him trace their son's cheeks with his fingertips like he was afraid the boy might vanish if touched too roughly. And in those moments, when Theo gazed down at their child as though he was something holy, something the universe had entrusted him to protect, she fell in love with him all over again.
It was a quieter kind of love this time. Not the crashing, all-consuming kind that had once pulled them together like gravity, but something steadier. Something rooted. Something that made her ache with how right it felt.
One evening, after a long day marked by colicky cries and soft lullabies, she padded barefoot into their bedroom, rubbing her eyes and expecting nothing more than a moment to herself. Instead, what she found stopped her where she stood.
Theo was stretched across their bed, fast asleep, his shirt discarded and his skin flushed with warmth. Curled up against him, nestled in the space just above his heart, lay their son. The baby's head rose and fell with every breath his father took, their rhythms matching without effort, as though some invisible thread tethered them together. One tiny hand rested over Theo's chest, fingers flexing slowly in sleep, as if even in dreams the boy knew where he belonged.
And Theo, her Theo, looked like a different man. The usual tension that clung to him like armor had melted away. His brow, so often furrowed in thought or worry, was smooth. His mouth was relaxed, his entire face bathed in the kind of peace Luna had only seen flicker across him in rare, fleeting moments. The moonlight filtered in through the curtains, soft and silver, casting the scene in a light that made it feel unreal. Sacred, even.
She lingered in the doorway far longer than she meant to, unable to bring herself to break the stillness. Her chest rose with each slow breath, but it felt too full, stretched with a love so immense it nearly brought tears to her eyes. The image before her was almost too much to bear. This was everything they had fought to reach. This was the life they had clawed toward with bloodied hands and broken hearts. After all the darkness, all the years spent walking through shadows, it had come to this. A child. A family. A love that softened every hardened part of her.
With slow, careful steps, she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. She reached for the blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed and draped it over them both with quiet tenderness. Her fingers brushed against Theo's forearm, warm and solid beneath her touch, and even in sleep, he reacted instinctively. He shifted slightly, sighing low in his throat, and tucked their son closer against his chest with a protective curl of his arm.
Luna sat on the edge of the mattress, her posture still but her heart in motion, every part of her tuned to the rhythm of their breathing. She could feel it now, more than ever, the weight and wonder of all they had survived. This stillness was sacred. It was quiet and small, but it held the power of a thousand victories. They had been broken, both of them, shaped by pain and loss and a thousand impossible choices. And still, they had found their way here.
Her hand reached for his without thinking. Their fingers met and curled together with ease, as if even in sleep his body knew hers. The warmth of his palm bled into her skin, steadying her. His lashes fluttered. A soft hum passed his lips as he blinked up at her with sleep-fogged eyes. When he saw her, something in his face softened further.
"You're staring," he murmured, voice thick and heavy with the remnants of sleep.
She smiled at him, a gentle, luminous thing, and let her thumb brush slowly over the bones of his knuckles.
"You're beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely more than breath.
His eyes flickered with the faintest trace of amusement, a quiet glimmer that softened the exhaustion written across his face. He didn't have the energy to argue, not tonight, not when the weight of love and sleepless hours hung so heavy between them. Instead, he gave her fingers a soft squeeze, his gaze dropping for a moment to their son, who was still curled peacefully against his chest.
"So are you," he murmured, the words barely more than a breath as his eyes slid shut once more.
The heaviness of the day settled into her bones, a quiet ache that spoke of long hours and little rest. But in this moment, none of that mattered. The world beyond their bedroom felt distant and irrelevant. There was only the warmth of his hand in hers, the rhythmic sound of their child's breathing, and the steady pulse of a love that had withstood everything.
She shifted closer, her body folding into the space beside his. Her head rested on the pillow, just inches from his, their faces turned toward each other, their joined hands nestled between them. They lay there in silence, watching over their newborn together, wrapped in a quiet stillness that felt holy in its simplicity.
Their life wasn't flawless. It had never been easy. The nights stretched long sometimes, filled with crying and pacing and the aching kind of fatigue that settled deep into their bones. The days could be just as demanding, with no time to catch their breath, no space to fall apart. But through it all, they endured. Through it all, they chose each other, again and again.
And that was enough.
This was their world now. A world of soft lullabies whispered in the dark, of tiny socks and half-empty bottles on the bedside table, of promises made not with grand gestures but with quiet presence. It was a life stitched together from the small, unspoken moments that no one else saw but meant everything.
As she watched the two of them breathing in sync, her heart softened around the edges. The love she felt was fierce and whole, grounded in the chaos but never undone by it. She let her eyes flutter closed, her body sinking into the warmth they shared.
This was what she had always dreamed of. Not perfection. Not peace. But this kind of love. Real and tangled and completely theirs. And as sleep finally began to pull her under, one truth settled in her chest with the weight of something permanent.
~~~~~~
Luna sat curled beside the window, her body folded into itself as if trying to make space for the grief that had quietly crept back in. Outside, the rain tapped softly against the glass, a steady rhythm that mirrored the silent sobs rising in her chest. She pressed her cheek to the cold pane, letting it ground her, letting it remind her that she was still here, still breathing, even when everything inside her felt like it was coming undone.
