That night, as he lay in bed, his mind refused to quiet. The memory of their kiss in the kitchen played over and over again, a slow-burning reel of warmth and wonder. His heart still raced at the thought of it—at the way her lips had molded so perfectly against his, at the softness of her touch, at the knowledge that she had wanted it just as much as he had.
The manor was cloaked in silence, save for the rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant call of an owl. He should have been able to sleep, but instead, he lay there, his thoughts tangled in her, in them, in the possibilities that lay ahead.
Then, the door creaked open.
His breath caught as he sat up, eyes adjusting to the dim glow from the hallway. And there she was.
She stood framed in the doorway, her hair cascading over her shoulders, her presence as effortless as moonlight.
"There are too many Nargles in my room," she said softly, her voice laced with that quiet, knowing serenity that always managed to unnerve and enchant him at once. "Can I stay here?"
His pulse stuttered, his body locking in place. "Y-Yes," he managed, his throat suddenly dry. "Of course."
The words left him before he had even processed them, before he had fully understood what this meant. Scrambling for control, he swallowed hard and gestured to the sofa by the fire. "I can sleep there if you'd prefer the bed."
She tilted her head, a small, bemused smile gracing her lips. "No, Theodore," she said gently. "I would like to sleep with you."
His stomach clenched, anticipation coiling deep in his core.
He hesitated only for a fraction of a second before shifting to make space for her in the vast bed. She moved forward, unhurried, slipping beneath the covers as though she had always belonged there. And perhaps she had.
Lying beside her felt impossibly intimate, more so than all the hesitant touches and stolen glances that had led them here. The warmth of her seeped into his skin, the soft rustle of fabric and the steady rhythm of her breathing the only sounds in the room.
He turned to face her, their noses almost brushing, his voice hushed. "Are you comfortable?"
She nodded, her expression open and unguarded. "Yes Theodore. Very much so. Thank you."
His name on her lips sent a shiver through him.
For the first time in years he felt content. As though she had filled a hollow space inside him that he hadn't realized was empty until she had stepped inside it.
"Goodnight, Luna," he whispered, feeling the words settle in the quiet space between them.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she lifted her hand to his face, her fingers tracing the sharp angles of his jaw with a tenderness that sent his pulse skyrocketing. And then, without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him.
A slow, soft press of lips, light as a feather, yet impossibly grounding.
He exhaled sharply, his body losing its tension in an instant as she deepened the kiss, as if to silence any lingering doubt. His hands found her waist, hesitantly at first, but when she pressed closer, when she sighed against his mouth, he gripped her tighter, pulling her flush against him.
The world outside ceased to exist. There was only her, only the delicate sweep of her fingers down his chest, only the intoxicating scent of vanilla and lavender that clung to her skin, only the way she moved with quiet confidence, her touch setting fire to every nerve in his body.
She unbuttoned his pyjama, her lips following the path of each exposed inch of skin. He shuddered beneath her touch, his breath hitching as she traced his collarbone, his ribs, his stomach with reverent precision. Every kiss she pressed to his skin felt like a whispered promise, a devotion written in touch rather than words.
He was utterly undone, reduced to breathless, trembling silence as she explored him with careful hands and knowing lips. He had imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer intensity of feeling that flooded his senses.
She hovered above him, watching him with quiet amusement, her fingers grazing his flushed skin. "You're so beautiful, Theodore," she murmured, as if the thought had just occurred to her, as if it were an undeniable truth that had to be spoken aloud.
His breath came ragged now, his hands gripping the sheets as she continued her slow, unhurried worship of him. His mind swam, torn between wanting to savor every second of this moment and the unbearable need to pull her even closer, to give her every part of himself in return.
For all his confidence in battle, his sharp intellect, and his ability to navigate the treacherous world of pureblood politics, Theodore Nott found himself utterly undone by the woman in his arms.
He had never been touched like this before. Never been wanted like this before. And when she whispered his name again, low and reverent, he knew that there would never be anyone else for him but her.
Her hands explored his body with deliberate slowness, as though committing every inch of him to memory. Each caress ignited something deep within him, a fire that had been smoldering for too long.
She traced the sharp lines of his collarbone, the smooth planes of his chest, her fingertips mapping his skin like a sacred text. His breath hitched when she pressed her lips against his throat, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine.
His hands twitched at his sides, unsure where to place them, how to touch her without ruining the delicate perfection of this moment. But she guided him, easing his hesitancy with soft sighs and gentle hands, encouraging him to let go.
"Luna," he rasped, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer. He cupped her face, fingers threading through the silk of her hair, and pulled her into a kiss.
It was slow, deep, and all-consuming. She tasted like honey and warmth, like something he never knew he needed but would now crave for the rest of his life. He poured everything into that kiss, his longing, his devotion, the years he had spent wanting her but never believing he could have her.
She pressed closer, their bodies fitting together as though the universe had crafted them to be this way. The fabric of her nightgown was soft beneath his fingertips, but he wanted to feel her. The realization made his pulse hammer against his ribs, his breaths coming quicker as she pulled away just enough to look at him.
"You don't have to be nervous," she murmured, her voice thick with affection, her eyes shining with warmth and mischief. "I'm yours. As you are mine."
Something in him shattered at those words, something ancient and restrained. He had never known love in its purest form, not like this. His hands moved of their own accord, skimming down her back, gripping the curve of her waist as he laid her back against the pillows.
She was breathtaking beneath him, her golden hair splayed across his sheets like liquid moonlight, her lips kiss-swollen, her body welcoming. He ran his fingers down the delicate curve of her thigh, his touch reverent, awed by the way she responded to him, soft sighs, slight arches, the way her breath hitched every time his lips found a new place to worship.
He wanted to take his time, to explore every part of her, to learn what made her tremble, what made her sigh, what made her cling to him with that dreamy, blissful expression he was quickly becoming addicted to.
He was trying to be calm, to act like he wasn't nervous, but his hands were gripping the edge of the sheets and his chest was rising a little too fast.
Luna didn't rush.
She knelt between his legs slowly, dragging her fingers along the waistband of his trousers as she settled in. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she gave him this quiet, curious smile that made his throat go dry. She wasn't teasing him. She was studying him. Like she was about to learn something important.
