Pansy had reached her limit.
Princess Peony was standing proudly in the center of the parlor, tail curled in a perfect question mark, looking very pleased with herself despite having just christened the rug for the third time that morning. Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling through her teeth.
"Princess," she said slowly, trying to summon patience from whatever corner of her soul still possessed any, "I swear on the ancestors of Parkinson Manor, this is the last time. Do you hear me? The last time. We pee outside. Outside." She pointed toward the garden door with all the drama of a general commanding troops.
Princess blinked up at her with round, guileless eyes and promptly sat her little bottom right back in the warm spot she had created.
Lady let out a harrumph from her throne of cushions on the couch, watching the scene unfold with obvious smugness. The older pug looked almost offended on Pansy's behalf, as if Peony had committed a grave familial betrayal.
"You are enjoying this," Pansy snapped at Lady, rolling the soiled rug with a muttered curse. "That is not helpful. You are meant to be a role model."
Lady yawned, blinked slowly, and rested her head back down, entirely unbothered.
Pansy muttered under her breath as she tied the rug and dragged it toward the laundry room. "Motherhood is wasted on me. Merlin help whatever child Neville and I bring into this house. They will be feral."
She barely reached the archway when the Floo roared to life.
Green flames burst upward, crackling wildly, and Luna's face appeared in the hearth, pale and streaked with fresh tears. Her breath hitched, her voice hardly more than a trembling whisper.
"Pansy."
The world seemed to tilt.
Pansy dropped the rug so fast it unrolled again, Peony scrambling back with a startled squeak. She rushed toward the fireplace, knees hitting the floor as she leaned in, eyes scanning Luna's expression with a sinking dread.
"Luna? Luna, what is it? Are you hurt? Is Lysander hurt?" Her voice was sharp, urgent, stripped of all sarcasm.
Luna shook her head quickly, though a tear slipped down her cheek. "No. No, he is fine. He is asleep. It is me. I… I need help."
Pansy felt something tighten beneath her ribs. This was not Luna's usual brand of soft sadness or dreamy melancholy. There was a rawness in her eyes, a tremor in her jaw that Pansy had seen only once before, on the night everything had fallen apart at the safehouse.
"Tell me where you are," Pansy said immediately. Her hands were already reaching for her robe. "Do not say another word. I am coming."
Luna nodded once, her lip trembling. "Please hurry."
The flames flickered out, leaving Pansy staring at her own reflection for half a heartbeat. It was all she allowed herself. Then she stood, snatched a handful of Floo powder from the ceramic jar by the hearth, and called over her shoulder.
"Lady, Princess, watch the house. I mean it."
Lady blinked with regal tolerance. Peony toppled sideways chasing a dust mote.
"Useless," Pansy muttered, pulling her robe tight.
She stepped into the green fire, her heart already racing, her mind racing faster.
"Nott Manor."
The flames swallowed her, and the world blurred into emerald light.
She was gone before the rug had even finished unrolling itself again.
The living room looked like a storm had torn straight through it. Cushions lay scattered across the floor, glass shimmered in jagged pieces under the dim light, and two chairs had been knocked over as if someone had struggled against them. Everything felt wrong. Everything screamed of panic.
But none of it shook her as much as the faint sound of Luna's muffled sobs, drifting through the battered silence like a broken note.
"Luna, love, where are you?" Pansy called out, trying to keep her voice steady even as her pulse surged.
"In the bedroom." Luna's voice trembled, thin and hoarse, barely carrying past the landing, but it was enough.
Pansy ran up the grand staircase without thinking, her footsteps echoing in the hollow quiet. When she pushed open the bedroom door, the breath left her lungs.
Luna was curled at the foot of the bed, her pale hair falling like a curtain around her face. A cluster of house-elves crowded around her, their small hands offering tissues, warm cloths, whispered comforts. Luna sat frozen in her grief, her shoulders shaking as she cried into her hands.
Pansy crossed the room in seconds and knelt beside her, her usual sharp edges softening at once. She wrapped an arm around Luna and pulled her close, holding her firmly.
