Theo was never far from her side now. If anything, he hovered closer with every passing hour, his presence a constant shadow in every room, his attention sharp, his movements alert.
He had always been protective in a way that edged into possessive, but as the birth drew nearer, those instincts seemed to dig in deeper, like something ancient waking under his skin. She did not blame him for it. This was how he loved, relentless and consuming, threaded with a quiet desperation that wrapped itself around everything he touched. Knowing that did not make it any lighter to live under.
Some days she felt like she could hardly breathe beneath the weight of his watchfulness, his hands twitching at his sides as if he could not decide whether to hold her or wrap her in layers of protection.
She moved slowly through their bedroom, folding the smallest robes she had ever owned, her fingers lingering over the soft cream linen. Each piece had already been cleaned and charmed by the elves, but she liked doing this part herself, touching each tiny sleeve and tie as if she were speaking a promise. I am ready. I am waiting.
She bent to gather another bundle from the low basket, and behind her Theo's voice rose at once, tight with alarm.
"Please do not bend down."
She froze, hands hovering, then straightened and turned toward him with a look that was more tired amusement than irritation. "Theo, I am pregnant," she said calmly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "not made of spun sugar."
His mouth tightened. "That is not funny," he replied, already stepping fully into the room as if it had turned hostile. "You are eight and a half months along. You should not be bending or lifting or walking too far or reaching too high or sleeping on your right side or standing too long or sitting too low."
"The elves have helped," she said gently, lifting her hands in a small gesture of surrender. "I am folding a baby hat, not hauling sacks of dragon feed."
He did not answer at once. His eyes moved over her with that familiar intensity, as if he were waiting for her to fracture, his shoulders rigid, his whole body wound tight with quiet panic. She knew that look. It was the same one he wore before a fight, the same one she had seen on missions, when his mind raced ahead, measuring every risk, every possible threat.
She reached for him without thinking, resting her hand against his chest. "Theo."
He closed his eyes at her touch, drawing in a careful breath. "I just want everything to go right," he said, his voice strained. "I need it to go right."
"I know," she replied, her thumb tracing a slow, steady circle over his sternum.
When he opened his eyes again, the fear there made her chest ache. It was not fear of pain or blood or the things that might go wrong in obvious ways. It was fear of loss, of watching her slip beyond his reach, of being powerless while the world made its decisions around them. There was nothing she could promise to banish that fear, so she leaned in and kissed the place beneath his jaw, her voice soft against his skin. "We are okay. We are going to be okay."
He exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried years with it. His hands rose to her face, careful and reverent, palms warm against her cheeks, thumbs resting just beneath her eyes. He looked at her then, truly looked, without panic or frustration, and in that quiet there was something deeper than words, a devotion that felt timeless.
He kissed her forehead, slow and steady, not rushed, not habitual, just a gentle promise pressed into her skin. Luna stepped closer, drawn in as if by gravity, her fingers sliding into his, fitting there as naturally as breath. "It already is perfect," she said quietly, certain. "We are in this together."
Her words anchored him, pulling him back into the room, into the moment. His shoulders eased, the tension along his spine loosening under her touch. He turned her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, the tenderness of it so vulnerable it made her throat tighten. There was something ancient in that gesture, something quiet and full.
"I hate feeling useless," he admitted after a moment. "Like I am just standing here while you carry everything."
She smiled at him, that knowing smile shaped by years of loving him through his storms. "You are not doing nothing," she said, brushing her fingers along his cheek. "You are here. You calm me even when I pretend I do not need it. You think ahead, you watch the details, you make sure I eat and sleep. You help me breathe when it gets hard."
Her hand moved to her belly, resting there with reverence, and she tilted her head toward him, her eyes bright with quiet certainty. "And you are about to be the father of our little boy. The kind of father whose love fills a room. He already knows that. I promise."
Theo stepped closer until there was no space left between them, warmth and breath and joined hands pressing over her belly. The baby shifted then, a small, insistent kick, as if answering her. His eyes widened, awe softening every line of his face. "Did you feel that?" he whispered.
