The moment Luna stepped into the drawing room, something inside her shifted.
It began low in her stomach, a slow roll of nausea that climbed without warning. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Her breath caught. For a second she thought she might actually fall. She lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing her fingers against cool skin already damp with the faintest sheen of sweat. She stayed still, willing the sensation to pass, telling herself it was nothing.
Across the room, Theo looked up from his armchair.
He did not know what had changed at first. He only felt it. The air had altered. She had altered. The book slipped from his hand as he rose in one swift movement, crossing the room before she could steady herself.
"Luna," he said, already reaching for her. "You're pale."
"I'm alright," she said, attempting a smile that did not quite hold.
Her voice gave her away. She drew in a careful breath, but her knees softened beneath her. Her hand found the back of a chair for support.
Theo's jaw tightened. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his eyes searching hers. "No, you're not. You're shaking. What's wrong? Does something hurt?"
She pressed her fingertips to her temple, feeling the dull pulse forming there. "A little dizzy," she admitted. "It's nothing serious, just… strange."
He did not argue further. His arm slid firmly around her waist, steady and warm as he guided her toward the sofa.
"Alright, that's enough standing," he said. "Sit down. No, lie down."
She let him help her. The cushions gave beneath her weight, and the moment she settled, a deeper recognition stirred in her chest. The heaviness in her limbs. The queasiness. The bone-deep fatigue. Her hands drifted to her stomach without thinking.
Theo crouched in front of her, hands resting gently on her knees. His expression had gone focused, almost fierce in its concern.
"Talk to me," he said more softly. "What are you thinking?"
She blinked, trying to untangle the feeling. Then it came all at once, clear and undeniable.
"Theo…" Her voice thinned to almost nothing. She met his eyes. "This feels… familiar."
His brow furrowed.
"It's like the last time I was pregnant," she whispered.
Silence fell between them.
He did not move at first. His hands tightened slightly against her knees as if he needed something solid to hold onto. He inhaled sharply, the sound unsteady despite the effort to contain it.
"My love," he said quietly, leaning closer. "Are you saying… could you be…?"
"I don't know for sure," she answered, her palm smoothing over her stomach as though listening for something beneath her skin. Her throat felt tight. "But I think… maybe."
The word lingered in the space between them.
Theo's hands rose to her face, cupping her cheeks with reverent care. His thumb brushed over her skin as if grounding himself in the present moment. The tension in his expression softened into something open and vulnerable.
"Luna…" he breathed.
She saw it happen. The shift in him. The fear giving way to wonder. The quiet awe that always surfaced when life surprised them in ways neither of them could control.
Luna's breath came unevenly, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her dress as she tried to steady the rush of thoughts rising inside her.
The possibility she had just spoken aloud felt enormous, fragile and luminous all at once. It hovered between them, sacred and frightening in equal measure. She needed certainty. Something solid. Something that would tell her whether her body was truly beginning this quiet, life-altering work again. Even as she said it, doubt threaded through her voice, revealing how deeply it shook her.
Theo, who had long ago mastered the art of control, lost it completely.
A grin broke across his face without warning, wide and boyish, splitting through his usual restraint. He looked almost startled by his own reaction. His lips parted as if he meant to speak, but for a moment all that came was a sharp breath, his eyes bright with something fierce and unguarded. Then he let out a sound that was half a laugh, half something dangerously close to a sob.
"Merlin," he breathed. His voice was rough, thick with feeling. "You have no idea how much I want that to be true. You… you already make my miserable existence brighter every day, and if this is real…"
He trailed off, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides, as though he did not know whether to pull her into him or drop to his knees and thank the universe for daring to give him more.
The room still felt slightly unsteady around her, but Luna smiled anyway. It was small and careful, but it reached her eyes. She lifted her hand and traced the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing over the faint shadow of stubble there. He leaned into her touch without thinking, his breath warm against her wrist.
"I don't know for certain yet, Sunny," she said softly. The nickname slipped out naturally, carrying years of affection with it. "But I want to be sure. I need something definitive."
He swallowed, nodding once as if bracing himself. "Right. Of course." A beat passed, and his brow creased. "What do we do? A spell? A potion? Something from St. Mungo's?"
She shook her head gently. "No… I'd rather have a Muggle one."
"A Muggle one?" He blinked at her. "Why?"
"They're simple," she explained, her fingers still resting lightly along his jaw. "Immediate. No magic interfering. Just a clear answer." Her gaze softened. "Will you get one for me, Theo? Please?"
For a second he simply looked at her, absorbing the weight of the request. Then his expression settled into something steady and certain.
"Of course, my love," he said quietly.
Theodore Nott had endured what he would later describe as one of the worst days of his life.
Six hours outside in relentless rain, mud creeping up the hems of his trousers, negotiations that went nowhere, tempers flaring, patience wearing thin.
By the time he reached home, he looked like a man who had been dragged through a battlefield and politely asked to carry on. His coat hung damp and wrinkled from his shoulders. His tie was gone. His hair, usually controlled with precision, clung to his forehead in unruly strands. Water dripped from the edge of his trousers, his boots making faint, miserable sounds with every step.
He shoved the front door open and stepped into warmth. Lavender. Old parchment. Candlelight flickering against familiar walls. The house wrapped around him like it always did, steady and safe.
Luna was curled on the sofa, serene as ever, watching him with that quiet, unreadable expression that usually meant trouble. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch and immediately raised a hand.
"Do not say a single word, woman," he groaned, voice strained as he bent to tug off his soaked boots. "Just pee."
She blinked at him once.
Then she started laughing.
She folded in on herself, clutching her stomach, laughter spilling out in bright, breathless bursts. Her shoulders shook. She tried to stop and failed completely.
