My little love
Fatherhood settled into him as if it had been waiting all along, quiet and inevitable. He had always been a protector, a man willing to burn the world down for the people he loved, but this was different.
This was gentler. Sacred in a way that caught him off guard. He found himself undone by the simple sound of his son breathing, by the soft weight of that tiny heartbeat pressed against his chest.
Even the smallest whimper had him moving before Luna could fully wake. Exhausted and running on instinct, he rose from sleep with the same focused urgency he once brought to danger. The hands that had drawn a wand without hesitation now warmed bottles and adjusted blankets with careful reverence, as though every motion mattered more than anything he had ever done before.
At three in the morning, when the house was wrapped in silence, he stood in the dim nursery rocking their son back and forth, murmuring half-remembered lullabies that made sense only to the child listening. His voice was rough with sleep, but steady, each word spoken like a promise. He had lived among shadows and violence, yet here he was, guarding something far more fragile and infinitely more precious.
Luna often paused without realizing she had stopped. She would catch him fastening tiny buttons with painstaking care, his fingers gentle as they traced their son's cheek, as if the boy might disappear if touched too firmly.
She saw the way he looked down at their child, awe written openly across his face, like the universe had placed something holy in his arms and trusted him to keep it safe. In those moments, love settled over her again, quieter than before but deeper, rooted in certainty rather than fire.
One evening, after a long day of soft cries and whispered songs, she padded barefoot into their bedroom, tired and expecting nothing more than a moment to herself. What she found stopped her cold.
Theo lay sprawled across the bed, shirt discarded, skin warm and flushed with sleep. Curled against him, tucked just above his heart, was their son. The baby's breathing rose and fell in perfect time with his father's, as if they shared the same rhythm without effort. One tiny hand rested over Theo's chest, fingers flexing faintly in sleep, already certain of where he belonged.
The tension that usually lived in his body was gone. His brow was smooth, his mouth relaxed, his entire face softened into a peace she had only ever glimpsed in passing. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, silver and gentle, wrapping them both in a glow that felt almost unreal. Luna stood there quietly, heart full, knowing she was witnessing something sacred, something that would stay with her forever.
She lingered in the doorway longer than she meant to, unwilling to disturb the stillness. Each slow breath filled her chest until it felt almost too full, stretched tight with a love so vast it bordered on painful. The sight before her was overwhelming in the quietest way. This was everything they had fought their way toward. This was the life they had reached with scraped knuckles and bruised hearts. After all the darkness, all the years spent navigating shadows, it had come to this. A child. A family. A love that softened every sharp edge she had ever carried.
She crossed the room slowly, barefoot steps silent against the floor. Lifting the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, she draped it over them with careful hands. Her fingers brushed Theo's forearm, warm and solid, and even asleep he responded without thinking. He shifted, exhaled softly, and drew their son closer with a protective curl of his arm, instinctive and sure.
Luna sat at the edge of the mattress, still in body but not in feeling. Her attention tuned itself to the rise and fall of their breathing, the quiet proof of life and safety. In that moment, the weight of everything they had survived pressed gently against her heart. This calm was sacred. Small, fragile, and powerful enough to feel like a thousand victories. They had both been shaped by pain and loss, bent by choices that had cost them dearly, and still they had arrived here.
Her hand found his without thought. Their fingers laced together easily, as if his body knew her even in sleep. Warmth seeped into her palm and steadied her. His lashes fluttered. A soft sound escaped him as he blinked awake, eyes clouded with sleep. When he saw her, something in his expression softened even further.
"You're staring," he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
She smiled, gentle and bright, and traced her thumb along his knuckles.
"You're beautiful," she whispered.
A flicker of quiet amusement crossed his face. He did not have the energy to argue, not with exhaustion weighing so heavily between them. He squeezed her fingers and glanced down at their son, still tucked safely against his chest.
"So are you," he murmured before sleep claimed him again.
