Their life had turned into something unrecognizable, a blur of sleepless nights and the quiet chaos that came with loving something small and helpless with your entire being. Every day felt like a race they hadn't trained for, a constant balancing act between tenderness and sheer survival. The quiet rituals that once anchored their home had disappeared, swallowed by the rhythm of soft wails, lukewarm bottles, and half-finished conversations at dawn.
Having a newborn was supposed to be magical, and in many ways, it was. But the magic came wrapped in layers of exhaustion, of days that bled into nights without pause. They had expected hard moments, of course. They had read the books, asked the questions, bought the potions and charms. Nothing, though, had prepared them for how relentless it would feel. Feeding the baby every few hours became a full-time occupation. Rocking him back to sleep, only to start again fifteen minutes later, required a patience neither of them had known they possessed. Even simple things, like making a cup of tea or washing their hair, started to feel like small triumphs.
Luna, with her natural grace and calm demeanor, handled the situation as best as she could, but even she wasn't immune to the toll it was taking on them. Theo could see the weariness in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped just a little more than usual. Her smile, though still as warm as ever, lacked its usual sparkle. There were moments when she would sit in the rocking chair in the nursery, cradling the baby in her arms, and Theo could see the silent exhaustion in the way she moved, her body aching for rest.
And then there was Pansy. Poor Longbottom. What had started as a political arrangement had somehow turned into a real proposal. Theo still wasn't entirely sure when Neville had lost his mind, but the man had actually asked her to marry him. Voluntarily. Poor sod.
Pansy had always been dramatic. Theo knew that better than anyone. But the wedding had taken her to an entirely new realm of hysteria. She had become obsessed with the details, utterly possessed by the idea of perfection. Every flower, every chair, every ribbon and napkin had to align with whatever vision was currently spiraling through her head. If anything strayed from the plan—even slightly—she unravelled faster than a badly cast knitting charm.
"The flowers," she would wail, flinging open their front door as if announcing a death in the family. "The roses are too pink. I asked for blush. How hard is it to tell the difference between pink and blush?"
That was only the beginning. The napkins were apparently the wrong texture. The invitation font looked too common. The calligrapher had a "heavy hand" and had therefore ruined the energy of the word eternally . The menu changed so often that the caterer eventually sent Theo a strongly worded letter, asking if the bride-to-be was mentally well enough to commit to the concept of soup.
Nothing was safe. No detail was too small to become a full-scale crisis. And somehow, against all reason and logic, Theo kept getting roped into it.
Even Luna, who had always had the patience of a saint and a fondness for Pansy's strange ways, was reaching her limit. Sometimes, she would glance up from breastfeeding or changing a nappy and meet Theo's eyes with the kind of silent desperation that could only be forged through sleep deprivation and too many color palette debates.
"If she asks me one more time whether silver or platinum better represents eternal love," she murmured one evening, her tone soft but threatening, "I will pretend to be contagious."
Theo laughed, but it didn't reach all the way to his chest. He felt like he was being slowly swallowed by everything. The baby cried at all hours. Luna, despite her efforts, was bone-tired. His work was piling up. And Pansy—gods, Pansy—was planning a wedding like it was the second coming of Merlin himself.
Most nights, he stayed up long after Luna and Lysander had finally fallen asleep. He sat at the kitchen table in the dim light, parchment spread around him, trying to finish reports while half-listening for the baby's next stir. But no matter how many scrolls he finished or lists he crossed through, he always felt behind. Stretched thin. Worn down. And yet, somehow, still expected to weigh in on linen samples or attend emergency cake tastings like it was his sacred duty.
He was surviving. Barely.
There were days when he would walk into the sitting room and find Luna sitting quietly with the baby in her arms. Her face was calm, eyes soft, and there was something almost otherworldly about the way she held him, like the world outside could fall apart and she would still rock their son as if nothing else mattered. But even in her stillness, he could see the weight she carried. There was a tiredness in her bones, a quiet ache in her shoulders that hadn't been there before.
He would sit beside her without speaking, rubbing a hand over his face, and let his eyes fall on the small bundle in her lap. There was comfort in the silence. In the way Luna would lean into him ever so slightly, her fingers brushing his without needing to say anything. And still, he couldn't help but wonder how they had landed here, caught in the churn of sleepless nights and constant responsibility, barely holding it together while pretending they weren't fraying at the edges.
Meanwhile, Pansy had no idea.
Or maybe she did, and she simply chose to ignore it.
Her messages were constant. Her calls, relentless. Every day brought a new kind of bridal chaos that she believed to be urgent beyond reason. "Theo, darling," she would gasp into the Floo or shriek through enchanted parchment, "you simply must come to the bakery. They've brought out two sample cakes and I swear on Merlin's beard I cannot tell which one is fluffier. It's a disaster."
A disaster. For cake.
He had known for years that Pansy's idea of disaster bore no resemblance to reality. But lately, even he was starting to buckle under the weight of it. Every time his phone buzzed or the fireplace flared to life with another one of her dramatic monologues, his shoulders tensed. He no longer reached for it instinctively. Now, he braced himself. What color had betrayed her this time? What had gone tragically wrong with the floral arrangements?