The sparkle that once danced so effortlessly in her eyes had dimmed tonight. It wasn't gone. It never was. But in moments like these, it flickered, hidden beneath the weight of old sorrow and the fragile, aching tenderness of new love.
She had spent years learning how to live with absence. She had grown used to the hush of it, the way it hung like fog around the corners of her life. It no longer startled her. It no longer broke her open the way it used to. She had learned to smile while carrying it, learned how to fold it into her laughter and tuck it into the folds of her joy. Most days, it stayed quiet, tucked safely away like an old photograph. But not tonight.
Not now.
Because now, she held a child of her own. And in the sweet weight of him pressed against her chest, in the softness of his breath against her collarbone, in the way his tiny fingers curled around hers with such absolute trust, she felt everything she had ever lost come rushing back.
The love she had for her son was vast and wild and impossible to contain. It filled every corner of her, spilled into her bones, and wrapped itself around every heartbeat. But it also opened up an old wound she had thought she had learned how to live with.
Her mother should have been here.
She should have been sitting beside her on the couch, cooing over the baby, brushing Luna's hair back from her damp forehead, whispering gentle advice in the quiet hours of the night. She should have been folding tiny clothes with her in the laundry room, laughing over how nothing ever stayed folded, or teaching her how to rock him just the right way when nothing else soothed him. She should have been holding her hand through all of this, just like Luna held her son's now.
But she wasn't.
There was no motherly guidance, no soft lullaby from a voice that had once sung her to sleep, no warm arms to collapse into when the exhaustion became too much. There was only the rain and the silence and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the baby in her arms.
Luna kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, a mixture of lavender and milk and something so deeply pure it hurt to even name it. Her tears dripped into his blanket, unnoticed by him, but each one a silent offering to the mother she missed with every inch of her soul.
"I wish you could see him," she whispered, her voice catching as it brushed the edges of her grief. "I wish you could see me."
Her son stirred, a tiny sigh escaping his lips as he nestled closer, and she clutched him just a little tighter.
The weight of it pressed down on her with a quiet, unrelenting force, suffocating in its tenderness and in its cruelty. Some days, it felt like trying to breathe underwater. Other days, like she was walking through fog that refused to lift. She felt so small beneath the burden of it all, so much like a little girl again, reaching blindly for a hand that would never be there to catch her. A child aching for her mother's voice, for the soft certainty of being told she was doing just fine. That she was doing enough. That she was not alone in this.
But the voice never came. And the silence it left behind echoed louder than anything else.
She had her memories, and on the best days they were soft things, golden and fleeting. But more often now, they felt blurred and thin, like fragile threads slipping between her fingers no matter how tightly she tried to hold on. Her mother's face in her mind was starting to lose its clarity. Her laugh had faded into static. Even the warmth of her embrace had become more sensation than memory, something Luna could no longer fully remember but desperately missed all the same.
He saw it. Of course he did. He always saw it. The way she lingered in the nursery long after their son had fallen into peaceful sleep. How she would rock him slowly, long past the moment he quieted, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular, as if the silence might summon something she could not name. He noticed the way her shoulders curled in on themselves like she was trying to hold something inside her chest that kept threatening to break loose. And her laughter, once so free and full of light, had dulled to a gentle hum, softer and more distant each day.
It gutted him.
To watch her sink like this, to see the woman he loved with every piece of himself become smaller beneath a grief he could not touch—it was the most helpless he had ever felt. He tried to reach her. Gods, he tried. He held her at night, kissed her temples, whispered every tender promise he could think of. He rubbed slow circles across her back when she cried into the crook of his neck, even when she said nothing at all. He tried to remind her, again and again, that she was not alone in this. That he was right here. That he would always be right here.
But no matter how tightly he held her, he knew there were places inside her that he could never reach. Corners of her sorrow that were carved from something older, something deeper. There were pieces of her that belonged only to her mother, and he had no map to that part of her heart.
So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out to the people who loved her like he did. He brought Pansy and Neville into the quiet ache of their home. Not with grand gestures or loud distractions, but with quiet afternoons that asked nothing of her. Cups of chamomile tea that never went cold. Walks through the garden when the sky softened in the evening. Books passed between hands and half-finished conversations that didn't need to be finished to bring comfort. Laughter that rose slowly, gently, like sunlight after too many grey days.
And it helped, a little. At least he thought it did.
She smiled more, even if the smile didn't always reach her eyes. She spoke more easily, her silences no longer stretching into hours. She rested her head on his shoulder and let him hold her without shrinking away. There were even moments, fleeting but unmistakable, where she looked like the Luna he remembered—the Luna who could fill a room with light just by walking into it.
But still, he saw it.
Even in the calm, even in the quiet happiness of those stolen hours, he could see it behind her eyes. That shadow had not left. It lingered in the corners of her gaze, curled into the soft curve of her mouth when she thought no one was looking. It was the shape of her grief. The outline of a mother never returned. And he understood, finally, that some absences could never be filled. Not even with all the love in the world.