"Luna, love, what happened?" she whispered, brushing a tear-soaked strand of hair from her friend's cheek. "Shh, breathe. I'm here."
Luna's hands clung to her arm with desperate strength. She tried to speak, but another wave of sobs tore through her.
Bobsy, one of their oldest house-elves, climbed up onto the bed and sat beside them. Her wide eyes glistened as she looked between them. Pansy gave her a small kiss on the cheek.
"Bobsy, darling," she murmured, steady and gentle, "tell me what happened. Why is she like this?"
Bobsy sniffed loudly, her voice quivering. "Mistress Pansy, it was terrible. Lady Zabini came here. She tried to hurt Master Theo."
Pansy froze. Her stomach dropped, and her arm tightened protectively around Luna. "What do you mean she tried to hurt him? Why? What on earth set her off like that?"
Luna let out a fragile breath, forcing herself to speak. "She barged in. No warning. Theo and I were… you know…. She came in furious, shaking, and before we could react, she pulled out a knife. Pansy, she went for him. She was screaming that he deserved to suffer."
Pansy stared at her, shock and fury rising in tandem. "She actually came here with a weapon?" Her voice cracked with disbelief. "Sweet Merlin, Luna."
Luna nodded, her eyes still wide and glazed. "Theo jumped out of the way, but she kept chasing him. She would not listen. She would not stop. She was ranting that she finally knew the truth."
Bobsy stepped forward again, his head hanging low. "Miss Ginny said Master Theo was to blame. She said he caused the fire that took Mr. Weasley."
A cold heaviness settled in Pansy's chest. The grief Ginny carried had always simmered just beneath the surface, but this was something else entirely. This was grief turned feral.
"She thinks Theo killed him," Luna whispered, her voice cracking. "She knows it was Fiendfyre. She knows he cast it. She blames him, and she blames Draco and Blaise for the rest. She blames all of us for staying with them."
Pansy rubbed Luna's back in slow circles, her mind racing. "She has every right to grieve. She has every right to rage at the universe. But coming here with a knife? Going after Theo in his own home? That's not grief anymore. That is a breakdown."
Luna swallowed hard. "She hates that we stayed with them. She told me we were monsters for choosing this life. She said she cannot understand how we live with what happened."
Pansy's throat tightened. "To be fair, Luna, the boys did kill Ron and Lavender. They did. We cannot pretend otherwise." Her voice softened into something raw and tired. "But they were also trying to protect us. They did what they believed they had to do. Ginny never accepted that, and now the truth has turned into something she cannot hold without breaking."
Luna leaned into her, trembling. "I thought I could help her. I thought she would listen to me."
Pansy held her closer, her hand stroking Luna's hair, her voice steady even while her own heart pounded in her chest. "You did not fail her. She is drowning in her pain, and today she lashed out. That is on her, not you. You hear me, Luna? Not you."
Luna's head snapped up. Her eyes were wild and bright with fury, the kind that came from being pushed past every limit. "I know," she said, her voice rising in a sharp, trembling cry. "But she tried to kill my husband. My husband."
Her fists tightened, knuckles blanching, and more tears spilled down her cheeks. This time they carried rage as much as fear.
The moment that word left Luna's mouth, something hot and violent unfurled in Pansy's chest. She pulled Luna into her, arms wrapping tight around her shaking body. "Shh, darling, I know," she whispered, pressing her cheek to Luna's hair. "You are safe now. I have you. Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning. What did she do?"
Luna sucked in a broken breath, still trembling, her voice small and raw. "I called Hermione and Draco the moment she burst in. She was screaming, completely gone, waving that knife as if she wanted to taste blood. Theo moved fast, thank Merlin, but she chased him. She kept chasing him, Pansy." Her voice cracked, and she clapped her hands over her face. "And I was… oh, Pansy… I was naked. Bare. I have never felt so humiliated in my entire life."
Pansy pulled her closer and rocked her gently, a low growl rising in her throat that she forced down. " Ohh sweetheart," she murmured, slipping her fingers through Luna's tangled hair, "I am so sorry you had to go through that. You should never have had to feel unsafe in your own home. And you especially did not deserve to feel exposed like that."
