Notes:
This chapter is extreamly heavy and long.
Primary Trigger Warnings:
Torture and Physical Abuse,
Kidnapping/Abduction,
Graphic Violence,
Blood and Gore.
The Raven Order was dispatched at dusk, called out in silence to do work that left nothing behind except absence. The message came as it always did, written in flame and gone before it could be read twice. It was brief, precise, stripped of anything unnecessary, yet the moment Draco saw the names attached, something tightened in his chest.
He said nothing when the group split.
Theo and Blaise moved toward the perimeter. Draco and Titus took the route leading to the industrial district at the edge of the city. To anyone else, it was a standard operation. Track, identify, eliminate. Draco followed without comment, but the direction mattered. He knew where they were going before the map confirmed it.
The warehouse came into view just before nightfall.
It loomed ahead of them, a hollow structure of rusted metal and broken glass, its frame cutting into the darkening sky. Shadows stretched across the concrete, long and uneven, and the place stood abandoned in the way that suggested it had been left behind for a reason.
Draco slowed as they approached, something in his body reacting before his mind could catch up. The air felt wrong the moment he stepped inside, thick and stale, carrying a weight that pressed against his lungs.
He knew this place.
Not from reports or planning, but from memory. From pain.
This was where they had taken him. Years ago. Where he had been chained down and stripped of everything that made him himself. Where he had learned how far a person could be broken without dying.
He stopped just inside the threshold, his gaze sweeping the dark interior.
And understood, with a quiet certainty, that he had come back.
Draco said nothing as they entered.
Titus moved beside him, scanning the space with practiced focus, but Draco barely registered it. The sound in his ears was too loud, his pulse heavy and uneven, his breath dragging through him as if the air itself resisted. The warehouse stretched out ahead, mostly empty, broken by a few weak lanterns at the far end that cast long, distorted shadows across brick and cracked tile. Somewhere in that darkness, they were waiting. They had no idea he was here.
He had not come for the mission.
He moved forward, quiet and controlled, his boots making no sound against the ruined floor. His wand rested steady in his hand, though his magic churned beneath his skin, restless and sharp. The place pressed in on him. The rusted pipes, the warped beams, the faint groan of old metal shifting under its own weight. Every detail dragged something up from memory. The pain. The heat of spells tearing through him. The sound of voices in the dark while he bled on this same ground.
They had tried to break him here. Tried to take everything from him.
They had failed.
He had survived it. Crawled out of it. Rebuilt himself piece by piece. Now he stood in the same place again, but nothing about him was the same.
There was no room left in him for mercy. What remained was cold and focused. These men were not just part of a mission. They were unfinished business.
Titus shifted, moving to flank, but Draco did not look at him. He did not need direction. All he needed was a face to match the memory.
Voices drifted from deeper inside the warehouse, low and careless. Movement followed, just enough to confirm they were close.
Draco stepped further into the dark.
He knew how this would end.
They had followed the trail for hours, through broken leads and whispers that felt half erased, until it brought them here, to a warehouse crouched at the edge of Knockturn Alley. The building looked abandoned, its frame sagging, windows shattered, the weak spill of moonlight cutting through in uneven strips that twisted across the floor. The air inside was thick, damp with mildew and rust, carrying a metallic edge that clung to the back of the throat.
It felt like a place that had seen too much.
The two men inside had run, hidden, tried to disappear, but it had ended here. They did not know how close the danger already was.
Blaise and Theo moved through the space without a sound, their steps steady against the damp concrete. They stayed in the shadows, dressed in black that swallowed the light, their presence blending into the ruin around them. They did not speak. There was no need. Their wands rested ready, magic quiet but waiting.
The warehouse held its breath around them.
The silence pressed in, heavy and expectant, as if the place itself knew what was about to happen and was waiting for it.
The silence stretched too long, heavy in a way that made the air feel wrong, like the moment just before something breaks. Blaise felt it first, a quiet unease crawling along the back of his neck, his instincts sharpening even as his expression stayed composed. Theo stilled beside him, his focus narrowing, his magic tightening in his grip as he watched the empty space ahead.
This had stopped feeling like a mission.
Theo already had his wand drawn, his hold steady, his breathing controlled as he moved forward with quiet precision. Every small detail registered. The faint creak beneath his boots, the weak flicker of a dying light above them, the damp air thick with mildew and something older, something metallic that lingered at the back of his throat. Blood had been spilled here before. The place still carried it.
Blaise moved at his side with the same quiet control, his steps nearly soundless, his posture relaxed in a way that concealed the tension coiled beneath it. He watched everything, every shadow, every shift in the air, his presence as smooth as it was dangerous.
Neither of them spoke.
They moved together without speaking, their steps aligned out of habit and experience. Every shift, every pause, every breath matched. They had done this too many times to need anything else. The rhythm of it lived in them now.
Deep inside the warehouse, the two men they had been hunting remained unaware, bent over a battered table, the weak light above them flickering as they worked through whatever plans had kept them alive this long.
The weak light above the table buzzed as it flickered, casting uneven shadows across the mess below. Damp scrolls curled in on themselves, ink smeared across frantic notes, maps marked with hurried lines and dead ends. It was a table built for planning, now reduced to evidence of men running out of time.
Theo stepped forward into the light.
The scrape of his boot against the floor cut through the silence. Both men froze, their bodies going rigid as they turned toward him. The taller one straightened too quickly, confusion flashing across his face. The other recoiled, already breathing harder, his eyes darting as if searching for an escape he could feel slipping away.
"You don't get to run this time," Theo said, his voice low and steady. "We've come to settle an old debt."
The smaller man swallowed, stumbling back a step. "You don't—look, listen—you don't have to do this," he stammered. "It wasn't—it was never personal, just business, you understand? Just business."
Blaise stepped into view behind Theo, his presence quiet but impossible to ignore. "Unfortunately for you," he said, his tone calm, "it's very personal to us."
The taller man moved, his hand twitching toward his wand, but Theo was faster. A flick of his wrist sent it flying, the wood clattering uselessly across the floor.
"You're not in a position to negotiate," Theo said evenly. "So do us both a favor and—"
The second man slammed his hand onto the table.
Magic burst from it in a sudden, violent pulse. The metal beneath his palm lit with dark runes, and the air cracked as the force exploded outward.
The impact hit them before they could react.
The blast hit hard.
Theo and Blaise were thrown back, their bodies slamming into beams and rusted shelving with enough force to knock the breath from their lungs. Wood splintered, metal bent, and the lantern above them shattered, sending glass and sparks raining down before darkness swallowed the space. Dust and smoke filled the air, thick and choking, swallowing the table and everything around it.
Theo hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through him, his head striking last with a dull crack that blurred his vision. For a moment, nothing made sense. The room tilted, his sight flickering as dark spots swam at the edges.
He tried to move.
His arm didn't respond the way it should. His fingers twitched slowly, his body heavy, uncooperative. Something felt wrong beneath the pain, deeper than the impact.
His magic.
It didn't answer him.
The familiar pull, the instinctive response that had always been there, was gone quiet, buried under something thick and suffocating. He forced himself onto his side, movement slow, dragging, and caught sight of Blaise nearby.
Blaise was down as well, his movements broken, uneven. His wand lay just out of reach, his hand straining toward it without success. His voice came out rough, unfocused. "What the fuck…"
Theo understood then.
This wasn't just the blast. Something had been laid into the room, something meant to hold them down, to strip them of the one thing that made them dangerous.
Footsteps echoed through the haze.
Slow. Unhurried.
Theo forced his head up, pain flaring through him as a figure stepped through the smoke. The man moved with ease, his posture relaxed, his gaze settling on them with quiet satisfaction.
