Pansy was lost in the familiar rhythm of her craft, surrounded by the quiet hum of alchemy and intention. Her dimly lit study, lined with towering shelves that sagged under the weight of ancient tomes and delicate vials, pulsed with the scent of crushed herbs and slow-burning magic. Glass containers glistened in the flickering candlelight, each holding something rare, something deadly, something laced with the kind of precision only she could command.
Hours had slipped by unnoticed, lost to the careful pour of liquids, the measured scrape of mortar against pestle, the soft whisper of parchment as she consulted her handwritten notes. The occasional hiss of her cauldron sent curling tendrils of steam into the air, dissipating into the dim glow of the sconces, and yet, she hardly noticed. Every movement was deliberate, every action precise, the work of someone who knew the weight of every ingredient, the consequence of every reaction.
Here, among the vials and the dust of centuries-old knowledge, she was more than a woman with a past she couldn't outrun. She was the architect of her own power, the curator of a world that bent to her will. And in this space—where formulas sang in their own silent language and poisons whispered secrets only she could hear—Pansy found something dangerously close to peace.
As the sound of the front door creaked open, breaking the stillness of her study, Pansy stiffened, barely acknowledging the nearing footsteps. This room had always been hers—a sanctuary where the world, with all its demands and expectations, did not intrude. And Neville, more than anyone, had always respected that unspoken boundary. Yet now, his voice, warm and familiar, drifted into the space like an unexpected gust of wind.
"Busy, I see," he murmured, his tone light, almost teasing, but laced with something more—something searching.
She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to place the vial in her hand onto the table with deliberate precision. The liquid inside swirled, dark and enigmatic, a reflection of the thoughts storming inside her. "Neville," she acknowledged, her voice steady, but carrying the weight of her surprise. "I didn't expect you home so early."
He stepped further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the collection of vials and aged tomes scattered across her worktable. It was a sight he had grown accustomed to yet never fully understood, a part of her world that remained just out of reach. "What are you working on, my bloom?" he asked, his lips tilting into that small, knowing smile that always managed to soften the edges of her mood.
She tilted her head, a spark of exasperation flickering in her dark eyes. "Oh, don't start with that innocent act, Nevie," she said, crossing her arms. "You know exactly what I do in here."
"Not everything," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as if the walls of the study held too many secrets to be spoken of lightly. He turned his gaze back to her, his green eyes steady and unyielding. "But I want to."
Something in her chest tightened, a moment of hesitation so foreign to her that it made her pulse quicken. He had always let her keep this part of herself separate—never pushing, never prying. And yet, here he was, breaking the rules she had set, as if he had decided he wouldn't be satisfied with half-truths anymore.
She let out a breath, her fingers trailing over the edge of an old, leather-bound book, as if searching for something tangible to ground herself. "Do you need help?" he asked then, his voice so gentle, so utterly Neville, that it sent a shiver through her.
Her head snapped up, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "Sorry?" she whispered, trying to find some hint of jest in his face, but there was none.
He took a step closer. "Do you need my help or not?" The words were firmer this time, more certain, his patience stretching thin.
Pansy stared at him, really stared at him, and for the first time, she saw not just her husband, but the boy who had once stood against the very darkness she still waded through. He was light, yes, but he had bled for it. He had fought for it. And as much as she feared corrupting that, feared pulling him into the gray world she had mastered, she also knew that Neville Longbottom had never been afraid of the dark.
Her lips parted, the confession resting on the tip of her tongue, but when she spoke, her voice barely carried. "Neville… you can't be involved in this. It's too dark for you. Too dark for your soul."
"And it's not too dark for yours?" His words cut cleanly through the space between them, and for the first time in years, Pansy felt something close to shame creeping at the edges of her resolve.
She looked away, jaw tight, fingers curling into her palm. "I know what I'm doing," she said at last, but the conviction wasn't as sharp as she wanted it to be.
He sighed, stepping even closer, closing the space between them until she could feel the warmth of him. His hand found hers, covering it with a touch that was neither forceful nor timid—just steady. "Maybe so," he murmured, "but it doesn't mean you have to do it alone."
Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn't pull away. She wanted to. She wanted to shove him out of this room, tell him to forget what he saw, what he heard, what he thought he understood. But she didn't, because there was a part of her, a desperate, aching part, that wanted him to stay.
"I don't want you to see me like this," she admitted, voice raw. "I don't want you to see the parts of me that enjoy it."
His fingers tightened around hers. "I already see you, Parky. And I love every part of you."
She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. "You make it sound so simple."
"Maybe it's not simple," he conceded, tilting his head slightly. "But I've never been one to run away from hard things." His thumb traced along the inside of her wrist, a soothing, deliberate motion. "I don't care how dark it gets. I just care that you don't get lost in it."
For the first time, Pansy felt her defenses crack, just slightly. She had carried this weight alone for so long, worn it like armor, convinced herself that no one else could bear it with her. But Neville wasn't anyone else. He was hers.
She swallowed thickly, the words heavy on her tongue. "I don't know if I can let you in… not completely."
"You don't have to," he assured her. "Just let me be here. Let me remind you that there's something outside of this." His voice softened, but the certainty in it never wavered. "You don't have to do this alone."
A tear slipped down her cheek, quick and unbidden, and before she could brush it away, his fingers were already there, gently wiping it from her skin. She let out a quiet, shuddering breath, hating how much she wanted to believe him, how much she wanted to let him take just a fraction of this burden.
Finally, she lifted her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alright. Just a little."
He smiled, soft and sure, and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. "That's all I ask, my love."
In the dim glow of her study, where the air was thick with the scent of herbs and alchemy, they stood together amid the scattered remnants of her craft. Vials of dark potions gleamed under the flickering candlelight, glass tools clinked softly as the room settled into a hush, as if the very space around them understood the weight of the moment. Pansy hadn't realized just how much she had craved this—this quiet, unspoken understanding that had blossomed between them. She had never expected Neville to step willingly into her world, let alone find a place there, yet here he was, standing before her, undeterred by the darkness that came with loving her.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the crushing solitude that had become second nature to her began to lift, piece by piece. He wasn't demanding answers, nor was he trying to fix her—he was simply there, an unwavering presence, steady and patient, willing to walk alongside her in the shadows. And perhaps, just perhaps, she could learn to let him see those fractured parts of herself she had always kept hidden, let him stand beside her in the dim light—if only for a little while.
Neville exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment settling over him as he looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver up her spine. His eyes held something different tonight—something deeper, more raw, a depth that reached beyond words. He stepped forward, closing the space between them, their breaths mingling in the charged air. When he spoke, his voice was low, velvety, carrying the weight of a secret meant only for her.
"And if I may just take your breath away," he murmured, the words threading through the air like a spell, his voice intoxicating in its quiet reverence. "I don't mind if there's not much to say."
His hand slid to her waist, fingers splayed against the fabric of her blouse, the heat of his touch searing into her skin. She swallowed hard, her breath catching as she felt her body respond to him, every nerve alight. He continued, his voice barely above a whisper, but each syllable wrapped around her, pulling her in.
"Sometimes the silence guides a mind to move to a place so far away."
She shivered under his touch, her lips parting slightly as she exhaled, unsteady now, uncertain of where she ended and he began. His thumb grazed over her waist, slow and deliberate, his touch setting off a ripple of anticipation through her body.
"The goosebumps start to raise," he murmured, his voice rougher now, laced with something darker, something that made her knees weak. "The minute that my left hand meets your waist."
His gaze, piercing and unrelenting, traced every inch of her expression, reading the flickers of hesitation, desire, surrender. She felt seen—exposed in a way she never allowed herself to be, and yet she didn't pull away. She let him look, let him unravel her, let him in.
He moved closer, his breath warm against her lips, his hand sliding up her back, fingertips pressing into the silk of her skin as if he were memorizing the feel of her. "And then," he whispered, so close now she could taste the heat of his words, "I watch your face."