Theo scowled, dragging off his coat and tossing it onto a chair. "I'm serious, Luna," he muttered. "Just go. Now. Before I lose my sanity entirely."
Still laughing, she rose from the sofa and drifted toward the bathroom, far too pleased with herself. As she passed him, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Oh, my poor husband," she teased. "You're so dramatic."
He grunted and collapsed onto the sofa, pressing his palms against his eyes. He had done enough for one day. All he wanted now was an answer. One way or another.
The house went quiet.
For a moment, there was only the faint sound of running water.
Then a scream tore through the corridor.
Theo was on his feet before he knew he had moved. His heart slammed into his throat as he kicked the bathroom door open, ready for anything, every muscle coiled and prepared to strike.
Instead, he found Luna in the middle of the bathroom, jumping in place, her hair bouncing around her shoulders, her face radiant.
"WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!"
He stared at her.
His mind blanked completely. Every coherent thought scattered. The weight of the day vanished in an instant, replaced by something so overwhelming it almost hurt.
He crossed the space between them in two strides and grabbed her, lifting her clean off the floor, crushing her against his chest as a sound tore out of him that was half laugh, half disbelief.
He lifted her so fast she barely had time to squeal, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he spun her once in a breathless circle.
He held her tight against him, almost crushing, as if he needed to feel the proof of her there in his arms. His heart was racing hard enough to shake him, and when his mouth found hers it was hungry and reverent all at once, joy breaking through him in a way he had never known how to contain.
"Another baby," he rasped, pulling back only enough to breathe the words against her lips. "Another." His forehead rested against hers as his hands slid up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing at tears he had not even noticed falling. "Oh, gods, Luna. We're having another baby."
His voice trembled on the last word. He looked undone. Overwhelmed. The weight of it all sat in his chest so full it almost hurt.
Luna held him just as tightly, smiling wide enough to make his breath hitch. She pressed soft kisses to his cheek, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth, as if she could not stop touching him either.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Moon, for this gift of a lifetime."
The words broke something open in him. He laughed, then choked on it, emotion rising fast and sharp. He had thought he understood love before. He had thought he knew the limits of what his heart could hold. Standing there with her in his arms, knowing there was another life growing because of them, he realized he had been wrong.
He kissed her again, slower this time, his hands sliding down her back as he eased them both down to sit on the cool marble floor. The moment was still bright and wild between them, but the urgency softened into something steadier, deeper. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, breathing her in.
"We're really doing this again," he murmured, half laughing. "We're mad."
She brushed her fingers through his hair, smoothing the damp strands away from his face. "A little," she agreed softly.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand drifting down to rest carefully over her stomach, reverent now. Protective. His thumb traced a slow circle there, as if he could already feel the shift beneath his palm.
"I'm going to take care of you," he said quietly, the earlier frenzy gone, replaced with something grounded and certain. "Both of you. I swear it."
Luna's eyes softened, her hand covering his where it rested over her belly. "I know," she replied.
He leaned in and kissed her once more, gentle this time, lingering. The bathroom floor was cold beneath them, but he did not seem to notice. All he felt was her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the fragile, miraculous possibility settling between them.
~~~~~~
"Lunaaaaa!" Pansy's voice echoed down the corridors as she raced, her high heels clicking like the rapid beating of a war drum.
Moments later, Luna emerged, a look of exasperation mingled with amusement on her face. "Merlin, Pansy, can you shut up for once? Why would you scare away my capybaras?" Luna chided, her tone light even as she struggled to maintain her own fragile composure. The absurdity of the request—capybaras, of all creatures—made Pansy pause for a split second, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, for the love of all things magical, how many animals do you need? Theo isn't enough?" Pansy quipped, her words dripping with playful sarcasm as she dodged Luna's incredulous glance.
Luna arched an elegant brow. "What do you need?" she asked coolly, curiosity mingling with a trace of irritation.
She leaned in conspiratorially. "I have huuuge gossip," she declared, her voice barely containing the bubbling excitement beneath. "Come over then," Luna replied, a wry smile breaking through her exasperation.
The moment Pansy arrived at the sprawling Nott estate, she wasted no time, practically storming through its grand corridors and immaculately maintained gardens, her heels clicking against the stone paths with purpose. She had urgent business, and absolutely no patience for delays.
She found Luna outside, lounging on the grass with Lysander, a picture of ethereal serenity—until Pansy's whirlwind presence shattered the peaceful afternoon.
But it wasn't just Luna and Lysander who greeted her. No, there was… something else. Something scruffy, unfortunate, and entirely unappealing nestled beside the little boy as he giggled and patted its coarse fur. Pansy's nose scrunched in immediate disapproval.
"Ugh, what is that?" she muttered, recoiling slightly.
Lysander, blissfully unbothered by Pansy's dramatic distaste, beamed up at her, his small hands still buried in the animal's rough fur. With an enthusiasm only toddlers could muster, he lifted his arms toward her in an unmistakable demand. "Rocio!" he shouted gleefully, eyes sparkling.
Pansy sighed, utterly powerless against him, and scooped him into her arms. "Oh, pumpkin," she cooed, pressing a kiss to his messy curls. "She's quite… special, isn't she?" She forced a polite smile as she eyed the peculiar creature warily. Only Luna Lovegood would allow such an offensive-looking animal onto her property, let alone treat it like a beloved pet.
Lysander, utterly unconcerned with Pansy's obvious disdain, simply snuggled against her shoulder, babbling happily.
Luna, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, finally exhaled and arched a brow. "Alright, Parkinson. You've clearly got something to say. Spill."
Pansy straightened, her mind snapping back to her mission. The Gossip. With Lysander still firmly attached to her hip, she turned her full attention to Luna, her expression morphing into one of pure theatrical flair.
"I have some juicy news," she declared, her voice practically dripping with intrigue.