"Good night, gentlemen."
Theo tried to react, tried to push through the weight pressing down on him, but his body refused.
The darkness closed in.
°°°
Pain came back slowly.
It settled first in his ribs, tight and heavy, then spread through his chest in steady pulses that made each breath uneven. His head throbbed, a deep, dull pressure that echoed with every heartbeat. His lips were split, his hands raw, his body sore in ways that told him something deeper had been damaged.
He forced himself toward consciousness.
Cold hit next, sharp and persistent, followed by the bite of restraints. Iron cuffs dug into his wrists and ankles, tight enough to cut into the skin, layered with magic that dragged at whatever power he had left. When he shifted, even slightly, the resistance was immediate. There was no give in it.
The room smelled wrong. Damp, stale, heavy with mildew and something metallic that clung to the back of his throat. Blood. The walls were close, cracked and wet in places, the floor marked by stains that had not been cleaned, only left to fade.
A weak bulb flickered above him, casting uneven light that made the space feel smaller than it was.
Blaise stayed still.
His head was lowered, his breathing controlled, measured. Blood from a cut above his eye slid slowly down his temple, but he ignored it. He ignored all of it. The pain, the restraints, the cold.
He listened.
A sound came from beside him. Low. Strained.
Theo.
Blaise didn't turn, but he felt the shift, the subtle movement as Theo forced himself awake. The scrape against the floor, the tight pull of breath, the quiet reaction to pain. It was enough.
Theo was already working through it.
Even now, even like this, his mind would be moving, taking everything in, building a picture of the room, the restraints, the damage done to them.
Blaise stayed silent.
They had been in situations like this before.
Not the same place, not the same weight pressing down on them, but enough that the instinct returned without effort. There was no need for words. They both knew what came first.
Assess. Calculate. Do not panic.
A door creaked open somewhere beyond the weak light.
Blaise did not move, but his body stilled completely, his focus sharpening as he listened. Footsteps followed, slow and deliberate, the kind that carried confidence. The sound drew closer, steady, controlled.
A man stepped into view.
He looked out of place in the room, his suit clean, his posture composed, his presence untouched by the decay around him. He carried himself with ease, as if nothing here could reach him.
"Ah," he said lightly. "You're awake."
Theo's voice came out rough beside Blaise, strained but steady. "If you wanted to die, you could've just asked."
The man smiled, unbothered, lowering himself slightly as he looked at Theo. "I admire the bravado. Truly, I do. But let's not be dramatic. You're in no position to make threats, Mr. Nott."
Blaise shifted then, slow and deliberate, lifting his head just enough to meet the man's gaze. His expression gave nothing away, his eyes quiet and unreadable.
"You have no idea what you've just done," he said, his voice low, steady, carrying more weight than any raised tone could.
Their captor didn't react to the threat. He let out a quiet laugh, easy and entertained, as if the situation amused him more than it concerned him. "Oh, I think we knew exactly what we were doing," he said, straightening as he rolled his shoulders. "You see, we needed leverage. And you two?" His hand moved between them in a lazy gesture. "You're the perfect bargaining chips."
The words settled heavily.
Blaise stayed still, but the meaning landed quickly, sharp and clear. This had never been about them alone. It was planned, deliberate, aimed far beyond this room. His thoughts shifted immediately, fast and precise, landing on Ginny, on their son, on everyone who would come looking.
Beside him, Theo's breathing changed. There was a small shift in his posture as he tested the restraints, silent, controlled.
They understood.
The man watched them for a moment longer, then turned away, satisfied. "Get comfortable," he said. "This will be over soon."
The door shut behind him with a heavy sound, the lock sliding into place.
~~~~~~
When Draco and Titus returned to the rendezvous point, something felt wrong immediately. The base was exactly as they had left it, wards intact, no signs of disturbance, but the space felt empty in a way that sat heavy in Draco's chest.
Blaise and Theo were not there.
At first, they didn't react. Both of them knew how missions could shift. Delays happened. Routes changed. It would not have been unusual for Blaise and Theo to stay off grid a little longer, to avoid attention before returning. They gave it time, leaning on that logic, letting it hold.
But the time passed.
Minutes stretched into hours. The light faded, and the silence deepened until it pressed in from all sides. No signal. Nothing to suggest they were close.
Draco stayed near the edge of the warded perimeter, his gaze fixed on the dark beyond it, waiting for any sign of them. He listened for it, for footsteps, for voices, for anything familiar. The night gave him nothing back.
"They should have come by now," Titus said at last, his voice tight as he paced.
Draco glanced at him, his expression still, controlled. "We wait a little longer."
They did.
Another hour passed. Then another.
By morning, nothing had changed. The light only made the absence clearer. No tracks, no signs, no trace of them.
Draco stood there, arms crossed, the weight of it settling into something he could no longer ignore.
They were not coming back.
The waiting had run its course.
"We can't wait any longer," Draco said quietly, his voice tight with something heavier than frustration.
Titus turned toward him and gave a short nod. "If they're not back by now, it means they've either been captured… or worse."
The words settled between them, unspoken weight hanging in the air.
They moved without hesitation after that. Gear packed quickly. Wards checked. The perimeter scanned one last time, though it changed nothing. There were no signs. No trace of them anywhere.
Draco's jaw tightened as his thoughts raced. Blaise and Theo did not vanish without a reason. Whatever had taken them had been planned.
They left the base and headed back in silence, the kind that carried purpose instead of doubt. By the time the safehouse came into view, Draco's expression had hardened, every trace of hesitation gone.
He would find them.
And if they were still alive, he would bring them back.
~~~~~~
Titus had expected this to be unpleasant, but standing in front of the warded Nott estate made it worse than he had imagined. The barriers refused his magic, forcing him down the long path toward the house, each step sharpening the tension already sitting under his skin. By the time he reached the door, irritation had settled into something heavier.
He knocked once, hard enough for the sound to carry. When nothing came, he knocked again, louder.
The door opened.
Luna stood there with her wand raised, aimed straight at his chest.
"Get the fuck away from my door," she said, her voice low and cutting. She did not need to raise it. The steadiness of her arm said enough.
Titus lifted his hands slowly. "What a warm welcome, Mrs. Nott," he said, trying for something lighter than the moment allowed.
"You're not allowed to be here," she shot back. "Theo said it. You don't come near us. You don't. He told you. He warned you."
"I know," Titus said. "I wouldn't be here if I had any other choice."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not. I'm here because of Theo."
She did not lower her wand.
"Luna," he said, quieter now. "He didn't come back."
Her breath caught.
"What?" she whispered.
"Neither did Blaise. They're gone. We've searched everywhere. They're not on the grid. No traces. They didn't report in. They're not answering. They're missing."
The words landed and stayed there.
"No," she said, barely audible.
"They were on assignment," Titus added. "And they never came back."
She stared at him, her grip tightening around the wand, her breathing uneven. Then, slowly, she lowered it just enough to let him live. She stepped back and opened the door.
Titus stepped inside.
The warmth of the house felt wrong around him, lavender and wood wrapping the space in something calm that did not belong to him. A kettle whistled somewhere deeper inside, a small, ordinary sound that only made everything sharper.
Lysander appeared from behind Luna's leg, thumb in his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at Titus. For a moment, they looked at each other. Then the boy pulled back quickly, clutching her dress.
Across the room, Seline moved through her own small world, unsteady steps carrying her to a pile of toys. She picked up a worn unicorn and lifted it high, laughing, her voice bright against the tension. She babbled to herself, then collapsed onto the rug in a tangle of limbs and quiet delight.