She nodded, smiling. "He is strong."
"He is everything," Theo replied, his voice reverent.
They stayed like that, hands resting together, the room hushed around them as if time had paused to give them this moment. After a while, his tone softened again, almost boyish. "Still," he said, attempting a frown, "you are not bending over again."
She laughed, rolling her eyes, affection outweighing any annoyance. "You are lucky I love you."
"I know," he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
In that moment there was no panic, no fear of what waited beyond the door, only them, surrounded by tiny clothes and soft light and a love fierce enough to carry them forward. The world could wait. This was their now, and it was enough.
~~~~~~
Theo had faced war, assassins, and the Wizengamot without breaking a sweat. He had dismantled wards blindfolded, lied with a straight face, and survived a week in the Northern Reaches with nothing but his wand and spite. None of that prepared him for the nursery, where he stood clutching a tiny wrench and staring down his true nemesis.
The crib.
Or rather, the crime scene that was supposed to become one. Wooden panels littered the floor, screws had fled into unreachable corners, and the instruction booklet had somehow folded itself inside out and singed at the edges after he misread step one. Theo exhaled slowly and rubbed his face. "I have committed actual crimes," he muttered, "and this is how I die."
Fifteen minutes later, he had assembled something. It had legs. Possibly arms. One screw was missing, another was inexplicably in his hair, and the structure wobbled when he poked it, like a drunk goblin reconsidering its life choices. Theo stared at it in silence, lifted his wand, and seriously considered arson followed by an international furniture purchase.
Instead, he sighed and tossed Floo powder into the hearth.
Pansy arrived immaculate and suspicious, took one look at the room, and gasped theatrically. "Merlin's sagging left tit, Theo. What did you do?"
"It is cursed," he said flatly. "I was trying to surprise Luna."
Pansy raised an eyebrow sharp enough to draw blood. "No, you tragic man. You simply have the spatial awareness of a flobberworm." She pulled an absurdly expensive-looking toolkit from her bag. "Move before you enchant it to eat the baby."
He moved.
She fixed everything in minutes, tightening bolts with lethal efficiency while house elves appeared to judge him silently. One tutted. Another muttered something about first-time fathers. When Pansy finally stepped back, the crib stood solid and safe.
"See," she said smugly. "Not cursed. Just beyond you."
Theo rested a hand on the frame, relief loosening something in his chest. "Thank you."
"Of course," she replied, softer now. "It's her baby too." Then she brightened. "I will let Luna believe you built this yourself, provided you name the child after me."
"No."
"Middle name?"
"Absolutely not."
She sighed dramatically. "Fine. I will be the unhinged, stylish godmother."
"That was always given."
After she vanished into the flames, Theo stayed behind, imagining Luna touching the crib, seeing the intention if not the execution. He had not built it alone and had nearly set it on fire, but it was ready.
Unless Pansy told her.
Which she absolutely would.
~~~~~~
Theo had to leave for work, the kind that never came with a choice. He knew it the moment the letter appeared, sealed with the mark that meant no excuses. He read it once and began pacing, wand clenched in one hand while the other dragged through his hair, movement sharp and restless as if motion alone might undo what had already been decided.
She was too close now. Any day, maybe any hour. The baby had dropped lower, her sleep had grown shallow, her breaths heavier. The healers said it was normal, that everything was exactly as it should be, but the thoughts would not leave him. Her waking in pain with no one there. Her bringing their child into the world without him. The fear lodged in his chest and refused to move.
"I'm not sure I should go," he said to the empty hall, his voice tight. His gaze drifted toward the nursery where she had been resting moments ago, curled in the chair with a book slipping from her lap, her hand over her belly. She had looked peaceful. He had not woken her.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
He turned and there she was, standing at the top of the stairs, barefoot and washed in afternoon light. She wore one of his old shirts beneath her robe, one hand on the banister, the other resting protectively over her stomach. She looked calm in a way that cut straight through his panic.
"You're still here," she said gently. "That means you're thinking about staying."
