Notes:
I adore Luna and Pansy together, AHH the drama 😍
Luna and Pansy were deep in their sacred afternoon ritual, a careful balance of tea, laughter, and the soft chaos that came with raising a toddler in a room that had once prided itself on refinement.
The drawing room had long since surrendered any claim to elegance. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling gold across the floor, catching on overturned cushions and scattered toys. The scent of chamomile and mint hung gently in the air, woven together with the earthy trace of herbs Luna had tucked into jars along the windowsill.
Lysander had declared himself ruler of the space sometime earlier and was now attempting a daring escape, his tiny feet slapping against the floor as he ran with breathless determination.
Lady and Princess thundered after him, snorting with excitement, their stubby legs working overtime as if they believed this was a matter of national importance.
"Mommy," he squealed, equal parts thrilled and alarmed as he glanced back at the advancing pugs.
Luna watched from the sofa, serene and unbothered, her tea cradled loosely in her hands. "Let them catch you, love," she said gently, amusement softening her voice.
Pansy, stretched out across an armchair with a glass of elderflower cordial, lifted one perfectly unimpressed brow. "They are absolutely obsessed with him," she remarked, watching the dogs barrel forward with frightening commitment. "I have never seen them put this much effort into anything. Are you certain you did not enhance them magically?"
Luna smiled. "They adore him. And he adores being adored. In his head, he is leading a mighty pack."
Pansy snorted. "Leader is generous. He is seconds away from being crowned their favourite chew toy."
As if on cue, Lysander tripped, tumbling onto the thick rug with a dramatic little oof. Lady and Princess descended immediately, covering him in slobbery kisses and snorts of triumph.
Lysander shrieked with laughter, arms flailing as he attempted a very half hearted escape.
"Well," Pansy said thoughtfully, watching the chaos unfold. "If that is not devotion, I do not know what is."
"Mommy, help," Lysander gasped between giggles.
Luna set her tea aside and leaned down, gently prying a very determined pug away from his face. She lifted him into her lap, pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek as he huffed in mock exhaustion.
Pansy watched the moment with narrowed eyes, as if annoyed by the warmth creeping into her chest. She took another sip of her drink, hoping it might chase it away. It did not.
"I think," she said slowly, "that I love him almost as much as the dogs do."
Luna smiled, knowingly. "You are his favourite godmother. He asks for you every day."
Pansy waved a hand dismissively, though satisfaction glimmered unmistakably in her eyes. "Obviously. It was never a competition."
"You do realise he calls you Pee Pee, yes?" Luna added mildly.
Pansy froze. Then exhaled sharply. "Yes. I am painfully aware. Thank you for the reminder."
As if summoned by the mention of it, Lysander twisted around and beamed at her.
"Pee Pee," he announced proudly.
Pansy dragged a hand down her face. "I have spent years cultivating an impeccable reputation. People fear me. I am elegance. I am authority. I am Pansy Parkinson. And yet here I am being addressed like a bathroom emergency."
Lysander laughed, delighted. "Pee Pee."
Luna bit her lip, failing spectacularly to hide her laughter. "He says it with love."
"Oh, that makes it so much better," Pansy replied flatly.
"You could correct him."
Pansy glared. "And break his tiny, devoted heart? Absolutely not. I am many things, but I am not a monster." She lifted her glass dramatically. "I shall endure."
Lysander wriggled free again and toddled back toward the pugs, who were already bracing for round two. Pansy watched him go, her expression soft despite herself.
Then she set her glass down.
"I want one."
Luna nearly choked on her tea. "One what?"
"A child," Pansy said airily.
Luna stared at her. "You cannot announce that the way you would a new handbag."
"Oh, relax. I have already chosen the name, planned the nursery, and decided the Hogwarts house. The only remaining step is producing the child."
Luna rubbed her temples. "Do you have a strategy?"
"Of course," Pansy said smugly. "Be devastatingly attractive and allow fate to deliver a suitable candidate."
Luna arched a brow. "A bold plan. Shockingly lazy."
"It has served me well."
Luna sipped her tea. "Shall I start knitting jumpers for Pee Pee Junior?"
A cushion flew across the room.
"I despise you," Pansy announced.
"No, you do not," Luna said, catching it easily.