One evening, he found her by the window again. She was sitting in silence, staring out at the rain as it streaked down the glass, her expression distant and hollow. The look in her eyes made his chest ache in that familiar, helpless way. He moved closer without a word, wrapping his arms around her with a tenderness he reserved only for her. His body curved around hers like a shield, and when he pressed a kiss to her temple, his breath warmed the side of her face.
"Tell me, my love," he said softly, his voice low and aching. "What's hurting you? Let me carry some of it."
She turned toward him, her eyes shining with the tears she had been trying to hide for days. Her lips trembled before she finally spoke. "I just miss her," she whispered, and the sound of it broke something inside him. Her voice cracked, and then the first tear slid down her cheek. "I just… I miss her so much." Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt as she began to cry in earnest, the sobs coming hard and fast now that the dam had burst. "She should be here. She should see him. She should be the one telling me I'm doing okay."
He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the lump in his throat as he held her tighter. His arms wrapped around her like a vow, like he could keep the pain from reaching too deep. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, voice rough with the weight of her grief. "You're not just doing okay. You're doing beautifully. And if she were here, she would be the proudest mother in the world."
At those words, she let out a sound that was almost a wail, as if hearing them made the ache even sharper. Her face pressed into his chest as she sobbed, and he could feel every tremor that rippled through her body.
"It's just so hard," she gasped through the tears. "I thought I knew how to live without her. I thought I had learned how to carry it. But now that he's here, I feel like I'm losing her all over again."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a long moment. His own eyes stung, and his voice came out thick. "I know. I know it hurts. I would take it from you if I could."
She shook her head, her hands clinging to him, her grief clawing its way to the surface in raw, broken pieces. "It's not the same," she said through the tears. "I want her. I want her to hold him. I want her to hold me."
He didn't try to explain it away. He didn't try to find the right words because there were none. Some aches had no language, only silence and the steady rhythm of being held. So he stayed there, his arms locked around her, his body sheltering hers while she fell apart in the safety of his love.
"I'm here," he whispered. His voice was quiet but certain, his lips brushing her hair with every word. "I'm here. I'll never leave you. We'll get through this. One breath at a time."
And in the quiet that followed, while the rain tapped gently against the glass, she let herself believe him. Not forever. Not even fully. But just enough to take the next breath. Just enough to let him hold her in the dark.
His voice was soft, careful, carrying the kind of patience that comes from someone who understands just how sharp memories can be. He reached for her hand and asked quietly, "Can you tell me what happened to your mother?"
Luna drew in a long breath, her fingers curling tightly in her lap as if anchoring herself against a tide that had never truly receded. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, they shimmered with something raw and fragile. "She was always so curious," she said, her voice steady at first. "Fearless in ways I didn't even understand as a child. Magic wasn't just something she used. It was something she explored, like it held the secrets of the universe, and she was determined to uncover every last one."
A flicker of a smile ghosted across her lips, but it didn't last. Grief returned to her features like a familiar shadow. "She loved experimenting. Pushing the edges of known spells. Creating her own. She always said the world was too full of wonder to stay within the lines."
He didn't interrupt, just held her hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing across her knuckles.
"One day," she continued, more quietly now, "she tried something new. Something she hadn't tested enough. It was meant to be beautiful. It was meant to do good." Her voice wavered. "But it went wrong. There was no warning, no second chance. She was just… gone."
The silence that followed was heavy. Not the kind that begged to be filled, but the kind that honored the weight of what had been said.
She blinked rapidly, clearly fighting the tears that threatened to spill, but he could see the way they shimmered on her lashes. He shifted closer and brought her into his arms, pressing a slow kiss to her temple, his touch gentle and steady. As if he could hold back the ache, or at least soften it for a while.
"You still have her," he whispered into her hair. "She's here. In you. In the way you speak. In the way you love. In the way you're raising our son."
She leaned into him, her cheek brushing his collarbone, and let herself rest there. Her breath came out uneven, but she nodded. It wasn't agreement exactly, more a gesture of acknowledgment. Of wanting to believe.
He knew better than to pretend that kind of loss ever truly healed. It didn't fade. It simply changed shape, wove itself into the quiet corners of a person's life, and waited to be remembered.
After a long silence, she turned to him, her voice quiet and careful. "My Sun… what about your mother?"
His entire body went still. She saw it right away, the way grief still lived inside him, untouched by time, buried deep but never far. He didn't answer at first. The weight of her question settled between them like a breath neither of them knew how to take. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but there was a hollow ache behind every word.
"She turned into an angel."
The way he said it was almost soft, almost kind, but the silence that followed made it clear that the truth beneath it was anything but gentle. And then, quieter still, a thread of anger wrapped in pain: "My father killed her."
The room seemed to still with the weight of it. The words hung in the air, sharp and cold, too large to take back. She felt her breath catch. Her chest tightened. She wanted to reach for him instantly, to make it better, to give him back what had been taken, but there was no way to heal something that deep with a touch alone.
Instead, she took his hand gently and laced her fingers with his. Her warmth found his skin, and through that, she gave him what words could not. She didn't speak, not right away. Some truths deserved more than sound. Some griefs were sacred in their silence.
When she did speak, her voice barely rose above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, my love."
He closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping with a breath that had clearly been locked in his chest for too long. And then, after a beat, he turned his palm in hers, holding on tightly, like she was the one thing tethering him to the life he had now. To the softness he had found in her.
"You're here," she murmured, lifting his hand to her lips. She kissed his knuckles with a tenderness that shook him more than anger ever could. "And you are nothing like him."
His throat tightened. He reached for her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped without her notice. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. She could feel the way something shifted in him. The ghosts were still there, but for once, they weren't winning.
She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, letting the quiet settle over them like a blanket. The past would never leave either of them completely, but here, in this moment, there was something stronger than memory.
Slowly, over time, Luna began to heal. With Theo's unwavering support and the love of their friends, she found moments of peace amidst the sorrow. She started to talk about her mother, sharing stories with her son about the grandmother he would never meet. Each memory became a tribute, a way to keep her mother's spirit alive in their lives.
As the days turned into weeks, her laughter began to return, a soft, hopeful sound that brought joy to their home. She still missed her mother deeply, but she was learning to live with the loss, to find strength in the love that surrounded her.
Together, they faced the challenges of parenthood, their bond stronger than ever. And as they watched their son grow, they knew that the love of a mother, even one who was gone, could never truly fade away.
~~~~~~
Today was a big day; Theo and Luna were hosting a baby shower for their baby boy, so all their friends could officially meet him.
Forest-coloured banners, adorned with glittering silver creatures that resembled Nifflers, hung from the rafters. Balloons, in shades of emerald and gold, bobbed playfully in the gentle breeze that drifted through the open windows.
The house was filled with decorations and the aroma of her favorite flowers, a blend of soft forest and a hint of magic that only she could conjure. Every detail spoke of the love and care poured into the celebration.
As the guests began to arrive, the house filled with laughter and the gentle hum of conversation. Luna, holding Lysander, greeted each friend with a warm smile, introducing her son to the people who had become her family. Theo, ever the doting father, hovered close by, proudly showing off his son's tiny fingers and bright eyes to anyone who asked.
Pansy arrived with Neville in tow, carrying their own happy child. Lady Lemongrass, wearing a bow that matched Pansy's stylish outfit, trotted in eagerly, sniffing around the unfamiliar surroundings. Neville followed, his hands occupied with a beautifully wrapped gift, while Pansy held a basket of homemade treats, courtesy of Neville's baking skills.
As they stepped inside, she greeted them with a warm smile, Lysander nestled comfortably in her arms. "Pansy, Neville, so good to see you again. Come in, come in."
Pansy beamed, letting the pug roam free to explore the room. "Luna, you look radiant. How's my little godson doing today?"
Neville placed the gift on a nearby table and approached Luna, a gentle smile on his face. "He looks so peaceful. I think he's used to all the attention by now."
Theo joined them, a playful smirk on his face as the pug sniffed at his shoes. "I see you brought the annoying one, Pansy. It's good to have everyone here."
Pansy shrugged, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, we couldn't leave him at home. Besides, she's here to help Lysander get used to having a pet around."
Fucking perfect. Now they needed to buy another ugly creature. Wonderful. Because clearly, one was not enough. Apparently, having a tiny, screaming human who already dictated the entire household wasn't challenging enough—they just had to introduce a four-legged menace into the equation.
As the friends settled into the living room, the pug curled up contentedly at her feet, and the atmosphere was filled with warmth and laughter. The baby shower was a celebration of friendship and family, the perfect opportunity for everyone to share in the joy of welcoming Lysander into the world..
Ginny and Blaise arrived next, the sound of their laughter preceding them as they entered the room. Ginny, carrying a soft blanket for the baby, immediately gravitated toward Luna and Lysander, her eyes lighting up as she took in the sight of the newborn.
" Oh, Luna, he's perfect," Ginny cooed, her voice soft as she gently ran a finger over Lysander's cheek. "He's absolutely precious."
She smiled, the happiness of the moment reflected in her eyes. "Thank you, Ginny. It means so much to have you here."
Meanwhile, Blaise approached Theo with a broad grin, giving him a hearty pat on the back. "Congratulations, mate," he said, his tone filled with genuine happiness. "This is a big step, and I couldn't be happier for you."
He chuckled, appreciating the sentiment. "Thanks, Blaise. It's a bit overwhelming, but I'm glad you're all here to share this with us."
Blaise nodded, his eyes flicking over to Lysander and Ginny. "He's going to grow up surrounded by people who love him. That's all you can hope for, really."
Hermione and Draco arrived last, their footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor as they entered the warmly lit living room. Laughter and a welcoming glow beckoned them forward, creating an inviting atmosphere. Luna, ethereal in a flowing white dress that shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, stood waiting by the door. Her ever-present smile widened as she spotted them, her blonde hair cascading down in a halo of gentle curls. "Mimi!" Draco!" she exclaimed, her voice a melody of pure joy. "So glad you could make it!"
Draco, his usual stoicism melting away at her infectious enthusiasm, offered a polite nod. "Thank you, Luna," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We wouldn't miss it for the world. Congratulations again." He turned to Theo, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and extended a hand in greeting. "Theo."