Luna's voice dropped to a whisper. "Hermione had to help me dress. I could not even think. I just felt… wrong. Like my own body betrayed me. Like everyone was looking at me even though they weren't."
"Oh, love," Pansy said softly, "stop right there. No one was looking at you. And if they did, they saw you the same way I do. They saw someone terrified and fighting to regain control, not someone to be embarrassed about." She cupped Luna's cheek gently. "Draco and Blaise were focused on Ginny. They did not care about anything except making sure you were safe. You know how they are with you and Theo. You know they would tear the world apart to protect you both."
Luna nodded weakly, but shame still clung to her expression. "It just feels like everything is breaking. I do not recognize her anymore, Pansy. She looked at Theo like he was a monster. And she said she would make sure he paid. She kept screaming that she knew the truth, that she knew he caused Ron's death. She is not thinking. She is not even grieving. She is destroying everything in her path." Luna shook her head, her voice thick with fear. "And she is pregnant. Blaise's child is inside her. How can she be this reckless? We need to do something before she unravels completely."
Pansy's expression darkened with a strange mix of pity and fury. She wiped the tears from Luna's cheek with her thumb and held her face gently in both hands.
"You are right," she said quietly. "We are past the point of patience. Ginny has crossed a line she cannot just walk back from. We need to intervene before she hurts herself, or Theo, or you, or anyone else again."
Luna swallowed hard. "She said she wanted him dead. She said she wished he burned the way Ron burned."
Pansy closed her eyes for a moment. That sentence sliced straight through her chest.
When she opened them again, her gaze was cold and sharp with resolve. "Then she is lucky Theo did not defend himself the way we both know he can. And she is lucky you called for help. Because if she had swung that knife one more time…" Pansy shook her head slowly, her voice low and steady. "I do not know if any of us could have stopped what Theo would have done next."
Luna's bottom lip trembled. "She hates him, Pansy. She hates all of us. She said she does not understand how we can love them. She said we are blind."
A small, humourless laugh escaped Pansy's throat. "Of course she thinks that. She has always believed love should look tidy and innocent. But we do not live in tidy worlds, love. We live in the real one. And we chose the men who fought for us. Who bled for us. Who would kill for us."
She brushed Luna's hair back again and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
"She cannot understand the kind of love that grows out of fire. And that is not your fault."
Luna leaned into her, swallowing back another round of tears. "I just want everything to stop falling apart."
Pansy squeezed her tightly, her voice softening again. "Then we will stop it. You and me. We will handle Ginny. We will bring the boys into it when we are ready. We will not let this family crack open."
Luna breathed out slowly, her body finally starting to ease beneath the warmth of Pansy's arms.
"And we start with you," Pansy whispered. "Breathe, my love. You are safe. Theo is safe. I have you."
~~~~~~
The Parkinson sunroom, a gilded cage of opulence, was suffocating in silence. The only sound was the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock, a metronome of impending doom. Pansy was a statue of icy composure, her black cocktail dress a stark contrast to the storm brewing beneath the surface.
"Well," she began, her voice a brittle whisper, "let's get this over with. Care to explain why everyone gathered at our house for this intervention?" Her gaze, cold and calculating, swept the room, daring anyone to challenge her.
A hush fell over the room as everyone exchanged nervous glances. It was clear that this was no ordinary
"We have a huge rift in the family," Luna said, her voice as serene as ever. The words hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the casual tone. "I invited everyone here to neutral territory so that we can have a normal conversation."
Neville's eyes darted around the room, a mixture of concern and apprehension etched on his face. "Go on," he urged, his voice barely a whisper.
Luna continued, her voice steady and firm. "We need to address the escalating tension. Ginny, please explain your actions towards Theo. Blaise, we need clarity on your decision to confide everything in her. And Draco, I expect a justification for involving everyone in this turmoil."
Ginny shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to Blaise before she spoke. "I needed to know the truth. I couldn't live with the lies anymore."
Blaise sighed deeply. "I confided in her because she deserved to know the truth. I hadn't anticipated such a drastic escalation."