"No," Pansy admitted, sinking deeper into her chair. "I really do not."
Luna leaned back, smiling. "You have already chosen a name?"
"Reginald Aurelius Maximilian Parkinson the Third," Pansy declared.
Luna blinked. "That child will need a filing cabinet just for introductions."
"Exactly. Authority should be felt immediately."
"And the raising of this imaginary child?"
"Oh, I will be involved. Obviously. I will teach them posture, timing, dramatic exits, and the proper way to look disappointed in someone without speaking."
Luna laughed helplessly. "I am terrified."
"They will be magnificent," Pansy insisted. "Imagine the wardrobe. Tiny tailored suits. Velvet capes."
"Why velvet capes?"
"Because they scream legacy."
"They scream future villain," Luna corrected.
Pansy raised her glass. "Iconic, then."
Luna wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Merlin help us."
Pansy smiled serenely. "Merlin has nothing to do with this. I have it handled."
The room settled into comfortable noise again, laughter lingering, pugs snorting, Lysander shrieking happily as the afternoon stretched on, absurd and perfect in its own way.
Their giggles still clung to the air like the last trace of summer, impossible to shake entirely. Pansy wiped at the corner of her eye, Luna doing the same, and they exchanged a look that said the same thing at once. It was time to go inside.
The afternoon was slipping away, and while Lysander still possessed the energy of a small, unstoppable force of nature, Luna knew nap time was approaching with all the inevitability of fate.
Lysander, naturally, had no such awareness. He continued racing in wild, erratic circles, laughter bubbling out of him like a wind up toy that refused to slow down. His loyal pugs, however, were far more perceptive. Or perhaps simply more pragmatic.
The moment the word nap was spoken aloud, Lady and Princess abandoned the chase without hesitation. Playtime was over. Strategy had shifted.
They fell into step behind Lysander, no longer hunters but guards, flanking him with solemn purpose as though escorting royalty to his chambers. Their tails wagged with quiet resolve. Their eyes stayed sharp. If their human prince was going down, they were going down with him.
Luna scooped Lysander into her arms, ignoring his half hearted protests. He wriggled just enough to register his displeasure, not nearly enough to escape. The pugs marched behind them, paws padding with gravity across the floor, the weight of their self appointed duty written into every step.
By the time they reached the nursery, Lysander's resistance had begun to fade. The quilted bed, scattered with his favourite plush companions, beckoned invitingly. His eyelids fluttered, his body relaxing despite his best efforts to remain alert.
Before Luna could tuck him in, the pugs made their move.
Princess leapt onto the bed first, spinning in a tight, aggressive circle before flopping down with dramatic finality, clearly claiming her territory. Lady followed immediately, curling herself snugly against Lysander's side, pressing her warm body protectively into his.
Luna sighed, shaking her head. "I suppose the dogs need to be tucked in too."
Pansy folded her arms, surveying the scene with a raised brow. "If we do not tuck them in, they will absolutely make it everyone's problem later. And I refuse to deal with emotionally distressed pugs."
With a soft laugh, Luna adjusted the blankets, tucking them carefully around Lysander and his furry escort. It took some careful maneuvering, but eventually all three were settled, cocooned in warmth.
Lysander let out one last sleepy sigh, his body melting into the mattress as sleep finally claimed him. The pugs followed almost instantly, their snores starting as if on cue, loud and entirely unapologetic.
Luna and Pansy exchanged a look, then tiptoed from the room with the precision of seasoned professionals. Luna eased the door shut until the latch clicked softly into place.
She leaned back against the frame and exhaled. "Finally," she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "Peace."
Pansy shot her a look. "Peace?" she echoed. "In less than an hour, your son will burst out of that room like a human firework, and those dogs will behave as though they have been unlawfully imprisoned."
Luna laughed quietly, glancing fondly at the nursery door. "I would not trade it for anything." Then she stretched, groaning softly. "But for now, the house is ours. Let us enjoy the illusion while it lasts."
Pansy smiled, looping her arm through Luna's and steering her toward the drawing room. "Illusion is the correct word. We might have twenty minutes. Thirty, if the universe is feeling generous."
Luna sank onto the sofa with a contented sigh, the quiet finally settling around them. It was fleeting, fragile, and entirely temporary.