His grin widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Draco! About time you showed up. We were starting to think you two got lost in the maze." He grasped Draco's handshake firmly, the warmth of their camaraderie evident despite the years that had passed. "Thanks, mate. We're truly happy you could both make it. Come on in, the party's waiting!"
Luna led them towards a cozy corner where a small group had gathered. Seated on a plush armchair was Neville, his face lit with radiant joy as he cradled a sleeping baby in his arms.
Nestled in a miniature, hand-stitched crib, the tiny form of Lysander seemed peacefully oblivious to the excitement surrounding him. As they approached, Neville looked up, his smile widening as he recognized them.
"Hermione, Draco! So glad you could make it," he exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. His gaze then shifted to the bundle in his arms. "This little one here seems to be saving all his energy for the real celebrations."
Even in slumber, a faint resemblance to both Luna and Theo was evident. He possessed her delicate features and the wispy blonde hair, but the smattering of freckles dusting his nose was a clear nod to his heritage. A chorus of soft coos and hushed whispers filled the air as the group fawned over the sleeping child.
"Isn't he just perfect?" Pansy said warmly, nodding towards the sleeping baby.
"He really is," Hermione agreed softly, her heart melting at the sight of the tiny baby. "Congratulations, Luna and to you too, Theo."
"Thank you," she replied, her smile radiant. "He's brought so much light into our lives."
The room hummed with warmth and affection, the gathering of friends encapsulating the joy of new beginnings and the steadfast bonds of their relationships.
They had an amazing lunch together as friends, gathering around a beautifully set table on the veranda, overlooking the lush garden. The late autumn sun cast a gentle glow over the gathering, creating a serene and intimate setting.
The table was adorned with an array of colorful dishes, showcasing a mix of Luna's unique, whimsical tastes and Theo's more traditional fare. There were fresh salads with edible flowers, a hearty stew, delicate pastries, and an assortment of cheeses and fruits. Each dish was a testament to the couple's love for their friends and their joy in sharing this special occasion.
As they settled in, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Hermione and Pansy chatted about their latest projects, Pansy's eyes lighting up as she animatedly described her latest art endeavor. Neville and Draco exchanged stories about their recent botanical discoveries, with Draco surprising everyone with his newfound interest in rare magical plants.
Ginny and Blaise entertained the group with tales of their latest escapades, their laughter infectious and their camaraderie evident. Theo, ever the attentive host, made sure everyone had their fill, his eyes often drifting towards Luna and Lysander, his heart full of contentment.
Luna, her face aglow with happiness, listened intently to her friends, occasionally offering her own quirky insights that left everyone in stitches. The gentle breeze carried the sound of their laughter across the gardens, the afternoon sun dappling the scene with warmth and light.
Than it happened.
The exact scenario Theo had warned everyone about, multiple times, with increasing desperation. His worst fears had materialized right there in the middle of the nursery, and no one had listened.
Lady had infiltrated the crib.
Somehow, impossibly, that squat little demon had managed to hoist her absurdly round body into the one sacred space meant to be untouched by chaos. She was nestled beside Lysander now, curled up like she owned the place, snorting into his tiny neck as if she'd been assigned by fate to guard his soul.
Theo froze in the doorway. Time stopped. His jaw unhinged slowly, in stages, as the full weight of what he was witnessing settled over him like a burial shroud.
"BEAST!" he bellowed, voice cracking like a lightning strike through the once peaceful nursery. "REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THE CRIB THIS INSTANT."
Lady, unbothered to the point of obscenity, opened one eye. It was slow. It was deliberate. It was insulting. Then, with a huff so self-satisfied it could have been criminal, she curled even closer to the baby.
Theo blinked. He tried to breathe. He failed.
There was snuggling. Full-body, unapologetic snuggling. Their newborn child, the light of his life, had one tiny hand tangled in the creature's fur, his sleeping face utterly serene.
Theo took a step forward, ready to end the madness with whatever force necessary, when he felt a soft hand on his wrist. Luna's voice came from beside him, quiet but firm.
"My love," she said gently. "Wait. Just look."
So he did. And it destroyed him.
Lady Lemongrass, mortal enemy of all that was clean and dignified, was curled into a protective little croissant around their son. Her ridiculous breathing had softened into something that almost sounded maternal. Lysander, utterly unaware of the betrayal happening around him, let out a tiny sigh and pressed his cheek against her like she was the only warmth he'd ever need.
Theo wavered.
"She's contaminating him," he whispered, the words shaky with outrage. "He's bonding with a glorified footstool."
Luna didn't answer. She was smiling. Not the small, distracted kind of smile she sometimes gave when she was humoring him. This was the full, radiant smile. The one that meant she had already fallen completely in love with the scene before them.
"She loves him," she said, as if that explained anything.
And maybe it did. Maybe it didn't.
But all Theo could do was exhale slowly, turn around like a man carrying unspeakable sorrow, and walk out of the room before he said something he couldn't take back.
Still brooding, Theo stormed into the garden like a man betrayed, his robes billowing behind him with unnecessary force. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. And there, sprawled in a chaise lounge like she owned the entire sky, was Pansy Parkinson, sipping white wine and wearing sunglasses that probably cost more than Theo's wand.
She didn't even flinch at his approach.