Titus watched her.
His gaze stayed too long, following each movement with a stillness that felt wrong in the room.
Luna noticed.
Her body shifted at once, placing herself closer to her daughter, her hand hovering near her wand again, her expression sharpening.
"Beautiful family you have," Titus said quietly.
Her glare hardened. "If you stopped killing people for a living you might've earned one of your own. But that's not my concern. What is my concern is where my husband is. So stop circling and speak."
Titus exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "I told you. We went on a mission and they didn't come back. No one's heard a word. No trace. It's like they were swallowed whole."
Luna's breath faltered. She dropped to her knees, pulling Seline into her arms, holding her close as if grounding herself. Lysander pressed against her side, his fingers tight in her skirt.
"Why didn't you stop him?" she whispered. "You're supposed to have his back. You're supposed to be his family. How could you let this happen?"
She stood again, holding both children, her grip tight.
"I have no idea," Titus said. "They're gone, Luna. We're doing everything we can to find them. But it's like they were erased."
Her hand trembled around the wand.
Titus's gaze drifted again, briefly, toward Seline as she shifted in Luna's arms, still murmuring to herself, still unaware.
Luna moved at once, stepping fully in front of her, wand raised again.
"If you ever look at my daughter like that again," she said, her voice low and steady, "I swear to Merlin, I will kill you myself."
The air tightened.
Titus went still, then raised his hands again. "I didn't mean anything by it, Luna. I swear. I've told you everything I know. Theo and Blaise left together. They were supposed to be back hours ago. We've been chasing every possible lead, but there's nothing. It's like they vanished into thin air."
She held his gaze, her breathing uneven. For a moment, something broke through the anger. Fear. Grief. It showed only briefly before she forced it down again.
"PANSYYYYYYYYY!" Luna's voice tore through the Floo, sharp with panic, loud enough to rattle the quiet of the Parkinson residence.
"For Merlin's sake, Luna! Can a woman breastfeed in peace without being summoned like the Dark Lord himself has risen again?!" Pansy snapped as her face appeared in the green flames, already irritated, already bracing for chaos.
"Get here. Immediately. Something's happened to Theo—"
The flames surged before Luna could finish, and Pansy stepped through at once, robes barely held together, Seraphina still latched to her chest, calm and unaware of the storm her mother carried in with her.
She did not hesitate. Her eyes locked onto Titus, and her expression turned sharp.
"What in the actual fuck is he doing here?" she spat, snatching a vase from the mantel and throwing it straight at him.
Titus ducked. The vase shattered against the wall.
"Calm down, Parkinson," he said, brushing porcelain dust from his shoulder. "I'm not here to harm my cousin's wife."
His tone stayed light, though his gaze flickered for a moment longer than it should have before lifting again.
Pansy caught it.
"I know the last cunt you saw was your mother's during your traumatic exit from the womb," she said, her voice low and vicious, "but if you even think about staring at my tits again, I will carve your eyes out of your skull and feed them to the fucking crows."
Seraphina cooed softly, oblivious.
Titus smirked. "Oh, the famous alchemist has claws. Duly noted." He gestured lazily. "Now put your tits away and get dressed, Parkinson. We're headed to the Zabini mansion. The others are already gathering."
"Don't you tell me what to do, you walking moral liability," Pansy snapped, adjusting Seraphina with practiced ease before pressing a quick kiss to her head. "Touch my family again or look at them the wrong way and I'll end you in a way your ancestors will feel."
She shifted, freeing her daughter and placing her into Luna's arms. "Here. Rock her counterclockwise or she'll shriek like a mandrake."
Luna took her without hesitation, already swaying gently, humming under her breath until the baby settled against her.
Pansy lifted her wand and sent a lynx Patronus streaking through the air, her focus sharpening into something cold and precise.
A crack split the room, and Neville appeared, wand raised, shirt half buttoned. His gaze swept the space, then landed on Titus.
"I'm not even going to ask what's going on in here," he muttered. "I assume it's bad, though."
"We're going now. Zabini's," Pansy said, already moving.
Neville fell into step beside her, his jaw tight as he glanced once at Luna and the children before turning away.
Magic thickened in the air as they gathered, tension humming through every movement. Titus adjusted his collar. Pansy did not bother fixing her robe.
Then, with a sharp crack, they vanished.
~~~~~~
The sharp crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside pulled Ginny upright, her breath catching as she turned toward the door, every instinct in her body tightening at once while Valerius stilled against her chest, his quiet sniffling fading as if he felt the shift before he understood it.
The door opened, and the air inside the house changed.
Hermione stepped in first, pale and drawn, her lips pressed into a thin line, and Draco followed just behind her, composed but rigid, holding something in so tightly it seemed ready to break through his skin at any moment. Luna came next, her gaze sweeping the room with a brittle kind of focus, then Titus, jaw set, and Pansy, already bristling, Seraphina still at her chest, while Neville lingered at the back, pale, his wand turning restlessly between his fingers.
Ginny blinked, taking in all of them crowding her doorway, her voice rising despite herself. "What—did I forget something? A lunch?"
No one answered.
Her eyes moved from Hermione to Draco, then to Luna, who looked like she was holding herself together by force alone.
Draco spoke first, his voice steady, controlled. "Sit down, Ginevra."
She stiffened. "What?"
"Please," Hermione said softly as she stepped closer. "Just… just sit, yeah?"
Something in her tone made Ginny obey, and she lowered herself onto the sofa, adjusting Valerius against her chest while her pulse began to race harder with every passing second.
"What's going on?" she asked, her hand moving absently through her son's hair as dread crept in, slow and suffocating.
Draco hesitated only briefly before drawing in a breath. "Blaise and Theo are missing."
The words landed heavy.
Ginny stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up. "W-what do you mean missing?"
Titus stepped forward, arms crossed tightly. "We split up. Two teams. Malfoy and I on one side. Blaise and Theo on the other. We had a fallback point." His throat moved as he swallowed. "They didn't show."
Ginny didn't react at first, the words circling, repeating, pressing deeper with every second.
"They never returned," she said quietly, as if saying it might make it real.
Luna's hand slammed against the table with a sharp crack. "My husband," she said, her voice shaking with fury that barely held together. "If you two—any of you—let him die, if you let him leave me a widow…" Her gaze burned across them. "I will kill you both. Slowly. Miserably. Do you understand me?"
The room tightened around her words.
Pansy reached out, her hand settling on Luna's shoulder. "Love," she said softly, tension threading through her voice, "nothing is going to happen to them. They're too stubborn to die."
"They're not going to die," Draco said, clipped, meeting Luna's glare. "So calm—"
"Calm down, Ferret?" Ginny snapped as she surged to her feet so fast Valerius startled in her arms, and she passed him to Neville without looking, her focus locked entirely on Draco as she stepped toward him. "You don't get to tell me to calm down. You're not my boss. You're not anybody to me. You think just because you walk in here with your cold, polished tone and your fucking jawline you get to start barking orders? My husband is missing. And you dare speak to me like I'm the one being unreasonable?"
Draco held her gaze, his jaw tightening, while Hermione moved to Ginny's side and reached for her, only for Ginny to pull away.
"We need to find them," Ginny said, her voice shaking now with something sharper than fear. "I don't care about your protocole, or your bloody plans. Blaise is out there. He could be hurt. He could be dying, and you want me to sit here, sipping tea and knitting fucking baby booties, waiting for an owl?"
"We're not waiting, Gin," Hermione said, steady but strained. "We're preparing. You know what happens when we don't. We go in blind, and we lose more."