~~~~~~
Their quiet did not last.
Just as Luna and Pansy were beginning to sink into the rare, fragile calm of the house, a voice exploded through the Floo network and shattered it completely.
"Help me! Ginny's in labour and I'm going to die!"
Blaise's panicked shout echoed through the room, wild and unhinged, as though the very concept of childbirth had personally wronged him.
Pansy, who had only just managed to get comfortable with her feet propped up on the sofa, groaned loudly and slapped a hand over her face. "Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered. "Of course. Of course this happens now."
Luna was already moving.
The softness drained from her expression, replaced by calm efficiency as she crossed the room toward the fireplace. "Bobsy!" she called, her voice sharp with authority.
The house elf appeared instantly with a soft pop, ears twitching. "Yes, Mistress Luna?"
"Master Zabini needs help," Luna said briskly. "Please watch Lysander for me. And the dogs."
Bobsy's eyes flicked nervously toward the nursery. "All of them?"
"Yes, all of them," Luna replied, her mouth twitching. "Please keep everyone alive. And preferably keep the furniture intact."
Bobsy straightened, puffing out his chest. "Bobsy will protect the young master and the dog misses with his life," he declared earnestly.
Pansy was already shrugging into her coat, muttering under her breath. "Ginny in labour. Blaise losing his mind. Why is it that I never get a quiet day off? I swear the universe hates me personally."
Luna slipped on her own coat, utterly unbothered. "You would be bored without the chaos," she said lightly. "Besides, you do love an adventure."
Pansy snorted. "If by adventure you mean rescuing a screaming man from his own hysteria, then yes. Thrilling. Absolutely enchanting."
Luna grinned, eyes bright. "If there is a broom cupboard involved, I call dibs. I am far more qualified to handle Blaise than you are."
"Oh, absolutely not," Pansy shot back, adjusting her scarf and pulling out her wand. "This is the last time. He owes me at least a full week of peace after this."
As they stepped toward the fireplace, Luna glanced at her with a teasing smile. "I am sure he will make it up to you. You are practically a healer at this point."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Please. I am only certified in surviving Blaise Zabini's melodramas."
"And yet," Luna said, stepping into the flames, "you continue to pass with flying colours."
With one last dramatic sigh, Pansy followed her into the green fire.
~~~~~~
When Luna and Pansy finally arrived at the Zabini residence, they were braced for catastrophe. Shouting. Broken furniture. Blaise pacing like a man awaiting execution. It was the usual pattern whenever something important happened in his life.
Instead, they found Ginny sitting comfortably on the sofa, one leg tucked beneath her, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. She looked calm. Relaxed, even. Radiant in that infuriatingly serene way that suggested absolutely nothing was wrong.
No evidence of a rushed departure. Just Ginny, sipping tea like she was waiting for biscuits.
Luna stopped short, concern knitting her brow. "Ginny, love," she asked gently, already scanning the room. "Are you alright?"
Ginny looked up and smiled, completely unbothered. "Oh yes. I'm fine," she said easily. "My water broke earlier, but there's no rush. We're just getting ready to head to St Mungo's." She patted her belly with affectionate calm. "No need to panic."
Pansy stared at her.
Then she glanced toward the staircase, where Blaise's voice echoed faintly, rapid Italian tumbling over frantic English, the sound of a man absolutely losing his mind.
"I am going to kill him," Pansy muttered, planting a hand on her hip as she crossed the room. "You're down here hosting a tea party and he's upstairs acting like the world's ending."
Upstairs, Blaise was indeed unraveling.
He paced the bedroom, shirt half buttoned, hair already disheveled despite having changed outfits twice. One shoe was on, the other forgotten, as he muttered to himself while rifling through a drawer he had already emptied once.
"This is happening. This is actually happening," he whispered, hands shaking as he tied and untied the same lace repeatedly. "What if something goes wrong? What if I mess this up?"
"Zabini."
He jumped, spinning around to find Pansy in the doorway, arms crossed, expression lethal.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. "Your wife is downstairs, calm as a bloody saint, and you're up here having a full breakdown."
"I just," he started, then stopped, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Pansy. This is huge. What if I fail her?"