She came down slowly and stopped in front of him, close enough that he could see the fatigue she tried to hide.
"I shouldn't leave you," he said quietly. "What if something happens."
She reached for his chest, steady and warm. "I don't know that nothing will happen," she said softly. "But I know what it does to you when you leave unsure. I want you to go knowing we are alright."
"I don't want to miss anything."
"You won't," she said, her smile small but certain. "And if something does happen, I will hold it for you until you come back."
That promise undid him.
He wrapped his arms around her, careful and fierce, pressing his face into her neck as if she were the only thing keeping him upright. They stayed that way until his breathing slowed, until she knew he would have stayed if he could.
When she pulled back, her hands smoothed his coat, straightening his collar. "Go," she said softly. "And then come home."
He kissed her slowly, memorizing the feel of her, and whispered that he loved her.
"I know," she said. "That's why I can let you go."
She stayed where she was as he gathered his things. One hand rested on her belly, the other on the stair post. She did not follow him to the fireplace.
He looked back once before stepping into the flames.
She was still watching him, eyes full of light. And because of that, he went.
~~~~~~
Everything inside her knew this was not fine. Not normal. Not safe.
The moment he vanished into the fireplace, the warmth went with him, and the pain came all at once. Sharp and vicious, it tore through her lower belly so fast it stole the air from her lungs. Her body jerked on instinct, arms curling inward as if she could hold it in, stop it, make it wait. Her mouth opened around a gasp, but no sound came.
She staggered, reaching for the wall. Her palm struck the wood too hard, the impact jolting up her arm. Her other hand pressed firmly to her stomach, fingers spread wide, searching for answers that were not there.
The house blurred. The light felt wrong, distant and dim, and her breath came shallow and uneven, every muscle tight with sudden uncertainty.
This was not what the books described. This was abrupt, tearing, deeply wrong in a way she felt before she understood.
Her heart pounded wildly. Cold sweat broke across her skin. She tried to breathe the way she had been taught, slow and steady, but the pain did not listen. It came in hard, merciless waves, each one stronger than the last.
Fear took hold, sharp and undeniable.
She could not stand still. She pushed off the wall and forced herself forward, legs trembling, balance uncertain. Every step sent fresh pain up her spine as she shuffled down the hallway, one hand sliding along the wall for support, the other cradling her belly as she moved.
She had to keep going.
Theo's office was the only thought she could hold onto. If there was anything in the house that might help, it would be there. Potions, books, precautions he would have planned for emergencies. Something was wrong, and she knew it with a certainty that sat heavy in her chest.
She did not cry. Her eyes burned, but there was no room for tears yet. She moved because standing still felt worse. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, her breath shallow and uneven as pain and panic weighed her down. She kept going anyway, one step at a time, hand sliding along the wall until she reached the door.
Her fingers fumbled with the latch. She pushed it open and leaned against the frame, shaking with the effort of staying upright. The office was dim, lit by fading daylight and a single enchanted sconce. The scent of parchment and old ink filled the air, layered with the faint trace of his cologne, a smell that usually calmed her but now felt sharp in her lungs.
She moved inside, steadying herself against his desk before turning to the shelves. She did not know what she was looking for, only that she needed something. A potion, a draught, anything to make the breaking feeling ease. Her fingers trembled as they brushed over cool glass, her vision blurring as another wave of pain passed through her. She reached for an ornate silver-capped vial, hope flickering briefly.
Her knuckles struck the edge of a large leather-bound book.
The click was sharp and wrong.
She froze as the bookcase shuddered beneath her hand, wood groaning low before a hidden panel slid open. Cool, dry air spilled out, curling around her legs, carrying the scent of stone and dust. Beneath it came something unmistakable, the metallic tang of blood rising into her throat and turning her stomach.
The pain dulled, slipping distant as she stepped closer, drawn forward despite herself. The air inside was colder than it should have been, goosebumps rising along her arms as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
Then she saw it.
The walls were lined with weapons.