Her gaze flicked toward Pansy. "Everyone needs to be ready. Properly ready. We don't know what we're walking into."
Then she hesitated. "Pansy… maybe you should… cover up?"
Pansy lifted a brow, a slow grin forming as she adjusted Seraphina. "Oh, come on, Granger. Is this really the time to be scandalized by tits? You lot act like you've never seen a pair that didn't belong in a textbook. Get over it."
Her eyes gleamed with challenge. "Honestly, I thought we were past the part where modesty mattered more than men being alive."
Hermione opened her mouth—
"Pansy."
Neville's voice cut through the room, quiet but firm enough to stop everything.
Pansy turned toward him, ready to argue, her smirk already forming, until she saw his expression and stilled.
She moved without another word, pulling her robe closed with a sharp, irritated motion and fastening it quickly, her fingers precise despite the tension coiling through her. She crossed the room and lowered Seraphina into a wicker basket lined with soft, charmed blankets, the baby settling with a quiet sigh as if none of this existed.
Ginny dragged a hand through her hair, forcing herself to steady, then called down the hallway, "Twinkle!"
A soft pop answered at once, and the house-elf appeared, bowing so deeply his nose nearly touched the floor. "Yes, Missus?"
"Please look after Seraphina and the others," Ginny said, gesturing toward both bassinets, her voice tight but controlled. "Keep them safe. Don't let anyone near them who doesn't belong here."
Twinkle straightened quickly, eyes bright with fierce determination. "Yes, Missus! Twinkle will guard them like a Hungarian Horntail, Missus! No harm will come to these little ones while Twinkle breathes, Missus!"
Ginny gave a single nod. "Good job darling."
She turned back to the others, her gaze hardening as something colder settled into place behind her eyes. "It's time. We need to be ready. Now."
No one argued.
Magic rose around them in a low, steady swell, their clothes shifting and reforming with muted flashes of light that moved like breath across fabric and skin. Hermione's robes tightened into something sleek and deliberate, reinforced with layered enchantments that shimmered faintly before sinking into the seams.
Luna's darkened, soft fabric settling into something built for movement while still carrying the quiet echo of who she was. Pansy's reshaped into structured black combat robes, her boots sealing into place with silent precision.
Ginny stood still for only a heartbeat longer before her own magic flared, curling over her like living fire, burning away softness and leaving something sharper behind as leather etched with glowing runes wrapped around her, twin daggers settling against her hips, her wand locking into place along her forearm.
By the time the light faded, the room had changed with them.
°°°
Draco stepped into the hallway as his robes shifted around him, darkening and reforming into a sharply tailored military style ensemble that clung to his frame with deliberate precision, black layered over black with faint silver stitching catching the light along the seams, every detail carrying the quiet authority of someone who had already decided how this would unfold.
His gaze moved across the room, slow and assessing, taking in the armored women, the children secured under wards, the silence stretched thin with tension.
"Ginevra," he said evenly, his voice controlled, edged with command. "Gather Blaise's weapons. Guns, enchanted blades, smoke runes. Everything in the top trunk and the drawer beneath the bed."
He did not wait before turning his attention to Luna. "You—start collecting potions. Every last one you've brewed. Healing, offensive, anti-venom, sleep inhibitors. Prioritize speed. Time is not on our side."
Titus stepped forward from where he had been standing too close, his posture tightening. "Malfoy," he said, his voice sharp, "you can't just order her around like she's your private house pet."
Draco turned to him fully, his expression settling into something colder, his voice dropping low. "Nott, you're already walking on thin ice. Say one more word, and I'll break it beneath you."
His gaze did not waver. "They are my family. Every single person in this house has bled for the ones we're about to risk our lives to save. You, on the other hand?" His shoulders shifted slightly. "You're a footnote. A contingency at best. So unless you plan on making yourself useful, I suggest you shut the fuck up and step back."
The air tightened, heavy and charged, the silence stretching as if it might snap.
Neville moved before it could, summoning a weathered parchment map from the shelf with a flick of his wrist and guiding it to the center table where it unfurled, old magic whispering across its surface as shifting lines and terrain revealed themselves.
"Everyone," Neville said, louder now, steady despite the tension in his voice. "Focus. This isn't about ego, it's about Blaise and Theo. Ginny. Luna. Use the bond. Try to find them."
Luna stepped forward first, quiet and deliberate, her robes brushing softly against the floor, and Ginny followed, pushing a chair aside with a sharp scrape that echoed through the room.
They stood side by side at the edge of the map, Luna's hands steady as her eyes sharpened with focus, Ginny's breath uneven as she placed her hand against the parchment, her jaw tight with everything she was holding back.
Together, they began.
"Uruz," Ginny intoned, her voice firm even as it trembled beneath the strain of it. "Mother of manifestation, blood of memory and mirror of truth—show me where Theodore Atticus Nott and Blaise Orion Zabini are."
The words settled into the room with weight, humming through the air as the map beneath her hands began to respond. A faint shimmer spread across the parchment, soft and liquid, as though something beneath it had woken. The runes along the edges lit one by one, their blue glow steady at first, then flickering as the surface shifted. Lines bent and redrew themselves, rivers sliding out of place, mountains flattening as if the land itself were being searched.
Then something faltered.
The light dimmed. The runes sputtered. The movement slowed, stuttering like a breath cut short.
Ginny's chest tightened. "No. No—come on, come on—Uruz, I'm asking you, please—"
The glow died.
Silence settled over the table.
Ginny's fingers pressed harder into the parchment, her breath uneven. "Come on, Uruz," she whispered, the edge of desperation slipping through despite her effort to hold it back.
Luna's hand came to rest lightly on her arm, steady and grounding. "Give it a moment," she said softly. "Sometimes the bond takes time to focus, especially if they're far away or… obscured."
Neville shifted nearby, his attention flicking toward Draco, while Titus hovered close, arms crossed, tension still coiled tightly in his frame. The room felt unsteady, everything hanging on a thread that could snap at any second.
Draco stood slightly apart, arms folded, his gaze fixed on the map. "This isn't a parlor trick," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "If Blaise and Theo are hidden by certain wards or dark magic, it could take more than a simple incantation to pinpoint them."
"Yes, I'm aware," Ginny snapped, pushing her hair back with a sharp motion as her hand curled into a fist. "But this is what we have, Malfoy. Unless you have a better idea? One that doesn't involve intimidation and snide remarks?"
He met her gaze, held it for a moment, then said nothing, only gesturing for her to continue.
"Let's try again," Luna murmured, stepping closer and lowering her wand to the map. "Uruz, mother of manifestation, hear our call."
Ginny nodded, drawing in a slow breath before placing her hand over Luna's wand, letting her magic join the spell. The map flickered again, light spreading across it in thin, searching lines that moved faster this time, sharper, more urgent.
For a moment, a small point of light appeared in the far corner.
"There," Ginny breathed, leaning forward, her pulse racing.
It vanished.
The map went still.
Frustration broke through her. She slammed her hand against the table, the impact rattling everything around them. "I'm so close," she said through clenched teeth, her voice shaking. "Why can't it just stay long enough to tell us where they are?"
No one answered. The tension pressed in tighter, every second stretching, every failed attempt cutting deeper.
Draco stopped pacing abruptly, his attention snapping back to the table, his expression sharpening as something clicked into place. "We need a bigger map," he said, his tone firm, urgent beneath the control.
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a larger map and flicked his wand, pushing the furniture aside before spreading it across the floor. The parchment unfurled wide, revealing far more than the small one had, stretching across regions and borders, ready to be searched again.
