The candles in Pansy's study burned low, their light flickering like they were in conversation with the shadows. It was late, far later than she had realized, but time meant very little when she was here.
This room was the closest thing she had to an altar. The shelves bowed under the weight of old magic. Vials lined her table like obedient soldiers, each filled with something that could save or destroy, depending on the hand that wielded it.
Her pestle scraped against the mortar in slow, focused circles. The scent of crushed valerian and rare nightshade leaves clung to the air, sharp and soothing all at once. Steam rose from the cauldron beside her, curling like fingers, vanishing into the dim light.
This was where she felt in control.
This was where her hands never trembled.
This was where she remained untouched by the chaos waiting outside her doors.
Which was why the soft creak of the front door made her shoulders tighten.
She did not turn. The silence between steps told her exactly who it was. Neville always moved like he was trying not to disturb a single dust mote, even when he had every right to crash through the house like a storm.
His voice reached her before his footsteps did. "Busy, I see."
Pansy let out a slow breath through her nose, forcing her grip to loosen around the vial she had been holding. She placed it down gently, watching the dark mixture settle like a living thing. "Nevie," she said, smoothing her expression. "You are home early."
He didn't walk further in at first. He took in the study with a familiar curiosity, his gaze soft but intent as it traveled over the old books, the simmering potions, the meticulous chaos of her craft.
"What are you working on, my bloom?" he asked, using the pet name so casually it almost disarmed her.
She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. "Oh, do not start with that sweet tone. You know what I work on in here."
"Not everything," he said quietly. And something shifted. His voice held a weight tonight, something that didn't belong to gentle teasing. He looked at her like he wasn't leaving without understanding what lived in the shadows she kept tucked behind her ribs.
"But I want to."
Her pulse stuttered. For a moment, her hands didn't feel like her own. She reached for the table as if anchoring herself.
"Neville, I do not want you mixed in this," she said. "This part of my world is not… clean." Her throat tightened. She forced the rest out. "It is not for you."
He stepped toward her. One slow, deliberate step.
"Do you need help?" he asked.
Her head snapped up. She stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but none came. He was deadly serious.
"Sorry?" she breathed.
He took another step, his expression steady, the sort of steady that had carried him through war, through death, through the darkest corners of the forest with a wand that shook only once.
"Do you need my help or not?"
Her entire body went still.
He waited.
She looked at him then and the study seemed to shrink around them. The shelves, the cauldron, the vials, all the weaponry and history hanging in the air felt suddenly fragile in the face of this one man who had conquered his demons without ever losing his soul.
"You cannot be part of this," she said, a whisper pulled from someplace raw. "It is too dark. Too twisted. It would stain you."
"And it does not stain you?" he asked, the softness in his voice replaced with something sharper.
Her jaw clenched. "I know how to walk in the dark," she said. "I always have."
"That does not mean you have to walk alone."
She looked away. Her fingers curled into her palm. "Neville, you do not understand what I am capable of. What I do. You should not want to."
His hand covered hers before she could pull it back. Warm. Steady. Unshaken.
"Pansy," he murmured, "I already know who you are. I have always known."
She swallowed hard. "You should not."
"But I do." He brushed his thumb across her wrist, grounding her in the most impossibly gentle way. "I know the woman who would poison a room to protect a stranger. I know the woman who would kill for me before I even understood I needed saving. I know the woman who bends the world so others can breathe again."
He stepped closer.
"Let me stand with you," he said softly. "Not behind you. With you."
She shook her head, her eyes burning. "If I let you in, you will see that I enjoy it. The craft. The danger. The control. You will see the parts of me that are not good."
He cupped her cheek with one hand. "Then I will love you with those parts too."
She let out a small, broken sound, the kind she never allowed anyone to hear. She caught his wrist, holding it as if she feared she might fall apart completely.
"You make it sound easy," she whispered.
He smiled, the kind of smile that could pull a person out of a grave. "Nothing about our lives is easy. But you are the only person I ever chose without hesitation."