"Are you alright?" she asked. Her voice was low, sweet, but there was a glint in her eye that made his stomach twist.
He nodded quickly, too quickly, and his voice cracked a little when he said, "Yeah. Just… yeah."
She giggled. Not at him, but soft and warm, like he was endearing. Her hands moved to his belt, fingers nimble, and when she undid it and started tugging his trousers down, he froze for a second. She noticed, of course. Her thumb brushed along the sharp line of his hip as she leaned forward to kiss just above it.
"You can tell me to stop," she murmured. "But I'd really like to keep going."
He let out a shaky breath and lifted his hips, letting her pull the fabric down the rest of the way. His cock was already hard, flushed dark and resting against his stomach, and the moment he saw her eyes drop to it, his whole body tensed like he didn't know what to do with himself.
Luna looked up at him again, her hands resting on his thighs, and her smile turned into something a little darker. A little hungrier.
"Merlin," she whispered. "You're huge."
That broke something in him.
He dropped his head back against the pillow with a groan, and when she leaned in and kissed the inside of his thigh, he actually flinched.
Her hands roamed freely, exploring every part of him with a kind of wonder that made his head spin. She traced her fingers up the underside of his cock, watching how it twitched when she touched it, how his breath stuttered when she wrapped her hand around the base.
And then she leaned in.
The first touch of her tongue against the head made his hips jerk. She pulled back, watching him with a look that was all soft amusement, and then did it again. Slower this time. Letting her tongue swirl around the tip before taking him in just a little.
Theo choked on a moan. His hands fisted in the sheets. He didn't even know what to do with his legs anymore.
"Baby," he breathed, his voice barely there. "Fuck. I've never— this is..."
She hummed around him, the sound sending vibrations down his cock, and when he bucked his hips just a little, she placed a hand on his stomach to hold him down.
"It's alright," she said quietly, pulling back just far enough to speak. Her lips were wet, her cheeks flushed. "You can let me take care of you."
He nodded. He couldn't do anything else.
His mouth had gone dry and his brain had emptied out entirely. There was only the wet heat of her mouth, the slick slide of her tongue, and the way her fingers curled around his base like she had done this a thousand times but still wanted to learn him.
She took more of him into her mouth. A little deeper each time. She built it up slowly, letting him fall apart piece by piece. Every time he moaned, she rewarded it. Every twitch of his thighs, every quiet gasp, every time he whispered her name — she responded with more.
More pressure. More warmth. More of that maddening rhythm that was just slow enough to keep him from tipping over.
He didn't even realize he was begging until he heard himself say it.
"Please," he whispered, almost broken. "Please, I'm gonna— I can't... fuck."
She didn't stop.
She just sucked harder, moved her hand faster, and when his hips bucked again she held him down, and that was it. That was all it took.
Theo came with a groan that sounded like a man falling apart. His body tensed and his fingers clawed at the mattress, his head buried in the pillow as his cock pulsed in her mouth.
Luna didn't stop until he was done. Until he was trembling and gasping and begging again, this time for her to stop because it was too much.
And then she pulled off with a quiet pop, wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and crawled up his body like nothing had happened.
He was still breathless. His eyes were glassy. His face was flushed. But the first thing he did was cup her cheek and kiss her.
His fingers were shaking a little, his skin warm with leftover heat, but his eyes stayed locked on her like she was something he had never quite believed he was allowed to touch. And now that he had, he couldn't stop looking.
She curled up against his side, grinning like she had just cast a very successful spell.
"You're still breathing," she teased.
He let out a short, unsteady laugh. "Barely."
Luna's hand slid down his chest, lazy and warm, but before she could tease him any further, he shifted, and for a moment she looked surprised.
Then he kissed her neck. Slowly. Tentatively. Then lower.
"Theodore," she said, voice suddenly softer. "You don't have to."
"I want to."
His voice was quiet but firm. His lips moved down her collarbone, trailing light, nervous kisses. She could feel the tension in his shoulders. He wasn't doing this out of some obligation. He looked... determined. Curious.
And just a little terrified.
But she let him.
She lay back, settling against the pillows, watching as he kissed down her chest. His mouth brushed over her breasts, over the soft skin between them. He paused, glanced up, flushed but not pulling away.
"Tell me if I do anything wrong," he said. "Like. Anything."
Luna's heart clenched a little, in a good way.
"You won't," she whispered. "Just go slow."
And he did.
He kissed his way down her stomach, slower this time, more focused. His hands came to rest on her hips, and when he got between her legs, he paused again. Just long enough to look.
"Fuck," he said under his breath.
Luna felt a flutter of heat in her belly just from that.
Then he leaned in and licked her once. A long, broad stroke from the bottom up. He pulled back immediately after, blinking like he was trying to make sense of it.
"That was... different."
She burst out laughing, gasping between giggles.
Theo groaned. "Okay. Not the response I was going for."
"No," she said, still breathless, "no, that was perfect. Keep going. Please."
So he did.
It was awkward at first. A little too gentle. A little too hesitant. But he kept watching her. He adjusted the angle of his tongue when she gasped. Changed the rhythm when her breath hitched. Every time she made a sound, he took it like a lesson, like a new spell he was learning by heart.
And then something shifted.
He figured out the spot.
The angle. The pressure.
One of his hands came up, fingers spreading her open just slightly, and his mouth got greedy. His tongue moved in slow circles at first, then firmer. Tighter. Deeper.
Luna arched, eyes wide, her hands suddenly tangled in his hair.
"Oh," she breathed. "Theo, fuck, yes—just like that."
He groaned into her, and the sound of it, the heat of it, made her thighs tremble around his head.
She tried to warn him, tried to tell him she was close, but he was locked in now. Committed. His grip on her hips tightened, holding her still, and he licked her like he had discovered something sacred and couldn't stop himself.
And then his tongue flicked harder.
Faster.
He sucked her clit into his mouth, just briefly, and that was it.
She broke.
"Fuck—Theo—shit—oh my God—"
She came with a gasp so loud it startled her. Her body bucked off the bed, her thighs clamped around his head, and just as she was peaking, something new hit. Hard. Sharp. Wet.