The fatigue of the day settled deep into her bones, but it did not matter. The world beyond their room felt distant and unimportant. There was only the warmth of his hand, the soft rhythm of their child's breathing, and the steady presence of a love that had endured every test.
She eased closer, folding into the space beside him. Her head rested on the pillow near his, their faces turned toward each other, hands joined between them. They lay in silence, watching over their newborn together, wrapped in a stillness that felt holy in its simplicity.
Their life was not perfect. It never had been. Nights could stretch endlessly, filled with crying and pacing and the kind of exhaustion that sank into the marrow. Days demanded just as much, leaving little room to falter. Yet through it all, they endured. Through it all, they chose each other.
This was their world now. Soft lullabies whispered in the dark, tiny socks abandoned on the floor, bottles half empty on the bedside table. Promises made with presence. A life built from moments no one else would ever see, yet meant everything.
As she watched them breathe together, her heart eased. The love she felt was fierce and grounded, shaped by chaos but never broken by it. Her eyes drifted closed, her body sinking into their shared warmth.
This was what she had always wanted. As sleep finally took her, one truth settled quietly in her chest, solid and enduring, and she knew it would never leave.
~~~~~~
Luna sat curled beside the window, her body drawn inward as if she were trying to make room for the grief that had slipped back into her chest without warning.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the glass in a steady rhythm, gentle and unrelenting, echoing the quiet sobs she kept pressed behind her ribs. She rested her cheek against the cold pane and let it steady her, let it remind her that she was still here, still breathing, even while everything inside her felt close to unraveling.
The familiar sparkle in her eyes had dimmed tonight. It was still there, tucked safely beneath the surface, but it flickered faintly under the weight of old sorrow and the tender ache of loving something new so fiercely. She had spent years learning how to live with absence.
She knew its shape, its silence, the way it lingered at the edges of her life like fog. It no longer startled her. It no longer split her open the way it once had. She had learned how to carry it quietly, how to weave it into her smiles and let it rest beside her joy. Most days it stayed still, like a photograph kept safely in a drawer.
Tonight it refused to stay there.
Because now she held a child of her own. And in the solid warmth of his small body against her chest, in the soft brush of his breath against her skin, in the way his tiny fingers wrapped around hers with complete trust, everything she had ever lost came rushing back at once.
Her love for her son was enormous. It filled her completely, settled into her bones, shaped every heartbeat. And with it came an old ache she had thought she knew how to live around.
Her mother should have been here.
Pandora should have been sitting beside her, murmuring over the baby, brushing Luna's hair back with familiar hands, offering quiet advice in the long hours between sleep and dawn.
She should have been folding tiny clothes with her, laughing softly when they came undone, teaching her the subtle movements that soothed a crying child. She should have been there to hold her hand, just as Luna held her son's now.
But she was not.
There was no guiding voice, no lullaby carried on memory made real again, no arms to fall into when exhaustion grew too heavy. There was only the rain, the hush of the room, and the steady breathing of the baby cradled in her arms.
Luna pressed a kiss to the top of Lysander's head and breathed him in. Lavender. Milk.
Something so pure it hurt to name. Tears slipped down her cheeks and soaked quietly into his blanket, unnoticed by him, each one a wordless offering to the woman she missed with her whole soul.
"I wish you could see him," she whispered, her voice catching. "I wish you could see me."
Her son shifted with a small sigh and tucked himself closer, and she held him tighter, as if that alone might keep the ache from swallowing her.
The weight of it settled over her, heavy and gentle all at once. Some days it felt like breathing underwater. Other days like walking through fog that never cleared. In those moments she felt very small, like a child again, reaching for a hand that would never close around hers. Wanting her mother's voice. Wanting to hear that she was doing enough. That she was not alone.
The silence answered instead.
She had her memories, though they felt thinner now. On good days they were soft and warm. On others they blurred, slipping through her grasp no matter how tightly she held on. Her mother's face had begun to lose its sharpness. Her laugh had faded into something distant. Even the warmth of her embrace had become more feeling than image, something Luna could sense without fully remembering.