Luna, who had spent far too much time dealing with Pansy's dramatics over the years, simply gave an indulgent nod. "Let me hear it," she encouraged, eyes twinkling with curiosity.
Pansy inhaled, ready to unleash her tale in all its riveting glory. "So today, I wanted to show off my new portrait of Lady and Princess—"
But before she could even finish the sentence, Lysander decided to interject.
"Pviness!" he shrieked, with the kind of uncontainable joy that only a toddler could summon.
Pansy groaned. This child. But she soldiered on. "—and I went over to Mimi so she could see Lady's new—"
"Ladii!" Lysander interrupted again, giggling as he swung his little legs in delight.
Pansy closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and counted to three. Then, she exhaled sharply and opened her eyes, glaring at the sky as if seeking divine intervention. "Oh, for fuck's sake, child."
With a swift flick of her wrist, she summoned her most loyal (and long-suffering) house-elf.
"NELLY!" she called, voice carrying through the estate.
With a small pop, Nelly appeared, looking exhausted before she had even been given a task.
"Please bring over the dogs for Master Lysander—I just need him to shut up for a moment."
Luna gasped, scandalized. "Pansy!" she admonished.
But Pansy simply waved her off.
Nelly bowed without question and, with another pop, disappeared to retrieve the very animals that had started this whole mess. Lysander, thrilled, clapped his tiny hands, already anticipating his beloved pets.
Luna crossed her arms, her expression a perfect mixture of amusement and resignation. "You are… impossible."
Pansy smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I prefer relentlessly efficient."
Luna sighed, shaking her head, but she couldn't hide her grin. This was Pansy —loud, dramatic, unapologetic… and, despite it all, completely and utterly irreplaceable.
"Pansy," Luna sighed, rubbing her temples, "I swear on Merlin's saggy balls, if you don't just say it—"
Pansy flicked her hair over her shoulder with an almost theatrical smirk, her entire posture exuding the satisfaction of someone about to drop a bombshell, the kind of news that would send ripples through their entire circle.
She clapped her hands together as if announcing the final act of a grand performance, her voice dripping with amusement and triumph. "Hermione finally left Draco," she declared, savoring the words like the finest wine, stretching them out as if tasting their sweetness. "Can you believe it? Isn't it just—fabulous?"
Luna had been in the middle of an exaggerated eye-roll, no doubt prepared for whatever dramatic nonsense Pansy was about to spin, but at that moment, her face changed entirely.
The usual lightness in her features dimmed, the dreamy quality vanished like mist under harsh sunlight, replaced by something sharp, something heavy.
She exhaled, the sound edged with frustration as she fixed Pansy with an unreadable stare. "Pansy," she said, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic weight, slow and precise, as if measuring her words, ensuring they cut the way they were meant to. "It's not good. It's fucking sad."
Pansy scoffed, the sound dismissive, almost incredulous, like Luna had just insulted her impeccable taste in fashion.
She waved a careless hand, swatting away the very notion of sympathy like an inconvenient gnat. "Sad? What's sad is that she didn't do it sooner. That woman has been through hell and back because of him. She endured everything. For what? Some fucked-up idea of love? She deserved better." Her voice was a sharp contrast to Luna's, brimming with self-assured finality, the kind of certainty that didn't leave room for arguments.
Luna tilted her head slightly, watching Pansy in that unnervingly knowing way she had, like she was peeling back layers without Pansy's permission, prying into the spaces where Pansy didn't want anyone to look. "And Neville didn't?" she asked, and it wasn't a question so much as a quiet accusation, a truth wrapped in the softness of her voice, a blade hidden in silk.
The smirk that had been so smug just seconds ago faltered, a crack forming in the carefully curated facade. A slow, creeping chill spread through her chest, curling around her ribs, squeezing something tight inside her, something she didn't want to acknowledge. The words had landed somewhere deep, in a place Pansy didn't let people reach. "What?" The word barely made it past her lips, almost a whisper, almost nothing at all.
Luna's expression remained unchanged, serene yet merciless, as though she had all the time in the world to hold a mirror up to Pansy and let her see herself for what she was. "Neville didn't endure you? He didn't take everything you threw at him?" The way she said it was damning, not an accusation but a statement of fact, and the weight of it pressed down on Pansy's chest like a hand forcing her underwater.
Her nails dug into her palms, as if grounding herself in pain would somehow keep the emotions at bay, keep her from unraveling. "This is different," she bit out, stiff and controlled, clinging desperately to her sense of righteousness. "Neville chose this. He loves me."
Luna's voice softened, and somehow that made it worse, because there was no malice in it, no intention to wound—just an understanding so profound that it stripped Pansy bare. "Or do you just think the only way someone would love you is if they were forced to marry you?" The words landed like a physical blow, cutting through Pansy's bravado with ruthless precision, shattering every carefully placed defense.
Pansy's fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her entire body trembling with something far uglier than anger, something unspoken, something raw and terrifying. Luna wasn't just attacking her, she was seeing her, and that was so much worse.
The silence stretched between them like a battlefield, neither willing to retreat nor advance. Pansy's chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, her heart hammering as Luna's words sank deeper than she wanted to admit.
Luna wasn't looking at her with anger, nor with the smug satisfaction of someone who had won an argument. That would have been easier. That would have given Pansy a reason to lash out, a reason to make it a fight rather than whatever this was. But no, Luna's face held something worse—understanding. Pity.
As if she could see right through Pansy, as if she could peel back the layers of confidence, the arrogance, the sharp wit, and find something fragile underneath. It made Pansy feel exposed, raw in a way she hadn't been since she was a child clutching at her father's robes, desperately trying to be loved, to be noticed, to be something worth keeping.