Hermione dropped to her knees beside Draco, her eyes already moving across the map as her hands smoothed the parchment flat, the faint tremor in her fingers betraying the strain she was holding back. "Are you sure this will help?" she asked, though she was already leaning in, already searching.
"It's better than what we're working with now," Draco said sharply as he crouched beside her, tension pulling tight through his voice before it softened just enough to steady. "This map is enchanted to detect magical imprints. If they're anywhere on these islands, it'll show us."
Ginny didn't wait. She moved in beside them, wand already in hand, her breath uneven as she forced herself to focus. "Uruz, mother of manifestation, show me Theodore Atticus Nott and Blaise Orion Zabini."
The map stayed still for a long second, the silence stretching thin, broken only by the sound of her breathing.
Then a faint glow flickered to life.
It was weak, unsteady, but it was there, and the shift in the room was immediate.
"It's Scotland," Hermione said quietly, her voice catching between relief and dread. "They're in Scotland."
The glow steadied as they leaned closer, narrowing into a single point buried deep within the Highlands. Ginny's breath hitched as she fixed on it, her chest tightening at how remote it looked, how hidden.
"Glencoe," Luna said, her voice softer now, touched with unease. "That's Glencoe."
Pansy straightened from where she had been leaning against the wall, her arms dropping as her expression tightened. "Glencoe? That place is cursed. The massacre, the old wards. People have been avoiding it for centuries."
"We don't have the luxury of superstition," Ginny said, her voice sharp, cutting through the hesitation. "They're there. That's all that matters."
Draco rose to his feet, already moving. "She's right. Cursed or not, we're going. Grab what you need. This isn't going to be a simple retrieval."
Neville stepped forward, his usual calm replaced with something harder. "I'll get the healing supplies. If they've been there for days, they're going to need more than just potions."
Luna nodded to him, then turned back to Ginny. "We'll find them," she said quietly, the steadiness in her voice cutting through the chaos pressing in.
Ginny didn't answer. Her eyes stayed on the map, her fingers tracing the glowing point as if she could hold it there, as if she could reach through and drag them back herself.
"Ginny, you're coming with us, but you need to be focused. No distractions. Understood?" Draco said.
She lifted her gaze to meet his, something fierce and unyielding settling in her expression. "I'm ready."
He studied her for a second, then gave a short nod. "Good. Then let's move."
Around them, the room shifted into motion as supplies were gathered, magic flickering, urgency taking hold. Ginny stayed where she was for one last moment, her mind locked on a single word.
Glencoe.
The glow on the map dimmed slightly, but it held, a thin, stubborn light against the dark, and she knew with a certainty that settled deep in her bones that she would not stop until she reached it, no matter what waited for them there.
~~~~~~
They arrived beneath a blackened sky, the moon the only light that reached them, cold and distant as it broke through the canopy in fractured beams that painted the forest floor in pale, unnatural streaks. The trees rose around them in warped silhouettes, their branches twisting upward like grasping hands, closing in on what little light remained.
The air felt wrong, thick and unmoving, pressing into their lungs with every breath, while the quiet stretched too far, too deep, until even the soft crunch of leaves beneath their steps sounded loud enough to echo.
Their wands cast a faint glow, small and unsteady against the dark, and even that light seemed to fade as it pushed forward, swallowed slowly by the shadows ahead. The path narrowed as they moved, bending and turning in ways that made it hard to follow, as though the forest had shifted around them, guiding and trapping them all at once.
Pansy's grip on Neville's hand tightened until her nails bit into his skin, her hold unrelenting, her body rigid beside him. He did not pull away, the tremor running through her said everything he needed to know. This went beyond fear. It settled deeper, heavier, something that curled low in the gut and refused to loosen.
"Something's here," she breathed, her voice thin and strained. "Something bad."
Neville swallowed, the cold of her words sinking into him, though he had already felt it in the air around them, in the way the silence pressed too close. "I know," he said quietly, his hand hovering near his wand as instinct took over. "It's like the forest is holding its breath."
Ahead of them, Luna did not slow.
Moonlight caught in her pale hair as she moved through the trees, her figure slipping between shadow and silver, something distant and untouchable in the way she carried herself now. Whatever softness once lived in her had burned away, leaving something sharper behind, something steady and unyielding. Her steps came faster than before, her purpose pulling her forward with a force that bordered on desperation, as if reaching him depended on the strength of her will alone.
And beneath her breath, she spoke.
"I will send out an army to find you," she murmured, her voice quiet but steady as it carried through the stillness. "In the middle of the darkest night, I will rescue you. I will never stop marching to reach you…"
The words drifted back to them, soft but heavy, threading through the silence and pulling them forward with her. No one spoke after that. They followed, each step careful, each breath shallow, the forest closing in tighter the deeper they went.
It no longer felt like a place they were walking through.
It felt like something they had already stepped inside.
The quiet sound of Luna's voice carried ahead of them, each word threading through the silence and settling deep, pulling the others forward as they followed in tense, measured steps, held together by her certainty even as the air around them grew heavier.
Ginny, walking just behind her, stopped suddenly.
Her breath caught, sharp and uneven, her nose wrinkling as she lifted a hand toward her face, her eyes narrowing as something foul reached her all at once.
She turned slowly, her voice tight, brittle. "Do you smell that?"
No one answered.
They had already smelled it.
It hung low in the air, thick and metallic, clinging to the damp earth and rotting leaves, seeping into their lungs with every breath until it coated the back of their throats. It was sharp, wet, unmistakable, the kind of scent that did not belong to something clean or recent. It had weight to it, a presence that pressed in from all sides.
Ginny's hand closed around her wand, her grip tightening as her fingers trembled.
Neville swallowed, the sound loud in the suffocating stillness.
And then, as if the word forced itself out of them, they spoke together, each voice low.
"Death."
It lingered in the air between them, heavy and final.
They moved forward anyway.
The path curved, the trees thinning just enough to reveal what waited ahead, and the moment they saw it, something inside each of them seized.
They stopped.
The gallows stood before them, a towering structure of twisted iron and splintered wood, assembled with brutal care, its shape crude and wrong against the landscape. The ropes hung from it in uneven lines, swaying faintly, their nooses loose and waiting, as if the air itself had not yet decided to let them rest.
Everything about it felt deliberate.
Built to be seen. Built to be remembered.
And the smell of death was strongest there.
The smell hit Hermione all at once, thick and rotting, forcing its way into her lungs until it felt like she could taste it, metallic and sour, clinging to the back of her throat as her stomach twisted hard enough to make her vision blur. Her breath stuttered, shallow and uneven, tears rising without warning as the sight before her settled into something real, something she could not look away from.
Bodies hung from the gallows, limp and swaying, their shapes distorted by shadow and distance, but close enough that the truth pressed in from every angle. The slow movement of them, the quiet rhythm of death against the still forest, made something inside her recoil.
Her fingers found Draco's arm without thinking, gripping tightly, her nails digging into his sleeve as she struggled to hold herself upright.
"I—I can't…" she gasped, her voice breaking under the weight of it. "Draco—"
His hand came to her back at once, steady and firm, holding her there as she swayed. "Look at me," he said, his voice controlled, cutting through the panic as he pulled her focus toward him. "Breathe. Focus on me. Just me."
She forced herself to meet his eyes, clinging to him, drawing breath after breath in time with his voice, even as her body trembled and the image behind her refused to fade.
Beside them, Neville's attention shifted, his gaze locking onto movement beyond the gallows, something dragging closer through the dim light. His hands found Pansy's shoulders immediately, turning her toward him with urgency.
"Get down," he said, his voice low and hard. "Lie flat on the ground. Don't argue. Don't move until I come back for you."