He saw it in the quiet moments. The way she lingered in the nursery long after their son had fallen asleep, rocking him when there was no need. The way her gaze drifted, unfocused, as if she were listening for something that never came. The way her shoulders curved inward and her laughter faded until it was barely sound at all.
It cut him deeply.
Watching her grow smaller beneath a grief he could not touch left him more helpless than anything he had ever faced. He tried, relentlessly. He held her through the nights, kissed her temples, whispered promises into her hair. He traced slow circles across her back when she cried into his chest, even when she could not explain the tears. He reminded her again and again that she was not alone. That he was here. That he was not going anywhere.
Still, he knew there were places inside her he could never reach. Parts of her sorrow shaped by something older and deeper than him. Pieces of her heart that belonged only to her mother, places he had no way to enter.
So he did the only thing he could think to do. He brought others into their quiet. He invited Pansy and Neville into the soft ache of their home. Not with noise or forced cheer, but with gentle afternoons that asked nothing from her. Tea that went untouched until it cooled. Slow walks through the garden at dusk. Books shared without urgency. Conversations that could trail off without needing to be finished. Laughter that returned carefully, like light easing back after too many grey days.
It helped, at least a little.
She smiled more often, even if the smile sometimes stopped short of her eyes. She spoke with less effort. She leaned into him and let herself be held. There were moments, brief and unmistakable, when she looked like herself again. The Luna who could soften a room just by standing in it.
And still, he saw it.
Even in the calm, even in the fragile happiness they built together, the shadow remained. It lived behind her eyes, lingered in the curve of her mouth when she thought no one was watching. It was the shape of her grief. The absence of a mother who would never return.
He understood then that some losses could not be mended. Not even with love.
One evening, he found her by the window again. She sat in stillness, watching rain slide down the glass, her expression distant and emptied of light. The look in her eyes made his chest ache with that familiar helpless pull. He moved to her without speaking and wrapped his arms around her, the kind of tenderness he kept only for her. His body curved around hers, a quiet shelter, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, his breath warm against her skin.
"Tell me, my love," he said softly. "What's hurting you. Let me carry some of it."
She turned toward him, tears shining where she had held them back for days. Her lips trembled before she spoke. "I miss her," she whispered, and the sound broke something open in him. The first tear slid free. "I miss my mummy so much." Her fingers twisted in his shirt as the sobs came fast and unguarded. "She should be here. She should see him. She should be the one telling me I'm doing okay."
He closed his eyes and held her tighter, arms firm as a promise. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough with feeling. "You are doing more than okay. You are doing beautifully. If she were here, she would be so proud of you."
The words drew a sound from her that was close to a wail, as if hearing them sharpened the ache. She pressed her face into his chest and cried, every tremor passing through him.
"It's so hard," she said between breaths. "I thought I knew how to live with it. I thought I had learned how to carry it. Now that he's here, it feels like losing her all over again."
He kissed her forehead and stayed there, lips lingering, his own eyes burning. "I know," he said quietly. "I would take it from you if I could."
She shook her head, clinging to him. "I want her. I want her to hold him. I want her to hold me."
He did not try to fix it. He stayed. He held her while the rain tapped the glass and her grief spent itself in the safety of his arms.
"I'm here," he whispered, steady and sure. "I'm here. We will get through this. One breath at a time."
In the quiet that followed, she let herself believe him enough to breathe.
After a while, his voice came again, careful and patient. "Can you tell me what happened to your mother."
Luna drew a long breath, fingers curling in her lap as if anchoring herself. When she met his eyes, they shone with something raw. "She was curious," she said. "Fearless in ways I never understood as a child. Magic was never just a tool to her. It was a question she wanted to answer."
A faint smile touched her mouth and faded. "She loved experimenting. Pushing spells beyond what was known. Creating her own. She used to say the world was too full of wonder to stay inside lines."
He squeezed her hand, silent.
"One day," she continued, softer now, "she tried something new. It was meant to be beautiful. It was meant to help." Her voice wavered. "It went wrong. There was no warning. She was just gone."