She clenched her jaw so tightly she thought her teeth might crack. "You bitch," she hissed, voice trembling in a way that made her stomach turn. She needed to be angry, needed to hold onto it like a shield, because the alternative was worse. Because if she let go of the anger, all that would be left was the truth. And she wasn't ready for that.
Luna just watched, her gaze steady, her hands resting lightly on her lap as if she was waiting for Pansy to get whatever it was out of her system. It infuriated her. Made her want to scream, to throw something, to break something just to see if Luna would finally flinch. But she wouldn't. Because Luna Lovegood didn't say things she didn't mean.
Pansy had spent years perfecting the art of deflection, of turning every moment into something sharp and cruel before anyone could get too close, before anyone could see the cracks beneath the perfect, untouchable surface. But Luna had bypassed every defense with a single sentence, a casual remark that had gutted her more efficiently than any blade ever could.
"FUCK YOU," Pansy spat, louder this time, her voice raw, shaking with something that wasn't just anger but something deeper, uglier—resentment, heartbreak, jealousy that burned so hot it threatened to consume her whole. "Fuck you and your perfect marriage. Fuck you and your perfect family. Fuck you for never having to wonder if you were enough."
Her breath came hard and fast, her nails digging into her palms so deeply she thought they might draw blood. Her hands were trembling, and that wasn't fair. She shouldn't be the one breaking. Luna should have been the one to shatter, the one to feel the weight of this pain pressing down like a vice. But no—Pansy was the one who felt like glass, fragile and brittle, like all the pressure she had spent years holding back was finally reaching its breaking point, spiderwebbing across her surface, threatening to crack her open in ways she wasn't sure she could survive.
And Luna? Luna still didn't move. She stood there with that same damn softness in her eyes. And that was the worst part. That was what made Pansy want to scream. Because it meant Luna had seen right through her from the very beginning. She had always seen her, even when Pansy had spent a lifetime making sure no one did.
Pansy turned away sharply, staring out at the garden, blinking furiously against the sting of tears she refused to shed. Lysander was running through the grass, his laughter ringing through the air as he played with the pugs, his little legs carrying him in dizzying circles, lost in the pure, thoughtless joy only a child could possess. It was beautiful. It should have been enough to shake her out of this, to remind her that she wasn't the kind of person who let herself feel like this. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.
Luna exhaled softly, the kind of sigh that sounded more like acceptance than defeat. She had hurt Pansy. Exactly where it would hurt the most. And that realization hit her like a gut punch. A terrible, sinking weight settled in her chest, because she was a terrible friend.
She blinked quickly, swiping at her cheeks as she walked toward Lysander, who was still tumbling around with the dogs, his curls bouncing with every step.
"Okay, loves," she called gently, her voice steady despite the ache in her throat. "Mommy's going to take the doggies back home, alright?"
Lysander skidded to a stop, wide-eyed and already prepared to protest. "NOOOOO!"
"Yes," she said with a small smile, kneeling in front of him and smoothing a hand over his wild curls. "Mummy needs to talk to Pee-Pee."
The nickname, usually something that made her laugh, felt heavier in her mouth now, like an echo of something broken between them.
She finally managed to gather the pugs, shushing their excited wriggles as she scooped them up. With one last glance at Lysander she took a deep breath, turned on the spot, and apparated straight to Parkinson Manor.
Luna apparated into the house with a soft crack, her arms full, cradling both pugs against her chest like a peace offering. The moment Pansy saw her standing there in the doorway, she froze, her entire body going rigid as if struck by an unseen force.
Shock flickered across her tear-streaked face, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, the remnants of heartbreak still clinging to her like an unwanted second skin. She had been bracing for this moment, for the inevitable confrontation, but seeing Luna standing there, looking just as hesitant and burdened by their earlier fight, made everything inside her twist painfully.
Neville, who had been quietly watching from the other room, immediately stepped forward. He walked over to Luna, carefully taking the dogs from her arms with the same effortless grace in which he handled everything in life.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek before murmuring under his breath, "Good luck." His voice was low, knowing, a whisper between friends. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving them alone in the thick, suffocating tension of everything unsaid.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them stretched long and taut, charged with the weight of their shared history, their pain, and their unbreakable bond that, despite its fractures, had never shattered completely. Pansy's breathing was still uneven from the aftermath of her earlier outburst, and Luna stood there with guilt carved into every soft feature, her lips parting slightly as if searching for the right words.
But, as always, it was Pansy who was the braver of the two when it came to emotional vulnerability.
"I would like to apologize," she said abruptly, her voice clipped, formal. It was the kind of apology that barely scraped the surface, the kind that was more about filling the silence than addressing the real wound. "That I offended Rocio."
Luna blinked, lips pressing into a thin line, clearly unimpressed. "It's not about the animal."
Pansy cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I would also like to apologize for being snappy with Lysander."
"It's not about him either."
Pansy stilled.
The room suddenly felt too big, and she felt too small standing there, surrounded by the wreckage of one of the worst fights they had ever had.
Luna exhaled slowly, her gaze never leaving Pansy's as if she were holding something fragile, something sacred, in her hands. "Pansy… I'm pregnant."
For one agonizing heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.
"OH MY GOOOOOOOOD!"
The sheer force of Pansy's scream could have cracked glass. Before Luna could react, Pansy launched herself across the room with the speed and enthusiasm of a woman possessed.
She crashed into Luna with an almost violent level of excitement, arms wrapping around her best friend as she spun her around wildly, laughter bubbling from her lips in pure, unfiltered joy.
She was kissing her cheeks, her mouth, anywhere she could reach, giddy and overwhelmed in a way she hadn't been in a long time. The fight, the pain, the guilt—it all faded for that brief, blissful moment.
Luna let out a breathless chuckle, squirming in Pansy's arms. "Girl, stop the kissing," she scolded playfully, her voice full of fond exasperation. "Take me on a date first or something."