They were arranged with chilling care. Blades rested in custom brackets, crossbows and glass-tipped arrows aligned with deliberate symmetry. Polished firearms sat beneath protective charms, wands laid out in lacquered trays, each one different, each one chosen. Nothing here was accidental. The precision was meticulous, and it made her skin crawl.
Her gaze lifted.
Photographs covered the far wall.
Dozens of them, pinned in a rough line. Some were grainy and distant, others sharp and recent, timestamps burned neatly into the corners. Faces stared back at her. Men. Women. A few far too young. Some unaware. Some wary. Some already afraid.
She moved closer without meaning to. One image held her fast. A man in a crowded café, head turned mid-laugh, caught in a moment of careless joy. The focus was intimate, close enough to see the lines at the corners of his eyes. Her hand rose to her chest as her heart began to pound.
She had always known his work was not clean. She had loved him with that truth folded quietly away. But this was different. This was not necessity or chance. This was cold and deliberate. He had not stumbled into this life. He had built it.
The room seemed to press in on her. She leaned back against the bookcase, fingers biting into the wood, her other arm curling around her stomach as the baby shifted uneasily beneath her hand. She could not stop looking at the photographs, could not escape the truth settling deep into her bones.
The man who whispered to her in the dark, who kissed her shoulder and brewed her tea and touched her hair like it was sacred, was also this. The peace they had built did not shatter, but it cracked, a fine fracture running through something she had believed unbreakable. For the first time since falling in love with him, she wondered if she had ever truly known him.
The sob tore out of her before she could stop it, raw and jagged, echoing against stone. Panic surged fast and blinding. Her breath came too quick, her vision blurred, and she reached for her magic on instinct, like a lifeline.
The crack of Apparition split the silence, and she landed badly.
Her feet hit the living room floor with too much force, the sudden shift throwing her forward until her hip clipped the edge of the coffee table. Pain flared sharp and bright, but it barely registered before her breath was knocked from her lungs and she collapsed to her knees, palms scraping against the rug as she caught herself.
The room was dark, the fire burned low, its weak golden light trembling along the walls. Everything felt too still, too empty, the familiar warmth of the house unable to reach the cold settling deep in her bones.
She could not stand. Her legs folded beneath her as another wave of pain tore through her, and she stayed there, curled over herself, hands cradling the swell of her stomach. The ache in her body was fierce, but it was nothing compared to the weight crushing her chest.
Confusion and grief and betrayal twisted together until breathing felt like work. She wrapped her arms tighter around her belly, not just to ease the pain, but to protect something precious from everything she no longer understood.
Her sobs came hard and uncontrolled, shaking her whole body. Tears soaked into her sleeves as she bent lower, forehead pressing into the rug. She had trusted him. Completely. She had believed in the quiet safety of their love, in the future they were building, in the peace she thought they shared.
Now all she could see were weapons and photographs and a life catalogued in silence. The questions pressed in from every side, heavy and relentless, and she hated how small they made her feel in a house that had once been her refuge.
She curled in on herself and rocked gently, breathing in short, uneven bursts, trying to believe this moment would pass.
Trying to believe she would still recognize the man she loved when she looked at him again. But she did not know if that was true anymore, and the not knowing terrified her more than anything else.
Barely eleven months into their marriage, she had believed their love was unshakable. It had felt ancient, built from trust and shared truths, from quiet gestures and steady presence. They had shaped a life together slowly, carefully, until she was certain nothing could undo it. Not fear. Not the world. Not each other.
And yet, here she was.
Alone on the floor, curled in the low glow of the dying fire, arms wrapped around her belly as if instinct alone could keep everything from falling apart. Her sobs had faded, but the grief remained, heavy and still, filling the room until even her thoughts felt distant. There was no voice to answer her. No hand to reach for. Only the soft hiss of embers and her own uneven breathing.
It was not just betrayal that weighed on her. It was the knowledge that something beneath their life had shifted. Beneath the vows. Beneath the certainty. She had always known he was dangerous. That truth had never frightened her. She had accepted it, loved him with it folded quietly away.
But what she had seen behind that hidden wall was different. Cold. Deliberate. A devotion to violence he had never named, never shared. A world built with care and reverence for death itself.