She crossed the room and grabbed his shoulders, holding him still. "Listen to me. You are not going to fail. Ginny is fine. The baby is fine. You are fine. You just need to breathe and stop spiralling."
He took a shaky breath and nodded. "Right. Yes. I can do this."
"Good," she said, releasing him. "Now grab the bloody hospital bag, get downstairs, and stop behaving like you're about to be sentenced to Azkaban."
Downstairs, Ginny chuckled softly, leaning toward Luna. "He's terrified," she said with fond amusement. "He likes to pretend he's unshakeable, but big moments turn him into a mess."
Luna smiled, entirely unsurprised. "Change has that effect on people," she said gently. "Even on those who think they're prepared."
Pansy scoffed. "Prepared? He's acting like we're facing a Dark Lord. Meanwhile, you're glowing and drinking tea."
Ginny grinned. "I've had practice," she said lightly. "And honestly, I have more important things to worry about. Like making sure we actually bring the baby bag."
Pansy shook her head in disbelief. "You're calm, he's hysterical, and somehow I'm supposed to accept this without commentary?"
Luna laughed. "You can yell at him later. Right now, he needs reassurance more than discipline."
Ginny winked. "Let him panic. He'll survive. Becoming a father will be the real shock."
By the time Blaise made it downstairs, Ginny was standing by the door, coat on, ready to go. He rushed to her side immediately, gripping her hand like she might vanish if he let go.
"I'm okay," she said softly, squeezing his fingers. "Now let's go have a baby."
And with that, they stepped into the Floo, chaos and calm entwined, heading toward the next chapter whether they were ready or not.
~~~~~~
By the time they arrived at St Mungo's, something in Blaise had shifted so completely that it felt like they had stepped into a parallel reality.
The frantic pacing. The breathless spirals. The muttered catastrophes. All of it was gone.
In its place stood Blaise Zabini in full operational mode.
He strode through the hospital doors like a man entering hostile territory, shoulders squared, spine straight, eyes alert. His presence alone seemed to bend the space around him. He scanned the bustling entrance with calculated intensity, clocking exits, personnel, potential obstacles. People instinctively moved aside without knowing why.
"Where's maternity," he demanded of the receptionist before she could finish greeting them.
The witch behind the desk blinked, visibly startled. "The maternity ward is on the third floor, sir. You'll need to—"
"We don't need to do anything except get there," he cut in, already turning toward the lifts. "Come on. Keep up."
Pansy slowed just enough to exchange a look with Luna. "Well," she muttered. "This is new."
"I am not new," Blaise snapped without turning. "I am prepared."
"Of course you are," Pansy drawled. "Impending fatherhood has turned you into a deranged drill sergeant."
When the lift doors opened on the third floor, Blaise stepped out first and immediately zeroed in on the nearest healer.
"You," he said sharply. "I want the best room you have. Reinforced charms. No flimsy privacy curtains. A fully stocked potions cabinet. I will not accept shortcuts."
The healer hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir. We will make sure everything is—"
"And double check the bed charms," Blaise added. "I don't want a single malfunction mid labour."
Pansy stared after him. "Merlin help us. He's serious."
Luna moved beside her with her usual quiet grace. "He's frightened," she said gently. "Control is how he copes."
"Copes," Pansy echoed, watching Blaise intercept a cleaning crew at the end of the corridor. "That's one word for it."
"Cleaning staff," Blaise barked. Three sets of enchanted mops froze mid glide. "I want that room sanitized perfectly. No lingering spells. No stale air. My wife is giving birth and I expect immaculate conditions."
The crew scattered instantly.
"Blaise," Ginny called calmly, one hand resting on her belly as a contraction passed. "You need to stop terrorizing the staff."
He spun toward her, eyes fierce. "They are responsible for your safety. Do you know how many things can go wrong during a first birth. Improper potions. Miscast spells. Equipment failure."
"Vita mia," Ginny interrupted softly. "Breathe."
"I am breathing," he snapped, though his twitching eye betrayed him. "I am being thorough."
Pansy covered her mouth, laughing quietly. "Thorough. That's generous."
A nurse approached, clipboard held like a shield. "Mrs Zabini. Your room is ready."
"We'll follow you," Blaise said immediately. "And I want manual regulation on the IV. No automated charms. Assign your best healer."