Pansy closed her eyes. The wall she had built over years of blood and careful secrets cracked. Just a thin line, but enough for the truth to escape.
"I do not want to lose myself," she said, voice trembling.
"You will not," he said. "I won't let you."
And she believed him. For the first time in years, she believed someone could step into her darkness without drowning.
Neville leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers.
"I am not afraid of who you are," he whispered. "I am only afraid of the distance you keep."
Her hands lifted, clutching his shirt, pulling him close in a way that was not romantic but desperate, grateful, breaking.
And in that sacred moment, surrounded by poison and shadows, Pansy Parkinson found the smallest, brightest spark of peace.
She wasn't alone anymore.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she searched for words that refused to settle. "I don't know if I can let you in… not completely."
Neville did not flinch. His voice came quiet and certain, carrying a warmth that reached her before she allowed it to.
"You don't have to," he said. "Just let me be here. Let me remind you that there is something outside of this."
His eyes softened, though his certainty did not waver. "You don't have to carry this alone."
A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She moved to brush it away, but his fingers were already there, slow and gentle, wiping it from her skin.
The touch undid her in a way she had not prepared for. She let out a shaky breath, her chest fluttering with something unsteady and unfamiliar.
She hated how badly she wanted to believe him. She hated how much she needed to.
At last she lifted her gaze, her voice quiet and fragile. "Alright. Just a little."
He smiled then, the kind of smile that never pushed, never demanded.
"That is all I ask, my love." He lifted her hand and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles.
The gesture stole a breath from her.
The room settled around them like it had grown aware of the shift between them. Candlelight flickered over the vials on her table, catching the dark colors inside them and making them glimmer.
The air smelled of crushed thyme and slow-burning magic. Her world, usually cold and clinical, felt strangely warm with Neville standing in the center of it.
She had never realized how deeply she craved this.
The quiet.
The understanding.
The way he did not try to solve her.
The way he simply stayed.
For the first time in years, the solitude she had worn like a second skin began to loosen at the edges.
Neville was not afraid of the shadows she walked in. He was not afraid of the sharp parts of her that cut others away. He stood there as if he belonged in this room, in her world, in every place she tried to keep hidden.
Neville drew a slow breath, his eyes locked on her with a focus that sent a tremor along the length of her spine. There was something different in him tonight. Something deeper. Something that felt like truth brought straight to the surface.
He stepped toward her, closing the distance until their breaths mingled in the dim air.
When he spoke, his voice wrapped around her like silk. "And if I may just take your breath away," he murmured, almost reverent. "I don't mind if there is not much to say."
His hand slid to her waist, fingers spreading across the fabric of her blouse. The heat of his touch bled through the layers, sinking straight to her bones. She tried to swallow and failed. His next words came soft, but devastating.
"Sometimes the silence guides a mind to move to a place so far away."
Her eyes fluttered, her senses drowning in the warmth of him. She felt every beat of her heart in her throat. His thumb brushed along her waist, slow and intentional, tracing her like he was learning the shape of her for the first time.
"The goosebumps start to raise," he whispered, his voice turning rougher, darker, the sound curling low in her stomach. "The minute that my left hand meets your waist."
She felt the goosebumps rise exactly as he said. His gaze traced her face with a tenderness that struck her like a blow. He read every shift in her expression, every flicker of hesitation, every spark of want. She felt seen. Fully.
Neville's hand trailed up her back, the contact warm and firm as he drew her closer. His forehead brushed hers, and then his voice, soft enough to unravel her completely.
"And then," he murmured, "I watch your face."
His fingers slid lower until they touched her lips. She froze. The world slowed.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, gentle but sure. She parted her lips without thinking. Her breath trembled. Her tongue brushed his skin in the faintest touch, an instinctive answer to the unspoken invitation.
A low breath escaped him.
"Put my finger on your tongue because you love to taste," he whispered, and she did. Her lips closed around him, her eyes half-lidded, her breath unsteady.
The entire room seemed to shift around them.