Sitting there now, hands pressed tight to her belly, the questions she had avoided finally rose and refused to be silenced. Had she loved him so completely that she chose not to look too closely. Had she believed love could soften anything. And after everything, after the life growing inside her, did she truly know the man she had married.
The realization did not come with tears. It came with stillness.
Her fingers curled over her stomach. The pain had dulled for the moment, but the weight of life beneath her hands was steady and undeniable. And with it came clarity.
This was not just heartbreak. This was something older.
Motherhood.
It rose in her sharp and certain. She would protect this child. No matter what truths collapsed around her. No matter who he turned out to be. She would not break now. Not when someone else depended on her to stand.
Then her body tensed, seized by a pain that was different. Stronger. Commanding. Her breath caught as she folded forward, hands bracing against her belly.
Understanding settled all at once.
She was in labor.
A tremor ran down her spine, cold and sharp. For one breath she froze, the truth crashing in all at once. Not now. But her body had already decided. The child inside her was coming.
Panic surged, fast and vicious, but she forced it down. There was no space for it. Whatever she had seen, whatever she had learned, every unanswered question could wait.
Her baby could not.
She pushed herself upright, hands burning against the rug as she braced, breath counted carefully through clenched teeth. Her body shook, her heart hammered, but her mind narrowed into focus. Not calm. Focused. It would be enough.
She had to move.
The nursery. The bag packed weeks ago. The list on the kitchen wall in her own handwriting. Towels. Water. Her wand. And him. She needed him.
The thought tightened her chest. Would he feel it if she called. Would he hear her through whatever bond they had always believed in. She did not know, and she did not have time to hesitate.
Another contraction hit, fierce and unmistakable. She doubled over with a broken sound, fingers digging into the coffee table as pain tore low and deep through her body. This was not something to breathe past. This was real.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, steadying herself. Her baby. Her reason. The world could collapse around her and it would not matter. This was what she would protect.
She had to bring this child into the world. No matter the cost.
Her legs wobbled as she stood, catching herself against the wall. She breathed in. Then out. The fear was still there, coiled tight, but it no longer ruled her.
She turned toward the fireplace. If he did not answer, she would call the healer. If no one came in time, she would do it herself. She would survive this. Her child would too.
The world had cracked open tonight.
She had not.
And nothing was touching her child.
She summoned the house elves, and they came in a rush of warm light, three small figures blinking up at her with wide, intent eyes. There was no panic in them, no hesitation, only readiness and a quiet pride, as if they had been waiting for this moment all along.
"Please," she said, her voice hoarse but steady, still unmistakably hers. "Finalize the birth preparations. The bathtub. Everything we discussed. Make it ready. Make it comfortable."
They nodded as one and vanished, reappearing almost instantly in a flurry of quiet purpose. The bathroom transformed around her. Towels warmed themselves and folded neatly at the edge of the basin. Linen robes were laid out by the hearth. Potions lined the marble counter, uncorked and arranged with careful reverence, chamomile to calm her, peppermint to steady her breathing, lavender to ease the ache spreading through her body.
One elf climbed carefully onto the tub's edge and brushed the damp hair back from her face, murmuring encouragement too soft to make out but heavy with devotion. Another pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, hands gentle and grounding, anchoring her even as the next contraction ripped through her like fire.
She gripped the vanity, knuckles white, teeth clenched as the pain rose and fell again. When it passed, she sagged forward, breath shuddering, already exhausted and painfully aware this was only the beginning. Still, she closed her eyes for a heartbeat and let gratitude exist beside the pain.
The elves were kind. Loyal. Tireless.
But they were not him.
Her fingers tightened around the porcelain sink. Gratitude was not enough. She was not meant to be doing this alone. She had never expected perfection from him. She had known the shadows he carried and the world he walked through, but he had promised her this moment. He had sworn he would be here. He had pressed his hand to her belly and whispered to the life growing inside her that he would not miss it.
He had sworn, and now he did not know.
That knowledge cut deeper than the pain.