He had considered turning it all off, stepping away completely, just for a moment of quiet. But that only made things worse. If he ignored her for more than an hour, she would simply appear on their doorstep, armed with fabric swatches and existential dread. Once, she had woken the baby.
Luna had gently proposed the idea of drawing a line. "She needs to understand," she had said one night as she curled beside him in bed, her voice low and steady, "that we're not living in a fairytale. We're raising a child. That takes everything."
And she was right. Of course she was. But telling Pansy "no" was like asking a hurricane to take a day off.
He tried anyway. He tried setting expectations, tried rescheduling, tried delaying his replies until more reasonable hours. But none of it worked. She had a gift for slipping past every boundary he built.
And so the days bled into one another, messy and long and loud. Some mornings he wasn't sure if he had slept at all. Sometimes he found himself staring at the wall, wondering when he had last eaten something that wasn't toast. There were whole hours he couldn't account for. He would wake in a chair he didn't remember sitting in, with a cold cup of tea on the table beside him and a half-written list of tasks in his lap.
The baby needed him. Luna needed him. And Merlin help him, Pansy needed him too.
He was doing his best. But sometimes, in the middle of all the noise, he wished the world would just stop spinning for a little while, long enough for him to remember who he was before it all began.
But through it all, there was Luna. She was the quiet constant in his storm, the one steady thing when everything else felt like it was slipping. Even on the days when she was just as drained, when her eyes were heavy and her shoulders low, she still carried calm in her voice and warmth in her touch. Somehow, she always had enough of herself left to steady him too.
There were nights when they sat in the nursery long after Lysander had drifted off, both too tired to speak, too wired to sleep. He would lean back in the chair, eyes closed, his hand curled in hers, and just listen to the soft rhythm of her breathing. Her presence soothed him in a way nothing else could.
"We'll get through this," she would whisper, her fingers brushing lightly against his. "It won't always be like this."
And somehow, even when he didn't believe it fully, he believed her.
He would nod, because there was nothing else to do, and try to let her belief carry him for a little while. He didn't have the words to tell her what she meant to him—not in those moments—but his heart swelled with something too big for language. Gratitude. Love. Relief.
She made it easier to breathe.
In those late hours, when the house was finally quiet and the shadows stretched long across the walls, he clung to that hope. The hope that one day they would sleep through the night again. That Pansy would get married, the drama would finally die down, and they would be allowed a little peace. That one day, they would sit together over breakfast and laugh at how close they had come to losing their minds.
Until then, they would keep moving forward, one quiet step at a time. Because no matter how loud or chaotic life became, they had each other. And that alone made all the sleepless nights feel worth surviving.
~~~~~~
The late afternoon light spilled into the sitting room in long, honeyed streaks, warming the pale floors and catching in the soft strands of Luna's hair as she sat by the fireplace, humming gently. Her voice was barely more than a breath, something closer to a lullaby than a song. Lysander lay nestled against her chest, his cheeks still pink from sleep, his tiny hands curling and uncurling like petals testing the wind. His eyes—wide, clear, and far too knowing for someone so small—tracked the movement of light across the ceiling.
Luna smiled down at him, her fingertips brushing across the wisps of blond hair just beginning to grow at his crown. He was so quiet today, so wide-eyed and thoughtful, and it filled her chest with a kind of tenderness she didn't yet have words for.
Then, outside, she heard the crunch of gravel beneath tires, the familiar rhythm of someone arriving who belonged.
She glanced toward the window and smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Lysander's forehead. "Auntie Mimi is here, little one," she whispered. "She's bringing books and opinions, and probably something that smells like peppermint."
The doorbell chimed, followed quickly by the eager scurry of slippered feet across the hallway.
"Miss Granger and her cat have arrived, Mistress Luna," announced her house-elf, sounding slightly breathless with the importance of the visit.
Moments later, Hermione stepped through the open archway, her cheeks flushed from the breeze and her arms full of fur and bag straps. Crookshanks blinked around the room with mild judgment before promptly leaping from her arms and stalking toward the fireplace, where he promptly curled into a pile of warmth and disdain.
"Luna." Hermione's smile broke wide across her face as she crossed the room, her arms full and her cheeks still flushed from the walk through the garden. She gently set Crookshanks down on the rug, and the ginger cat gave a languid stretch before trotting off with regal indifference to inspect every corner of the sitting room.
Hermione, though, barely noticed. Her eyes were already fixed on Luna and the baby cradled against her chest. "It's so good to see you," she said breathlessly, leaning in to kiss Luna's cheek. Her gaze dropped to Lysander, and her expression softened with quiet wonder. "And look at him… he's already changed so much since the shower."
Luna's smile widened as she shifted the baby slightly, making room in her arms to lift one of his tiny hands. Lysander let out a soft gurgle, blinking up at the warm sunlight slanting through the window. "He's growing like a Niffler who's just found a coin purse," Luna said lightly, her voice full of love. "Every day, he's a little different. It's wild how quickly they change."
Hermione sank down beside her on the couch, her eyes never leaving Lysander's face. "Can I hold him for a bit?"
"Of course," Luna replied, already beginning the familiar, careful motion of passing him over. Her movements were gentle, almost reverent, as if each transfer was a quiet ceremony of trust.