"Parkinson," he snapped, as if her name had personally wronged him.
She peeked over her glasses, unbothered and entirely too relaxed. "Yes, darling?"
"Your creature," he began, practically vibrating with indignation, "is snoring next to my son. In his crib. On his mattress. Where his head is supposed to go."
He flung a hand toward the house, as if the gesture alone could convey the depths of his suffering.
Pansy blinked slowly, then took another sip of wine. "Theo, you'll need to be more specific. I own several creatures."
"The squashed one with respiratory issues," he snapped. "The one currently impersonating a guardian angel. Remove her."
Her lips twitched. "You mean Lady Lemongrass."
He scowled. "I mean the harbinger of doom."
Pansy lowered her glass with the exaggerated grace of someone who lived for this exact type of chaos. "Oh, sweetheart. You're spiraling."
"She's imprinting on him," he hissed, as if speaking it aloud would summon the Ministry. "She's breathing on his baby face. Her essence is being absorbed into his skin."
Pansy burst out laughing. "His essence, Theo? Really?"
"She's brainwashing him in his sleep."
"Oh no," she deadpanned. "Not bonding. How terrifying."
He threw his hands in the air. "I do not accept this fate. I reject it categorically."
"She's growing on you, isn't she?" she said with a wicked grin.
"She is not."
"She absolutely is."
"I would rather adopt a blast-ended skrewt," he muttered, pacing now. "I would rather take in a banshee. I would rather live with a boggart."
Pansy stood, patting him on the arm with faux sympathy. "Just wait. First comes one pug, next thing you know, you're rescuing an entire litter and naming them after Quidditch players."
Theo turned to her, eyes wide with horror. "If I ever name a pug 'Chudley,' you have my full permission to assassinate me."
"I'd frame the death certificate," she replied cheerfully.
And then, as if summoned by the scent of wine and pure male despair, Lady Lemongrass waddled into the garden. Her ears flopped with every step. Her squashed little face lit up like she'd just found her soulmate. She snorted. Loudly. Then made a beeline for Theo.
"Oh, absolutely not," he said, backing away so fast he nearly tripped over a planter. "I know that look. That's the look of a beast who thinks we're friends."
"She loves you," Pansy sing-songed, crossing her arms with glee.
"Then she should express it from another continent."
Just then, Luna appeared in the doorway, her dress catching the golden light like a painting come to life, Lysander nestled against her shoulder. She smiled at them, soft and serene.
"My love," she called gently. "Lady Lemongrass just protected Lysander from a terrible nightmare. She barked until he stopped fussing and went back to sleep. Isn't that the sweetest thing?"
Theo stared at her, stunned.
A pug. Fighting nightmares.
He rubbed his temples.
This was his life now.
And somehow, everyone around him was fine with it.
Perfect.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
~~~~~~
Theo led Draco away from the gathering, guiding him past the low murmur of laughter and the scent of summer wine that clung to the air. The garden faded behind them, swallowed by a thick hedge that muffled the sound of clinking glasses and old friends catching up. Out here, it felt different. The sunlight didn't reach as easily, and the quiet held something heavier.
Draco leaned against the cold stone wall, his stance casual at first glance, but Theo could see through it. His shoulders were stiff. His fingers wouldn't stop twitching, dragging over the cuff of his sleeve like he was trying to rub something off his skin. He already knew why they were here.
Theo didn't ease into it. There wasn't any point in pretending. He shifted his weight, let out a breath that sounded more like a question than a release, and said quietly, "How's Hermione?"
The words didn't hang long. They sank immediately between them.
Draco closed his eyes for half a second before dragging a hand through his hair, careless and distracted, like the gesture might anchor him. That perfect, composed shell he always wore was cracking now. Not just dented, not just tired. Worn thin.
"She's better," he said finally, but the words came out hollow. "Stable. She's… she's here."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. Theo could hear it. Anyone who knew grief would.
His gaze dropped to Draco's hand. The knuckles were white, clenched tight at his side, like he was holding on to something only he could see. Maybe it was the edge of a hospital bed. Maybe it was her hand, cold and limp and almost gone. Theo didn't know. He didn't ask.
But he noticed. And he didn't look away.
"I measure everything," Draco said quietly. His tone was flat, maybe even practiced, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. "Every potion. Every pill. Even the bloody teaspoons. I double-check it all, then check again, just in case. Because if I get it wrong…"
He didn't finish the sentence. His voice thinned out, caught somewhere between guilt and fear. He shook his head and stared past Theo, into a patch of hedgerow like it might offer something easier to face.
Theo didn't rush him. He just tilted his head slightly. "So you don't trust her?" The question wasn't accusatory, only honest. Quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the silence between them.
Draco's eyes snapped back to his. There was a flicker of something dark behind them, but it wasn't anger. It was grief, coiled tight beneath the surface.
"It's not that," he said, and the words stumbled. His shoulders dropped, the fight draining out of him before it even began. He hesitated, like the truth had been pressing against his teeth for days and now refused to stay quiet.
He rubbed a hand down his face, then exhaled hard. "She almost died, Theo."
The words were simple, but they hit with full force.