She barely had time to react before his fingers traced the curve of her lips, his touch featherlight but electric, sending a shiver down her spine. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding as she felt the gentle drag of his thumb over her lower lip. She instinctively leaned into him, her lips parting slightly, her tongue brushing against his fingertip without thought, without hesitation.
"Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste," he murmured, and she did, her lips closing around him, the air between them humming with something heavy and thick and dangerously addictive.
Her pupils dilated, her entire body taut with anticipation, her breath quickening as she stared up at him through dark, hooded lashes. He watched her, his gaze dark and unreadable, but there was something else in it, something beyond possession—something worshipful. She let out a quiet, shaky exhale, her usual sharp wit, her carefully controlled demeanor, melting under his touch.
A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips.
Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. She let out a small, startled gasp, but it quickly dissolved into breathless laughter—laughter that was cut off the moment he pressed his lips to her neck, stealing the sound before it could fully form. His kisses were unhurried yet deliberate, trailing along her jaw, down the column of her throat, each touch igniting a fire beneath her skin.
She felt his stubble graze her neck, sending a delicious friction through her nerves, and she tilted her head, granting him silent permission. He didn't hesitate. His lips met her pulse point, sucking lightly before moving lower, his mouth hot against her skin. A sigh escaped her, her fingers tangling in his hair as he carried her effortlessly through the dimly lit hallway, his body firm against hers, every movement purposeful, every touch a promise.
The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with the kind of hunger that went deeper than desire, the kind that seeped into their very bones. And as he stepped into their bedroom, never breaking contact, never wavering in his intent, she realized something.
This wasn't just about passion.
This was devotion.
As soon as they crossed the threshold of their bedroom, he wasted no time, placing her down on the bed with a care that contradicted the hunger burning in his eyes. The room felt charged, thick with anticipation, as he leaned over her, fingers ghosting over the buttons of her blouse. He traced along her collarbone with the rough pad of his thumb, watching with hooded eyes as goosebumps spread across her skin. His touch was reverent, deliberate, as though committing every inch of her to memory.
"Bloom," he murmured, his voice dark with want, "you look so incredibly sexy when you work."
Her breath hitched, the heat rising in her cheeks at the weight of his gaze. That pet name—his nickname for her—felt different tonight, carrying something deeper, something possessive. She barely had time to respond before his lips claimed hers, slow at first, teasing, until the heat between them ignited into something deeper, something that stole the breath from her lungs. His tongue parted her lips, coaxing a moan from her as he devoured her with unrelenting fervor.
His hands moved over her body with aching precision, mapping her curves, tracing the dips of her waist, the swell of her hips. Each brush of his fingers sent shivers down her spine, setting her nerves alight. When his lips found the delicate skin of her neck, she tilted her head back, granting him access as he nipped and sucked, marking her in ways she knew would linger long after tonight.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against her throat, his voice rough with restraint.
A smirk tugged at her lips despite the haze of pleasure clouding her mind. "Do I, really?" she teased, running her fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze dark and filled with promise. "Hell yes, you do," he growled before crashing his lips against hers again, his grip tightening around her waist as he pulled her onto his lap, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.
She gasped at the feel of him beneath her, thick and hard, pressing exactly where she needed him. Her hands roamed over his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin, reveling in the way he shuddered at her touch. She rocked against him, a slow, torturous movement that had his grip tightening on her thighs, his breathing turning ragged.
"Mmm, someone's excited," she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear before biting down lightly.
A low, guttural groan escaped him, and in one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, hovering over her with a hunger that made her stomach tighten. His hands moved to her panties, and with a teasing smirk, he dragged them down her legs, letting them fall to the floor. He took a moment to admire her, eyes raking over her body like he was memorizing every inch, before he leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her stomach, lower, lower—
"Then what are you waiting for, Nevie?" she murmured, her voice dripping with challenge, her fingers threading into his hair as she arched into him. "Take me."
That was all it took. He groaned, gripping her hips as he positioned himself, his tip teasing her entrance, drawing a frustrated whimper from her lips. He pushed in slowly at first, savoring the moment, watching as her lips parted, as her eyes fluttered shut, as her nails dug into his shoulders.