Her pupils darkened. Her body tightened with anticipation. Her breath grew shallow, every inhale and exhale shared with him. She held his gaze through lowered lashes, and the look she gave him could have burned the room to ash. A slow, wicked smile curved her lips, full of something dangerous and utterly hers.
Neville did not break eye contact.
Not when she pulled back with that sinful, knowing look.
His hands slid along her waist. He lifted her with ease, her legs wrapping around him as instinct took over.
She let out a soft, startled sound that melted into breathless laughter, but it vanished the moment he lowered his mouth to her neck.
He kissed her there, slow at first, reverent and warm. Then deeper, his lips trailing along her jaw, down her throat, drinking in every shiver she tried and failed to hide. She tilted her head back, surrendering the stretch of her neck to him.
His mouth found her pulse. He sucked lightly, his breath hot against her skin. Her fingers curled into his hair, holding him close, urging him on.
He carried her through the dim hallway. Her back pressed to his chest, her body molded to him. His steps were steady, sure of every inch of the house even in the shadows.
Desire hummed between them. Hunger threaded through their breaths.
But beneath that hunger lived something deeper, something steadier, something that reached far past the body.
Because as he stepped into their bedroom, lips lingering against her throat, hands firm around her waist, she understood what he had been trying to show her all night.
As soon as they crossed the threshold of their bedroom, he wasted no time, placing her down on the bed with a care that contradicted the hunger burning in his eyes.
The room felt charged, thick with anticipation, as he leaned over her, fingers ghosting over the buttons of her blouse. He traced along her collarbone with the rough pad of his thumb, watching with hooded eyes as goosebumps spread across her skin. His touch was reverent, deliberate, as though committing every inch of her to memory.
"Bloom," he murmured, his voice dark with want, "you look so incredibly sexy when you work."
Her breath hitched, the heat rising in her cheeks at the weight of his gaze. That pet name felt different tonight, carrying something deeper, something possessive.
She barely had time to respond before his lips claimed hers, slow at first, teasing, until the heat between them ignited into something deeper, something that stole the breath from her lungs. His tongue parted her lips, coaxing a moan from her as he devoured her with unrelenting fervor.
His hands moved over her body with aching precision, mapping her curves, tracing the dips of her waist, the swell of her hips.
Each brush of his fingers sent shivers down her spine, setting her nerves alight. When his lips found the delicate skin of her neck, she tilted her head back, granting him access as he nipped and sucked, marking her in ways she knew would linger long after tonight.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against her throat, his voice rough with restraint.
A smirk tugged at her lips despite the haze of pleasure clouding her mind. "Do I, really?" she teased, running her fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze dark and filled with promise. "Hell yes, you do," he growled before crashing his lips against hers again, his grip tightening around her waist as he pulled her onto his lap, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.
She gasped at the feel of him beneath her, thick and hard, pressing exactly where she needed him.
Her hands roamed over his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin, reveling in the way he shuddered at her touch. She rocked against him, a slow, torturous movement that had his grip tightening on her thighs, his breathing turning ragged.
"Mmm, someone's needy," she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear before biting down lightly.
A low, guttural groan escaped him, and in one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, hovering over her with a hunger that made her stomach tighten.
His hands moved to her knickers, and with a teasing smirk, he dragged them down her legs, letting them fall to the floor. He took a moment to admire her, eyes raking over her body like he was memorizing every inch, before he leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her stomach, lower, lower—
"Then what are you waiting for, Nevie?" she murmured, her voice dripping with challenge, her fingers threading into his hair as she arched into him.
That was all it took. He groaned, gripping her hips as he positioned himself, his tip teasing her entrance, drawing a frustrated whimper from her lips. He pushed in slowly at first, savoring the moment, watching as her lips parted, as her eyes fluttered shut, as her nails dug into his shoulders.
"Fuck," he breathed, his forehead pressing against hers as he sank into her inch by inch. "You're so—"
"More," she gasped, her legs tightening around him, pulling him deeper. "Harder."
And who was he to deny her?
His rhythm shifted, deep and forceful, each thrust sending pleasure crashing through her. She met him eagerly, their bodies moving in sync, hands tangled in hair, nails scratching, lips biting. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, her moans, his groans, the delicious friction between them pushing them both closer to the edge.