"She almost left," he added, softer now. His voice cracked, just slightly, just enough to show the wound was still open. "And I—" He broke off again, eyes wet, fists clenched at his sides. "I don't know how to live with that. I can't pretend I'm not terrified every time she forgets to eat. Or when she says she's tired and goes quiet for too long. I watch her sleep like something might take her in the night."
He swallowed, hard, as if shame tasted bitter on his tongue. "I love her more than anything. But I'm afraid of her, too. Or maybe I'm just afraid of what it would do to me if she left again."
Theo didn't say a word. He just stood there, steady as stone, giving him space to bleed.
"I watch her sleep," Draco said quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. He didn't look at Theo. His eyes stayed fixed on a patch of earth by his boots, as if grounding himself there might keep everything from unraveling. "I check her breathing. I wake up every few hours, sometimes even minutes apart, just to make sure she's still here. I count the way she moves under the sheets. I memorize the sounds she makes. I tell myself it's just precaution, that I'm being careful, but that's not the truth." He stopped for a moment, swallowing hard. "I don't know how to stop. I can't. Because if I let myself stop, even for a second, what if she's not breathing when I look again?"
Theo didn't speak right away. He just listened, still and steady, letting the words settle. He had known Draco through a thousand versions of himself, but this one—this quiet, haunted man who had seen death brush the woman he loved—this one carried a different kind of weight. Theo stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, solid and reassuring.
"I see it," he said softly. "I see how much you love her. I see the fear in you too. But that fear, it's not the thing keeping her here. It's you. You're the one choosing her every day. You're the one who shows up. That's what matters most."
Draco let out a shaky breath. It sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. His hand dragged through his hair, and for once it looked nothing like the elegant gesture it used to be. It was tired. Strained. Honest.
"I love her," he said, and his voice cracked. "You already know that. She isn't just someone I care about. She's everything. She's the reason I get out of bed. When she's not okay, I feel like the world shifts under my feet. I don't know who I am without her in it."
Theo nodded, his fingers tightening slightly against Draco's shoulder before letting go. There was no quick reassurance to offer, no easy truth to patch up that kind of fear. Some things didn't heal completely. Some griefs never stopped echoing. But the way Draco stood here and spoke it out loud—that mattered.
They stood there in silence for a little while, tucked behind the hedges while the sounds of laughter drifted faintly from the garden beyond. It was still out there, that joy, that ordinary life they were trying to protect. But for now, they stayed in this quiet space between fear and hope, and they didn't rush to leave it.
Theo, never one to miss the chance to stir things up when the mood was just beginning to settle, crossed his arms and tilted his head with a smirk that could only be described as trouble in motion. His voice was full of mock solemnity, though the sparkle in his eye gave him away before he even finished the sentence.
"So," he said slowly, drawing it out like he was savoring the words, "the mighty Draco Malfoy is in love. Deeply, epically, tragically in love."
He wiggled his eyebrows with great theatrical flair, as if he had just discovered some scandalous secret and couldn't wait to gossip about it to the entire wizarding world.
Draco's reaction was instant, and frankly, so predictable that it made Theo's grin widen. His jaw clenched, gray eyes narrowing in that classic Malfoy way that had once made first-years cry. "Immediately stop it, Theodore," he said, his voice sharp and clipped, like every word was a warning.
But the damage was done. A slight twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was tiny, almost imperceptible, but Theo had known him long enough to see through it. There was a glint of something else beneath all that irritation. Not just exhaustion. Not just pride. Something softer. Something almost shy.
Theo raised his hands with a mock look of surrender, still grinning like the insufferable bastard he was. "Fine, I'll behave," he said, though his tone made it clear the truce was temporary at best. His grin faded just a little, replaced by something quieter. "But in all seriousness, I could ask Luna to keep an eye on her. You know how she is. She sees everything, even the things we don't say out loud."
Draco hesitated. Just for a second. But in that pause, something in him shifted. His shoulders dropped slightly. The tension in his jaw eased. He rubbed his hand over his face like a man carrying more than he could admit out loud, and for once, he didn't argue.
"That would mean a lot," he said, his voice lower now. Not resigned, exactly. Just tired in the way someone gets when they finally allow themselves to lean on another person.
He didn't say thank you, because that wasn't how they worked. But he looked at Theo with a kind of quiet honesty, and that was enough. In that glance, there was more than gratitude. There was trust.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant murmur of laughter and music, drifting in from the garden like a memory trying to fade. Theo leaned against the edge of the stone wall, watching Draco carefully, trying to decide if he should press further. But curiosity, sharp and impossible to ignore, got the better of him.
"Can I ask?" he said finally, keeping his tone light but sincere. "You said she's doing better, and I believe you, but what… what actually happened? What put her in that place to begin with?"
Draco didn't answer right away. Something in his face went still. Not blank, but unreadable, as though he was stepping carefully over thoughts too jagged to touch. His gaze drifted past Theo to the hedges beyond, to nothing in particular. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even.
"She killed my father."
Theo stared at him.
Of all the answers he'd been prepared for, that one hadn't made the list. There was a full second of stunned silence before he blinked and let out a slow breath, unsure whether to be horrified or deeply impressed.