As soon as he was in Hermione's arms, the baby relaxed, his head resting in the crook of her elbow like he belonged there. Hermione cradled him instinctively, brushing her fingertips across the soft curve of his cheek. "Hello, you," she whispered. "Still stealing hearts, I see."
Lysander blinked up at her, his gaze unfocused but curious, and his small hand reached up and curled around one of her fingers with surprising strength.
Hermione's breath caught a little. "Oh, sweetheart," she said softly. "You really are perfect."
Luna watched the two of them with quiet affection, her heart swelling at the sight. There had always been something beautifully maternal about Hermione, even when she didn't realise it herself. Watching her now, so gentle, so present, filled Luna with a deep, grounding sense of gratitude.
"You've always had that touch," she murmured. "He knows it too. Look at him."
Hermione smiled down at Lysander, rocking him slightly. "He feels lighter now," she said. "Not physically, I mean—just… calmer. Happier."
"He's started sleeping longer stretches," Luna said, resting her head against the back of the sofa. "Thank the stars. I was beginning to forget what sleep felt like."
Hermione let out a soft laugh, though her eyes remained on the baby in her arms. "I don't know how you're doing it. He's barely a few months old and you're still glowing."
"Am I?" Luna's voice was tired but playful. "That might be the sweat and lack of sleep. But thank you."
Hermione turned slightly, her tone softening. "How are you really, love?"
Luna hesitated for a moment, her fingers playing with the edge of her robe. "It's beautiful. And it's exhausting. Some days I feel like I'm floating through it. Other days I count the minutes until Theo comes home so I can shower or cry or just sit in silence for a moment. But when he smiles, when he does something new, I feel like the whole universe is folding in around us. And I think… alright. I can do this again tomorrow."
Hermione reached out, resting her free hand over Luna's. "You're doing better than you think. You're giving him everything he needs."
As if on cue, Crookshanks leapt up onto the arm of the sofa, tail flicking like a metronome. He paused just long enough to inspect Lysander before curling into a contented heap beside them. His eyes met the baby's for a moment, and Luna couldn't help but smile at the strange sense of understanding between the grumpy cat and the tiny boy.
"See?" she said with a quiet laugh. "Even Crookshanks approves."
Hermione chuckled. "High praise, that. He's judged ministers with less scrutiny."
Crookshanks, his amber eyes heavy with lazy contentment, padded over to where Lysander lay on a soft knitted blanket by the hearth. The ginger cat sniffed with quiet interest, his whiskers twitching as he took in the scent of the tiny human. With a solemn air, as though aware of the importance of the moment, he circled once before settling beside the baby. His body curled protectively around Lysander, positioning himself like a silent sentinel.
Then, with a surprising gentleness that betrayed his usual grumpy demeanor, Crookshanks lifted a paw and rested it carefully on the baby's belly. His claws were sheathed completely, the gesture cautious but deliberate, as though he understood just how delicate this little life truly was. A deep purr rose from his chest, low and steady, vibrating softly through the room like a lullaby made of sound alone.
Lysander let out a small coo in response, his fingers twitching in the air before brushing against the cat's thick fur. Crookshanks didn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he blinked slowly, as if acknowledging the baby's presence with a regal patience. It was a quiet exchange, but something in it felt significant, like an unspoken agreement had passed between them. Peaceful. Familiar. Already bonded.
Luna let out a quiet laugh and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Looks like Lysander's chosen his protector," she said, her voice touched with fond amusement.
Hermione, who had been watching the interaction with her chin balanced on her hand, snorted softly. "Crooks always gets attached faster than he lets on. He acts like he doesn't care, but then he does something like this."
At that, Crookshanks flicked his tail in a leisurely arc, the feline equivalent of a shrug. He lifted his paw from Lysander's belly, stretched with aristocratic slowness, then wandered over to the fire. With a faint grunt, he curled into a perfect loaf beside the hearth, his purring uninterrupted, as if to signal that his verdict on the child had been rendered. The boy had passed. That was that.
Luna watched the retreat with a soft smile, the kind that grew from a place of deep contentment. It was in these small, gentle moments, that she found herself most grateful. They were tired, stretched thin, sometimes overwhelmed. But then there were days like this, quiet and full of love.
Hermione adjusted Lysander in her arms, cradling him more closely. His eyes were beginning to droop, his limbs growing heavier with each passing minute. She smiled down at him, the tenderness in her expression almost aching. "He's falling asleep."
Luna nodded, her voice a gentle hush. "He always does that when he feels safe."
Hermione's chest ached with something she couldn't quite name, something both soft and sorrowful. She brushed her finger along the curve of Lysander's cheek, marveling at the way his tiny mouth opened in a slow, sleeping sigh. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes meeting Luna's. "Spending time with him… it helps. More than I thought it would."
Luna reached over and gave her hand a small, steady squeeze. "You're part of us, Hermione. Always."
As the sky deepened into soft shades of pink and lavender, the last golden light slipping through the windows, Hermione gently passed Lysander back into Luna's arms. Luna held him close without hesitation, her movements instinctive now, her fingers brushing lightly over his head before she pressed a kiss to the soft down of his hair.
"I should be going soon," Hermione said, though her voice was quiet with reluctance. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the mantel, but they returned almost immediately to Luna and the baby. "But I'll come back. Soon. I promise."
Luna smiled, swaying gently with Lysander. "We'll be waiting."