His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, teasing, circling, until she was nothing but a trembling mess beneath him.
"Say it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding, his movements never faltering.
"Please," she whimpered, her breath hitching as she teetered on the brink. "Make me come."
And he did. With a final, precise flick of his fingers, she shattered beneath him, her body clenching around him as waves of pleasure consumed her. The way she gasped his name, breathless and desperate, was his undoing. He followed seconds later, his release spilling into her as he groaned her name, burying himself as deep as he could, his body shaking with the force of it.
For a long moment, they remained tangled together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing heavy and uneven. He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder, then her temple, before rolling onto his side, pulling her into his chest.
A lazy, satisfied smile played on her lips as she traced patterns on his chest. "I think I do need your help, Nev."
He chuckled, tightening his hold on her. "Anything, love. Just name it."
She bit her lip, something playful yet serious flickering in her expression. "Hmm… a new dog, maybe?" she teased.
He quirked a brow, smirking down at her. "Just a dog? That's all?"
She hesitated, her gaze softening, something deeper in her expression now. She let her hand drift to her stomach, tracing lazy circles there before meeting his eyes.
"Maybe… a bit more than that," she whispered. "Like a little addition to our family, a baby perhaps."
His breath caught, his entire body stilling for a second before his eyes softened, awe and something deeper filling them. "Pansy…" he murmured, his fingers brushing over her stomach in silent understanding.
She searched his face, vulnerable and hopeful all at once. "Do you want that?"
His response was immediate, his hand covering hers, his lips pressing to her forehead. "More than anything," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
And in that quiet moment, wrapped in each other, they silently promised to create something beautiful together—something just theirs.
~~~~~~
The morning light slid gently across their bedroom, a slow wash of gold that warmed the sheets and settled over Neville as he lay awake, smiling to himself.
She slept beside him, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like an ink stain on soft linen, her breathing steady and peaceful. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, and the memory of her voice from the night before stirred through him again, warm and bright.
A baby. She wanted a family with him.
His heart felt too full. The joy was so sharp and sweet it sat just beneath his ribs, expanding with every breath he took. He imagined her standing in the garden with a hand on her belly, sunlight catching her hair, her gaze warm and fierce all at once. He imagined little hands reaching up at him, a child with her spirited eyes or his soft smile.
Maybe curls that refused to be tamed. Maybe her stubbornness. Maybe his gentleness.
He let the image settle over him like a blessing.
And then there was the pug.
Pansy had asked for one with that mischievous glint she carried like a second heartbeat. He could already picture her scooping up a tiny, wrinkly puppy, cooing at it in that voice she denied using, insisting its name should be something absurdly noble. Sir Winston. Lady Barks-a-Lot. The Duchess of Snorts. He could almost hear her laughter as she spoiled the little creature senseless.
He slipped quietly from the bed so she could sleep a bit longer. He dressed, padding into the kitchen, and set water to boil for tea. While he waited, he leaned his palms against the counter and let himself breathe in the shape of the morning.
He had never pictured this life for himself.
But with her, it unfolded naturally. A home that felt lived in. A future that felt possible. A family he wanted more than he wanted anything else.
He was smiling down at the teapot when he heard the soft shuffle of her footsteps. She appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket, her hair mussed from sleep, her eyes warm as she watched him.
"Morning, love," he said, setting a cup out for her.
She sank into the chair beside him with a sleepy hum. "Good morning." She took a sip and studied him over the rim of her cup. A small smile tugged at her lips. "You're up early. Something on your mind?"
He laughed under his breath and pulled her in close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Maybe a thing or two."
She tucked herself into his side, blanket draped around them both. "The part about wanting a pug," she said lightly, "or the part about wanting something bigger?"
"Both," he answered, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice. "I looked up pug breeders nearby. We could go this weekend and find one who's perfect for us."
Her eyes lit instantly, the kind of joy that reached straight into him. "I would love that. Another little pug in the house. I already feel attached."