Draco leaned back, his expression a mask of frustration and defiance. "I owe no explanations to anyone."
Ginny's voice, a raw and trembling cry, pierced the air. "How can you possibly deny killing my brother?"
Hermione sat in tense silence, her composure a barely held facade. Little Lysander, slept peacefully in her lap. Beside her, Lady offered silent companionship and a calming influence.
"Baby girl, listen," Blaise began gently. "I know you idolise your brother. He was your brother. But it's important to understand that others perceive him differently."
Ginny stared at her husband, her expression a mixture of disbelief and anger.
"Ask Saint Potter why they haven't spoken in years," Theo said flatly. "Ask him what he's done."
She finally found her voice. "Ginny, Ron was not perfect," she began carefully. "He wasn't always the best partner."
Ginny's voice was a raw scream. "So, that's why you had them kill him?"
"Your brother was abusive," she retorted, her voice rising. "Not just to me. Get off your high horse, Ginny."
"How can you be the only one of our group who doesn't understand the concept of found family?" she continued, her voice laced with disbelief. "How can you be pregnant and actively resent your husband? What happened to you, Ginny?" Her voice trailed off as she retreated into herself.
"What did he do?" Ginny whispered, her voice barely audible.
Draco scooted closer, his hand reaching out for hers in silent support.
"He... he was abusive, Ginny," she explained, her voice trembling. "He did unspeakable things to me and his other girlfriends. Have you never noticed Lavender's bruises? The constant clumsiness? I beg to differ."
Ginny sobbed uncontrollably, her body wracked with silent sobs. The weight of the revelations was crushing. She stumbled to her feet, her vision blurred with tears, and fled the room, the heavy front door slamming shut behind her.
She sat there silently, her mind racing. The weight of what she'd just heard was immense. A heavy silence settled between all of them, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock.
"I wondered for a long time, what my life could've been if instead of coping, I'd been healing from the things that weren't my fault," she finally murmured, her voice barely audible. "And then I found Draco."
"Darling, this is not your fault, it never was," he comforted her, his voice gentle and reassuring. He reached out to take her hand, offering silent support. "You are brave, my love. Stronger than anyone in this room."
~~~~~~
The dining room felt close enough to choke on. Candlelight flickered against the dark wood of the long table, stretching their shadows into warped shapes across the walls. The air held a strange heaviness, like the room itself knew what was about to happen.
Neville sat at the head of the table with his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His fingers twitched against the polished surface, tapping out an impatient rhythm that did nothing to soothe the tension. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw set in a hard line. There was nothing warm or gentle in him now. The man who loved her was buried under something cold.
Pansy felt the force of his gaze before she even stepped fully inside. It landed on her stomach, her throat, her spine, and stayed there. She could meet danger without blinking.
She could look killers in the eye and feel nothing. But this was Neville. Her Neville. And the dread that curled through her chest made her breath unsteady.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he was faster.
"Well, that was a shit show."
The words landed like a blow. His tone was sharp and clipped, stripped of affection. He did not raise his voice, yet the venom in it cut straight through her.
"Oh, it was," she managed, attempting something that sounded like casual. It fell flat. Her hands hovered uselessly at her sides before she forced them still.
His eyes narrowed. "So you knew."
She froze. One breath. Two. She hated herself for hesitating, for giving him an answer without even opening her mouth.
"I… I did," she said quietly. She had never hated her own voice more. It sounded thin, brittle, nothing like the woman she believed herself to be.
The silence that followed was not empty. It thrummed with anger, with betrayal, with the sense that the ground beneath them was shifting in ways she could not stop.
Neville's shoulders rose and fell with a single controlled breath. His hands curled into fists. She watched the tendons in his arms tighten, watched him swallow back words she feared would break them.
"So you decided to keep information from me again," he said. Not a question. A verdict. "Is that what we are now? Secrets and excuses?"
"Nevie, I did not—"
"Enough."
The word cracked through the room like a whip. Just that cold, final sound.
Her stomach dropped. He had never spoken to her like that. Not once.