Another contraction seized her, sharper and relentless, and her knees buckled as an elf rushed to steady her. But the sound that tore from her throat had nothing to do with her body. It was his name, ripped from somewhere deeper than pain, deeper than love.
"THEO!"
It was not a simple call. It was a summoning. The sound tore through the house, through walls and corridors, binding itself to every corner until it no longer sounded like a name at all, only a spell cast from the center of her being.
And he heard her.
~~~~~~
Wherever he was, across whatever distance lay between them, Theo felt it. Not in sound or space, but deep in his chest, in his bones, in the part of him that had always been hers. One moment he was moving through work that no longer mattered, the next he was frozen, breath locked tight in his lungs.
His name.
Her voice.
He did not question it. He did not hesitate. Something was wrong, something was happening, and that was all he needed to know. He turned on the spot and vanished, forcing the world to split open as he dragged himself home. Back to her. Back to where he belonged.
The moment he Apparated inside the house, his heart twisted hard enough to steal his breath. The air felt wrong, thick with tension and unsettled magic. He did not slow down. His body took the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, magic trembling beneath his skin.
"Luna," he shouted, his voice raw and breaking as it echoed through the house. "Luna."
By the time he reached the bathroom door, every terrible possibility was clawing at his mind. He flung it open, ready to fight, to beg, to destroy whatever had hurt her.
And then he saw her, and the world slowed.
Candlelight washed the room in gold. Steam curled softly through the air, carrying lavender and peppermint and something that felt unmistakably like home. The space was warm, prepared, held.
And at the center of it was her.
She was in the tub, half submerged, skin flushed and damp with effort, hair clinging to her temples in loose curls. Her hands gripped the basin, breath coming fast as she held herself through the pain. And her eyes were already on him.
Not just afraid.
Loving.
He did not remember crossing the room. One moment he was standing at the door, the next he was on his knees beside her, the tiles cold beneath him as his hands found hers like instinct.
"I'm here," he breathed, the words breaking as they left him. "I'm here."
Her fingers closed around his, slick with sweat and impossibly strong. Another contraction tore through her and she cried out softly, but she never looked away.
"Theo," she whispered, his name fracturing in her throat. "I need you."
And something inside him gave way completely.
Those words, spoken through pain and trust, undid him completely.
"You have me," he said, his voice thick and unsteady as tears burned behind his eyes. "Always."
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, their skin warm and damp where they touched. He kissed her slowly, the corner of her mouth, her temple, the crown of her head, each touch quiet and reverent. His hands never left hers. He held on like she was the only real thing left.
Around them, the house elves moved in careful silence, their magic soft and purposeful as they warmed towels and stirred calming herbs into the air. Theo barely noticed. His entire world had narrowed to her.
She clung to him, fingers locked around his, her body trembling with effort. He felt every breath, every tightening muscle, every wave she fought through. Her skin was warm with sweat, her cheeks flushed, her lashes heavy with unshed tears.
And still, she was beautiful. Alive in a way that made his chest ache.
He lifted her hand and kissed it, then whispered, "We're almost there. Just you and me. I've got you."
She nodded once, jaw tightening as another contraction hit. He felt her waver and tightened his hold, steady and certain, giving her all the strength he had.
Time blurred. The room faded. There was only her breathing, the sounds she could not hold back, the hush that followed each wave of pain.
Nothing else existed. Only this moment, this woman, breaking and remaking herself in his arms.
He could not take the pain from her. He could not fix it.
He could only stay, hold her, love her, and remind her again and again that she was not alone.
They had thought they were ready. There had been books and careful notes, long evenings listening to the mediwitch explain spells and potions, breathing patterns practiced until he could recite them in his sleep. He had held Luna through false alarms, rubbed her back when it ached, whispered encouragement while they laughed about how prepared they were.
None of it had prepared him for this.
Nothing had prepared him for the sound of her voice breaking under real pain, or for the way her body shook as the contractions took hold. He had known pain. He had lived violence and survived it. None of that came close to watching her suffer like this. This was Luna, his Luna, and every cry cut into him like glass.