As Hermione gathered her coat and bag, Crookshanks gave one long, theatrical stretch, then leapt up beside Luna with the slow, confident grace of a cat who knew exactly how welcome he was. He settled beside her with a soft grunt, nestling his large body against her leg. Hermione laughed under her breath and reached out to scratch him just behind the ears. "It seems Crooks isn't ready to leave yet."
Luna's hand drifted through the cat's fur, her voice warm. "He can stay as long as he likes."
There was one last hug, firm and lingering, before Hermione stepped into the soft chill of evening. The garden was quiet now, bathed in the hushed glow of the setting sun. As she walked toward the gates, the tension in her chest, the heavy ache she had grown used to carrying, felt a little lighter. It wasn't gone, not entirely. But something inside her had shifted. Being here, even for a little while, had helped.
Back inside, Luna settled into the sofa once more, Lysander breathing steadily against her shoulder, his tiny hand resting over her heart. Crookshanks remained curled at her side, his purring low and steady, filling the room with that comforting sound she had always loved. For a while, she let herself sink into the stillness. The fire crackled softly. The world felt far away.
She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and breathed.
In this small, golden sliver of time, everything was quiet. Everything was safe. Everything was exactly as it should be.
~~~~~~
The sun rose on the day of Pansy and Neville's wedding, casting a golden hue over Parkinson Manor that seemed to set the world aglow. The soft light filtered through the leaves of the surrounding trees, creating a shimmering tapestry of light and shadow that danced across the garden. Excitement and nervous energy mingled in the crisp morning air, as the garden transformed into a breathtaking spectacle of flowers, ribbons, and twinkling fairy lights. Delicate petals in every hue imaginable bloomed in a vibrant array, while ribbons in shades of emerald and ivory fluttered gently in the breeze. The entire scene reflected the love that had blossomed between the couple, a true testament to their journey together.
Inside her suite, Pansy stood amid a whirlwind of activity, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and disbelief. She was surrounded by her closest friends, each of them buzzing with excitement and laughter, their joy palpable. The sound of chatter filled the room as her bridesmaids flitted about, adjusting the delicate folds of her gown, a stunning phthalo green creation that flowed like liquid silk. Every detail had been meticulously planned, from the intricate lace detailing to the shimmering beading that caught the light just right.
As she caught a glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror, Pansy felt a whirlwind of emotions crash over her—exhilaration, nervousness, and an overwhelming sense of happiness. "I'm getting married," she whispered to herself, the reality of the moment sinking in. It was a thought so monumental that it felt almost surreal, as if she were a character in a dream rather than the bride standing on the cusp of a new life.
Her bridesmaids, noticing the introspection, turned toward her, their faces bright with smiles. Luna, her best friend and maid of honor, stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Pansy's shoulder. "You look absolutely breathtaking, Pansy. Today is your day to shine!" she encouraged, her voice warm and steady.
With a deep breath, Pansy let the comfort of her friends wash over her. Their laughter, the way they playfully teased one another, and the collective excitement created an atmosphere of love and support that enveloped her like a comforting embrace. Every shared memory and moment of friendship swirled around them, grounding her amidst the flurry of preparations. She felt fortunate to have such strong bonds in her life, especially on this momentous occasion.
As the last touches were made—a spritz of her favorite perfume, a delicate adjustment of her veil. The warmth of that thought filled her heart with a profound joy, igniting a spark of excitement for the beautiful day that lay ahead.
At that moment, Pansy felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the support surrounding her. She glanced at the ornate mirror, her heart racing as she took in the reflection of a woman ready to embark on the most significant journey of her life. As her thoughts drifted to Neville, a soft smile crept onto her lips. He had always been her rock, steady and unwavering.
Meanwhile, in a nearby room, Neville paced nervously, fiddling with the cufflinks of his dress robes. He looked dapper in phthalo green, perfectly complementing Pansy's gown. However, beneath the polished exterior, a whirlwind of emotions churned within him. "What if I trip while walking down the aisle? What if I can't find the right words during the vows?" His thoughts raced, but just then, Theo entered, a teasing grin on his face.
"Relax, Longbottom. You're marrying the love of your life. Just focus on her and everything will be perfect," Theo and Draco said, slapping a hand on Neville's back, offering reassurance.
Finally, the moment arrived. As the music swelled, guests turned in their seats, eyes fixed on the entrance. Pansy, heart pounding, took her father's arm, her breath hitching as she caught her first glimpse of Neville standing at the altar, his face awash with emotion. Time seemed to slow, and all her doubts melted away. This was it—her forever.
As she walked down the aisle, she felt a wave of love and support enveloping her. The garden, vibrant with blooming flowers and laughter, seemed to fade into the background, leaving only Neville in focus. When their eyes met, it was as if the entire world fell away, leaving just the two of them.
"I can't believe this day is finally here," Neville murmured as she reached him, his voice thick with emotion.
"I've always dreamed of this moment," Pansy replied softly, her heart swelling with happiness.
The ceremony unfolded beautifully, with heartfelt vows exchanged under the wisteria-draped arch. Each word spoken was laced with love and promises, sealing their commitment in front of family and friends. The moment Neville kissed her, the world erupted into applause, and Pansy felt as if she were floating, weightless in a sea of joy.