She squirted.
It hit his mouth, his chin, his throat, and he pulled back fast, shocked and glistening, eyes wide and stunned.
"Holy—was that—" he blinked, face flushed and covered in her. "Did you just—"
Luna covered her face, completely mortified. "Oh my fuck I'm… I'm so sorry, I've never, ever—."
"No," he said quickly, voice almost reverent. "No, that was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen."
She peeked at him between her fingers.
He was grinning.
Soaked. A mess. And beaming.
"I'm so sorry," she mumbled.
"Do not be sorry," he said, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. "Please. Merlin. I think I just saw the face of God."
She started laughing. Hysterical. High on pleasure and embarrassment and the way he was looking at her like she had just rewritten his entire worldview.
He crawled up her body, kissed her sticky and slow, and whispered into her ear, "You're fucking magic."
Luna was draped over him, her cheek resting against his chest, his heart still beating too fast under her ear. Theo's hand moved slowly along her spine, fingers gentle, reverent, like he was still trying to convince himself she was real and here and his.
His lips brushed the top of her head, then her temple, then lower, his mouth following the curve of her jaw like he was tracing stardust across her skin.
When she lifted her head to kiss him, it was slow. Melted sugar slow. Sticky and soft and deep. He kissed her back like he'd waited his whole life for this. Like he didn't need air. Like he'd rather drown in her mouth than take a single breath without her.
She moved first.
Lifted herself just enough to straddle him again, and his breath caught in his throat.
She held him in her hand, slow and steady, guiding him to her like they had done this a thousand times before, and when she sank down, the sound they both made wasn't polite. It was broken. Needy. Almost a sob.
And he was already shaking again.
Luna moved with purpose this time. Her hips circled, then rocked, then rolled in slow, devastating waves that made him choke on a moan.
"You feel..." he started, but never finished. His jaw locked, his hands gripped her thighs, and all he could do was feel.
And she let him.
She gave him everything. The slow drag of her body along his. The slick heat. The gasp when he hit just the right angle. The way her hands ran through his hair and her eyes locked on his like she was watching the moment he came undone.
She leaned forward, kissed his jaw, and whispered something soft into his ear.
"I want you to stay inside me."
He groaned, deep and guttural, like her words burned through his spine.
"I want you to come again," she said. "I want to feel all of you."
He had no defenses left. No logic. No hesitation. Just her, wrapped around him, pulling him deeper with every movement, every sigh, every whispered "yes" into his mouth.
The room was all heat and skin and the sound of their bodies moving together like something holy. His hands slid up her back, fingers pressing between her shoulder blades as he pulled her closer, deeper, tighter.
She was everywhere.
Her moans were quiet poetry, little prayers against his throat. Her sweat mixed with his on their skin. Her thighs trembled against his hips, and he could feel how close she was again. He could feel her walls clenching around him, begging for more.
"I love how you feel," she whispered. "I love what you do to me."
He cupped her face, eyes wild and wet and reverent.
"I want to come with you," he said. "Let me. Please."
She nodded, her forehead pressed to his, their mouths barely brushing as they fell apart together.
She shattered first, her body pulsing around him, and he came inside her seconds after, spilling into her with a low, wrecked moan that sounded like he was giving her something more than his body.
And maybe he was.
Because even when the waves of pleasure faded, when the trembling slowed and the air cooled, he didn't let her go. He held her tighter. Pressed his mouth to her shoulder. Closed his eyes like he was praying.
The thought struck him then, as he held her in the quiet of the night. He had spent so many years believing love was a distant dream, something unattainable for someone like him.
But here she was.
His wife.
His love.
His Luna.
And he would spend the rest of his days proving that no force in the universe could ever take her from him.
~~~~~~
As days eased into weeks and weeks slipped quietly into months, they found a rhythm that felt natural, almost instinctive. It shaped their lives without ever needing to be named. What had begun as something arranged out of necessity softened over time, turning into something steady and real.
Their bond did not grow through dramatic moments or sweeping promises, but through the slow layering of ordinary days, through countless small moments that stitched their lives together until the seams disappeared.
Theo learned to express what he struggled to say aloud by paying attention. He gave her books chosen with care, wrapped simply, selected because something in the story reminded him of the way her thoughts wandered or the way her eyes lit when she discovered something new. Sometimes it was a handful of wildflowers gathered from the woods, colours clashing beautifully, a little untamed, exactly like her laughter. He left her notes where she would find them later, tucked into the pockets of her robes or slipped between the pages of whatever book she had last been reading, short lines written in his careful hand.
On warm evenings, when the stars appeared without effort, he set the table outside and lit candles that flickered softly in the breeze.
He watched the glow catch along her cheek and never quite found the words to explain what it meant to him, this life they were building without planning it. Instead, he let the truth live in the details, in the quiet, in the way he showed up for her again and again.
Each time, without fail, her eyes brightened in a way that sent his heart tumbling. The curve of her smile, the gentle sound of her laugh, those were the rewards he carried with him.
She received his affection with the same ease she brought to everything else. She never demanded declarations or grand gestures. For Luna, love lived in the spaces between words, in the weight of a look held a moment longer, in the comfort of silence shared without explanation.
So they built a life together slowly, not through spectacle, but through consistency. Their love grew in the quiet moments, in the way her hand found his when they walked through the woods, in the warmth of sitting side by side by the fire, wrapped in blankets and books and ideas that carried them far beyond the walls of their home.
Evenings often passed that way, their legs tangled beneath worn quilts, pages turning softly as they talked about ancient runes or the nature of time, sometimes agreeing, sometimes not, always listening. On warmer days they wandered the forest without direction, sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead, and when she reached for him, her fingers brushing his without ceremony, he always looked at her as though it were the first time.
They crossed open meadows thick with wildflowers, and she laughed as she moved between them, stopping only to tuck a blossom behind his ear, a gesture that never failed to undo him. He never stopped watching her, not once, his attention caught on the way her bare feet skimmed the earth, on the curve of her mouth, on the quiet light she carried even as the sky darkened.
She found his notes pressed between the pages of her favourite books, ink sometimes smudged where his hand had lingered too long. They were never long, never extravagant, just enough to make her chest tighten in the best way. Thoughts he had not spoken aloud. Pieces of himself offered quietly.