She stared at him, confused for half a second, until she saw his expression and the fear beneath it.
And then she looked anyway.
The shapes came into focus as they were dragged forward, bodies pulled across the ground with no care, their limbs slack, their forms broken in ways that made the breath leave her in a rush.
Her scream tore out of her before she could stop it, raw and unrestrained, the sound of recognition hitting all at once.
Two figures. Bloodied. Barely holding together.
Even through the damage, even through the shadows, she knew them.
Her knees gave out beneath her, her hand flying to her mouth as she collapsed, the other clawing into the dirt as if she could hold herself together by force alone, as if the ground might keep her from falling apart completely.
°°°
Ginny moved before anyone could stop her, her body pulled forward by something stronger than thought, stronger than reason. Heat flared beneath her boots with every step, real and biting, the ground searing as her magic surged outward in sharp, uncontrolled bursts. It climbed her legs, wrapped around her ribs, settled deep in her chest where rage burned hot and steady. All she could hear were the broken sounds ahead, the drag of bodies across dirt, the low, strained noise of men still breathing when they should not have been.
Draco and Titus shared a single glance, quick and wordless, and vanished with two quiet cracks.
They reappeared at the base of the gallows, already in motion.
The executioners had no time to react.
Draco's wand cut through the air with a sharp flick, his curse striking clean and hard, sending the first man flying backward. The impact against the metal beam rang out, a dull, sickening sound, and the man dropped in a heap, limbs folding in on themselves as he hit the ground.
Draco did not hesitate. He turned immediately, already moving toward the second.
Titus closed the distance from behind, silent, his blade flashing once before it pressed into the man's throat. A single, smooth motion. The body jerked, a sharp breath cut short, and then it collapsed forward, the sound fading into the dirt.
Titus let him fall and looked up at once, eyes tracking the ropes, already calculating.
Mercy had no place here.
Another crack split the night, sharp and violent, and Luna appeared in its wake like something torn loose from the sky. Magic surged around her in wild, uncontrolled waves, the ground trembling beneath her feet as wind whipped through the clearing. Her hair lashed across her face, her eyes wide and blazing, her wand raised high in a grip that spoke of fury, of desperation pushed past its breaking point.
"GET THEM OFF!" she screamed, the sound ripping through the silence, loud enough to shake leaves from branches and scatter the stillness that had settled over the clearing.
There was nothing soft left in her. No quiet wonder, no distant calm. Only rage, raw and consuming, burning through her like fire that refused to die.
Luna moved before anyone could reach her, dropping hard to her knees beside the bodies, breath breaking in sharp, uneven pulls. Her hands shook as she reached for the dagger at her side, fingers slipping once before closing around the hilt. Steel flashed in the moonlight as she dragged it free, her vision narrowing, everything collapsing into the space beneath her hands.
Then she struck.
The blade drove down with force, sinking into flesh with a dull, brutal sound. She didn't pause. She struck again, and again, and again and again, each movement rougher, faster, her body shaking with it as if she could carve the fear out of herself if she just kept going. Blood splashed against her hands, her arms, her face, mixing with the tears already falling, turning everything slick and red.
A sound tore from her throat, raw and broken, something closer to a sob than a scream, pulled from deep in her chest where the fear had been building, where the thought of losing him had lived and grown until it could not be contained.
She kept moving, unable to stop, because stopping meant feeling it fully, meant letting the weight of it settle, and she could not bear it yet.
Stopping meant looking up, meant seeing the rope, the bruises, the terrible stillness, and she could not face that, not yet, so she kept moving, letting the blade and the impact drown out everything else until the world narrowed to motion and sound and nothing more.
Arms closed around her from behind, tight and shaking, and Hermione's voice broke against her ear. "Luna, stop," she begged, breath uneven. "Please. They're safe. They're alive. You don't have to do this. Come back. Just come back."
Luna went still.
The dagger slipped from her hand and dropped into the dirt. Her breath came in sharp, uneven pulls as she lifted her head, eyes unfocused, drawn toward the gallows where Draco and Titus were already cutting them down, Theo sagging into Draco's arms, Blaise collapsing against Titus.
She didn't speak. She just watched.
Draco caught Blaise as the rope gave way, holding him close, his voice low and strained. "I've got you, mate." Blaise hung heavy against him, barely breathing, but breathing.
Titus lowered Theo to the ground with care, his hands unsteady as he brushed hair from his face. "Stay with me, Nott," he whispered. "Don't make me bury you."
Ginny burst through the trees moments later, magic burning around her, dropping to her knees beside Blaise. Her hands hovered before finally touching him, trembling. "Blaise," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm here, my love. Please…"
Neville followed, already working, spells flickering over both bodies as he checked for life. His voice came steady, urgent. "They're alive. Barely. Theo's pulse is faint, and Blaise…" He glanced at Ginny. "He's losing blood fast. We have minutes."
Ginny shook her head, panic rising. "Then do something. Please, Neville. You have to save him."
"I will," he said, firm. "But not here. We need to move now."
Draco looked up, voice sharp with control. "Luna. Hermione. Ginny. Get Pansy and the children out. Apparate back to the safehouse. We'll bring them separately. Theo and Blaise need stabilizing first."
Ginny didn't move. Her grip tightened. "No," she said quietly. "I'm not leaving. Not him."
"Ginny—"
"I said no." Her magic flared with the words. "I am not leaving him."
Draco held her gaze, then nodded once. "Fine. Stay out of Neville's way."
They moved quickly after that, hands steady despite the blood and the urgency, the forest silent around them as if watching.
The bodies at the gallows lay still behind them, forgotten.
The fight was no longer here.
It had just begun.
~~~~~~
The safehouse came alive the moment they crossed the threshold, wards flaring and sealing behind them with a low hum that pressed into the walls and settled into their lungs. The air tightened, thick with urgency, every movement sharp and restless, no one quite able to breathe properly as the weight of it all followed them inside.
Pansy moved first.
Her wand flicked and a bucket appeared, water filling it in a soft rush. She crossed to the cabinet, yanked it open, grabbed a clean towel, and soaked it through before wringing it out with tight, shaking hands.
Then she dropped to her knees in front of Luna.
Blood streaked Luna's face, dried along her throat, caught in her lashes. She stared ahead, unfocused, somewhere far from the room around her. Pansy lifted the cloth and pressed it gently to her cheek, her breath shallow as she worked.
Luna flinched.
Pansy paused for a second, then softened her touch, continuing with careful, deliberate movements. The towel darkened almost at once, red spreading through the fabric. She tossed it aside, conjured another without looking, and started again.
She kept going.
Again and again, wiping, rinsing, replacing, her movements growing quicker, more urgent, as if she could erase it all if she did not stop. Blood stained every cloth she touched, soaking into her sleeves, into the floor at her knees, but she did not care. She just kept cleaning, because stopping meant thinking, and she could not afford that yet.
"Luna," Pansy said, sharp and unyielding, her voice cutting through the room. "We need to prep for an operation. Now."
Luna's gaze snapped into focus.
"We need the medical room prepped in sixty seconds," she said, her voice flat, steady, stripped of anything soft. "Hermione, sterilize the equipment. Pansy, I need every healing draught, sorted by potency and use. We need Blood-Replenishing Potions in bulk, and don't stop until you've found everything."
The room moved at once.
Pansy turned and ran, tearing through the storage cabinets, drawers slamming open as her hands moved fast, almost frantic, grabbing vials without pause. Glass clinked sharply as she set them down, lining them up with rigid precision even as her fingers shook.