She took a cautious step toward him, her voice trembling before she could stop it. "Nevie, please listen."
He shut his eyes for the briefest moment, the pain of hearing his name from her lips flickering across his features. When he opened them again, the softness she relied on had vanished.
"Parky," he said, and the name felt wrong now, sharp with disappointment rather than affection. "Get out of my sight."
The breath punched out of her. She stared at him, stunned, waiting for something else. A sigh. A twitch of his mouth. A hint that he did not mean it.
Nothing.
Her heart twisted so violently she thought she might be sick. She took another hesitant step, lifting her hand toward him like instinct could fix what reason could not.
But he stood abruptly, shoving his chair back with a screech that echoed through the room. He did not look at her as he turned away. He did not give her a chance to speak, to explain, to beg.
He walked out without a single word.
Pansy's hand fell uselessly to her side. She stared at the doorway he had disappeared through, feeling the split inside her widen until it ached through her entire body.
And for the first time since she had married him, she felt the terrifying certainty that she had truly lost him.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the silence that followed was crushing, suffocating in its finality. The weight of her choices settled onto her shoulders, heavier than ever before, pressing down with an unbearable force.
She sank into the nearest chair, her hands trembling as she stared blankly at the empty space he had left behind. She had always prided herself on her ability to keep secrets, to navigate the murky waters of alliances and betrayals with practiced ease. But this—this was different.
This was Neville.
The one person she never wanted to hurt. The one person who had given her unwavering loyalty, who had loved her despite the sharp edges, despite the darkness she carried. And now, she had betrayed the very trust he had placed in her, not with malice, but with silence.
Minutes passed, though it felt like hours. She sat there, motionless, replaying every word, every look, dissecting the confrontation piece by piece, searching for the moment she could have done something differently. If she had just said more, or perhaps less. If she had swallowed her pride, if she had let him in sooner.
The realization cut deep, sharp and unrelenting—her secrecy, her obsession with control, had finally come back to haunt her in the most personal, most devastating way.
Slowly, she rose from the chair, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, with sorrow, with regret that curled around her ribs and squeezed tight.
The house felt emptier than it ever had before, as if his absence had hollowed out the walls, leaving behind nothing but ghosts of what they had built together. She made her way upstairs, to the quiet solitude of their bedroom, but the moment she stepped inside, the space felt foreign.
She curled onto her side, staring at the emptiness where he should have been, where he had always been.
And for the first time, a true, paralyzing fear settled deep in her bones—the fear that she had finally pushed him too far. That this time, there would be no easy way back.
But she couldn't accept that.
With a deep, steadying breath, she forced herself up, her resolve hardening even as her heart pounded in her chest.
She wouldn't let it end like this. She knew him too well, knew exactly where he would retreat when he needed to think, to breathe, to put space between himself and his emotions.
His study.
The thought of facing him, of seeing the disappointment in his eyes again, sent a shiver of dread through her. But she had never been one to back down from a fight, especially not when it mattered most. And tonight, nothing mattered more than this.
With each step down the dimly lit corridor, the air grew heavier, thick with unspoken words and a tension that made her chest ache. But she pressed forward, pushing through the uncertainty, because no matter how much it terrified her, she needed him to hear her out. Even if he didn't want to.
As she pushed open the door, she found him seated in his usual armchair, his broad frame silhouetted by the dim candlelight, a glass of firewhiskey balanced between his fingers.
He was staring out the window, his expression carved from stone, the muscles in his jaw tight with barely restrained emotion. The room was thick with tension, the kind that made the air feel charged, heavy, almost suffocating.
She swallowed hard, hesitating for only a moment before stepping inside, her voice soft but laced with resolve. "My love…"
His eyes flicked toward her, slow and calculating, and the cold weight of them sent a shiver down her spine. "What is it that you want, Pansy?" he asked, his voice measured, clipped. There was no warmth in it.
The way he said her name, so formal, so distant, made her heart lurch. She had expected anger, maybe even frustration, but this? This felt like punishment.
Still, she forced herself to hold her ground. "To apologize," she admitted, voice quieter now. "To tell you that I'm sorry for keeping things from you."