Pansy grinned wickedly, pressing one last dramatic kiss to Luna's forehead before pulling back just enough to cup her face. "Sorry, love, can't. You're married."
The moment should have been nothing but pure happiness.
But then, just like that, reality crept back in. The joy dimmed slightly, giving way to the undercurrent of hurt that still lingered between them. The wounds weren't fully healed, not yet. The echoes of what had been said earlier still hung in the air like ghosts unwilling to be exorcized.
Luna took a deep breath, her expression shifting, growing more serious. "I would like to deeply apologize," she said softly. "For hurting your feelings."
Pansy felt something tighten in her throat, her grip on Luna's arms loosening slightly.
Luna swallowed, eyes filled with a remorse so heavy it nearly broke her. "I know I hit you where it hurts the most. And I have no excuse for that."
Pansy didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't trust herself to speak.
Then, without thinking, she was hugging Luna again, but this time it wasn't out of excitement or giddy happiness. Something forgiving. Something healing.
Luna exhaled shakily, her entire body softening as she let herself be held. "Pansy, I feel terrible about what I said."
Pansy, ever the dramatist, clutched her chest as if she were on the verge of collapse. "Terrible? Luna, I almost died!" she declared, her voice dripping with theatrical agony. "You nearly snatched the very breath from my lungs! I perished!"
Luna let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head before cupping Pansy's face and pressing a warm, lingering kiss to her cheek. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice softer now, filled with sincerity.
Pansy hesitated for a beat, then sighed dramatically. "I think it's okay…" she muttered, but the wounded edge to her voice betrayed her.
Luna pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. "No. It's not okay," she insisted, her tone firm yet filled with love. "It was horrific, it was cruel, and I wish I could take it back. I love you, Pansy. And I promise you—I swear to you—I will never say anything like that again."
Pansy swallowed hard, her heart swelling with emotion, her walls cracking just enough to let the warmth back in. Then, with a shaky exhale, she pulled Luna into another fierce hug, burying her face into her shoulder.
"I love you too," she murmured, her voice thick, her heart finally at peace again.
The plan started over tea, although by that point the teapot had been thoroughly ignored in favour of weed, and the delicate cups sat forgotten beside a charcuterie board that had been picked apart and abandoned. The so called bored housewives lounged in the Nott sunroom, sunlight spilling through tall windows and catching in crystal glasses, turning the entire room warm and deceptive and far too peaceful for the subject at hand.
Because this was serious.
The Malfoy situation had gone from unfortunate to catastrophic.
Hermione had left. Properly left. Packed bags, slammed doors, silence that echoed. Luna and Pansy had done their part. They had shown up with wine and sarcasm and quiet comfort. They had held her while she cried and distracted her when she refused to. But the truth lingered between them like smoke. A Draco without Hermione was unstable. Brooding. Dramatic. Capable of making everyone else's life infinitely worse.
"We have to fix this," Pansy announced, sprawled across Luna's chaise with a champagne flute dangling from her fingers.
Luna hummed, absentmindedly smoothing Lysander's curls where he rested against her. "Mmm, it is getting tedious. He's been dramatically drinking himself into oblivion for weeks now. And Hermione? She's pretending she's fine, but I can see her aura. It's a mess. Too much dark blue."
Pansy flicked a grape off the edge of the table. "Well, obviously. She's miserable. He's miserable. We're miserable watching it. And frankly, I don't have time for Draco's self-inflicted tragic hero nonsense when I have actual babies to raise." She pushed herself upright, eyes sharpening. "So, we're fixing it."
Luna nodded as though they had just agreed to order more wine. "Agreed."
Pansy set her glass down with purpose and leaned forward, every inch of her suddenly alert. "Master Plan: Operation Malfoy Reconciliation begins now."
Luna let out a long sigh. "You can't name it that."
"Fine. The Grand Malfoy Redemption Arc."
"…Still no."
"Dramione : The Sequel."
Luna stared at her.
"Fine. The Plan," Pansy huffed.
"Better," Luna said, lips curving faintly.
Pansy rose and began pacing, the heels of her shoes tapping against marble in steady rhythm. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. You, my ethereal little weirdo, are going to work on Granger."
Luna tilted her head. "Logical. She trusts me. But how?"
"You visit her," Pansy replied as if explaining something painfully simple. "Find a reason. Drop in unannounced. Bring a sad-looking dessert. Like a half-eaten treacle tart. Guilt her into talking. Make her feel the loneliness. Remind her that she wants him, despite how insufferable he is."
Luna took a slow sip of wine, considering. "And what will you do?"
Pansy's smile shifted into something dangerous.
"I," she said with deliberate flair, "am going straight to the source of all Malfoy guilt and manipulation."
Luna blinked. "You mean—"
"Narcissa," Pansy purred. "I will handle her."
There was a beat of silence. Then Luna nodded once, solemn and entirely complicit.
Two women, fully aware they were meddling and fully committed to it.
The Malfoys truly never stood a chance.
~~~~~~
Hermione had been staring at the same page for hours when the knock came, soft and careful, followed by her mother's voice drifting through the door. "Hermione, sweetheart, you have a visitor."
Her eyes lifted from the open book in her lap. She had not read a single word. Her fingers still pressed against the margin where they had rested all afternoon. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice thin from too many sleepless nights.
"It's Luna," her mother said gently, as if offering something fragile.
Relief moved through her first. Then guilt. Luna would see straight through her. She always did. Hermione swallowed and forced herself upright. "Okay. Send her up please."
The door opened a moment later and Luna stepped inside, quiet as ever. She wore a pale blue dress that caught the light when she moved, and one of her eccentric necklaces hung at her throat, this one threaded with Valentino initials. Her gaze took in the room before settling on Hermione, soft and steady.