He gripped her hand harder than he meant to, fingers locked with hers as if will alone could hold her steady. She squeezed back, nails biting into his skin, and he welcomed it because it meant she was here, still fighting. His breathing turned shallow, his pulse roaring in his ears as helplessness settled deep in his chest. He had spent his life fixing the impossible, controlling chaos, bending situations to his will. There was nothing here for him to fix, no spell to cast, no enemy to fight, no way to take her place even though he would have without hesitation.
"I hate this," he whispered, his voice raw. "I hate that I can't make it better."
She turned her head toward him, hair damp against her flushed cheeks, and through the pain she smiled. It was faint and fragile, but it was hers, and it broke something open inside him.
"Just stay with me," she breathed. "Your strength helps more than you know."
He could not speak. He only leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, holding her as close as he dared while her breath mingled with his. He brushed a strand of hair from her face with trembling fingers and whispered that he was here, that he was not leaving, that they would get through this together, even if he was not sure whether the promise was meant for her or for himself.
Another contraction hit and her cry tore through the room. She clutched him harder and he let her, welcoming the pain because it grounded him. For the first time in his life, he prayed, not to any god he trusted, but to the universe itself, asking only that she be safe, that she survive, that she come through this.
And he stayed. He held her, whispered her name like a spell, told her she was strong and brave and endlessly loved. Between waves of pain, he kissed her temple as if love itself could shield her.
He had never felt so powerless, and he had never been more certain of where he belonged. This was theirs, the fear and the pain and the love, brutal and real and shared. If she had to walk through fire, he would walk beside her, giving her everything he had.
He knew that when their child finally took its first breath, his heart would never belong to him again. It would belong to them, to the woman who endured the impossible and still looked at him with love, and to the life they had made together.
The storm of labor was relentless, an unforgiving tide of pain and exhaustion, but his presence was her anchor through it all. His love was fierce and unmistakable, a force as steady as the rhythm of her heartbeat. No matter how unbearable the agony became, no matter how much her body trembled under the strain, he never wavered. He stayed.
The house elves moved around them with quiet precision, their delicate hands swift and reverent as they tended to every detail. The air was heavy with enchanted herbs, carefully chosen scents easing her pain in ways words could not. Each breath she drew carried chamomile and lavender, grounding her, keeping her from slipping beneath the weight of it all. The warm water cradled her body, enchanted to remain perfect, offering brief mercy from the contractions tearing through her.
And then, when she thought she had nothing left to give, it happened.
A sharp cry cut through the stillness, shattering the tension and filling the room with something raw and new.
The sound was small and fragile, yet unmistakably alive.
Time stopped.
Theo felt his chest collapse inward, his breath catching as the truth struck him all at once.
Their baby was here.
A broken sound tore from his throat, something caught between a sob and a laugh, as if his heart could not decide whether to shatter or bloom. The world dissolved around him.
He barely registered his knees giving way as he sank beside her, hands shaking, vision blurred by tears. Hours of fear and helplessness burned away in an instant, replaced by something vast and pure that left him breathless.
The baby was small, red faced and wailing, wrapped in a warm towel. Bobsy, the head elf, placed him into Luna's arms with reverent care, as if she understood the weight of this moment without needing to be told. His cries filled the candlelit room, sharp and alive, more real than anything Theo had ever known.
Luna held him as if she had been waiting her whole life for this.
Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Her body shook with exhaustion beyond measure, but her arms were steady. Her hands were sure. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she stared at their child, wonder and disbelief written across her face.
Theo had never seen her look more beautiful.
"Oh, my love," she whispered, voice breaking. "Look at him."
Theo reached out without thinking. His fingers brushed the baby's tiny hand, and it curled around his finger like it already knew him. Like it had always been meant to find him.
That was when it truly hit him.
They had a son. Lysander.
A laugh burst from his chest, soaked through with tears. "It's a boy." The words rang out, joyful and disbelieving, echoing through the room like a blessing. The house elves paused, hands pressed to their hearts, eyes shining with tears of their own.