His fingers tightened around his glass, and she saw the way his knuckles whitened, the flicker of something wounded behind his eyes. "For breaking my heart?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous. "Over and over again?"
The words hit like a dagger, clean and precise, slicing through her composure. She winced, unable to meet his gaze for a second. She had braced herself for his anger, but the way he said it, like an undeniable truth, made her stomach twist painfully.
"Nevie, please," she whispered, stepping closer. "Don't do this. I know I fucked up, but I'm here, and I'm apologizing. Sincerely."
For a long, excruciating moment, he just looked at her, searching her face as if trying to decide whether she was worth believing. Then, with a sharp exhale, he placed his glass down with deliberate care and leaned back in his chair, his shoulders losing only the slightest fraction of their tension. "Come here, Parkinson."
The surname felt like a slap. A deliberate choice. A reminder of the distance between them.
Still, she didn't hesitate. Summoning a boldness she didn't fully feel, she crossed the room, stopping in front of him. She hesitated for only a second before sinking onto his lap, careful, measured, as if testing whether he'd push her away.
But he didn't.
He let her settle against him, though his body remained taut with unresolved frustration. His hands rested on her thighs, his touch familiar but distant, not quite pulling her in but not pushing her away either. When she reached up to trace her fingers along the collar of his shirt, he caught her wrist in a firm grip.
"Look at me," he ordered, his voice quiet, but there was an edge to it, something sharp and unyielding.
She obeyed, lifting her gaze to his, and the intensity in his eyes nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. "Why are you doing this to me?" he murmured, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, his thumb grazing her pulse point. "What are you so afraid of?"
Her throat tightened. "I'm scared…" she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that you're going to leave me."
His grip on her wrist loosened, his fingers sliding down to intertwine with hers, but the weight of his gaze didn't lessen. "And you think keeping secrets from me, shutting me out… that's supposed to help?" His tone was still edged with frustration.
She shook her head, her breath unsteady. "No, it doesn't. I know that now. It's just…" She let out a shaky exhale. "Habit. My whole life has been about control, about making sure no one sees the weak parts of me. But you… you see them anyway."
His thumb brushed idly over her knuckles, as if absorbing her words. "And that terrifies you," he stated rather than asked.
She nodded, her fingers tightening around his. "Because if you really see me and I don't know if you'll still want me."
The silence between them stretched, thick with unsaid things. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the curve of his jaw, trailing soft, lingering kisses along the stubble there.
It was an apology, a plea, a quiet surrender. She kissed him again, lower this time, her breath warm against his skin. She felt him tense beneath her touch, his restraint palpable, his control hanging by a thread.
"Pansy," he warned, his voice rough, but he didn't stop her.
She traced her tongue along the sensitive skin below his ear, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady, measured rise and fall of his breaths. "Let me make it up to you," she whispered, her lips grazing over his.
He exhaled harshly, his grip tightening on her waist. "Get on your knees," he murmured, his tone both a command and a test, an unspoken challenge laced with something deeper, something he wasn't ready to name.
She didn't hesitate. Slipping off his lap, she knelt between his thighs, looking up at him with dark, pleading eyes. He reached down, his fingers threading into her hair, tilting her chin up until she was forced to hold his gaze.
"I'm going to make you work for this apology," he whispered, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. "For the next few minutes, you don't get to think. You don't get to control. You're mine."
Her breath hitched, anticipation igniting every nerve in her body. "Yes," she breathed, her voice a quiet, desperate surrender. "Please."
A slow, satisfied smirk touched his lips before he unbuckled his belt, watching the way her pupils dilated, the way she licked her lips in anticipation.
"This," he murmured as he guided himself between her lips, "is for keeping secrets from me." He moved slowly at first, deliberate and teasing, enjoying the sight of her submitting to him. His grip in her hair tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her who was in control.
Her lips parted willingly, her tongue tracing over him as she hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper.
He groaned, his head falling back for a moment before he looked down at her again, eyes burning with satisfaction. "Look at me," he ordered, watching as she obeyed, her gaze locked onto his. "Let me see how sorry you are."