The silence that followed honored the truth of it.
He pulled her close and kissed her temple, steady and gentle. "You still have her," he said into her hair. "She lives in you. In the way you love. In the way you raise our son."
She leaned into him and nodded, wanting to believe.
After a long pause, she asked quietly, "My Sun. What about your mother."
His body stilled. When he answered, his voice was calm and hollow. "She turned into an angel."
The stillness deepened. Then, quieter, edged with pain, "My father killed her."
Luna took his hand and laced their fingers together, offering warmth where words would fail. She waited. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry, my love."
He closed his eyes and released a breath that had been held for too long. He turned his palm in hers and held on.
"You're here," she said, lifting his hand to her lips and kissing his knuckles. "And you are nothing like him."
His throat tightened. He brushed a tear from her cheek. The ghosts remained, but they loosened their hold.
She leaned into him and closed her eyes. The past stayed with them, but in that moment, something stronger settled in its place.
Slowly, over time, Luna began to mend. With Theo beside her and their friends close, the sharpest edges of grief softened. It did not disappear, but it loosened its grip. She started to speak of her mother again, telling their son small stories in quiet moments, offering his grandmother a place in his world through memory and love. Each story felt like an act of keeping her close.
As days slipped into weeks, laughter found its way back into the house. It was gentle at first, tentative, then steadier, warming the spaces where sorrow had lingered. She still missed her mother with an ache that never fully left, yet she learned how to carry it without breaking, how to let love hold the weight alongside her.
Parenthood met them head on, sleepless nights and wonder tangled together, and they faced it as one. Their bond deepened in the ordinary moments, in shared glances and tired smiles. Watching their son grow, they understood something simple and unshakable. A mother's love does not vanish with loss. It lives on, passed quietly from one heart to another.
~~~~~~
Today was a big day. Theo and Luna were hosting a baby shower for their baby boy, the first proper gathering since his birth, the moment when everyone they loved would finally meet him together under one roof.
Forest coloured banners hung from the rafters, strung high and swaying gently, each one decorated with glittering silver creatures that looked suspiciously like Nifflers caught mid theft. Balloons in deep emerald and soft gold floated lazily near the ceiling, bumping into one another whenever a breeze slipped through the open windows. The house smelled like Luna. Green and rain and something quietly magical, layered with her favourite flowers and a warmth that felt intentional rather than decorative.
Every detail had been chosen with care. Nothing shouted. Everything belonged.
As guests began to arrive, laughter filled the rooms and settled into the walls. Luna stood near the sitting room, Lysander tucked securely against her chest, greeting each friend with the same soft smile, introducing her son with a tenderness that felt endless. Theo hovered close, pretending not to hover while very clearly hovering, offering commentary on tiny fingers, bright eyes, and the impressive strength of a grip that could already steal hearts and trap thumbs without mercy.
Pansy arrived first, of course, because Pansy always arrived first. Neville followed half a step behind her, balancing a beautifully wrapped gift while keeping an eye on their own happy child. Lady Lemongrass trotted in ahead of them, a pug-shaped declaration of chaos, her bow perfectly matched to Pansy's outfit and her nose already buried in unfamiliar scents.
Luna laughed softly when she saw them, Lysander shifting slightly at the sound. "Pansy, Neville, I'm so glad you're here. Come in."
Pansy swept forward, releasing the pug without hesitation. "Luna, you look radiant. Truly glowing. How is my godson today?"
Neville smiled as he set the gift down, his voice gentle. "He looks very calm. I think he's already used to being admired."
Theo stepped in just as Lady Lemongrass began investigating his shoes with unsettling focus. "I see you brought the menace," he said dryly, though there was affection under it. "It's good to see you both."
Pansy's grin widened, unapologetic. "She needs to socialise. Besides, she's excellent practice. Lysander should grow up familiar with small creatures who demand attention and have no respect for personal space."