She kept every one of them, smoothing the paper flat and safe, tucking them away like small truths preserved with care, as though she were collecting his heart one handwritten line at a time.
Nott Manor had once been defined by silence. Long corridors, heavy shadows, a house that functioned more as a monument than a home. Footsteps echoed where voices never lingered, and the past pressed in from every wall. Then, slowly, without him quite noticing when it began, her laughter filled the space. The stone softened. Rooms that had never known warmth began to hold it. The house learned how to breathe again.
He had been wary at first. He wore his history like armour, convinced it made him closed off, too sharp edged, incapable of something lasting. But she never asked him to be anything else. She did not demand certainty or grace or easy words. She only asked for truth. And when he offered it, even the parts of himself that still shook, she met them without hesitation.
What she gave him was quiet, not emptiness but peace. The kind that comes from knowing you are safe. She gave him belonging without conditions, as though it had always been his to claim.
Their love did not arrive in flashes or flames. It grew steadily, something planted and cared for, reaching outward until it became inseparable from the place they lived. It wrapped itself around them slowly, strong and certain, needing no proof to exist.
What they built was more than shared rooms and shared days. It lived in the pauses between words, in glances exchanged across candlelight, in silences that never felt hollow. It showed itself in the way their hands found each other without thinking, and in how the manor stopped feeling like a structure and began to feel like home.
~~~~~~
It was well past midnight when he finally returned to the manor, the day clinging to him like a weight he could not shake. His shirt, once immaculate, was stained dark with blood, some of it dry, some of it not, the pale fabric ruined beyond saving. His body ached in that deep, familiar way that came after violence, when adrenaline had long since faded and left only exhaustion behind.
And she was there.
Standing just inside the entrance, candlelight soft against her features, her presence steadying him even before he fully registered it. But tonight, the moment her eyes found him, something shifted. The calm she carried fractured, worry surfacing in its place.
"My Sun," she said quietly, and there was a tremor in her voice she did not bother to hide. "What happened?"
He forced a smile, thin and tired, already knowing it would not fool her. "It's nothing, my moon. Just a scratch." He tried to sound light, dismissive, though the fatigue bled through despite his effort.
Her gaze did not leave him. It moved over the blood, the tension in his stance, the way his fingers twitched as if he were still braced for impact. "A scratch does not leave this much blood, Theodore," she said gently, stepping closer.
He exhaled, the sound heavy. "It looks worse than it is," he insisted, running a hand through his hair. "I have had worse."
She closed the remaining distance without hesitation. He felt her warmth immediately, grounding him. Her hand settled on his arm, careful and sure, her touch sending a quiet ache through his chest. "You do not have to do this alone," she murmured. "Not with me. Let me help you."
The sincerity in her voice undid him more thoroughly than any wound ever had. He had been taught to endure. To carry pain without complaint. She was asking him to let go of that.
He hesitated only a moment.
"Alright," he said at last, his voice softer now.
She guided him inside, her hand never leaving his arm. The manor around them faded as they moved through it together, the grandeur meaningless beside the simple comfort of her presence. When they reached their room, she coaxed him to sit on the edge of the bed, her movements calm and assured.
She returned with a basin of warm water and a cloth. The quiet care with which she worked drew something intimate into the space between them. When she knelt and began to clean the blood from his skin, her touch was meticulous and gentle, rebuilding rather than probing.
"You do not need to worry about me," he murmured when he winced despite himself.
She did not answer. She simply continued, focused and steady, her fingers brushing over him with a tenderness that unsettled his pulse for reasons that had nothing to do with pain.
The room filled with quiet. The soft drip of water into the basin. His uneven breathing as he allowed himself to rest into her care.
For once, he did not fight it. He let himself be held by the moment, by the safety of her hands, by the way she treated him as something worth mending.
He watched her as she worked, the concentration in her expression, the candlelight caught in her eyes. And it struck him, sudden and undeniable, how deeply he loved her. How completely his life had come to rest around her presence, even though she had never been something to possess.
The thought unsettled him.
His gaze drifted to the doorway, to the memory of her standing there night after night, waiting for him without question.
A faint frown touched his brow as he looked back at her, searching her face for something he was not sure he was ready to understand. "My moon," he said quietly, his voice carrying something fragile beneath the words, "why do you always wait for me at the door?"
Her eyes met his, deep and steady, holding that quiet, far-reaching awareness that had always set her apart. She tilted her head slightly, considering him, choosing her answer with the same care she gave to everything she did.
"Waiting is better than wondering," she said at last, her voice calm but weighted. "Better than not knowing whether you will come home at all."
Something inside him cracked open at that.
"Wondering?" he echoed, stepping closer before he realised he had moved. His hand lifted to her cheek, his touch gentle but urgent, as though grounding himself in her might keep the thought at bay. "I promise you, I will always come home. Why would you think otherwise?"
She covered his hand with hers, her fingers light yet certain, steady in a way that made his breath catch. "Theodore," she murmured, her voice soft as wind through leaves, "there may come a day when you do not. I accept that. Until then, I will be here, waiting for you."
Her words settled between them, heavy with a quiet truth that chilled him. She had always seen the world differently, sensed the threads others refused to acknowledge. In that moment, he understood how fully she grasped the risks he carried, the life he lived, and how easily it could all be taken away.
He had thought her patience was love.
Now he knew it was strength.
Admiration and grief twisted together in his chest, an ache he could not name. "You are remarkable," he whispered, his thumb brushing her cheek as if memorising the feel of her, as if touch alone could bargain with fate.
She smiled, something wistful in it. "And you are brave," she replied gently. "It is part of who you are."
He shook his head, jaw tightening. Brave felt like the wrong word. Brave implied choice. He had not chosen this life, not truly. He had learned to endure it, to survive because there had never been another option. He had never chosen to be the man who left her waiting, wondering if night would steal him away.
And yet she waited.
He exhaled slowly and pulled her into his arms, holding her close, needing the solid truth of her against him. "I am not going anywhere," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick but resolute. "Not for a long time."