As the reception began, the garden transformed into a magical wonderland. Twinkling lights illuminated the night sky, and laughter filled the air as guests mingled and celebrated. Pansy and Neville danced their first dance as a married couple, moving effortlessly in sync, lost in each other. The melody enveloped them, a beautiful reflection of their love.
"We did it, Pansy," Neville whispered, twirling her around, his eyes sparkling with happiness. "We really did it."
"Yes, we did, my love. And this is just the beginning," Pansy replied, beaming at him.
As the night wore on, friends and family filled the dance floor, laughter echoing through the air. Ginny spun around with Blaise, while they swayed nearby. The atmosphere was electric, a celebration of love and unity.
Pansy couldn't help but feel a profound sense of belonging. Surrounded by their closest friends, she realized how fortunate they were to have such strong bonds. With each clink of glasses and laughter shared, the foundation of their new life together solidified.
~~~~~~
The night outside still shimmered with the remnants of celebration. The garden lights had dimmed, but echoes of laughter still lingered in the air, carried gently by the wind that whispered through the trees. Pansy and Neville's wedding had been pure magic, wild and wonderful in its chaos, and Luna was still glowing from it all, her soul alight with the kind of joy that only comes from watching someone you love find their happiness.
As they stepped through the door of their home, a hush fell around them, soft and sacred. The world outside receded, leaving only the quiet creak of the floorboards and the golden spill of lamplight in the hallway. Luna twirled forward on bare feet, her silver dress fluttering behind her like moonlight caught in motion. The silk caught on the air, trailing like mist, and her hair tumbled loose across her back, kissed with stardust and the scent of roses.
Theo stood just inside the doorway, his shoulder resting against the frame, eyes fixed on her like a man watching something holy. His jacket was gone, his shirt collar open, his dark tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looked undone, but not in a careless way. He looked like someone who had witnessed something so beautiful that he had forgotten how to keep his guard up. His eyes followed her every movement, drinking her in like she was the only thing that made sense.
Luna spun past him again, her laughter soft and breathless, and it tugged at something deep inside him. He reached out, caught her hand with practiced ease, and drew her into the circle of his arms. She fell against him with a gentle laugh, one hand braced on his chest, the other still clasped in his. Their bodies met easily, naturally, like this was the way they were always meant to fit.
He looked down at her, his voice low and steady. "Are you happy, my love?"
Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she didn't speak. She just looked at him, really looked, the kind of gaze that saw straight through to the softest parts of him. Then she smiled, wide and bright, tilting her head as though the question itself was too small for the answer. "Of course I am," she said quietly. "Completely."
His hand rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing the curve of her cheek. He lingered there, brushing his thumb against her skin as if trying to memorize the warmth of her. There was something careful in the way he touched her, something reverent, like he was still half-afraid this life they had made might vanish if he wasn't gentle enough.
"You know," he said, his voice quieter now, "we could do it too. A wedding. Something just for us. Something grand, if that's what you want."
Luna's hand found his heart, resting lightly against the steady beat beneath his shirt. She looked up at him with a softness that could crumble kingdoms. "I already have everything I want," she said, and it was not the kind of line meant to comfort. It was the truth. "You always give me everything I ask for."
And just like that, something inside him unraveled. His breath caught. His heart ached in that strange, tender way it always did when he let himself fully feel the weight of her love. Without another word, he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her, slow and deep, with all the quiet desperation of a man who had once believed he would never deserve this kind of joy. Her lips moved against his with an easy familiarity, and her hands slid up to tangle gently in his hair.
When they broke apart, their foreheads touched. They stayed like that, breath mingling, eyes closed, held in that rarest of silences where nothing more needed to be said.
Luna whispered, "You are my home."
"I would give you the whole universe if you asked," he whispered, the words sharp with sincerity. "There is nothing I wouldn't give you."
"I know," she murmured, her voice a quiet echo against his chest as she traced soft circles over the fabric of his shirt, like she was sketching constellations only she could see.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. They stood there, suspended in the warmth of each other's arms, letting the quiet stretch around them like a spell. The evening felt still, like time had bowed its head and stepped aside to give them space.
Then Luna lifted her face, just a little, her eyes searching his. They were wide and unhurried, as if the question had been sitting quietly in the corner of her mind, waiting for the right moment to come out and stretch its legs.
"Theo," she said softly, almost wonderingly, "why are you in love with me?"
The question hit him like a Bludger to the sternum.
He blinked. Once. Twice. His brain slowed to a crawl. His mouth opened, then closed. For a second, he looked like he'd forgotten how to speak entirely.
"What?" he croaked, voice embarrassingly high. "What do you mean, why am I—wait—are you—Luna, are you saying you're not—?"
His heart lurched in his chest like a wounded bird, wings flapping in panic. His mind leapt straight off a cliff into the worst possible conclusion before she could even finish her thought.
He let go of her as if she had burned him. Stumbled backward. One hand flew to his heart like it might fall out of his ribcage. The other shot dramatically into his hair.
"Oh Merlin," he gasped. "Oh gods, have I misread everything? Have I been deluded this entire time? Have I just been spinning around you like some sad, lovesick moon, completely unaware that you—oh no, oh no—what if you don't love me? What if you've never loved me at all?"