Fucking perfect. Now they needed to buy another ugly creature. Wonderful. Because clearly, one was not enough. Apparently, having a tiny, screaming human who already dictated the entire household wasn't challenging enough—they just had to introduce a four-legged menace into the equation.
As everyone settled into the living room, the pug eventually abandoned her inspection of shoes and curled up contentedly at Pansy's feet, snoring faintly within minutes. The house hummed with warmth and easy laughter, the kind that only came when people felt entirely safe with one another. This was not just a baby shower. It was a gathering of chosen family, a moment carved out to welcome Lysander properly into a world already full of love.
Ginny and Blaise arrived next, their laughter spilling through the doorway before they did. Ginny carried a soft, pale blanket folded over her arm and went straight to Luna, her face lighting up the moment she saw the baby.
"Oh, Luna," she murmured, awe softening her voice as she leaned closer. "He's perfect. Truly perfect." Her finger brushed Lysander's cheek with reverent care.
Luna smiled, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable. "Thank you. I'm really glad you're here."
Blaise clapped Theo on the shoulder, his grin wide and genuine. "Congratulations, mate. This is huge."
Theo laughed quietly, a little overwhelmed and entirely happy. "It really is. I'm just glad we get to share it with all of you."
Blaise glanced toward Ginny and the baby, his expression thoughtful. "He's going to grow up surrounded by people who love him. That's the best start anyone can have."
Hermione and Draco arrived last, their presence drawing an immediate ripple of greetings. Luna was waiting near the door, pale fabric flowing softly around her, sunlight catching in her hair. Her smile brightened the moment she saw them.
"Mimi. Draco. I'm so happy you made it."
Draco inclined his head, his usual reserve softened. "We would not have missed this. Congratulations." He turned to Theo and offered his hand. "Theo."
Theo clasped it firmly, a grin tugging at his mouth. "About time you showed up. Come in before Pansy claims the best seats."
Luna guided them toward a quieter corner where Neville sat comfortably, cradling a sleeping Lysander with careful pride. The baby slept on, oblivious to the admiration gathering around him.
"Hermione. Draco," Neville said warmly. "He's decided today is for resting, not performing."
Soft murmurs followed as everyone admired the small bundle. Lysander carried Luna's delicate features and pale hair, with freckles already beginning to hint at Theo.
"He really is beautiful," Hermione said quietly.
Luna nodded, her smile gentle. "He's brought so much light with him."
Lunch followed on the veranda, the table set beneath open sky and late autumn sun. Dishes covered every corner, a mix of Luna's whimsical touches and Theo's comforting favourites. Salads scattered with edible flowers, rich stew, pastries still warm, fruit and cheese arranged without fuss.
Conversation flowed easily. Hermione and Pansy talked animatedly about work and art. Neville and Draco compared notes on plants, much to everyone's surprise. Ginny and Blaise kept the table laughing with stories that grew slightly more dramatic with every retelling.
Theo moved easily among them, refilling glasses, listening, his gaze often drifting back to Luna and their son. Luna sat relaxed and glowing, adding her own observations when the mood struck, her voice lifting laughter wherever it landed.
The breeze carried their voices across the garden, sunlight dappling the table, and for a long, perfect stretch of afternoon, the world felt gentle.
Then it happened.
The exact scenario Theo had warned everyone about, repeatedly, with escalating urgency and several charts. His worst fears manifested right there in the nursery, and no one had taken him seriously.
Lady Lemongrass had infiltrated the crib.
Somehow, against all logic and several physical laws, the squat little menace had hoisted her absurdly round body into the one place that was meant to remain untouched by chaos. She was curled beside Lysander now, snoring directly into his tiny neck like she had been divinely appointed his personal guardian.
Theo stopped dead in the doorway.
Time stalled. His jaw opened in slow, stunned increments as the horror settled into his bones.
"BEAST," he roared, the word detonating through the room. "REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THE CRIB IMMEDIATELY."
Lady Lemongrass cracked one eye open.
Slowly. Deliberately. With intent.