"Mimi," Luna said, and the nickname alone made Hermione's chest tighten. She closed the door behind her. "Your mummy said you've been here a while."
Hermione nodded. "I just needed… space. Time to think."
The words felt heavy in her mouth. Luna did not rush to fill the silence. She crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed, close enough for warmth, far enough to give her air. The quiet between them felt intentional, almost kind.
Finally, Luna spoke. "I heard about Draco." She tilted her head slightly. "I know things have been difficult."
Hermione's throat burned. "It's been awful," she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to steady it. "I tried so hard to help him, babes. To be there for him. But it's like he's drowning, and every time I reach out, he pulls me under with him." Tears blurred her vision. "He said things… things I can't forget. Words that hurt so much I don't know if I can recover."
Luna reached for her hand and held it, her grip warm and certain. "Pain makes people lash out," she said softly. "It doesn't excuse it, but it explains it. Sometimes, when someone is hurting so deeply, they push away the person they need the most."
Hermione shook her head, tears spilling freely now. "I just… I don't know what to do anymore. I feel like I've lost him. And worse, I feel like I'm losing myself."
"You haven't lost yourself," Luna said, and there was a quiet strength in her voice that cut through the fog. "You've been carrying a burden that isn't yours to bear. Loving someone doesn't mean sacrificing all of yourself, Mimi. It's not about fixing their broken pieces at the cost of breaking your own."
Hermione's sobs came in uneven bursts. "But I love him," she choked. "I can't just walk away. What if he needs me? What if he can't get better without me?"
Luna's fingers tightened around hers. "Mimi, listen to me," she said, her tone still gentle but firm. "He has to want to get better. You can't do it for him. You can't pour all of your light into someone who refuses to step out of the shadows. That's not love. That's losing yourself."
Hermione looked down at the quilt as tears dotted the fabric. "I just wish it didn't have to be this way."
"I know," Luna said with a small, sad smile. "Life is rarely fair, especially to those with hearts as big as yours. But you deserve love that doesn't leave you questioning your worth. You deserve a love that makes you feel whole, not fractured."
The room settled into silence again, broken only by Hermione's quiet sniffles. After a moment, she leaned into Luna and rested her head against her shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Luna wrapped her arms around her. "You're not alone, Mimi. You'll find your way. And when you do, you'll remember just how strong you are."
Luna sat across from Hermione in the quiet corner of the living room. Around them, cups clinked and low conversations drifted through the air, but their table felt tucked away from it all. Luna leaned forward, her pale blue cardigan slipping from one shoulder as she wrapped both hands around a mug of chamomile. There was something different about her today. She looked almost lit from within, like she was holding onto a happiness she could barely keep contained.
Hermione narrowed her eyes playfully and set down her cup. "You've been smiling like a Kneazle who caught the canary since you sat down. What's going on, Luna? Did you find another Crumple-Horned Snorkack expedition to join?"
Luna laughed softly, the sound bright and airy as it mingled with the faint chiming of the window decorations. She shook her head, sunlight catching in her hair. "No, nothing like that." Her voice shifted, turning softer, edged with a quiet excitement. "But you're right—I do have something to share."
Hermione leaned in, curiosity flickering across her face. "Well, don't leave me hanging, babes. Spill."
For a second, Luna simply looked at her, her expression warm and open. Then she reached across the table and rested her hand over Hermione's. "I'm pregnant."
Hermione blinked. The words seemed to land in stages. Then her whole face changed. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Luna! Are you serious? Oh, my goodness!"
Luna nodded, her smile widening until it almost looked shy. "I am," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "Theo and I are going to have a baby."
Hermione was on her feet before she realized she had moved. She rounded the table and pulled Luna into a tight hug. "Oh, Luna, that's the most wonderful news!" she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe it—you're going to be a mum again!"
Luna held her just as tightly. "And you're going to be the most brilliant auntie," she whispered, her own voice catching.
Hermione pulled back enough to look at her properly, hands still on her shoulders. "You're glowing, Luna. Truly. I don't think I've ever seen you look so happy. How's Theo taking it? He must be over the moon."
Luna's cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright. "Oh, Theo cried when I told him," she said with a soft laugh. "And then he spent the next hour swearing to make the manor completely baby-proof again by the end of the week." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "He's already ordered books on magical parenting. I think he's read three of them in two days."
Hermione laughed, swiping at the tears in the corners of her eyes. "That sounds like Theo—calm and composed on the outside but secretly in a tizzy underneath."
Luna grinned. "He's already talking about teaching the baby all about astronomy and showing them the constellations from the garden. He says he wants our child to know how vast and beautiful the universe is."
Hermione's expression softened completely. "Luna, you're the most incredible mother. That child is going to grow up surrounded by so much love and wonder."
Luna squeezed her hand again, her voice steady and sure. "And they're going to have the most amazing role models in their life, starting with you. I want them to grow up knowing what strength and kindness look like, and you embody both, Hermione."
Hermione let out a shaky laugh. "Don't make me cry even more, Luna. I'm already a mess."
They both laughed, the sound easy and warm. When they settled back into their chairs, the conversation drifted to baby names and nursery ideas, to star charts and bedtime stories, to how Luna planned to introduce her child to both magic and the ordinary beauty of the Muggle world.
By the time the afternoon light began to fade, the tearoom felt brighter than when they had arrived. Hermione carried the joy of it with her, a steady glow that felt like proof that even in the middle of heartache, something beautiful could still begin.
~~~~~~
Summoning what little resolve remained, Draco forced himself toward the fireplace. His hands trembled as he reached for the Floo powder, hovering for a long moment over the flames. It was pathetic, really—how much hesitation lived in his bones, how much shame coiled in his stomach like poison.