She melted into him, her arms slipping around his waist, holding him just as firmly, as though anchoring them both. "I know," she whispered against his chest, her breath warm, her heartbeat steady. "But the world has its own plans. All we can do is cherish the time we are given. And I choose to spend mine waiting for you."
He closed his eyes, swallowing past the ache rising in his throat.
She knew.
She understood the things he tried to shield her from, the realities he pretended did not exist when he was with her. And still, she stayed. She accepted him, his life, and the dangers that came with it, without hesitation.
He held her tighter, burying his face in her hair, breathing in lavender and something that was only her.
He did not deserve her patience or her trust.
But he would earn it.
As they stood wrapped together in the quiet of the room, something settled firmly inside him. A vow, unspoken but unbreakable.
He would come home.
No matter what waited beyond these walls, no matter what battles lay ahead, he would return to her. To his Moon.
As long as she waited, he would always have a reason to fight. A reason to survive.
And in her presence, in the certainty of her love, he found his purpose, a light strong enough to guide him through even the darkest nights.
~~~~~~
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Nott Manor, warming the sitting room where they spent the afternoon together. The quiet felt protective, a pause from the outside world where nothing was demanded of them. Still, beneath the calm, something uneasy lingered.
She had not been herself for days.
What had begun as mild nausea had settled into something persistent. Theo watched her closely, noticing how her hand drifted to her stomach more often than she realised, how fatigue dulled the edges of her usual ease. She tried to hide it. He knew better.
Concern tightened in his chest, slow and relentless. This was a fear he did not understand how to fight. There was no plan to draw up, no strategy to prepare. He had no one to ask what was normal, no familiar voice to reassure him. The uncertainty left him raw in a way danger never had.
He shifted in his chair, fingers gripping the armrest. Helplessness sat poorly on him.
"My moon," he said at last, his voice low, weighted. "You have been unwell for days now. I think we should call a healer."
She looked up at him, calm as ever, her hands resting loosely in her lap. There was serenity in her expression, but he saw the effort beneath it.
"It is just a stomach bug," she said gently, offering a small smile. "I am sure it will pass."
His jaw tightened. "And if it does not?" The edge in his voice surprised even him. He inhaled and tried again. "Luna, what if it is something more? I do not know how to handle this. I can manage battlefields and politics, but this?" His breath shuddered. "Watching you hurt and not knowing how to help frightens me."
The admission hung between them, bare and honest.
She reached for him then, her fingers threading through his, warm and steady. He stared at their joined hands, grounding himself in the reality of her touch.
"Theo," she said softly. "I know you are scared. But I promise you, I am alright."
He squeezed her hand, though the ache remained. "What if you are not?" he asked quietly. "I do not know what is normal. I do not have anyone to ask. And I cannot lose you."
Something in her gaze softened. Understanding, deep and unspoken.
"You do not need all the answers," she said. "We will figure it out together. You are not alone."
The words settled into him slowly.
"You truly believe that?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied. "Whatever this is, we will face it side by side."
The tightness in his chest eased just enough for him to breathe. His free hand lifted, brushing her cheek as if anchoring her to the moment.
"You are extraordinary," he murmured.
A spark of humour lit her eyes. "I am aware."
Despite himself, a quiet laugh escaped him. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, lingering there a moment longer than necessary.
Still, beneath the warmth and reassurance, something waited beyond their sight. A shift neither of them could name yet.
For now, as the afternoon light wrapped around them, he allowed himself to believe it was only a passing illness.
~~~~~~
Today felt different.
The heaviness that had lived in her body for days was gone, lifted so completely it startled her. For the first time in what felt like ages, she moved without effort. The dull fatigue that had slowed her steps faded like mist under sunlight, replaced by a gentle energy humming just beneath her skin. Even the lingering discomfort she had learned to accommodate had eased, allowing a familiar lightness to return.
As Luna climbed the stairs to her rooms, understanding settled into her with calm certainty. The fog that had clouded her thoughts finally cleared, bringing with it a truth she could no longer set aside. The signs had been there all along. The nausea that came and went. The warmth that surfaced without explanation. The quiet sense of knowing that had begun to take shape in the background of her thoughts.
She trusted that voice.
Her instincts had never failed her before.
Inside the stillness of her chambers, she moved with intention. Her heart beat steadily as she retrieved her wand and reached for a small bundle of herbs from the shelves lining the wall. There were quicker ways to confirm what she suspected. Modern spells existed for that purpose. But Luna had always believed in listening as much as testing, in letting magic and nature speak together.
She stood near the candlelight and murmured the incantation, her wand tracing slow circles over her abdomen. Golden light stirred at once, soft and warm, settling around her like early morning sun. Her breath caught as the glow pulsed gently, answering her without hesitation.
Still, Luna preferred certainty.
She turned to the herbs, selecting them carefully, her movements practiced and precise. She brewed a simple infusion, one meant to reveal truths that required patience rather than force. The scent rose slowly, earthy and comforting, filling the room with warmth. She lifted the cup and took a measured sip, letting the magic and the herbs settle fully.
Then she felt it.
A quiet warmth bloomed deep within her, spreading outward until it filled her completely. It was unmistakable. Not just spellwork. Not just ritual. Something older and deeper, already woven into her.
She opened her eyes.
It was real.
She was pregnant.
Luna sat on the edge of her bed, hands resting lightly against her abdomen as the moment settled around her. She drew in a slow breath, steady and reverent, as emotion washed through her. It was overwhelming, yet gentle. Less a shock than a recognition, as though this truth had been waiting for her to notice.
A soft smile touched her lips. Her fingers brushed the place where life had begun, something new and powerful taking root. She had always believed in unseen currents and quiet truths, but this was different. This was a magic that asked for presence rather than wonder.
She closed her eyes briefly.
She was going to be a mother.
And Theodore, her devoted, watchful, endlessly careful Theodore, was going to be a father.
Her heart swelled at the thought of him. The way he had watched her these past days, concern written plainly across his face. The way his hands had hovered, protective without pressing. The softness in his voice when fear crept in. He had felt something shift long before she had named it.
When she told him, she knew exactly how it would unfold. The joy. The panic. The careful questions. The quiet worry over whether he would be enough.