The nurse nodded quickly and turned away.
"You're acting like you're the one in labour," Pansy whispered as they walked.
"This is my wife and my child," Blaise replied, eyes fixed forward. "Forgive me for caring."
When Ginny was finally settled on the bed with Luna's help, something in him eased. His shoulders lowered slightly. His voice softened as he brushed hair from her face.
"Better?"
"Yes," Ginny said, amused. "And if you don't stop behaving like a warlord, I will ban you from the delivery room."
Pansy snorted. Luna smiled.
Blaise sighed under his breath, muttering about ungrateful friends, but he did not argue. He took Ginny's hand and held on like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
And for all his barking orders and barely contained panic, one thing was undeniable.
When it mattered, Blaise Zabini showed up.
The moment they stepped into Ginny's room, the rest of the world fell away.
Blaise took it in with the focus of a man assessing a threat. His eyes moved methodically, tracking the wards shimmering faintly along the walls, the equipment beside the bed, the soft glow of healing charms layered into the air. He said nothing at first, his posture rigid, tension coiled tight beneath his skin.
Then he looked at Ginny.
Something in him eased. Not fully, not enough to call it calm, but enough that his shoulders dropped a fraction and the severity in his expression softened into something unmistakably tender.
"Everything alright, my love?" he asked quietly as he moved to her side. He took her hand, thumb brushing slow, steady circles over her knuckles, grounding himself as much as her. His voice was gentle now, but beneath it sat the unshakable resolve of a man who would tear the world apart if it threatened her.
Ginny smiled up at him, tired but fond. "Yes, love. Everything's fine," she said easily. "We're just waiting for things to get interesting."
Her tone was light, teasing even, but her eyes lingered on his face with clear affection as she watched him hover.
He squeezed her hand once, then released it, already turning back toward the room as his instincts snapped into place again. "Good," he murmured, though it was obvious his mind had already moved on.
He rounded on the nearest nurse with startling intensity.
"Is the birthing bed positioned correctly?" he demanded. "I've reviewed the optimal angles for labour. I want everything exactly right."
The nurse blinked, momentarily stunned. "Yes, sir," she said carefully. "The positioning is correct."
"Amore," Ginny cut in, equal parts amused and exasperated. "Relax. You're acting like we're storming a fortress. I've done this before. It's not that complicated."
Blaise did not appear to hear her.
He had already leaned toward the bedside monitor, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he studied the readings. He muttered under his breath about calibration and charm fluctuations, adjusting nothing but clearly prepared to.
Ginny sighed and glanced toward Pansy. "If he doesn't calm down soon, he's going to stress himself into labour," she said dryly. "I think he genuinely believes he's the one giving birth."
"Oh, he absolutely does," Pansy replied, arms crossed, mouth curved in a delighted smirk. "You should have seen him on the way here. Barking orders like we were heading into combat. I was waiting for him to demand armed guards."
Blaise shot her a sharp look without lifting his head from the monitor. "I am being thorough."
Pansy's smirk widened. "Of course you are. A model of serenity."
Ginny squeezed his hand again, softer this time. "Come sit," she said. "You'll be more useful if you don't combust."
For a moment, he hesitated. Then he exhaled, sharp and controlled, and finally pulled a chair closer to her side, his knee brushing the bed as he sat.
His hand never left hers.
~~~~~~
Blaise's attention snapped to the maternity ward manager the moment he spotted him.
The man stood near the nurse's station, late forties, healer robes immaculate, leafing through patient charts with the practiced ease of someone who believed the night would remain routine. That illusion shattered the second Blaise strode toward him.
Purposeful. Controlled. Dangerous.
The manager stiffened before a word was spoken.
"Mr. Zabini," he said quickly, summoning a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. "Is there anything I can assist you with? Your wife is in excellent hands. We—"
Blaise lifted a single finger.
The gesture stopped him cold.
"Listen carefully," Blaise said quietly, stepping closer. His tone never rose, but it demanded absolute attention. "My wife is about to give birth. That makes today the most important day of my life. I expect perfection."