"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead pressing against hers as he sank into her inch by inch. "You're so—"
"More," she gasped, her legs tightening around him, pulling him deeper. "Harder."
And who was he to deny her? His rhythm shifted, deep and forceful, each thrust sending pleasure crashing through her. She met him eagerly, their bodies moving in sync, hands tangled in hair, nails scratching, lips biting. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, her moans, his groans, the delicious friction between them pushing them both closer to the edge.
His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, teasing, circling, until she was nothing but a trembling mess beneath him.
"Say it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding, his movements never faltering.
"Please," she whimpered, her breath hitching as she teetered on the brink. "Make me come."
And he did. With a final, precise flick of his fingers, she shattered beneath him, her body clenching around him as waves of pleasure consumed her. The way she gasped his name, breathless and desperate, was his undoing. He followed seconds later, his release spilling into her as he groaned her name, burying himself as deep as he could, his body shaking with the force of it.
For a long moment, they remained tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing heavy and uneven. He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder, then her temple, before rolling onto his side, pulling her into his chest.
A lazy, satisfied smile played on her lips as she traced patterns on his chest. "Yes, I think I do need your help, Nev."
He chuckled, tightening his hold on her. "Anything, love. Just name it."
She bit her lip, something playful yet serious flickering in her expression. "Hmm… a new dog, maybe?" she teased.
He quirked a brow, smirking down at her. "Just a dog? That's all?"
She hesitated, her gaze softening, something deeper in her expression now. She let her hand drift to her stomach, tracing lazy circles there before meeting his eyes.
"Maybe… a bit more than that," she whispered. "Like a little addition to our family."
His breath caught, his entire body stilling for a second before his eyes softened, awe and something deeper filling them. "Pansy…" he murmured, his fingers brushing over her stomach in silent understanding.
She searched his face, vulnerable and hopeful all at once. "Do you want that?"
His response was immediate, his hand covering hers, his lips pressing to her forehead. "More than anything," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
And in that quiet moment, wrapped in each other, they silently promised to create something beautiful together—something just theirs.
~~~~~~
The morning light poured into their bedroom, casting a soft, golden glow over Neville as he lay awake, unable to keep from smiling. She was curled beside him, her dark hair spilling over the pillow, her breathing steady and peaceful. He replayed her words from the night before in his mind, savoring each one like a secret only they shared. A baby. She wanted a family with him.
His heart swelled, brimming with a joy so intense it almost felt unreal. He couldn't stop picturing it: Pansy with her hand on her belly, the way she'd look at him with that fierce, loving glint in her eyes. He imagined small hands reaching out, a little face with a nose like his or eyes like hers, maybe with Pansy's unruly hair. The thought made his chest tighten with a joy that felt as vast as it was daunting.
He glanced at her, marveling at the delicate rise and fall of her breathing, and his mind drifted to her other request. Pansy wanted a pug, too—a new little companion to join them, one who would trail at her feet as she worked her magic, a loyal, wrinkly little friend she could spoil as much as she liked.
Neville could already see her lavishing attention on the puppy, calling it something ridiculously grand like "Sir Winston" or "Lady Barks-a-Lot" and treating it like royalty.
He carefully slipped out of bed, leaving her to sleep in a bit longer. After pulling on his shirt and trousers, he set about brewing some tea. He was lost in thought as he waited for the water to boil, the vivid picture of their life together expanding in his mind. He'd never imagined wanting this—wanting to be a father, wanting a house full of laughter and messy toys and love that filled every corner of their lives. But with her, it was impossible not to dream it all.
The sound of light footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Pansy wrapped in a blanket, her sleepy eyes watching him with a soft smile.
"Morning, love," he greeted, setting a cup of tea down for her as she settled beside him.
"Mmm, good morning," she murmured, taking a sip and glancing at him with a curious glint. "You're up early. Something on your mind?"
He chuckled, unable to contain his excitement. "Maybe a thing or two," he admitted, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "I was thinking about what you said last night."
Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, a slow smile curving her lips. "Oh? The part about wanting a pug, or the part about… something bigger?"