He whirled away, pacing like a man possessed. His hands tugged at his hair in despair, his eyes wide and horrified.
"What if I'm just… convenient? What if I'm the placeholder until someone more spiritually compatible comes along? What if I'm just… warm tea and stability? What if—Luna, please, for the love of Circe—what if I've been projecting all of this onto you and you've just been too polite to tell me otherwise?"
He turned back to her, chest heaving, eyes wild with a kind of beautiful, unnecessary anguish.
"What if I'm merely the sun," he cried, arms thrown open in theatrical misery, "forever trapped in your orbit, condemned to circle you like some tragic celestial fool while you drift through space, untouched, unbothered, completely unmoved by my devotion?"
Luna, entirely unfazed, simply blinked at him.
She didn't speak. She didn't interrupt. She just stood there, bare feet silent on the floor, eyes soft with something between fondness and quiet amusement. If she was at all alarmed by the fact that Theo had just launched himself into a full-scale romantic tailspin based on one perfectly innocent question, she didn't show it.
She just watched him. Calm. Still. A little moon herself. Waiting for the storm to burn itself out.
He let out a dramatic groan and stumbled toward the nearest chair like a man overcome with grief, then collapsed into it with all the weight of someone who had just been dealt a mortal blow. His head dropped into his hands.
"This is it," he muttered, his voice thick with despair. "This is my villain origin story. I will die of a broken heart, and you, Luna Lovegood, will be the reason."
He looked up just long enough to throw an arm over his eyes, then sighed so deeply it seemed to rattle through his entire being. "People will cry at my funeral," he declared. "They'll wear black, and they'll whisper to one another, 'Poor Theo, poor soul. He loved too much, and it ruined him.'"
He groaned again, louder this time. "And I shall die alone," he continued, clearly spiraling. "Alone, Luna. A lovesick, heartbroken, tragic mess of a man."
He paused, only to toss his head back and add with gusto, "A man who gave everything and received only silence. There will be sonnets written about me. Ballads. You will hear them sung in taverns and weep."
Before he could go any further into his poetic meltdown, Luna stepped forward and gently shook her head, a fond sigh escaping her lips. She leaned down, took his wrist in one hand, and calmly peeled his arm away from his face. Her other hand came to rest on his cheek, cool and soft, grounding him like sunlight on a stormy sea.
"Theo," she said gently, her tone steady, "I am in love with you."
The words dropped like a stone into a still lake.
He froze. Everything in him went quiet. His wild thoughts screeched to a halt. Even the frantic rhythm of his breathing seemed to settle, like her words had pressed pause on the chaos.
"You… you are?" His voice was barely audible, thin with disbelief.
Luna smiled in that effortless, dreamy way she always did. The one that made it feel like she had seen straight through him and loved him anyway. "Of course I am," she said, her tone light, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Why else would I ask?"
There was a beat of stunned silence, and then Theo let out the longest, most ridiculous sigh of relief she had ever heard. He reached for her immediately, pulling her into his arms and holding her like he never planned to let go.
"You cannot ask questions like that," he breathed, his voice both chastising and desperate. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I was seconds away from writing my own obituary. My sanity, my dignity… they were hanging by a thread."
She nuzzled closer, resting her cheek against his chest. "I didn't mean to scare you," she said softly. "I just wanted to hear what it sounded like. From you."
He pulled back slightly, cupping her face with both hands. His thumbs brushed along her cheekbones, and when he looked at her, it was with the kind of intensity that made it impossible to doubt him.
"I love you," he said, without hesitation. "More than anything. More than I've ever loved anyone, more than I thought I was capable of. You are everything to me."
Luna tilted her head just slightly, a curious glint in her eyes. "Even more than your hair gel?"
His jaw dropped in mock offense. "Luna," he gasped, scandalized. "That was below the belt."
Her laughter broke between them like sunlight, light and easy and entirely beautiful. Theo grinned despite himself, already helpless to her in every way that mattered. He leaned in and kissed her, slow and reverent, like he was pouring every ounce of love into the space between them.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, he felt completely undone.
She was his, and he was hers.
~~~~~~
Theo had planned every part of the evening with quiet, deliberate care. He wanted it to be right. Not flashy or overdone, just... thoughtful. Honest. The bedroom glowed with soft candlelight, warm and golden, shadows dancing gently across the walls. He had spent almost an hour arranging them, lighting one after another until the whole space felt like it belonged to another world. Rose petals were scattered over the bed, a deep red against the clean white sheets. The windows were open, sheer curtains stirring in the breeze. Somewhere outside, crickets chirped in the distance. The night was alive, but softly, as if even it knew this moment mattered.
When Luna stepped into the room, she stopped.
She didn't speak at first. Her eyes swept across the space, then landed on him. Her hand pressed to her chest, lips parted as her breath caught. "Theo," she said quietly. Her voice trembled a little. "This is... it's beautiful."
He couldn't help the way he smiled. Not a smirk or a grin, but that kind of smile that came from deep in his chest, the kind that only she ever pulled from him. He stepped toward her and took her hand, raising it slowly, kissing her knuckles like they were sacred.
"I wanted tonight to feel like something," he said. His voice came out softer than he expected. "For you. For us."
Her fingers curled around his. She looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that made sense. "It already does," she whispered.