She exhaled a smug little huff and pressed herself closer to the baby.
Theo forgot how to breathe.
There was snuggling. Full, unrepentant snuggling. Lysander had one tiny hand tangled in her fur, his sleeping face peaceful, traitorous, and heartbreakingly content.
Theo stepped forward, prepared to invoke whatever ancient magic was necessary, when a gentle hand closed around his wrist.
"My love," Luna said calmly. "Wait. Just look."
So he did.
And it ruined him.
Lady Lemongrass, enemy of hygiene and all reason, was curled into a protective crescent around their son. Her awful breathing had softened into something disturbingly maternal. Lysander sighed in his sleep and pressed his cheek against her warmth like she was the safest thing in the world.
Theo wavered.
"She's contaminating him," he whispered, voice trembling. "He's bonding with a glorified footstool."
Luna smiled. Not the patient smile. The real one. The dangerous one.
"She loves him," she said simply.
Theo turned around and walked out before he said something unforgivable.
He stormed into the garden like a man betrayed by fate itself. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. And stretched across a chaise lounge like she owned the planet was Pansy Parkinson, sipping white wine in sunglasses worth more than Theo's wand.
"Parkinson," he snapped.
She peeked over the rim of her glasses. "Yes, darling?"
"Your creature is snoring next to my son. In his crib. On his mattress."
Pansy blinked. Took another sip. "You'll need to narrow it down. I own several creatures."
"The squashed one with breathing problems," he hissed. "The one impersonating a guardian angel."
"Oh. Lady."
"I mean the harbinger of doom."
Pansy laughed. Loudly. "You're spiraling."
"She's imprinting on him," Theo said in a furious whisper. "Her essence is being absorbed into his face."
"Bonding," Pansy corrected cheerfully.
"I reject this reality."
"She's growing on you."
"She is not."
"You're already using full sentences about her."
Theo opened his mouth to argue and then stopped as Lady Lemongrass waddled into the garden, ears flopping, eyes bright with joy. She snorted and charged straight for him.
"Oh no," Theo said, backing away. "That is the walk of something that thinks we're friends."
"She loves you," Pansy sang.
"Then she should love me from a safe distance."
Luna appeared in the doorway, sunlight wrapped around her, Lysander tucked against her shoulder. She smiled, soft and radiant.
"My love," she called. "Lady chased away a nightmare. She barked until he settled."
Theo stared.
A pug. Fighting nightmares.
He rubbed his temples.
This was his life now.
And somehow, everyone else thought it was adorable.
Perfect.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
~~~~~~
Theo guided Draco away from the noise, past laughter and clinking glasses, through a narrow opening in the hedge where the garden thinned into shade. The warmth of the gathering fell away behind them, replaced by cool stone and a quiet that felt heavier than silence ever should.
Draco leaned back against the wall, posture careless at a glance, but Theo saw the truth of it immediately. His shoulders were tight. His fingers worried endlessly at his cuff, like he was trying to scrub something invisible from his skin. He already knew why Theo had pulled him aside.
There was no point in circling it.
"How's Hermione?" Theo asked softly.
The words landed and stayed.
Draco shut his eyes for a brief second, then dragged a hand through his hair, rough and unfocused, like the motion might tether him to the ground. Whatever polish he usually wore had worn through. This was something thinner. Raw.
"She's better," he said at last. "Stable. She's… she's here."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. Theo heard the gap between the words and did not fill it for him.
Draco's hand curled into a fist at his side, knuckles pale. Theo followed the motion without comment, without judgment. He let him speak.
"I measure everything," Draco said quietly. "Every potion. Every pill. Even the teaspoons. I check it, then check it again. Because if I get it wrong…" His voice thinned and stopped. He shook his head, eyes fixed on the hedge like it might offer mercy. "I can't."
Theo tilted his head, gentle but direct. "So you don't trust her?"
Draco snapped his gaze back, something dark flickering there, not anger but pain pulled tight and held too long.
"It's not that," he said, the words stumbling. His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a breath that sounded wrecked. "She almost died, Theo."