He already was.
Together, they would find their way forward as they always had, side by side, steady in their trust.
A quiet laugh escaped her, full of warmth and certainty. She had never feared the unknown, but this was something she welcomed without hesitation.
She rose, resolve settling into her steps.
She wanted to tell him.
Descending the staircase, her smile grew brighter, carrying with it the calm, unshakable joy of a beginning she already knew would change everything.
~~~~~~
Her excitement followed her through the manor like a living thing, bright and impossible to ignore. Every step carried the weight of what she was about to share, something that would reshape their lives in ways she could already feel but not yet see. This was not an ordinary evening. Tonight, she would tell him that everything was about to change.
From the moment she woke, her thoughts had been busy with careful plans. She wanted the moment to feel right, not dramatic for the sake of it, but meaningful. She wanted him to feel the joy she carried, the future opening quietly in front of them. By midday, the decision had settled firmly in her chest. She would make dinner herself. Not out of obligation, but because she wanted to shape this moment with her own hands.
The house elves noticed immediately.
They hovered as she worked, eager to step in, their concern obvious. One reached for the bowl she held, fingers trembling with worry.
"I can do it," Luna said gently, smiling as she kept hold of it. "This is something I want to do."
They exchanged uneasy looks. They had seen her pale over the past days, had noticed the tiredness she tried to hide. Their instinct was to protect her. But she was not simply cooking. She was building something that mattered.
"I promise," she added calmly, "if I need help, I will ask."
Reluctantly, they stepped back, staying close enough to help if needed, but allowing her the space she asked for.
She worked steadily, sleeves rolled up, focused and content. She prepared Theo's favourite dishes with care, moving through each step with quiet confidence. The kitchen filled with warmth and scent, herbs crushed beneath her fingers, bread rising, meat roasting slowly. Everything was chosen with intention, each dish a small expression of how deeply she loved him.
When the meal was finished, she did not stop there.
This was more than dinner. It was the beginning of something new.
She spent the afternoon turning the manor into a reflection of how she felt inside. Ivy and fresh flowers were woven along the staircase, their scent softening the air. Candles were placed carefully throughout the halls, their glow easing the severity of stone and shadow, turning familiar spaces into something warmer, something gentler.
By the time she stepped back to look at what she had made, the manor no longer felt like a grand, imposing structure.
It felt like a place ready to hold joy.
By the time evening arrived, the transformation was complete. The dining room, often imposing with its long mahogany table and towering windows, had been softened into something magical.
The finest china gleamed under the soft flicker of candlelight, polished silver reflecting the golden hues dancing across the table. At the center, nestled among the flickering flames, was an arrangement of wildflowers, their colors bold and untamed, a perfect reflection of the life she now carried within her.
She stepped back, her breath catching as she took it all in. The manor had never felt like this before—not when she had first arrived, not even when she had slowly begun making it her own. Tonight, it was a place of love, of promise, of family.
Everything was perfect. All that was left was for him to come home.
The moment he stepped inside, he paused, his keen eyes sweeping over the transformed space. The usual austere solemnity of Nott Manor had been replaced with something entirely different—something warm, inviting, and undeniably enchanting.
Flowers and garlands adorned the dark wooden walls, their delicate blooms vibrant against the grandeur of the manor, filling the air with their gentle fragrance.
Candlelight flickered from every corner, dancing across the polished floors and casting a golden glow over the evening. But more than the decorations, it was the intoxicating aroma of a carefully prepared feast that truly made him stop in his tracks.
His heart pounded in his chest as he took it all in, a strange but welcome warmth settling in his bones. This wasn't just a dinner. This was something more.
"This looks incredible, my moon," he murmured, his voice touched with awe as his gaze finally landed on her, standing before him like a vision. The soft candlelight illuminated her features, making her look even more ethereal than usual. It was moments like these that made him feel utterly unworthy of her. "What's the occasion?"
Her smile deepened, a playful glint flickering in her luminous eyes. "It's something special," she said, taking his hand, her fingers lacing effortlessly with his. "Something just for us."
The moment their hands touched, a shiver ran down his spine. The anticipation in her voice, the mysterious twinkle in her gaze, it was enough to set his pulse racing. He allowed her to lead him to the dining room, where the breathtaking transformation continued.
Dinner was perfection, and he could hardly contain his amazement. Every dish, from the expertly seasoned roast to the delicately arranged sides, was a masterpiece. He had always known she was exceptional, but this was something else entirely.
Between bites, he found himself gushing, unable to help the sheer admiration spilling from his lips. "This is unbelievable," he marveled, shaking his head as he looked at her, utterly captivated. "You've outdone yourself. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
She only smiled, her expression unreadable but full of something soft and knowing. As much as he adored her, there was something else beneath the surface tonight, something unsaid, something waiting to be revealed.
When dinner was finished, she stood, moving with that effortless grace that always left him breathless. Without a word, she gestured for him to follow her, her fingers brushing against his as she led him into the living room.
The fire in the hearth crackled warmly, bathing the room in golden light, the cozy intimacy of the space pulling them closer together.
His heart pounded harder now, the quiet between them charged with an energy he couldn't quite place. He had spent years mastering the art of reading people, but with her, it was different—she was a mystery he would never tire of unraveling.
She turned to face him, and the shift in her expression made his breath catch. Gone was the playful secrecy, there was something deeper, something that made his very bones vibrate with anticipation.
"Theodore Atticus Nott," she began, her voice steady yet filled with a quiet emotion that sent a shiver down his spine. She took a small step closer, her fingers pressing lightly against his. "I'm extremely happy to inform you that I'm expecting a baby."
For a moment, the world stopped.
The words floated between them, gentle yet weighted with a significance that felt almost unreal. He stared at her, his mind struggling to catch up, his breath stolen straight from his lungs.
"Y-you're…" he tried, his voice breaking in his disbelief. His throat tightened as he blinked rapidly, as if the reality of what she had just said would settle in if he only processed it long enough. "A baby? We… we're going to have a baby?"
Every one of his wildest, most possessive fantasies had just become reality—she was carrying his child, undeniable proof that she belonged to him in every way. The thought of her, round with his baby, made something primal snap inside him, a desperate need coiling low in his gut, demanding that he claim her all over again.