She moved in closer. Their bodies touched, just barely, but it sent something sharp and electric running straight through him. He reached up, brushed her hair back, and cupped her cheek. Her skin was warm under his palm, familiar and soft and his. His thumb traced along her jaw as she tilted her face up to him.
He kissed her.
It was slow. Unrushed. The kind of kiss that spoke in silence. Her lips parted beneath his, warm and yielding, and she let out a quiet breath as she sank into it. Her hands slid around his neck, pulling him in until there was nothing between them. And that was all it took. That small shift. That trust.
His fingers brushed the silk of her dress like it was something alive. He followed the patterns stitched into it, eyes fixed on the way the embroidery curved over her skin, then slid down to the laces at her back. He didn't rush. Each tie came undone with slow care, like he was unwrapping something fragile. When the last one loosened, the dress slipped from her shoulders and sighed down her body, pooling around her ankles in a soft breath of silk.
Theo went still.
He took a breath, then another, but it didn't steady him. She was standing in front of him, bare and golden in the candlelight. Her body had changed. Her hips were a little wider now, her stomach a little softer, her breasts fuller from nursing. But to him she looked otherworldly . Holy.
His wife. The mother of his child. The love of his life.
"You are a dream," he said, voice rough, eyes drinking her in.
Luna smiled, slow and knowing. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one with a kind of calm that made his pulse race. The fabric slid off his shoulders and joined hers on the floor. Her hands smoothed over his chest, palms trailing along every line, every scar. He was warm under her touch, muscles flexing as her nails scraped lightly over his skin. Her eyes lifted to meet his, dark with need.
He caught her wrists gently. He brought them to his lips and kissed the soft skin over her pulse, holding her there like he could memorize the rhythm of her heartbeat.
"I want to take my time tonight," he whispered against her skin. "I want to make you feel everything. I want to love every inch of you until you can't remember anything but my name."
She nodded once. Her breath stuttered. "Then show me," she said.
Theo leaned in and kissed her again, slow at first, his mouth moving over hers like a promise. But the longer their lips stayed connected, the more the tension curled through his spine. His hands slid down her sides, fingers grazing her waist, her hips, then rising to cup her breasts. She gasped softly into his mouth when his thumbs brushed over her nipples, already sensitive and tight.
"Still so perfect," he murmured, head dipping to trail kisses down her neck. "God, I missed you."
Her fingers curled into his hair. She tipped her head back, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast now.
Theo guided her back until her knees touched the edge of the bed. He scooped her into his arms, lifting her with ease, and laid her gently down among the rose petals. They stuck to her skin, soft against the swell of her thighs, the curve of her stomach.
He stood over her for a moment, pulling the rest of his clothes off without breaking eye contact. His cock was already hard, heavy, flushed dark with how much he wanted her. She looked up at him like she couldn't breathe, her thighs pressing together, restless.
Her hand moved between her legs. She didn't ask. She didn't have to. Her fingers found her clit and started to rub slow, steady circles, her hips twitching with each pass. Her eyes stayed locked on him, pupils blown wide, lips wet and parted.
"That's it," he said, voice low and hungry. "Touch yourself for me, baby. Let me see you."
She moaned, fingers moving faster. Her free hand gripped the sheets as her back arched slightly. "Theo," she breathed, voice catching. "Please. I need you."
He crawled onto the bed, settling between her legs, pushing them open with firm hands. He kissed her knees, her thighs, the soft skin of her belly. Then lower.
His mouth met her center without hesitation.
She cried out as he licked into her, slow and deep. His tongue circled her clit, then flattened against it in long, wet strokes. He held her open, devouring her like he had all the time in the world, like this was what he'd been made to do. She was already soaked, her body more responsive than he remembered, trembling with every flick of his tongue.
He slid two fingers inside her and she gasped, her hips rolling up to meet him.
"Still so tight," he said, pulling back to kiss her inner thigh, then diving back in. "You're perfect. Every part of you."
She came quickly, hips jerking, thighs tensing around his head. Her body quaked with it, and she didn't try to hold back the sounds she made. It rolled through her in waves, her breath coming in short, choked-off moans.
Theo didn't stop. He kept licking, kept praising her, his fingers still working her slowly as she whimpered beneath him.
And then she gasped, sharp and breathless, her thighs spreading wider as her body bucked. A sudden rush of wetness spilled out of her, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything.
She looked panicked for half a second. "Oh my God," she whispered.
But Theo just growled low in his throat, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. "Do that again."
She blinked, dazed and wrecked. "I—Theo…"
He kissed her thigh, still holding her tight. "That was the hottest thing I've ever felt. Let it happen. Don't hold back."
She didn't. She couldn't.
He moved up her body, kissing her deeply, and when he pushed inside her, slow and thick and stretching her open all over again, they both gasped like they were coming home.
Her nails scraped down his back as he started to move. His name fell from her lips again and again, and every time, he answered with a thrust so deep she saw stars.
He wasn't gentle. Not anymore.
He was worshiping her with everything he had, every part of him, every ragged breath. Their bodies moved together in a rhythm that had nothing to do with timing and everything to do with knowing each other's souls.
Theo fucked her like he'd lost his mind.
Like he hadn't touched her in years.
Like he was trying to climb inside her and stay there forever.