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, letting his fingers linger. "And the bigger part," he added softly, "I have not stopped thinking about it. Starting a family with you… it feels right. More right than anything I've ever imagined."
Her breath caught, just slightly. She intertwined her fingers with his and rested her head against his shoulder. "I always believed we would build something together," she whispered. "I just never expected to want it this completely."
They sat together in the quiet kitchen, tea steaming in their cups, morning sun warming the tiles. The future hovered between them, gentle and bright.
A life full of small pug snores and tiny socks and laughter spilling through rooms they had not yet filled.
A life they were choosing together, one dream at a time.
~~~~~~
The weekend arrived with a crisp autumn morning, the kind that wrapped the world in a quiet sort of magic. She had been glowing for days, talking about the new pug with a level of enthusiasm Neville had only ever seen when she was brewing something particularly dangerous or brilliant. Every few hours she would test a new name on him, each one more dramatic or aristocratic than the last, and every single one made him laugh.
By the time they stepped outside, she was practically buzzing with excitement.
The trip to the countryside felt peaceful, the trees turning shades of amber and burnt copper as they approached the small farm just past Hogsmeade. A warm puff of wind carried the scent of hay and woodsmoke. She squeezed his hand as the farmhouse came into view, her eyes shining.
"Can you believe we are actually doing this?" she said, her voice bright with anticipation. "Another pug. I already see her wearing a little coat. Maybe something pink. Maybe a bow the size of France."
He shook his head, smiling. "I still do not know how you convinced me to spend my Saturday this way," he said, watching her cheeks flush with delight. "But I would not be anywhere else."
Mrs. Wigglesworth greeted them the moment they entered the yard. She was a stout woman with rosy cheeks, gray curls tucked behind her ears, and an apron dusted with flour. "You two must be the couple looking for a pug," she said warmly. "Come along. The litter is just the right age. Lovely little creatures."
Pansy practically floated after her.
Mrs. Wigglesworth led them to a pen beside the farmhouse, where several pugs waddled about like tiny, snorting clouds. Their tails curled tightly as they tumbled over each other in little piles of joy.
Pansy gasped. It was the soft, breathless sound Neville only heard in rare, precious moments. She pressed her hands to her mouth. "Neville, look at them. Look at these perfect little angels."
He watched her with silent affection as she knelt by the pen. One of the puppies, a round little girl with oversized wrinkles and soft brown eyes, wobbled toward her. Pansy reached out with gentle fingers, letting the pup sniff her hand before scooping her into her arms.
"Oh, Nevie," she whispered, her voice trembling with tenderness. "She is beautiful."
Neville crouched beside her, rubbing the puppy's ear. The pug released a tiny snort of bliss and attempted to wriggle closer to him. "She definitely has personality," he said with a laugh. "And she already likes you."
Pansy held the pup closer, her expression soft and awed. "I think her name should be Princess Peony." Her voice was solemn with meaning, as though naming royalty. "What do you think?"
He raised a brow. "Princess Peony. Already royalty, is she?"
"Of course. She is going to live at Parkinson Manor. She needs a name worthy of the crown." Pansy nodded firmly, clutching the tiny pug as though she were a treasure. "Imagine calling her that at the park. People will swoon."
Mrs. Wigglesworth laughed. "Princess Peony is a fine name. She is lively and clever. A very good choice."
Pansy lifted the pup to look her in the eyes. "Princess, you are coming home with us," she murmured. The pug blinked, sneezed, and nestled into her chest. Neville felt something warm settle in his heart.
After the paperwork was done, Mrs. Wigglesworth handed them a small starter kit: some food, a blanket with her siblings' scent, and a tiny collar and leash. Pansy accepted them with the seriousness of someone receiving a royal decree.
They stopped at a little café in Hogsmeade on their way back. Princess slept on Pansy's lap, curled tightly into a ball, snoring with soft little puffs. Pansy stroked the pup's wrinkled head while Neville watched them both, his heart full.
"I have never seen you this excited," he said, smiling over his tea. "Not even when you made that potion that nearly melted our kitchen."