She nodded, her lips curling into a gentle, knowing smile, her gaze warm She stayed steady as the truth finally reached him, watching it settle in his face piece by piece. The moment stretched, quiet and charged, until he forgot how to breathe.
His knees nearly buckled. He reached for the back of a chair, fingers curling around it as if the room had tilted. A shaky laugh slipped out of him, half disbelief, half awe.
"Merlin," he breathed. "Luna."
He looked at her like she might vanish if he blinked too hard. "A baby?" His voice cracked. "You are carrying our child?"
The words felt unreal in his mouth, too big and too wonderful all at once. His hand went to his forehead, his breath coming fast as his thoughts stumbled over each other.
"I am not ready," he admitted, panic creeping in despite himself. "I do not know how to do this. I do not know how to be a father. I do not even know where to start."
She moved closer without hesitation. Her hand found his arm, light and sure, warmth spreading through him at once.
"Theo," she said gently. "It is alright. You do not have to know everything today. We will learn together."
He looked at her properly then. At the calm certainty in her eyes. At the love that never wavered. And gods help him, he wanted to believe her with everything he had.
"I never pictured this," he whispered. "I never thought I would be someone's father. I am scared I will fail you. Both of you."
Her fingers slid into his, fitting there like they always had. "You will not," she said simply. "You already care too much to fail."
Something inside him gave way.
The fear was still there, but it was quieter now, pushed back by the fact that she was here, choosing him, trusting him with something so precious it made his chest ache.
"Together," he repeated softly, testing the word like a promise.
He lifted her hand and kissed it, holding it there for a moment longer than necessary. "We will do this together."
When he looked at her again, his eyes were shining, overwhelmed but full. A smile broke through the panic, small and disbelieving and utterly undone.
"I am going to worry constantly," he said honestly. "About you. About the baby. About everything."
She smiled. "I know."
"But," he added, already nodding to himself, "I am also going to love you both more than anything."
And standing there in the glow of candlelight, her hand in his, the future no longer felt like something to fear.
It felt like something worth everything.
~~~~~~
The morning light seeped gently into the manor, stretching golden fingers across the grand halls and creeping into their shared sanctuary. The world stirred slowly, but he awoke with a start, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of the night before settled into his chest. The revelation of her pregnancy had hit him with the force of a lightning strike, a truth so monumental it still felt unreal. Yet as his pulse steadied and his thoughts aligned, a singular certainty rooted itself within him, everything had changed.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his mind a chaotic storm of thoughts and emotions.
Father.
The word rang in his head, foreign and terrifying, yet laced with an exhilarating sort of wonder. His heart pounded not from fear, but from the overwhelming surge of something raw and primal.
An unshakable need had taken root inside him, a fierce protectiveness, an insatiable longing to be near her, to safeguard her, to revel in the reality that she carried his child.
He wasn't the same man who had walked into their home the night before. The shift was undeniable, searing through him with unrelenting intensity. When he finally rose, he moved with purpose, no hesitation in his steps as he sought her out.
Distance felt unbearable now; the idea of even a single room separating them was an affront to the possessive hunger gnawing at his chest. He needed her in his sight, needed to touch her, to assure himself that she was real and that she was his.
Following the soft sounds of morning, he found her in the kitchen, moving with an effortless grace as she prepared breakfast. The sight of her stole the very air from his lungs.
How had he never noticed the quiet divinity in her movements? The glow of the morning sun kissed her skin, casting her in an ethereal light, and for a moment, he could do nothing but stand there, mesmerized. His wife. His moon. The mother of his child.
The realization sent a shudder through him, his body thrumming with an urgency he couldn't contain. He crossed the room in mere strides, his hands finding her before he could think better of it. One palm pressed against the small of her back, the other found her shoulder as he leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek with reverence.
"Good morning, my moon," he murmured, his voice rich with emotion, a hint of hushed awe beneath the words. "You look radiant today."
She turned to him, her serene smile stealing what little breath he had left. There was an understanding in her gaze, as if she could feel the storm raging within him, and yet she remained so effortlessly composed. "Good morning," she greeted, tilting her head slightly. "I'm glad you're up early."
He didn't move away. If anything, his hands only tightened their hold, his fingers tracing small, absentminded patterns against the fabric of her dress. "I have to be close to you," he admitted, his voice lower now, hushed as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile magic of this moment. "I don't think I could bear being apart from you. Not now."
She laughed softly, the sound melodic, laced with affectionate amusement. "I'm right here, Theodore. You don't have to hover."
His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that belied the sheer intensity pulsing beneath his skin. "I do," he countered, his gaze tracing every inch of her face as if committing her to memory.
"Everything feels different now. You're different. We're different. I just... I need to be near you, to know you're alright."
Throughout breakfast, his presence was an unrelenting force, hovering, lingering, touching. Every chance he got, his fingers brushed against hers, his palm found the small of her back, his knuckles traced her wrist. He was wholly consumed by her, unable to look away, unable to be anywhere but right by her side.
She had always been his universe. But now, she was everything—his home, his heart, the center of his world.
As she moved around the kitchen, tending to the lingering tasks of the morning, he shadowed her every step, as if afraid she might disappear if he let her out of his sight. It was almost comical, the way he hovered so closely, his movements mirroring hers with unwavering attentiveness. Every time she reached for something, his hand was there first.
Every dish she tried to put away, he intercepted. Every flicker of effort she made was met with his immediate offer to do it for her.
"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice laced with an earnestness so sweet it made her heart ache.
She turned to him, a soft smile playing at her lips, her expression warm and patient. "You're doing more than enough, Theodore. Just being here with me means everything."
His gaze softened, his hand finding hers in a gentle but firm hold. There was something raw in the way he looked at her now, something reverent, as though she had suddenly become the most fragile and precious thing in the world. "I just want to make sure everything is perfect for you and our baby," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I want to be the best husband and father I can be."
Her fingers curled around his, her own heart swelling with quiet joy. "You already are," she assured him, squeezing his hand in return. "And we'll figure out the rest together."