Within the hour, Theo and Blaise arrived, both stepping into his penthouse with an expression that mirrored each other—concern, curiosity, and the unmistakable wariness of men who had witnessed Draco Malfoy in ruins before.
They were used to this, the self-destruction, the slow spiral, the anger that burned itself out only to be replaced by a hollow nothingness. But this time, something was different. This time, Draco wasn't drinking himself into oblivion or punching walls to feel something. This time, he had called them. That alone was enough to make them pay attention.
Theo was the first to speak, his sharp gaze scanning the wreckage of Draco's study, the overturned glass, the scattered papers, the dim, suffocating atmosphere of a man barely holding himself together. "You look like absolute hell," he said bluntly, stepping inside as if he owned the place. "What's going on?"
Blaise followed, his eyes flicking from the untouched bottle of whiskey to Draco's rigid stance. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Please tell me this isn't just another one of your brooding episodes," he muttered. "Because if we came all the way here just to watch you stare at walls and sulk, I'm going to throw you off the balcony."
He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "As tempting as that sounds, I actually need help."
Something in his voice made both men still. This wasn't just regret. This wasn't just a moment of weakness. This was something deeper—something more desperate.
Theo crossed his arms, his voice dropping in volume but not intensity. "What happened?"
Draco exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "She left me." The words felt like razors in his throat. "Hermione—she left. Three weeks ago. I haven't heard from her since."
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Blaise exchanged a glance with Theo, the weight of the confession sinking in.
"Well," Blaise said finally, his voice devoid of its usual lazy amusement, "congratulations, Malfoy. You managed to completely fuck things up."
Draco flinched, but he didn't argue. He had no right to.
Theo sighed, rubbing his jaw. "What did you do?"
Draco shook his head. "That's the thing, I don't even know when it happened. I didn't see it coming. I didn't realize—" His voice cracked, frustration bleeding through the exhaustion. "I was so wrapped up in my own goddamn head, in my own fucking damage, that I didn't see I was ruining everything."
Blaise exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Draco, you are the smartest idiot I have ever met. You're telling me she just woke up one day and decided to leave? No warning? No signs?"
"She was slipping away," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I just didn't realize how much until she was already gone."
Theo studied him for a long moment before speaking, his voice softer but still carrying the weight of truth. "Then let me ask you this: are you calling us because you miss her, or because you finally realize you need to change?"
The question hit Draco like a gut punch.
Because that was the real issue, wasn't it? He hadn't just lost Hermione—he had lost himself in the process. He had become the worst version of himself, a man even he couldn't stand to look at in the mirror.
"I don't want to be this person anymore," he admitted, his voice raw. "I don't want to keep falling back into the same patterns. I don't want to keep losing the people who matter because I can't fucking deal with my own shit." He lifted his head, locking eyes with both of them. "I need to fix this. I need help."
Theo's expression softened, and for once, he didn't have some cutting remark or sarcastic quip ready. Instead, he nodded. "Good. Admitting it's the first step."
Blaise let out a deep breath. "We'll help you, but this won't be easy. You can't just sit around and sulk and expect things to magically fix themselves. You're going to have to put in the work."
Draco nodded, the weight of his own mistakes pressing heavily on his chest. "I know," he said. "But I'm ready. Whatever it takes."
Theo clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once. "Alright, then. First things first: no more whiskey. No more self-pity. We come up with a plan, and you stick to it."
Blaise smirked, though there was warmth behind it. "And if you slip up, I will personally drag your sorry arse out of whatever pit you try to crawl into."
Draco let out a small, exhausted laugh. "I'll hold you to that."
The three of them stood there for a long moment, the gravity of the situation settling in. This was the beginning of something difficult, something painful—but also something necessary. Draco didn't know if he could fix things with Hermione, but he knew one thing for certain: he had to fix himself first.
And for the first time in a long time, he believed he could.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Blaise let out a slow, deliberate breath. Then he chuckled, low and humorless. "You've really done it this time, haven't you?"
Draco flinched, but he said nothing.
Theo straightened, his eyes narrowing with something between disappointment and fury. "Draco," he said, his voice slow and measured, "do you have any fucking idea what you've done?"
Draco lifted his head slightly, but before he could speak, Theo was on him.
"No, don't look at me like that, don't even try to fucking defend yourself," Theo snapped, his usual cool demeanor cracking as he took a step forward. "You think this is some kind of minor inconvenience? You think this is just a temporary setback? You destroyed her. And now, you're sitting here, moping like a goddamned child because you don't know how to fix it?"
Draco swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. "I—"
"You what?" Theo cut him off viciously. "You miss her? You regret it? Too fucking bad. You didn't just mess up, Draco. You broke her. You ruined something good. Something real. And for what? Because it was easier to push her away than deal with your own goddamn emotions? Because instead of being a man, instead of facing your issues, you let yourself spiral until the only thing left in your life was the wreckage you created?"
Draco's breath was unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He had expected Theo to be angry—he should be angry—but the sheer disgust in his voice made Draco feel like he had been physically struck.
Blaise, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke. "You know," he mused, his voice deceptively casual, "I've seen you fuck up a lot, mate. Hell, it's practically a sport at this point. But this? This is a new fucking low."
Draco's hands curled into fists. "I know I fucked up," he gritted out.
"Do you?" Blaise shot back, his voice sharp. "Because I don't think you do. You called us here, what, to have a little intervention? To help you clean up the mess? That's not how this works, Malfoy. You don't get to cry about it now. You don't get to decide when it's time to make things better. She does. And after what you've put her through, after everything, what makes you think she'll ever want to see your face again?"
Draco felt something inside him crack.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't—I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to make things right. I don't even know where to start."