Each thrust was deep and deliberate, pulling soft gasps from her throat that turned into cries when he angled his hips just right. Her body welcomed him like it had never forgotten. Tight and wet, fluttering around him with every movement, gripping him so sweetly it made his jaw clench.
He had one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her thigh as he pulled her leg higher around his waist. Their bodies collided over and over, the sound of skin meeting skin lost beneath her moans and his desperate breathing. The bed creaked beneath them, rose petals crushed into the sheets, forgotten. Sweat slicked their skin, sticking them together, but neither of them cared. This wasn't about pretty. This wasn't about control.
It was about everything they had held in for too long finally breaking free.
"God, Luna," he groaned against her throat, lips brushing her pulse. "You feel so fucking good. I missed you. I missed this ."
Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. "Don't stop," she gasped. "Please, don't stop. I'm so close."
He moved faster, deeper, grinding into her like he was trying to carve himself into her body. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth open as her orgasm built fast and wild inside her. He could feel it, the way her body tightened, how her thighs trembled, how her breathing shattered.
"Look at me," he said, his voice rough. "I want to see you fall apart."
She opened her eyes, met his gaze, and in the next moment, she came with a scream.
Her whole body seized around him, and then she broke wide open. She squirted again, harder this time, soaking his cock, the sheets, both of them slick and drenched in her release. Her legs shook, her head thrown back against the pillows, hair tangled, cheeks flushed. She looked like something divine. Like she was being undone by love itself.
Theo nearly lost it.
"Fuck, baby, yes," he groaned. "Just like that. You're perfect. You're fucking perfect."
She whimpered, still shaking as he kept moving inside her, slower now but still deep. She was oversensitive, overwhelmed, but she didn't want him to stop. She needed him to come. Needed to feel him lose control too.
"Come in me," she whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "I want to feel it. Please."
That wrecked him.
He thrust harder, burying himself deep with every stroke, and then everything snapped. He came with a hoarse cry, face buried in her neck, holding her so tightly he could barely breathe. His hips jerked as he spilled inside her, warm and hot and endless.
They stayed like that for a long time. Tangled and shaking, skin against skin, sweat and come and love smeared between them.
Neither of them said anything right away.
Theo rolled just enough to not crush her, but he kept himself buried inside, holding her close, kissing her temple like it would keep her soul inside her body.
Her fingers played with the hair at the base of his neck. Her breathing started to calm. Her heart was still racing, pressed to his chest.
She didn't ask him to pull out.
He didn't offer.
"I love you," she whispered eventually, voice raw and small and filled with everything she couldn't say earlier.
He pulled back just far enough to look at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her damp cheek.
"I love you more," he said.
The room had gone quiet.
The candles still flickered, the petals still clung to the sheets, some crushed beneath them, some stuck to her thigh, damp with sweat and come. The scent of roses lingered thick in the air, but softer now. Blurred around the edges. The world had blurred too.
Theo didn't move for a while. Neither did she.
His chest pressed against her back, one arm draped over her waist, the other tucked beneath her head like a pillow. His hand rested low on her belly, fingers splayed wide, like he still couldn't believe she'd carried life there. Like it made her holy. Maybe it did.
Luna blinked slowly, her eyes tracing the dancing light on the ceiling. Her body still ached in that delicious, stretched, used way. Her thighs were sticky. Her lips were kiss-swollen. Her heart felt too full.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly against the back of her neck. His voice was low and hoarse, worn thin from groaning her name into the sheets.
She nodded, smiling where he couldn't see it. "More than okay."
He nuzzled closer, kissed her shoulder, then the side of her neck. "You were perfect."
Her cheeks flushed again, and she laughed softly. "I squirted on you."
"I told you I loved it," he said, grinning. "I'd frame it if I could."
She turned over to face him, her legs tangling with his, her hand splayed over his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her palm, slow and grounding.
"I didn't know it could still feel like that," she whispered. "After everything. The hormones, the healing, the crying… I didn't think I'd feel sexy again."
Theo leaned in and kissed her gently. Not with hunger this time. With devotion.
"You've never stopped being sexy to me," he said. "Even in sweatpants. Even holding a bottle at three in the morning. Even when you're wiping spit-up off your shoulder."
She rolled her eyes, but the tears that welled up had nothing to do with laughter.
He saw them and pulled her closer. "You're beautiful, Luna. Not just because your body gave us our son. But because you're you . And I will worship you for the rest of my life."
Her throat tightened. She buried her face in his neck and let out a soft breath, clinging to him like she'd float away if she didn't.
They stayed like that a while longer.
Eventually, he got up and grabbed a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom, wiping her down gently, careful not to press too hard against her sore thighs. She watched him from the bed, her heart expanding with every slow, quiet movement. He cleaned himself off next, tossed the ruined sheet into the corner with a shrug.
They curled back up together under a fresh one, limbs wrapped tight, skin warm against skin.
Somewhere down the hall, the baby stirred, gave a half-hearted whimper, then drifted off again.
Theo smiled into her hair. "We've got, what, maybe another two hours of quiet?"
"Shut up and hold me," she murmured, already half-asleep.
He did.
And in that soft, still pocket of night, surrounded by crushed petals and candlelight and the faint sound of their son dreaming in the next room, they slept.
Wrapped in love. Spent and safe. Home.