"Both, actually," he replied, grinning. "I've been looking at pug breeders nearby. We could go this weekend, find one who's just as perfect as Lady."
Her laughter bubbled up, and she shook her head, clearly delighted. "I can't wait! Another little pug trotting around the house—I already love them." She leaned against him, her voice softening as she added, "But you know that's not all I want."
He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his hand lingering at her cheek. "I know. The idea of starting a family with you… I can't believe how right it feels. I want this too. More than I ever thought I would."
A warm, quiet happiness settled between them, and she entwined her fingers with his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I always knew we'd build something special, but I never thought I'd want it to be so… complete."
The two of them sat there in the kitchen, caught in the quiet beauty of a new dream they now shared, one made of soft pug snores, nursery rhymes, and the promise of a life they'd build together.
~~~~~~
The weekend arrived, and she was practically glowing with excitement as they stepped out into the crisp autumn morning. She'd been talking about getting another pug all week, constantly throwing out potential names, each one more regal and ridiculous than the last. Neville found it impossible not to be swept up in her enthusiasm, even if he hadn't thought he'd ever find himself dog shopping on a Saturday.
Their journey took them to a small, charming countryside farm just on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, where a reputable breeder specialized in pugs. As they approached the cozy little farmhouse, surrounded by fields dotted with leaves in shades of amber and red, Pansy squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling.
"Can you believe we're doing this?" she said, her voice brimming with childlike excitement. "Another pug! I'm already picturing her in a little coat, maybe with a bow…"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "I can't believe I agreed to this, to be honest," he said with a teasing grin, watching the way her cheeks flushed with joy. "But I wouldn't be anywhere else."
As they entered the yard, a stout woman with rosy cheeks and gray curls greeted them warmly, introducing herself as Mrs. Wigglesworth, the breeder. "You're here to see the pups, then?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "Come right this way. We've got a litter that's just the right age—sturdy little things."
Her face lit up as Mrs. Wigglesworth led them to an enclosed pen beside the farmhouse, where several small pugs were waddling around, their tiny tails wagging furiously as they tumbled over one another. She let out an audible gasp, pressing her hands to her mouth. "Look at them, Nev! They're perfect."
He watched her in amusement, his heart swelling as he saw her pure joy. She crouched down, reaching out as one of the pugs—a plump little female with a dark face and expressive, wrinkled brows—approached her with curiosity. Her face softened as she extended a hand, letting the tiny pug sniff her fingers before gently lifting her into her arms.
"Oh, Nevie, look at her! Isn't she just a beauty?" she cooed, cradling the pup against her chest as if she were holding something fragile and precious. The little pug looked up at her, blinking slowly, her round eyes seeming to study her face with equal fascination.
He knelt beside her, reaching out to scratch the puppy's ear, smiling as she let out a small, delighted snuffle. "She's definitely got some character," he agreed, laughing as the pug squirmed to nuzzle against his hand. "Looks like she's already fond of you."
"Oh, she's perfect," Pansy whispered, her voice filled with such tenderness that it made Neville's heart ache. "I think… I think we should call her Princess Peony. What do you think, Nev?"
He raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. "Princess Peony? You're already giving her a title?"
"Of course! She's going to be a little princess of Parkinson Manor," she said, nodding resolutely. "Plus, imagine calling her that when we're at the park. She'll be the most distinguished pug in all of England!"
Mrs. Wigglesworth chuckled from behind them. "I think Princess Peony suits her quite well. She's got a bit of spunk, that one. Smart, too."
She beamed, lifting Princess slightly so she could look the pug in the eyes. "You hear that, my little baby? You're coming home with us," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the pug's head. Princess responded with a tiny sneeze, her eyes half-closing in what could only be described as pure contentment.
They completed the paperwork, and Mrs. Wigglesworth handed them a small bag with essentials—some puppy food, a blanket that smelled like the pup's siblings, and a tiny leash with a matching collar. She accepted it all with utmost seriousness, her expression so full of delight that he couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment.
As they made their way back to Hogsmeade, Princess bundled comfortably in a blanket in her arms, they stopped at a little café for lunch. The pug curled up contentedly on her lap, snoring softly, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath.