Theo exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples as if trying to suppress the urge to strangle him. "First of all," he said, voice tight, "this isn't about Hermione. Not yet. This is about you getting your shit together. Because right now, you're a fucking disaster. And if you think some half-assed apology or some grand romantic gesture is going to fix things, you're out of your goddamned mind."
Blaise nodded, his expression grim. "If you want to make things right, you start by fixing yourself. Not for her. For you. Because right now? You're a fucking joke."
Draco bristled, his pride flaring. "You think I don't know that?" he snapped.
Theo laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No, Draco, I don't think you know that. Because if you did, you wouldn't have let it get this bad in the first place."
Draco clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. "I just—" He let out a ragged breath, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the table. "I just want to fix it."
"You don't fix this," Blaise said coldly. "You earn your way back from it. If you even can."
Theo crossed his arms again, staring down at him with something that almost looked like pity. "You don't get to decide when she forgives you, Draco. You don't get to rush this. You don't get to dictate how long she needs, or if she'll ever come back."
Draco pressed his palms into his eyes, his head pounding. "I know," he muttered.
"No," Theo said simply. "You don't."
Draco dropped his hands, looking up at them, his face drawn and exhausted. "What do I do?"
Blaise scoffed. "You really want to know?"
Draco nodded.
"Then listen closely," Theo said, his voice dead serious. "You clean up your goddamn life. You stop wallowing. You stop drinking yourself into oblivion. You get help. You work through your shit, and you do it for you, not because you think it'll get you Hermione back."
"And here's the kicker," Blaise added, his smirk cruel. "You do all of that, and you still might never see her again."
Draco flinched, but Blaise wasn't finished.
"If you really love her, you'll do it anyway. Because you owe her that. You owe yourself that." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "And if you're not willing to do the work? Then you never fucking deserved her in the first place."
Draco swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He had never felt so small, so ashamed, and yet, for the first time in a long time, he felt something else too.
Resolve.
"Okay," he said hoarsely. "I'll do it."
Theo gave a slow nod. "Then prove it."
Blaise studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. "God help you, Malfoy. Because this is going to be the hardest thing you've ever done."
Draco exhaled, the weight of their words pressing into his ribs. He had no illusions—this wasn't going to be easy. This wasn't going to be quick.
But he would do it.
Because for the first time in his life, he had to.
~~~~~~
When Luna finally arrived home, the weight of the day pressed down on her like a thick, heavy blanket, wrapping around her limbs, making every movement sluggish. It had been an exhausting day, one filled with more emotions than she cared to process all at once. There were too many souls needing comfort, too many people she had tried to hold together while she, herself, was barely keeping upright. The emotional toll of it all left her drained, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settling into her muscles. These days, it felt like she was running on borrowed energy, constantly pouring herself into others until there was nothing left.
Theo arrived home not long after, looking as though he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders as well, but the moment he stepped inside and felt her energy in the house, he let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.
He could always tell when she was home, not just by the warmth in the air but by something deeper, something unspoken between them. Lysander was gone for the evening, staying with the crazy neighbor lady—the one Luna kept insisting was 'misunderstood' while Theo remained firmly convinced that she was, in fact, absolutely fucking insane.
"No matter what you say, my love, that bitch is crazy," Theo muttered dramatically as he tossed his coat onto the nearest chair, running a hand through his hair.
Luna, half-smiling despite her exhaustion, simply hummed in response, already sinking into the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her. The weight of the day pressed even harder now that she was home, now that she allowed herself to feel it.
"How was it with Draco?" she asked, tilting her head just enough to look at him, her voice quiet but laced with genuine curiosity.
Theo let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he loosened the collar of his shirt. "As you can imagine," he replied, his tone filled with something between fond exasperation and the kind of exhaustion that came from dealing with Draco Malfoy for more than five minutes. He made his way toward her, sitting beside her, his fingers already reaching out, tracing over the back of her hand, grounding himself in her presence. "And you? How was your day, darling?"
She exhaled deeply, rubbing at her temple as she leaned into his touch. "I had an argument with Pansy," she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of everything left unsaid. "Went over to her afterwards to fix things, then stopped by to see Hermione. And now…" she sighed, sinking further into him, letting the warmth of his body ease some of the tension from hers. "Now, I'm exhausted."
He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head as his fingers continued their slow, absentminded patterns against her skin. "With Parkinson? That's not exactly difficult, my love. It's quite easy to find yourself in an argument with her."
Luna let out a quiet hum of agreement but didn't say anything else, just curled further into him, her body seeking the comfort only he could provide. She shifted, pressing her face against the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, letting herself drown in the familiarity of him.
"I just want to snuggle," she murmured against his skin, voice thick with exhaustion, a quiet plea wrapped in warmth. "I just want to kiss you."
Theo didn't hesitate, didn't ask questions, didn't need anything more than that. He simply leaned down and kissed her, deeply, slowly, his lips moving against hers with the kind of tenderness that made her breath hitch.
It was unhurried, a kiss filled with gratitude, with understanding, with the quiet kind of love that didn't need grand gestures or elaborate words. His fingers curled around the back of her neck, holding her in place as he kissed her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. His fingers traced gentle lines along her jaw, his gaze soft yet filled with something heavier, something more.
"I never had a chance to thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, reverent, as though the words themselves carried more weight than he could put into them. "For choosing our marriage after I fucked it up."
Luna's eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. There was no hesitation when she reached up, cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "You think I ever could have chosen anything else?" she asked, voice steady, unwavering. "Theo, you are my choice. Every time. Even when it was hard. Even when I was angry. Even when I had every reason to walk away, I never wanted to. Because you are my home."
His breath caught, his fingers tightening slightly around her. He kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, his lips conveying everything he couldn't quite put into words. And when he finally pulled away, he tucked her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, holding her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
And to him, she was.