A slow smirk curved his lips as he stepped behind her, his voice low and teasing as he spoke. "So," he drawled, his arms looping loosely around her waist, "you're having my baby, are you?"
She glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile already forming as her eyes sparkled with amusement. "It seems that way, my Sun," she replied, the affection in her voice as effortless as breathing.
The words sent a thrill down his spine, something dark and heady curling in his stomach. My baby. My Luna. The thought of her carrying his child, of her body nurturing something they had created together, stirred a deep, visceral need in him.
Before she could react, he swept her off her feet, lifting her with ease and setting her down onto the cool marble of the kitchen counter. She gasped in surprise, but the sound melted into laughter as she tilted her head back, utterly delighted by his sudden enthusiasm.
He stepped between her legs, pressing himself close, his hands resting on either side of her, caging her in as his eyes roved over her face. "You have no idea what this means to me," he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from hers.
She cupped his face, her touch featherlight, yet grounding. "I think I do," she murmured, her voice full of knowing.
That was all the permission he needed. He kissed her, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the connection. His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he needed to anchor himself to her, to this. She responded with equal fervor, her arms winding around his neck, drawing him even closer.
When they finally parted, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes half-lidded with something dangerously close to worship.
"I can't believe how lucky I am," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "To have you. To have this."
Her smile was pure radiance, her fingers trailing softly down his cheek. "And I'm lucky to have you," she whispered.
His gaze drifted lower, catching the subtle way her hand came to rest on her belly. The sight struck him like a lightning bolt, his child was in there. His entire world, growing beneath her palm.
His own hand covered hers, his touch reverent as his thumb traced lazy circles over the soft fabric that separated him from the life they had created together.
"You're so beautiful, Luna," he breathed, his voice thick with desire, his fingers pressing just a little firmer against her stomach, needing to feel something.
She tilted her head, smiling softly. "I'm glad you think so."
"I know so," he corrected, his voice dropping to something rougher, hungrier.
He kissed her again, slow and deep, his lips molding to hers with a hunger that had only grown since the moment he first touched her. His hands roamed over her body, relearning every curve, every soft plane of skin, as if he could never truly have enough of her.
But today was different. Today, she wasn't just his wife, she was carrying his child, a living, breathing piece of the love they had built together. The thought made something raw and possessive stir deep within him, an unshakable need to worship her, to claim her all over again.
"I want you, my Sun," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
His cock twitched in response, already hard and aching for her. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire, his expression unreadable except for the sheer intensity burning beneath the surface.
"I want you too, more than you could ever know," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.
He captured her lips once more, this time with a slow, consuming intensity, his tongue sweeping into her mouth in a dance that left them both breathless. She moaned against him, her body arching into his as her hands slid beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over his skin, igniting every nerve in his body.
His hands found her breasts, thumbs grazing over her nipples through the fabric of her dress, making her gasp. Her back arched, pressing herself more firmly into his touch, and he groaned at the way she responded so effortlessly to him.
"Theo," she breathed, her fingers gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him just as much as he needed her.
He trailed kisses down the curve of her neck, nipping and sucking gently, relishing the way her breath hitched with every movement. When his hands slid lower, tracing the gentle swell of her belly, he paused for just a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer reverence of what lay beneath his fingertips.
His wife. His child. His entire universe.
Then, without another word, he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her knickers, finding her already drenched for him.
"Fuck, my moon," he groaned against her skin. "You're so wet for me."
Her only response was a soft, breathless moan as his fingers began to stroke her, slow and deliberate, teasing her until she was trembling against him.
"Yes, Theo—just like that," she gasped, her hips bucking into his touch, chasing the pleasure he so willingly gave her.
His name on her lips, the way she writhed against him—it was almost too much. His cock throbbed with need, desperate to be inside her, to lose himself in the woman he adored.
"I need you, love," he rasped, his forehead resting against hers, his breath uneven. "I need to feel you."
She nodded, her eyes dark with unspoken longing. "Then take me," she whispered. "I'm yours, always."
That was all the permission he needed.
In one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to their bed, laying her down as if she were the most precious thing in the world, because to him, she was.
He undressed her slowly, savoring the sight of her, his fingers brushing over her skin in reverence. And when he finally pressed himself against her, bare and burning with need, he kissed her with all the love, the devotion, and the fierce adoration he had never quite been able to put into words.
"My sun," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist as he aligned himself with her, the heat of her body drawing him in.
He sank into her in one deep, slow thrust, swallowing her gasp with his lips. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips, holding her close as he filled her completely. She was perfect, so warm, so tight, and so his.
His pace started slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to memorize the way she felt around him. But she was just as desperate, just as lost in him as he was in her, and soon, her nails were digging into his back, her body arching into him as she urged him to move faster.
"Oh, gods, Theo," she gasped, her voice shaking with pleasure.
He growled in response, his rhythm quickening, his hands moving between them to find her clit, rubbing tight, teasing circles as he drove into her over and over again.
Her body tensed beneath him, her breathing ragged, and he knew she was close. He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice hoarse as he whispered, "Come for me, my love. Let me feel you."
With one final stroke, she shattered beneath him, crying out his name as pleasure wracked her entire body. The way she clenched around him, pulling him even deeper, sent him hurtling over the edge right after her, his release spilling inside her as he groaned her name into her neck.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, tangled together in the aftershocks of their passion, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in sync.
Then, finally, he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair from her face. She was radiant, her cheeks flushed, her lips kiss-swollen, her eyes filled with something deeper than lust, something he had only ever seen reflected in her when she looked at him like this.
He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his emotions, and instead of saying what he had always struggled to put into words, he leaned in and kissed her, slow and lingering, pouring every unspoken promise into the press of his lips.
When they finally parted, she smiled up at him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his back. "I think you have a pregnancy kink," she murmured, amusement dancing in her voice.
He groaned, burying his face in her neck, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. "Maybe," he admitted, his voice muffled against her skin. "But only when it's you carrying my child."
She laughed softly, wrapping her arms around him, holding him close. "Then I suppose we're both very lucky."
He kissed her again, his hands splayed possessively over her belly, his mind already filled with dreams of the future, their future.
And for the first time in his life, Theodore Nott had everything he had ever wanted.