"Well," he said at last, dragging the word out as his eyebrows shot up. "That's... honestly not what I expected. But somehow still makes sense."
His mouth curved into something close to a grin, the corners twitching as he added under his breath, "Knew I liked her."
Draco didn't respond at first, but his lips pulled into a faint smirk. It was subtle, fleeting, but there.
"Wand?" Theo asked, entirely too curious now. "Or something more personal? Because if this involved, say, a cursed dagger or an ancient spell book, I feel like I deserve to know."
Draco gave a quiet huff of amusement, the barest breath of a laugh. "Recin," he said simply. "And no, I'm not giving you the details. She wouldn't like that."
Theo gave a low whistle, shaking his head like someone evaluating a particularly elegant bit of magical engineering. "Damn. She really doesn't do anything halfway, does she?"
Draco didn't answer, but the silence between them wasn't heavy anymore. It was thoughtful. Charged with something complicated and human. Theo straightened a little, letting the levity fade just enough.
"My Moon gets it," he said. "She knows what it's like. How heavy it is to carry something like that around. She'll know what to say. She's been there."
Draco's eyes met his. For the first time that evening, his expression softened. It wasn't much, just a flicker of something quiet in the lines of his face, but it was enough. Enough to know that the words had landed.
"She'll love that," he said, voice quieter now. "Hermione's always liked Luna. Always said she was the only one who made her feel… lighter. Like she didn't have to explain everything."
"She doesn't," Theo said. "Not with her."
There was a pause. Not awkward, not strained. Just full of something honest. Theo gave a short nod, like the decision had already been made in his bones.
"She'll visit. Often. Whether you ask or not."
Draco didn't reply, but something shifted in his stance. A small crack in the armor. Not enough to leave him vulnerable, but enough to show that he was still standing. Still fighting.
The moment stretched long enough to mean something.
Then Draco cleared his throat and straightened, brushing a hand over the sleeve of his shirt like he could tuck the conversation neatly away with the gesture. His voice, when it came, was steady again.
"Thank you," he said. "For that. I mean it."
Theo clapped a hand on his back and gave him a half-smile. "Anytime, boss. You know that."
Without another word, they made their way back toward the party, slipping into the low hum of music and conversation once more. But the weight of what had passed between them lingered just beneath the surface, a quiet understanding, solid and unspoken. They had both seen the dark. They had both clawed their way through it. And if it ever tried to swallow them again, neither of them would be facing it alone.
~~~~~~
As the golden light faded and the last guests Disapparated into the night, Theo closed the front door with a quiet finality. The house felt heavier now, not in a burdensome way, but in the way a home does when it's full of memory—cake crumbs on the carpet, wine glasses forgotten on windowsills, and the faint echo of laughter lingering in the corners.
Luna was humming something soft and wordless as she walked toward the nursery, Lysander tucked against her chest, blissfully asleep. Theo trailed behind her, tugging his shirt over his head and muttering to himself about needing an entire week to recover from the sheer number of compliments he'd endured.
They reached the nursery, and he reached for Lysander with a tenderness he didn't even try to hide anymore. The baby squirmed once in his arms, then settled again with a small sigh. Theo rocked him slightly, content in the silence.
And then he saw it.
A small, fawn-colored blob was curled at the base of the crib. Again.
He stared. She stared back. Neither blinked.
"I thought we agreed on boundaries," he said slowly, addressing the pug like she was a delinquent houseguest who had overstayed her welcome. "You have your cushion in the living room. You have a ridiculous name. You are not entitled to shared sleeping arrangements."
Lady blinked once, tucked her nose under her paw, and let out a sigh so dramatic Theo nearly dropped his son.
"You know she loves him," Luna said, not even looking up from folding a blanket. "You'll have to get used to it."
"Why does she love him?" he hissed. "What has Ly done for her? He doesn't even know what a pug is."
Luna smiled faintly. "He knows kindness. That's enough."
He looked down at his son, who was drooling onto his shoulder, utterly unbothered by the presence of the enemy. "This is psychological warfare," Theo muttered. "She's going to raise him to think her snoring is normal."
"Lady thinks yours is."
"That's slander."
Luna laughed softly and came to stand beside him. She looked tired, but glowing in that strange, otherworldly way she always did after holding too many people's emotions in a single day. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
"She's harmless, my love," she said. "And she adores him. That's all I ask of anyone in this house."
Theo said nothing at first. He looked at the pug, who was now stretching her stubby legs and yawning like she owned the crib. Then he looked down at Lysander, who had one hand curled around his shirt and the other flung out dramatically, as if declaring peace with the beast.
He sighed.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice so defeated Luna nearly kissed him from amusement alone. "But I want it on record that I opposed this union from the start."
"Duly noted," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"And if she sheds in the cot, I will be alerting the Ministry."
"You do that."
He looked around, frowning. "We should get one of those... magical vacuums."
"You mean a broom?"
"That's not funny."
She grinned, tucking her head against his shoulder as they watched their son sleep, the dog curled at his feet like a silent, snoring guardian.
For all his dramatics, Theo felt something settle in his chest then—something warm, something steady.
Maybe this was family. Loud, infuriating, a little hairy.
But entirely, unmistakably his.