He watched the two of them, his heart swelling with affection. "You know, I've never seen you this excited about anything. Not even during your last potion breakthrough."
She laughed, brushing a finger along the pug's wrinkled face. "There's just something about her, isn't there? She's going to make Lady Lemongrass' life a little more exciting."
"Or drive her mad," he added with a grin.
"True. But I think they'll be inseparable in no time," she said, her eyes softening as she looked at him. "Thank you, Nev. For… for coming with me. And for always going along with my ideas, no matter how silly they may seem."
He reached across the table, taking her free hand in his. "Pansy, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Even if it means our house is filled with eccentric little creatures."
She squeezed his hand, her eyes gleaming with emotion. "Then let's fill it with love. And puppies, and maybe… a baby, someday?"
He nodded, his gaze filled with the promise of everything they had yet to build together. "I'd like that," he whispered.
~~~~~~
They had barely set foot in the door when the Floo crackled to life, a swirl of green flames announcing Luna's face, alight with excitement. "Pansy!"
She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smirk as she slumped against the armrest of the couch. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Luna, can I have an hour's peace? I just became a mother."
There was a beat of silence on Luna's end, her eyes widening. "WHAT?!"
She let out an exasperated laugh. "Not that kind of mother. We brought home a dog—though if I ever do end up pregnant, rest assured, you'll be the first to know."
Luna's expression softened, a playful pout curving her lips. "You'd better keep that promise! Anyway, listen, there's some juicy news… Ginny left Blaise."
She raised her eyebrows, her surprise mingling with an almost triumphant satisfaction. "Well, it's about time."
"Pansy, really?" Luna admonished, though her amusement was evident. "Don't be so harsh."
"Oh, come on. Ginny's sweet, but she was never going to grasp our lifestyle. She has no clue what it's like, the things we've adapted to." She paused, a mischievous glint lighting her gaze. "Besides, Neville helped me make poison just last week. And look at you—still with Theo, madly in love as ever."
Luna tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with understanding but shaded with a touch of irony. "Maybe it says something about us. Stockholm syndrome, anyone?"
"Oh, shut it, Lovegood. Don't go all therapist on me now." she waved a dismissive hand, though her grin lingered. "Anyway, let's not make this about existential crises. Come over and meet Peony! You'll adore her—she's the definition of a pug princess."
Luna arrived not long after with Lysander balanced on her hip. The little boy's face lit up with delight when he spotted Princess, who promptly waddled over, her tiny, curly tail wagging with unrestrained excitement. In seconds, Lysander was giggling as Princess licked his fingers, the pair of them creating a picture of adorable chaos on Pansy's rug. Across the room, Lady sat in silent judgment, looking almost wounded as she watched her human bestie and her new "sister" share in the attention.
"Jealous much, Lady?" she teased, earning an indignant snort from the pug, whose attention seemed to focus accusingly on Lysader as if he was somehow responsible for this household upheaval.
"Oh, she'll come around," Luna said, nudging Pansy as she settled onto the couch. "Eventually, she'll realize Princess isn't a threat. Just an addition to the family—sort of like how Theo had to adjust to me and my creatures."
She laughed, reaching over to pat Lady's head. "If she's anything like her owner, she'll make Peony grovel for forgiveness first."
Luna gave her a sidelong look, playfully scolding. "Speaking of making others grovel, Theo mentioned that Blaise is practically having a breakdown."
Her expression turned amused, if not a little unsympathetic. "Doesn't he have one of those at least once a year? He practically locked Ginny in a tower, treating her like a delicate piece of glass. I hate to say it, but this one's on him."
Luna raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "You're heartless."
"Fine, fine." she held up her hands in mock surrender. "I do feel bad for Ginny. Red's a fighter, but being pregnant on top of everything else must be overwhelming. Still, she knows as well as we do—she can't just leave forever. The soulbond that connects us to our partners isn't something we can just shake off. It's… forever, whether we like it or not."