"Blood Replenishing Potion… Wiggenweld… Essence of Dittany," she muttered under her breath, the words coming out uneven as she worked, faster and faster, like she could outrun what was waiting in the next room.
Across from her, Hermione worked just as quickly, her wand moving in sharp, controlled arcs.
"Scourgify. Purifico. Reparo."
Again. And again.
The spells struck metal and stone in quick bursts of light, each movement precise, deliberate, her breathing tight but steady as she kept going, refusing to slow.
The safehouse shifted around them, filled with motion, with magic, with the sharp edge of urgency pressing into every second.
It no longer felt like a home.
It felt like a place where something was about to be cut open and fought for.
Luna stood in the doorway, still and steady, the center of the chaos, her gaze moving across the room with sharp, deliberate focus. Blood marked her skin, her hands, but her voice remained controlled.
"Pansy," she said, quiet and firm, "check the expiration on the Blood-Replenishing Potion. It has to be fresh."
"Already done," Pansy answered without looking up, her hands still sorting vials, movements quick and precise despite the tension in her shoulders.
Luna shifted her attention. "Hermione. Towels. Gauze. Third cabinet. Go."
Hermione was already there, pulling the doors open, grabbing what she needed in hurried motions, fabric tearing as she worked. "How bad is it going to be?" she asked, breath uneven.
Luna's fingers tightened around the towel in her hands. She did not look at her when she answered.
"Bad."
The word settled heavily between them.
"We need to be ready for anything," she added, softer now, though the strain slipped through at the edges.
The room went quiet again, but the silence carried weight.
Pansy stepped back toward the wall, arms crossed tight, her fingers tapping against her sleeves, restless, waiting for something she could not control.
Luna stayed where she was, unmoving, the towel clenched in her hands, her eyes distant and bright with something she refused to let fall.
Hermione paced, unable to stop, each step uneven, her hands curling and uncurling as she tried to hold herself together.
Time stretched, thick and heavy, the air humming with tension.
They waited.
The stillness broke with a crack that tore through the air, sharp and sudden. Then another. And another. Apparition thundered through the safehouse, loud and violent, the sound echoing off the stone like something forcing its way inside.
Everything stopped.
Hermione's hands went slack, towels slipping from her grip. Pansy went rigid, her fingers twitching at her sides. Luna's breath caught, held tight in her chest.
Then Luna moved.
She ran, fast and unsteady, rounding the corner with a force that left no room for hesitation. Pansy followed close behind, pushing off the wall hard enough to stumble before catching herself. Hermione came last, slower, her body resisting for a split second before she forced it forward.
The hallway stretched ahead, dim and narrow, shadows pulling long along the walls.
Then they saw them.
Draco stepped out first, his posture locked tight, his face set in something cold and controlled. Blaise was in his arms, limp and heavy, his head resting against Draco's shoulder, blood marking his skin and clothes. His eyes were closed. His body still.
But his chest moved.
Barely.
Behind him, Titus carried Theo, his weight sagging against him, one arm hanging at an angle that looked wrong. His face was bruised, swollen, pale, a cut splitting the line of his cheek. His eyes were open, but unfocused, blinking slowly.
Ginny and Neville followed, both drawn and silent, their movements stripped down to what was necessary.
No one spoke.
The room seemed to tilt around them.
Hermione swayed where she stood, one hand catching the doorframe as the sight of them hit all at once. Relief came first, sharp and overwhelming, then fear just as fast, crushing it down. They were alive, but barely, and seeing them like that made it hard to breathe.
She moved before she could think.
Ginny reached her at the same moment, and Hermione pulled her in, arms wrapping tight around her as Ginny folded against her, shaking hard enough to be felt through both their bodies. The sound that left her was broken, quiet and raw, and Hermione held her closer, one hand pressing into her hair.
"It's okay," she whispered, the words fragile even as she said them. "They're here now. They'll be okay."
Across the room, Pansy moved fast, crossing the space in seconds before colliding with Neville, her arms locking around him as if letting go would break her completely. Her grip tightened, fingers twisting into his shirt, holding on with everything she had left.
Neville steadied her at once, his hands coming up to her face, grounding her, keeping her there. Then he kissed her, brief and urgent, something desperate in the way he held her close.
"They're alive," he breathed when they pulled apart, his forehead resting against hers. "They're alive."
He said it again, quieter this time, like he needed to hear it himself.
That was when Pansy broke.
The sob tore out of her without warning, sharp and raw, her whole body shaking as she buried her face against Neville's shoulder, arms locking around his neck.
"I was so scared, Nevie," she choked, her voice splintering. "I thought… I thought I'd lose you too."
Her grip tightened, too tight, but she didn't let go.
Neville held her through it, his hands steady even as his breath shook. "I know," he said quietly. "But I'm here. We're all here. And Hermione and Luna…" His gaze flicked toward them, still holding Ginny together. "They're going to fix this. We'll get through it. We always do."
The words settled, but the room didn't ease.
Draco and Titus still stood near the doorway, unmoving, their clothes marked with blood, their silence heavy with everything they had not said. They looked like they had brought more back with them than just bodies.
Ginny noticed it first. The tears.
It slipped down Draco's cheek without a sound, catching the light for a second before it fell. Something in him had cracked open.
She saw it and said nothing. Some things didn't need words.
Luna's voice cut through the room, steady and precise. "Hermione and I will take care of them," she said. "But we need to be sanitized first. We can't afford mistakes. Pansy, go wash up. Neville, stay with Ginny. Keep her steady."
Pansy hesitated, her body refusing for a second, her gaze fixed on Theo. She didn't want to move, didn't want to step away from him after seeing him like that. Neville's hand closed around hers, giving a firm squeeze before gently pulling her fingers free.
"Go," he said softly. "We need to let them work."
She swallowed hard, nodded once, and forced herself to turn, each step away heavier than the last.
Ginny stayed where she was. She stood still beside Neville, her eyes locked on Draco, unblinking, sharp. Neville murmured something to her, pulling her closer, but she barely reacted. She knew that look. She had seen it before.
The distance in his eyes. The way his jaw held too tight. The stillness that came from holding too much inside.
She reached for him slowly, her hand trembling as her fingers brushed against his.
He just stood there, his hand in hers, staring ahead while the room moved around him, and she held on as if that alone might bring him back.
~~~~~~
The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, sealing the room in silence. The noise from outside vanished, leaving only the sharp smell of blood and antiseptic hanging in the air. It hit hard, bitter and metallic, clinging to the back of Pansy's throat. For a second, her stomach turned.
Something in all of them shifted.
They stopped being wives, friends, anything soft. Their hands steadied. Their focus sharpened. They had stood in rooms like this before, and they knew what hesitation cost.
Theo and Blaise lay on the tables, barely recognizable. Their bodies were too still, their limbs loose in a way that felt wrong. Cuts ran deep across their skin. Bruises darkened their throats, raw and swollen. Their wrists were torn from restraints. The silence of them was worse than the blood.
Luna moved first.
"We need to work quickly," she said. "They're both critical. Hermione, start stabilizing Blaise. Pansy, Theo's airway is compromised. Keep him breathing."
Pansy dropped beside Theo before her mind caught up. For a moment, she couldn't look at him properly. Then she forced herself to.
Breathe, Pansy. Focus. Save him.
Her fingers trembled as she wiped the blood from his mouth, her wand following, scanning. The spell lit red across his ribs. Fractures. Fluid in his lungs. Internal bleeding.
Her chest tightened, but she pushed it down.
"You do not get to break. Not while he's still breathing."
Across from her, Hermione was already working on Blaise, hands moving fast, wand tracing spells over his chest.
"Scourgify. Purifico."
Again. Again.