The manager swallowed. "Of course, sir. St. Mungo's adheres to the highest—"
"I do not care about standards," Blaise cut in smoothly. "I care about outcomes. If a potion is brewed incorrectly, if a charm flickers at the wrong moment, if anyone in this ward makes a single avoidable mistake, your career here will end."
The smile slid off the manager's face.
"I assure you," he said, voice tighter now, "our staff is fully trained."
Blaise nodded slowly, as if considering this. "Good."
He reached into his coat and withdrew a velvet pouch. The unmistakable sound of galleons chimed softly as he placed it in the man's hand.
"This is for priority care," Blaise continued. "You will oversee it personally."
The manager hesitated for half a second before pocketing it. "Thank you, sir."
Blaise leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If anything goes wrong, you will not be answering to hospital administrators. You will be answering to me."
He shifted his coat just enough for the knife at his side to catch the light.
It was not a threat.
It did not need to be.
The manager paled visibly. "Understood, Mr. Zabini. Everything will be perfect."
Blaise smiled, cold and satisfied. "Excellent."
He turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing."
"Yes, sir?"
"Make sure the tea you send up is fresh," Blaise said mildly. "My wife deserves the best."
With that, he walked away.
The manager did not breathe properly again until Blaise disappeared down the corridor, muttering under his breath about preferring dragons to Zabinis.
Back in Ginny's room, Pansy and Luna were waiting by the door, identical expressions of delight on their faces.
"Did you just threaten the maternity ward manager with a knife?" Pansy asked.
"It was not a threat," Blaise replied calmly as he took his seat beside Ginny. "It was encouragement."
"Right," Pansy said. "And the dagger was just decorative."
He ignored her, reaching for Ginny's hand instead. His thumb brushed slow circles over her knuckles, all sharp edges vanishing the moment his attention returned to her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.
Ginny smiled, tired but warm. "Better now," she said. "Even if you scared half the staff."
"They will thank me when everything goes perfectly," Blaise replied. "And if they do not, they will still have all their limbs."
Luna leaned toward Pansy, whispering, "You have to admire the commitment."
"Oh, I do," Pansy muttered. "I just pity the staff. Slightly."
As the hours passed, the room grew quieter. Ginny entered the final stage of labor, and Blaise barely moved. He watched every breath, every shift, every flicker of pain cross her face, as if sheer focus might lessen it.
When he insisted Pansy and Luna return home, there was no arguing with him.
"I have this," he said firmly.
Pansy smirked on the way out. "He absolutely does not."
But they left anyway.
By the time the baby arrived, Blaise Zabini was no longer the composed man who had terrorized an entire ward.
He was undone.
He cried openly. He paced. He laughed shakily. He stared at his newborn son like the universe had personally rewritten itself in his arms.
Ginny lay back against the pillows, exhausted and radiant, watching him with soft amusement.
"Dolce metà," she called.
He was at her side instantly. "Are you alright? Do you need water? Should I get the healer back? Are you cold?"
She laughed weakly. "I'm fine. I've just never seen you like this."
He wiped at his eyes, embarrassed and overwhelmed. "He's perfect," he whispered. "And you… you're extraordinary. I will never take you for granted again."
"Good," she said. "Because I plan to use this forever."
He smiled through fresh tears and reached out to touch their son's tiny hand. When Valerius twitched, Blaise looked dangerously close to sobbing again.
Ginny sighed fondly. "If you start crying again, I'm calling Pansy to drag you out."
He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then to their son's curls.
"I'm yours," he murmured. "Both of you."
And for once, the world outside the room truly did not matter.
~~~~~~
As if summoned by the moment itself, the Floo flared in the corner of the room. Green flames spat softly, and Theo, Neville, Luna, and Pansy stepped through one after the other, bringing with them noise, warmth, and the unmistakable energy of found family.
Theo took one look at Blaise and burst into a grin. "Well. Would you look at that. Blaise Zabini, feared assassin, reduced to an emotional puddle. I feel honoured to witness history."
Blaise shot him a glare that should have been lethal, but it barely had any bite left. "Say another word, Nott, and your next assignment will involve chasing pixies through the Forbidden Forest with no wand."
Theo lifted his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. "No judgement here. Honestly? It's kind of adorable."
Pansy swept forward without waiting for permission and leaned over Ginny, her sharp gaze immediately softening. "Merlin, Red. You look like you went through hell."