Luna's gaze softened, though a hint of sadness crept into her smile. "Yes, I know, Pans. Believe me, I know. But Ginny struggles more than most with this whole… mafia thing." She glanced down, watching as Lysander tugged on Peony's ear with a squeal of delight. "Sometimes I think she'd be happier in a world without all of… this. Without the darkness that comes with loving someone like …you know..."
Pansy's jaw tightened slightly, her hands smoothing over the cushion beside her as though absorbing her unspoken frustration. "And what should I do about it, Luna? We are who we are, and Red is Red. She's a firebrand, always has been. But we—we're different. You adore Theodore, even though I'll never fully understand why, and you'd follow him to the ends of the universe. And me…" She paused, a soft smile breaking through her steely expression. "I love Nevie more than I've ever loved anyone, maybe more than I love myself. That's what soulbonds do to us."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sound in the room being Lysander's giggles as Peony gently nudged him with her snout. Pansy's eyes softened as she watched her godson and her new dog playing together, a surprising warmth spreading through her chest. She could see in Luna's gaze that same fierce protectiveness she felt for Neville, a feeling of belonging and acceptance that she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge out loud.
Luna leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, a pensive look crossing her face. "Sometimes, I think Ginny might need something else—a different way to come to terms with her new life. We've found our balance, you and I, even if it was a rocky path. But Ginny… maybe she needs to find her own strength, her own place in all this."
She arched an eyebrow. "Her own place? With Blaise? That's a hell of a thing to navigate, Luna. You and Theo have this… mutual understanding. And me and Neville? He's like my damn anchor. But Ginny's constantly fighting against herself, against Blaise's world."
Luna looked thoughtful, her eyes drifting to the warm light flooding the room. "Perhaps that's why she left. She needs to figure out what she wants, what she's willing to fight for—not just in this world but in herself."
She sighed, her gaze softening despite her usually brash demeanor. "I don't think she realizes yet what a soulbond really is. It's not just a magical string that ties us together; it's everything we are, our hopes and fears, our darkest parts… even the parts we hate to acknowledge. But in the end, it's also what saves us, keeps us steady."
Luna smiled gently. "You're more insightful than you let on, Pans. But don't let her hear that. You'd ruin your reputation as the resident heart of stone."
She smirked, giving Luna a playful nudge. "Oh, don't worry, babe. The heart of stone is firmly in place. But if Ginny wants to come over and talk, or yell, or whatever it is she needs to do, I'll listen." Her tone softened just a fraction, barely noticeable. "And if she needs someone to remind her what's at stake, well… I can be that someone too."
Lady let out an indignant bark, clearly displeased with the attention her new sister was receiving. Luna chuckled, shifting Lysander onto her other hip. "Looks like someone's got some competition for the throne."
Pansy shot her pug a fond look. "Lady is going to have to get used to sharing the spotlight. It's good for her." She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"Maybe it's a lesson for all of us, really. How to share and adapt… how to let new things into our lives without feeling threatened."
Luna's gaze grew tender as she watched Pansy with a mixture of admiration and empathy. "You know, you're not half-bad at this whole wisdom thing, Pansy."
Pansy waved her hand dismissively, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Don't get used to it. I'd rather leave the introspective nonsense to you."
"Ah, the ever-tough Parkinson armor," Luna teased, patting her on the shoulder. "But it's good to know that underneath, there's still a heart that cares. A lot."
She looked away, pretending to fuss over Lady, but Luna could see the slight redness in her cheeks. "Well, someone has to keep this madhouse together. Might as well be me."
Just then, Princess pounced over to Lady Lemongrass, licking her on the nose. Lady let out a confused grunt, as though completely unsure of how to respond, while Peony snuggled up beside her in playful defiance. Pansy watched them with a warm smile, sighing contentedly as the two pugs finally settled down together.
"See?" Luna said softly, watching the two dogs curled up, seemingly at peace with their new arrangement. "Maybe they're a sign for us. Things have a way of working out, even if it's not how we imagined."
Pansy nodded, reaching out to give Peony a gentle scratch behind the ears. "You're right. Somehow, we'll all find our place. Even Red… she just has to be willing to let herself belong."