The room filled with the sound of spellwork and strained breathing, every second pressing harder than the last.
Failure here meant death.
Hermione moved with sharp, controlled precision, her hands cutting through the air as diagnostic spells lit up over Blaise's chest. Her eyes tracked every flicker of magic, turning it into something she could act on. "He's lost too much blood," she said, voice tight. "The ligature marks around his neck are deep. It wasn't just once. They tried to strangle him repeatedly. There's compression trauma, bruising to the carotid, lack of oxygen. Internal damage too, but I can't touch that yet. I need to stabilize him first. He's slipping."
Beside her, Luna hovered over Theo, her fingers barely grazing his skin. Even that made him flinch.
"Cruciatus exposure," she said quietly. "Long-term. Sustained. The damage is still in his nerves. They kept casting it until his body gave in. If we don't clear it soon, it won't be reversible."
A curse slipped from Pansy under her breath. She leaned over Theo, brushing damp curls from his forehead, her hand lingering for a second.
"Stay with me, Theo," she said, her voice rough. "Don't you dare leave me. We're going to fix this."
His body jolted.
He arched off the table, choking, breath catching like it hurt to exist.
Pansy moved instantly, grabbing powdered bezoar and forcing it into his mouth. "Swallow, damn it," she snapped, panic breaking through. Her hand pressed to his throat, urging it to work. "Come on, Theo. Come on."
Nothing.
Her chest tightened, her magic sparking wild at her fingertips as she looked up. "Luna, his lungs. I need help with his lungs."
Luna was already moving. Her wand traced slow, deliberate patterns, and a soft silver mist spilled from the tip, sinking into Theo's chest. It moved through him like something alive, pulling at the lingering curse, unraveling it piece by piece.
Theo's chest lifted sharply, stilled, then rose again.
This time steadier.
Pansy sagged against the table, breath shaking as she watched him.
He was breathing. She let out a broken sound that sat somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
Hermione bent over Blaise, sweat dampening her brow as her wand glowed deep red above his chest. Magic crackled in the air, heavy and straining, as she forced energy into his failing body. Her other hand pressed to his sternum, steadying herself while she whispered the incantation again and again.
Color crept faintly back into his skin.
"He's responding," she said, voice tight with focus. "But his magical core is almost gone. If he doesn't stabilize soon, he might crash."
"He needs stabilization potions," Luna said, sharp and immediate. "Both of them. Now."
Pansy ran for the cabinet, hands shaking as she tore through bottles. "Dittany. Blood Replenisher. Strengthening Draught. Phoenix Root. Oh fuck, oh fuck—" She grabbed the right vial and rushed back, dropping beside Theo.
She lifted his head carefully and tipped the potion into his mouth.
For a second, nothing.
Then his throat moved.
Once. Again.
He swallowed.
A broken sound escaped her as she pressed her forehead to his. When she looked up, Luna gave a small nod.
"He's responding," Luna said, quieter now. "He's fighting."
A sharp, strangled sound cut through the room.
Blaise's body arched off the table, his mouth open in a silent cry. Hermione slammed her hands to his chest, golden light pouring from her wand into him, flooding his body in a steady glow.
His breathing slowed.
One inhale. Another. Deeper.
Hermione sagged forward slightly, still holding him. "It's working," she whispered. "His heart rate is steady."
The room held its breath.
Then Theo groaned.
His fingers twitched. Pansy grabbed his hand at once. "You're okay, Nott," she whispered. "You're safe. Do you hear me? You're safe. You're home."
His eyes flickered open for a second, unfocused, but there.
Across from them, Blaise shifted, his head turning faintly toward Hermione's touch.
It was enough.
Luna let out a slow breath, her shoulders finally dropping. "They're not out of the woods," she said quietly. "But they're going to live."
Pansy squeezed her eyes shut and pressed Theo's cold hand to her forehead. The tears came anyway, quiet and shaking, caught somewhere between relief and anger and the weight of how close it had been. She swallowed hard and whispered, "Thank Merlin," like it might keep everything from falling apart again.
Hermione straightened slowly, dragging her arm across her brow. Her gaze moved between the beds, taking in the faint color returning to Blaise, the small movement of Theo's fingers in Pansy's grip. They had done it. Somehow.
Pansy's legs gave out. She dropped into the nearest chair, still holding onto Theo like letting go might undo everything.
Luna lowered herself beside her, pale and streaked with blood, and brushed damp hair from Pansy's face, her touch steady.
"We did it," Luna said softly.
Pansy let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Yeah. Barely."
Across the room, Hermione met her eyes. Nothing needed to be said. The understanding settled between them, heavy and unspoken.
~~~~~~
Blaise's chest shifted, just enough to pull a ragged breath into his lungs, and the room seemed to crack open around it. The tension didn't disappear, but it loosened, letting something fragile slip through.
Hope.
Luna ran. Past the tables, past the blood, past Hermione slumped against the wall. Her boots struck the stone and then she was there, dropping to her knees beside Theo.
For a second, she couldn't breathe.
Theo was still. Bruised, bloodied, too quiet. But his chest moved. Shallow. Uneven.
He was breathing.
Her hands shook as she reached for him, cupping his face like he might vanish if she touched too hard. Her fingers traced every mark, every bruise, memorizing him.
"Theo," she whispered, the word breaking in her throat. "Theo…"
His eyes flickered open, they found hers, and everything else fell away.
Her lips trembled as she held him, her thumbs brushing his skin like she could keep him here by touch alone. Tears slipped down her face, silent and relentless. "My Sun," she breathed. "My Sun…"
His chest rose, and he let out a faint, strained breath.
Then his hand lifted, it trembled, barely steady, until his fingers reached her cheek. The touch was light, but it hit her like a shock.
His lips curved, faint but real.
"My Moon," he rasped.
It was everything. It was enough. It was him.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring everything for a moment. She had never been afraid like this. The thought of losing him had hollowed something deep inside her.
Her breath came out rough as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. She needed to feel him, needed proof he was still here, still warm, still real.
"You scared me," she whispered, voice shaking. "I thought I lost you. I saw you, and the rope, and you weren't moving, and I—" The words broke apart, leaving only breath.
Theo let out a faint, cracked sound that almost passed for a laugh. "You'll never lose me, love," he murmured, voice rough. His hand lifted slowly, fingers finding her wrist, weak but holding on. "You'd have to follow me to the afterlife to get rid of me."
A broken laugh slipped from her, tangled with a sob as she pulled him closer. "Don't joke," she said softly. "Not now. Not when I can still see what they did to you."
His expression shifted, softer now. "Luna," he said gently. "Look at me."
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and her chest tightened at what she saw there. Pain, exhaustion, and something steady beneath it.
"I love you," he said, simple and clear. "I love you."
Her breath hitched, something fragile and bright breaking through the fear. Her fingers slid into his hair as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, careful and slow. "You," she whispered, voice unsteady, "are the most precious thing I have ever held in my life."
His thumb brushed her skin, barely there. "Then hold me a little longer," he said softly.
She moved without thinking, folding herself around him, holding him close as if her body could shield him from everything that had almost taken him. Her hand slipped beneath the blanket and pressed over his heart, feeling the faint, steady beat beneath her palm, anchoring herself to it.
Her whole body trembled, exhaustion and relief crashing together, but she didn't loosen her grip. She stayed there, breathing him in, whispering his name over and over like it could keep him here.
Everything else could wait. The anger, the grief, whatever came next.
Because she had him. Against all odds, she still had him.
And she would never let him go again.
Notes:
I'm going to take a break after this, I hope you understand but we can always chat on instagram @sziyonce. xxx