She moaned around him, the vibration making his grip tighten involuntarily. His control was slipping, and he knew it, but fuck, she was beautiful like this—on her knees for him, her mascara smudging, her lips stretched around him, giving him everything.
His thrusts grew rougher, more demanding, and she took it, took all of him, her hands resting on his thighs as she let him use her mouth however he wanted.
And then, with a sharp inhale, his release hit him, his body tensing as he spilled himself down her throat. He held her there, savoring the moment before he finally let her pull back, watching as she swallowed, as she wiped the corner of her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes still locked onto his.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, he reached for her, offering his hand.
She took it without hesitation, letting him pull her up. He brushed a thumb over her swollen lips, his expression unreadable.
"What do good girls say?" he asked, his voice softer now.
She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Sir."
A slow, approving smile played at his lips as he pulled her close, a silent promise lingering in his gaze that he was far from finished with her.
Yet beneath the warmth of his touch, beneath the lingering scent of firewhiskey and regret in the air, there was something else—something heavier. The unspoken weight of everything left unsaid, of wounds still raw beneath the surface.
His fingers trailed over her arms, slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the quiet storm in his eyes. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice low, controlled. "Now apologize."
Her breath hitched. Not because of the command—she was no stranger to the way he claimed her, to the push and pull of power between them, but because of what lay beneath it. This wasn't just dominance; this wasn't just play. This was real.
This was about trust. This was about everything she had fractured between them.
Taking a deep breath, she adjusted herself on his lap, her hands pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms. "I would like to sincerely apologize," she began, her voice measured but laced with emotion. "I wasn't fully transparent with you, and I realize now how much that must have hurt you."
She could see the way his jaw tightened at her words, the way his fingers flexed slightly against her skin, as if restraining the storm still raging beneath the surface.
"I knew it before it happened," she continued, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I knew before the brunch where Lavender was there, before all the chaos erupted. The plan was in place for months, and I should have told you."
His expression darkened, his green eyes burning into her with something sharp, something she couldn't quite name. "So you kept it from me for a year?" His voice was quiet, but the restrained anger in it sent a chill down her spine.
"I did," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was protecting us. I didn't want to add to your burdens, especially with everything that was happening at the time."
He exhaled harshly, shaking his head, disbelief mingling with something dangerously close to disappointment. "But you didn't trust me enough to share it." He let out a bitter chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "You thought you could carry this alone."
"I was scared," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. "Scared of what you might think of me, scared of how it could change everything between us. I thought I could handle it on my own."
"Handle it?" he echoed, his grip tightening around her thighs. "This wasn't just about you, Pansy. This was about us. You don't get to decide which parts of our life I get to know about."
"I know," she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. "I see that now. I should have had more faith in you, in us. I should have trusted you to support me. I'm so sorry for putting you through this."
His eyes searched hers, filled with something unspoken, something between fury and longing, between betrayal and love.
"Apologies are just words unless you mean them," he said, his voice low, his grip steady on her waist. "How do I know you won't keep something from me again?"
She leaned forward, her lips barely grazing his, her breath mingling with his own. "Because I'll prove it to you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise, Nevie, no more secrets. I want to be better—for you. For us."
Her words hung between them, heavy with sincerity. He studied her for a moment longer, the tension in his body radiating like a tightly wound coil.
He sighed, his breath shaky as he held her tightly. "Let's take it one step at a time. Just remember that you're not alone in this. We'll face everything together from now on."
She whispered, too afraid to say it out loud, "I'm scared... that someday, you might stop loving me."
He kissed her deeply, letting his touch speak before his words. Pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, he whispered, "You will never be unloved by me. You are too well tangled in my soul."
~~~~~~
She stood in front of the window, watching the evening light fade over the grounds of Parkinson Manor.
Shadows lengthened across the gardens, their slow creep a reminder of how much time she had spent wrapped in secrecy and half-truths.
And now, as she let herself breathe in the cool twilight air, she felt a weight settle on her chest—one she was determined to release once and for all.