The words hit hard in their simplicity.
"She almost died," he added, quieter now. His voice cracked just enough to betray him. "And I don't know how to live with that. I can't pretend I'm not terrified when she forgets to eat. Or when she gets tired and goes quiet for too long. I watch her sleep like something might steal her away."
He swallowed, shame sharp in the movement. "I love her more than anything. And I'm afraid of losing her. Of what it would do to me if she didn't wake up one morning."
Theo stayed silent, solid, letting the words fall where they needed to.
"I watch her breathe," Draco went on, barely above a whisper. He stared at the ground near his boots, anchoring himself there. "I wake up just to check. Sometimes every hour. Sometimes more. I count the way she shifts under the sheets. I tell myself it's caution. That I'm being careful. That's bullshit." His jaw tightened. "I don't know how to stop. Because if I stop, even for a second, what if that's when she's gone."
Theo stepped closer then and rested a hand on Draco's shoulder. The touch was firm and real, an anchor rather than comfort.
"I know that fear," Theo said quietly. "It doesn't mean you're broken. It means you love her enough to be terrified."
Draco did not answer, but he leaned into the contact just a fraction, like someone who had been holding himself upright for far too long.
"I see it," Theo said quietly. "I see how much you love her. I see the fear too. That fear is not what keeps her here. You do. You show up. You choose her every day. That matters more than anything."
Draco let out a breath that shook on the way out, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. He dragged a hand through his hair, and the movement was stripped of all elegance. It was tired. Raw. Real.
"I love her," he said, his voice breaking despite his effort to hold it steady. "You know that. She is not just someone I care about. She is everything. When she is not okay, the ground shifts under me. I do not know who I am without her."
Theo nodded and squeezed his shoulder once before letting his hand fall away. There was no easy reassurance for something like that. Some wounds stayed open. Some fears never fully loosened their grip. Still, the fact that Draco was standing here and saying it out loud mattered.
They stayed quiet for a while, hidden behind hedges while laughter drifted faintly from the garden. Life went on out there. They were protecting it, even now. Neither of them rushed to leave the space they were standing in.
Theo broke the quiet first, arms folding across his chest, head tilting with a grin that promised trouble. His voice carried mock gravity, though the glint in his eyes ruined the effect.
"So," he said slowly, savoring it, "the terrifying Draco Malfoy is hopelessly in love."
He lifted his brows in exaggerated delight, like he had uncovered the scandal of the century.
Draco reacted instantly. His jaw tightened, pale eyes sharpening in a way that once sent first years into panic. "Stop immediately, Theodore," he snapped, each word clipped and warning.
Theo only grinned wider. There was a faint twitch at the corner of Draco's mouth, almost invisible, but Theo caught it. Beneath the irritation was something softer. Almost shy.
Theo raised his hands in surrender, though his expression promised this would not last. His grin eased into something quieter. "Joking aside, I can ask Luna to keep an eye on her. You know how she is. She notices everything."
Draco hesitated. Just a breath. In that pause, something shifted. His shoulders dropped. His jaw unclenched. He rubbed his face like a man finally admitting the weight he was carrying.
"That would help," he said quietly. The exhaustion in his voice ran deep.
He did not say thank you. Instead, he met Theo's gaze with open honesty. It was enough.
They stood in silence again, the music and voices drifting toward them like something far away. Theo leaned back against the stone wall, studying him, curiosity already sharpening.
"Can I ask something?" Theo said at last, light but sincere. "You said she is better, and I believe you. What actually happened? What pushed her there?"
Draco went still. His expression did not empty, but it closed off, careful and deliberate. His gaze slid past Theo to the hedges.
"She killed my father," he said evenly.
Theo stared at him.
Silence stretched. Then Theo blinked and let out a slow breath, eyebrows lifting.
"Well," he said after a beat, "that was not on my list of guesses. Somehow still tracks though."
His mouth curved into something close to a grin. "Knew I liked her."