"There is something special about her," Pansy said softly. "Lady will adore her. Or possibly despise her. Hard to tell. Either way, it will be entertaining."
"She may drive Lady mad," he said.
"Probably," Pansy replied with a bright grin. "But we will love her."
She looked at him then, her expression gentle. "Thank you for coming with me. And for always saying yes to my silly dreams."
He reached for her hand. "Pansy, I would follow you anywhere. Even into a house full of pugs."
She squeezed his fingers. "Let us fill it with love then. And pugs. And maybe a baby, someday."
He looked at her, at the way hope softened her features, and felt his chest tighten with quiet certainty. "I would like that," he whispered. "More than anything."
~~~~~~
They had barely stepped through the front door when the Floo roared to life. A burst of green light filled the living room, followed by Luna's face materialising in the flames, eyes sparkling like she had been waiting all morning to unleash something dramatic.
"Pansy!"
Pansy dropped her bags, flopped onto the couch, and pressed a hand to her forehead. "For Merlin's sake, Luna, can I have one hour of peace? I just became a mother."
There was a sharp inhale on the other end. Luna's eyes grew so wide they nearly swallowed her whole reflection. "WHAT?"
Pansy barked out a laugh, rubbing her temples. "Not that kind of mother. We brought home a dog. A pug. Though if I ever do end up pregnant, I promise you will be the very first to know."
Luna blinked, her shock dissolving into a soft, dreamy smile. "Good. I would hate to miss that announcement." Her expression shifted suddenly, excitement sparking again. "Anyway, I needed to tell you. Ginny left Blaise."
Pansy sat up straighter, her brows shooting upward before a slow, deeply satisfied smirk crept across her mouth. "Well. Took her long enough."
"Pansy," Luna said, trying for sternness, though her lips betrayed her with a tiny twitch. "You cannot say things like that."
"Oh, please. Ginny is sweet as sugar and almost as oblivious. She was never going to survive our lifestyle." Pansy folded her arms, lifting her chin. "She has no idea what it takes to be with someone like us. The compromises. The secrets. The characters we married."
She paused, the mischievous glint in her eyes brightening. "Neville helped me make poison last week. Actual poison. And you, dear Luna, are still wrapped up in your own assassin romance with Theo, floating around like the patron saint of poor life decisions."
Luna's mouth curved into an amused little tilt. "Maybe that says something about us. And none of it flattering. Stockholm syndrome, anyone?"
"Oh, do shut up." Pansy waved her hand dismissively. "Do not bring psychology into this before breakfast. We are not discussing the moral intricacies of loving dangerous men."
"Fair enough," Luna replied lightly, though her eyes glowed with that odd mixture of gentleness and wicked humour she carried so well.
"Besides," Pansy continued, settling back into the cushions with a smug sigh, "this story is not about Ginny's dramatic exit or our questionable taste in spouses. It is about Peony. Princess Peony. The newest member of our household."
Luna brightened at once. "Peony? That sounds adorable."
"She is adorable," Pansy insisted. "She looks like a royal potato and snorts like a broken kettle. Get over here and meet her. You will melt on the spot."
Luna giggled, soft and delighted. "Give me ten minutes. I will bring biscuits."
"Good," Pansy said, lifting her chin proudly. "Peony deserves a proper welcome. And so do I, after all the emotional labour I have endured this week."
Luna's laughter echoed through the flames before the connection faded, leaving Pansy alone with the warm glow of the hearth, the soft snuffling sounds of her new pug princess, and the comfortable thrill of knowing that her chaotic, complicated circle of loved ones was still very much intact.
Luna arrived not long after, Lysander perched on her hip like a tiny, cheerful koala. The moment the little boy spotted Princess, his entire face lit up, bright as sunrise. Princess barreled toward him with frantic little waddles, her curly tail vibrating like a spring.
Within seconds, Lysander was giggling on Pansy's rug, Princess licking his fingers while he squealed and tried to pat her squishy face. It was adorable chaos, the sort that wormed its way under Pansy's ribs and loosened something tight there.