She made a decision, more concrete than any resolution she'd ever considered. Her life needed to change.
She had spent too long weaving intricate webs of secrets, too long testing his patience, balancing on the razor's edge of trust and deceit. It had become a part of her, a habit so deeply ingrained she hadn't even realized its full extent until she saw the look in his eyes earlier, when he confronted her.
The hurt, the betrayal, the weight of every hidden truth sat between them, a silent force she could no longer ignore.
She would never lie to him again.
Finally that was the truth.
She repeated the vow to herself, like a prayer, feeling its promise settle into her bones. She would tell him everything, no matter how painful. It was the only way forward, the only way to keep the love they'd built from crumbling under the weight of secrets.
She closed her eyes, imagining his face—his warm smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. That face deserved honesty, loyalty, and respect. She would no longer taint it with deceit.
She would sit down with him, lay every truth bare, and face the consequences. It would be painful, and she knew it might take time for him to trust her again, but she was prepared to work for it, to rebuild from the ground up if that's what it took. She wanted a life untainted by lies—a life of real love, trust, and transparency.
Stepping away from the window, she took a deep breath, gathering her courage, feeling it rise like a tide. She wouldn't just change for him, but for herself, for the woman she wanted to become, for the future she wanted to embrace—one where love and honesty were her true foundations.
The journey would be difficult, but she was ready for it.
~~~~~~
She waited in the dimly lit hallway, hearing the familiar creak of the front door as it opened. Neville stepped inside, his face softening as he spotted her waiting for him. After a long day, he was visibly tired, but he managed a warm smile, walking over and gently taking her hand.
"Parky," he murmured, brushing his lips against her knuckles. She could feel her heart pound in response—there was something so steady and reassuring about him, something she had leaned on without realizing how deeply she needed it. And tonight, she was ready to open up to him in a way she never had before.
"Nevie," she began, her voice a little unsteady. She took a breath, gathering her thoughts and her courage. "I... I've been thinking a lot lately. I know we've talked about this. I want to have a baby. And... I want to start now."
He looked at her carefully, a mix of surprise and thoughtfulness.
They had discussed children before, always in abstract terms, like something for a distant future. But the look in her eyes told him this wasn't just a casual conversation, it was something she'd been thinking about, perhaps even agonizing over.
"We already talked about this," he replied gently, his hand finding its way to her cheek, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. "We'll have a baby, in time. But there's something we need to work on first."
Her brows furrowed, a pang of worry pricking her heart. "What do you mean?" she asked, searching his face.
He paused, choosing his words with care, his expression sincere but unwavering. "Our dynamic needs to change, my love. I need you to be completely honest with me, no more secrets. You have to trust me enough to share everything, even the things you think I won't understand or the things you worry will hurt me. Especially those things."
Her breath caught as she processed his words, feeling a mix of vulnerability and resolve. She'd been carrying so much, hiding behind the fear of disappointing him, of losing his respect.
But he was right—if they were to build a future together, one that included a child, they couldn't do it on a foundation of hidden fears and buried truths.
"I promise, Nevie. I do," she said, her voice almost a whisper, but the promise in her words unmistakable. "I want this as much as you do—our future, our family. I'll be open, I'll be honest. Even if it's hard."
He nodded, his gaze filled with understanding, his arms drawing her close. She melted against him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the security of his presence.
They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, allowing the weight of the conversation to settle, each aware of the changes to come.
The road ahead wouldn't be easy, she knew there would be times she'd struggle to keep her promise, to resist her instinct to hide or evade. But she was ready to try, with him by her side, willing to build a love stronger than anything she'd ever known.
"I'll hold you to that promise," he murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Because if we're going to bring a child into this world, I want them to grow up in a home built on trust. And I want them to have parents who can show them what real love and honesty look like."
She nodded, her heart swelling with emotion. She knew she was ready, not only to have a child but to be the kind of partner Neville deserved. And in that moment, she felt a sense of purpose stronger than any she had ever known, a determination to be better—for him, for herself, and for the life they would one day create together.
Notes:
"my darling you will never be unloved by me you are too well tangled in my soul"― Atticus