Draco did not respond right away, but a faint smirk appeared and vanished just as quickly.
"Wand?" Theo asked, curiosity fully awake now. "Or something dramatic? Because if this involved an ancient spell or cursed weapon, I feel entitled to details."
Draco huffed a quiet laugh. "Recin," he said. "And no. She would not appreciate you dissecting it."
Theo whistled low. "Fuck. She commits."
Draco said nothing, but the silence between them felt thoughtful now instead of heavy.
"My Moon understands," Theo said. "She knows what it is like to carry something like that. She will know what to say."
Draco met his eyes, something soft flickering there at last. "Hermione always liked Luna. Said she made things feel lighter. Like she did not have to explain herself."
"She does not," Theo replied. "Not with her."
They paused, the moment settling. Theo nodded once, decision clear.
"She will visit. Often."
Draco did not answer, but something in him eased. A crack in the armor. Enough to breathe.
After a moment, he cleared his throat and straightened, brushing his sleeve like he could put the conversation away.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Theo clapped his back and smiled. "Anytime."
They headed back toward the party together, slipping into music and voices once more. What they had shared stayed with them, solid and unspoken. They had both survived the dark. And if it came for them again, neither would be standing alone.
~~~~~~
As the golden light faded and the last guests Disapparated into the night, Theo closed the front door with quiet finality. The house felt heavier now, not in a burdensome way, but in the way a home does when it is full of memory. Cake crumbs lingered on the carpet, wine glasses sat forgotten on windowsills, and the echo of laughter clung to the corners like warmth that refused to leave.
Luna hummed something soft and wordless as she walked toward the nursery, Lysander tucked against her chest, blissfully asleep. Theo followed behind her, tugging his shirt over his head and muttering about needing an entire week to recover from the sheer number of compliments he had endured.
They reached the nursery, and he reached for Lysander with a tenderness he no longer bothered to hide. The baby squirmed once in his arms, then settled with a small sigh. Theo rocked him gently, content in the quiet.
Then he saw it.
A small fawn colored blob was curled at the base of the crib. Again.
He stared. She stared back. Neither blinked.
"I thought we agreed on boundaries," he said slowly, addressing the pug like a delinquent houseguest who had overstayed her welcome. "You have your cushion in the living room. You have a ridiculous name. You are not entitled to shared sleeping arrangements."
Lady blinked once, tucked her nose beneath her paw, and let out a sigh so dramatic Theo nearly dropped his son.
"You know she loves him," Luna said, folding a blanket without even looking up. "You will have to get used to it."
"Why does she love him?" he hissed. "What has Ly done for her? He does not even know what a pug is."
Luna smiled faintly. "He knows kindness. That is enough."
Theo glanced down at his son, who was drooling onto his shoulder, entirely unbothered by the presence of the enemy. "This is psychological warfare," he muttered. "She is going to raise him to think her snoring is normal."
"Lady thinks yours is."
"That is slander."
Luna laughed softly and stepped closer. She looked tired, but glowing in that strange, otherworldly way she always did after holding too many people's emotions in a single day. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
"She is harmless, my love," she said. "And she adores him. That is all I ask of anyone in this house."
Theo stayed silent. He looked at the pug, now stretching her stubby legs and yawning like she owned the crib. Then he looked down at Lysander, who had one hand curled in his shirt and the other flung outward dramatically, as if declaring peace with the beast.
He sighed.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice so defeated Luna nearly kissed him purely out of amusement. "But I want it on record that I opposed this union from the start."
"Duly noted," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"And if she sheds in the cot, I will be alerting the Ministry."
"You do that."
He glanced around, frowning. "We should get one of those magical vacuums."
"You mean a broom?"
"That is not funny."
She grinned and tucked her head against his shoulder as they watched their son sleep, the dog curled at his feet like a silent, snoring guardian.
For all his dramatics, Theo felt something settle in his chest then. Something warm. Something steady.
Maybe this was family. Loud, infuriating, a little hairy.
But entirely, unmistakably his.