Luna let out a breathless laugh, strained with pain but soft with joy. She leaned toward Theo as he turned to her, their eyes locking.
"You did this," he whispered.
Her lips curved faintly. "We did this," she said, fingers brushing his jaw. "Together."
The baby whimpered softly, a restless sound, and Luna adjusted him instinctively, drawing him closer. His small body settled against her with complete trust, his breathing evening out. He stopped crying.
Theo stared, utterly undone.
His son.
The weight of it settled in his chest like something holy. He reached out again, touching the baby's cheek, and his heart nearly broke at how soft it felt. Nothing had ever felt so precious. Nothing had ever felt so real.
Around them, the elves moved quietly, clearing the room with gentle efficiency. Lavender lingered in the air, mingling with steam, soft magic, and the rustle of fabric. None of it touched Theo's awareness.
Because his entire world was here.
His wife.
His child.
This moment.
He pressed a kiss to Luna's temple, one hand resting over their baby's back, and whispered the only words he had.
"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you for him. Thank you for everything."
She did not answer, but the way her eyes closed, the way she leaned into him, the way she held their son just a little tighter, said more than words ever could.
They were a family now.
A shuddering breath escaped him as he leaned in, his lips pressing softly to Luna's forehead. He let them rest there for a long, quiet moment, as if he could pour everything he felt into that single touch. Gratitude, awe, the kind of love that had no language.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was low and unsteady, but every word carried the full weight of his heart.
"Thank you," he whispered, barely able to speak. "For him. For this. For still loving me, even when I didn't know how to love myself."
Luna tilted her face toward him, her skin warm and damp, her eyes glassy with tears that had not quite fallen. She looked exhausted in a way that went all the way down to the bone, but there was still light in her gaze.
She did not try to give him some grand reply. Her hand reached for his and threaded their fingers together, holding tight.
"Always," she said, her voice hoarse but steady.
They stayed like that for a long while, knees pressed together on the floor beside the bathtub, the soft rush of steam rising around them. The air smelled of lavender and chamomile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet did not feel heavy. It felt like peace.
Luna held their baby against her chest, skin to skin, his tiny breaths matching the fluttering rhythm of her own. His cries had softened into faint whimpers, and now he simply existed in the space between them, small and warm and alive.
Theo did not try to stop the tears anymore. They slid silently down his cheeks, catching on his jaw before disappearing into the fabric of his shirt. His chest ached with the weight of everything he could not say. There had been too much fear, too much helplessness, and now somehow there was only this.
This miracle. This tiny, wriggling life that had cracked him open and filled every corner with light.
He did not know how to make sense of what had just happened. He only knew he never wanted to forget it, not a single moment.
The house elves moved around them with quiet reverence, clearing towels and vials, adjusting the light with careful spells.
They whispered to one another in hushed tones, their eyes drifting back again and again to the small family by the bath, their expressions full of wonder. Even they could feel that something sacred had taken place.
Theo barely noticed them. His entire world had narrowed to the two people in his arms.
Their son. His wife. His beginning and his end.
He let out a breath that sounded more like a prayer than a sigh and leaned closer, resting his forehead against Luna's temple. She leaned into him without thinking, and he kissed her again, slower this time, as if the moment might slip away if he did not hold it with everything he had.
"We did it," he murmured. "You did it."
Her eyes fluttered closed, a small, tired smile curving her lips. "We both did."
Theo looked down at their baby, nestled safely against Luna's chest. He reached out and traced a finger gently along his tiny back, barely able to believe the softness of his skin, the perfect weight of him, the way he already seemed to belong here. To them.
He had lived a thousand lives before this. He had fought, bled, survived things that had taken pieces of him. None of it compared to this moment. None of it had prepared him for the way his heart broke open the instant his son took his first breath.
This was what he had been searching for.
Love, in its truest form.
And in that moment, as the room grew quieter and the world beyond its walls faded away, Theo Nott knew with absolute clarity that his life had begun again. He would never be the same, and he did not want to be.
Because now, he was a father.