Across the room, Lady Lemongrass watched with narrowed eyes. Pure betrayal. Pure wounded pride.
"Jealous much, Lady?" Pansy teased. The pug responded with a snort so dramatic it might as well have been words. Her stare zeroed in on Lysander, as if the toddler had personally orchestrated this downfall of her social standing.
"Oh, she will come around," Luna said gently, dropping onto the couch beside Pansy. "Eventually. She is just adjusting to the idea of sharing you. Sort of like Theo had to adjust to all my creatures."
Pansy laughed, reaching out to tap Lady's forehead. "If she takes after me, she will make Peony grovel first. Might even demand tributes."
Luna gave her a knowing look. "Speaking of grovelling… Theo mentioned that Blaise is practically having a breakdown."
That earned a highly satisfied lift of Pansy's brows. "Please. He has one every year. The man lives for theatrics. He practically locked Ginny in a tower and expected her to smile about it. This one is on him."
Luna bit her lip, trying very hard not to laugh. "You are heartless."
"Realistic," Pansy countered. "I do feel bad for Ginny. Being pregnant on top of everything would break anyone. But she should know by now that you cannot run from a soulbond. It follows you. It changes you. It is forever."
Luna's smile wavered, a touch of sadness creeping in like a shadow. "Yes. I know." She looked down at Lysander and Princess, tangled in gentle chaos on the floor. "But Ginny struggles more than any of us. The darkness in our world… it frightens her."
Pansy's jaw tightened. Her hands smoothed over the cushion beside her, grounding herself. "And what am I meant to do about it? We are who we are. Red is Red. Always will be. But we are different. You would cross the universe for Theodore, and he for you. Neville… he is my anchor. My centre. That is what soulbonds do to people like us."
They fell quiet, watching Lysander try to drape Princess across his lap like a very confused scarf. The warmth from the windows filled the room, softening the edges of everything.
Luna leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. "Sometimes I think Ginny needs something else. A new way to understand her life. You and I had time to grow into this world. Ginny was dropped into it with no map, no compass. She needs to find her own power."
Pansy snorted softly. "Her own place. With Blaise. That is a war in itself. You and Theo built something that works. Neville and I… we are steady. Ginny and Blaise are a fire in a windstorm."
"Maybe that is exactly why she left," Luna murmured. "She needs to figure out whether she wants to fight for him. Or for herself."
Pansy sighed, rubbing her temple. "She does not understand the bond. Not really. It is not just a thread. It is everything. The soft parts. The dark parts. The bits that hurt. But it also keeps you from slipping away."
Luna smiled, eyes warm. "You know, you say these things like they are nothing, but you are far more insightful than you pretend."
Pansy waved her off. "Do not get sentimental. I have a reputation to maintain."
Luna giggled, nudging her. "Heart of stone. I remember."
Pansy looked away, fussing with Lady's collar, but the faint blush was unmistakable. "Someone has to keep this madhouse sane."
Just then, Princess toddled up to Lady and licked her nose before flopping dramatically against her side. Lady stared as though physically offended, but after a long, beleaguered sigh, she settled down beside her new sister.
Luna watched them, eyes soft. "Look at that. Peace at last."
"Miracles happen," Pansy whispered.
"Maybe they are showing us something," Luna said, brushing Lysander's hair gently. "Things can work out. Even if the beginning is messy."
Pansy reached for Peony and scratched her ears. "You are right," she said quietly. "Ginny will find her place. She just has to let herself belong."
Luna rested her head on Pansy's shoulder, sighing with quiet affection. "And she will. Because despite all your complaining… you always take care of your people."
Pansy leaned her head against Luna's, closing her eyes for a brief, honest moment. "I know," she whispered. "That is why it hurts when they run."
Luna squeezed her hand gently. "Then we bring her home. When she is ready."
Pansy nodded. "When she is ready."
The pugs snored softly. Lysander giggled, pressing his cheek to Peony's head. The room warmed around them, alive with small, steady love.
For now, they simply existed together.