Ginny snorted weakly. "That's because I did. But at least I got something worthwhile out of it." She tilted the baby slightly.
"Oh," Pansy breathed, all sharpness melting away. "He's beautiful." She glanced at Blaise. "And congratulations on not fainting. I genuinely had money riding on that."
Luna drifted closer, eyes shining. "He has Ginny's nose," she said dreamily. "And Blaise's serious little brow. He looks like he's already planning something."
Neville, who had been hanging back, finally stepped forward. His face lit up as he looked at the baby. "Congratulations. He's perfect."
Ginny smiled warmly. "Thank you, Neville." Then she glanced at Blaise. "Love, do you want to let them hold him?"
Blaise's head snapped up. "Absolutely not."
Pansy sighed. "Oh, for Merlin's sake."
"He's tiny," Blaise insisted. "What if someone drops him?"
Theo laughed outright. "You have handled cursed artefacts with less paranoia. Hand him over."
Blaise hesitated until Ginny fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. With exaggerated care, he transferred Valerius into Pansy's arms.
Pansy cradled him effortlessly, her posture instinctively protective. "Hello, little Valerius," she murmured. "Welcome to the chaos. Don't worry. We'll keep your father from turning you into a weapon before your first birthday."
Blaise crossed his arms. "Support his head."
"I am supporting his head," Pansy snapped. "Relax."
Luna leaned in to brush a finger against Valerius's tiny hand. "He has such a strong presence," she said softly. "He's going to be very special."
Theo peered closer. "Already brooding. Poor kid."
Neville smiled at Blaise. "You'll be a great dad. You already are."
Blaise didn't answer straight away. He just watched, chest tight, something unfamiliar swelling behind his ribs. Finally, he muttered, "Thanks."
Pansy handed Valerius back, and Blaise accepted him like something sacred.
"Well," she said briskly, clapping her hands. "Now that we've met the future terror of the wizarding world, I vote drinks. Ginny deserves something heroic."
"I'll take pumpkin juice," Ginny said with a tired laugh. "But you go ahead."
As chatter filled the room, Blaise leaned down and kissed Ginny's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."
She rested her head against his shoulder. "We did it together."
Blaise looked down at his son, overwhelmed in a way no mission had ever managed. For once, he felt unarmoured. And it did not scare him.
Ginny shifted slightly. "Theo."
The room quieted.
"Could you… go inform Hermione?" she asked softly. "Please."
Theo straightened, his smile fading. "Of course." He hesitated. "You're still not talking?"
She closed her eyes briefly. "I need her."
That was enough.
"I'm going," Theo said gently. "I promise."
He gave Blaise a nod and Disapparated.
The silence that followed was softer now.
"I think we should go," Luna said kindly. "We'll see you tomorrow."
Ginny nodded. "Thank you."
Neville leaned in and hugged her carefully. "We love you."
Pansy adjusted her coat. "This day was far too emotional for my taste," she said lightly. "See you."
"Try not to cause trouble," Blaise murmured.
"No promises," she replied.
When they were alone again, the quiet felt earned. Blaise held Ginny and Valerius close.
~~~~~~
As they stepped into their home, still hand in hand, the lingering warmth of the evening pressed against their skin, but sentimentality had never been Pansy's style. Neville, on the other hand, was still lost in the quiet reverence of what they had just witnessed, the birth of Valerius Zabini, a moment so profound that it had left even him, a man well-versed in life's miracles, awestruck.
"He's such a miracle," he murmured, his voice thick with wonder as he pressed a lingering kiss to Pansy's temple, still caught in the magic of it all.
She scoffed, already unimpressed by his sentimentality, tossing her purse onto the nearest chair without so much as a glance. "The real miracle," she quipped, tugging off her earrings with a practiced flick of her fingers, "is that he's not a black child with red hair. Now that would be a proper divine intervention."
Neville sighed, long-suffering and well-accustomed to the way her mind worked. He had learned, over time, to let the sharp edges of her humor wash over him without protest. "Bloom," he muttered, shaking his head, "you are quite mean."
She arched a perfectly manicured brow as she slipped out of her heels, letting them clatter onto the hardwood with a dramatic sigh of relief.
"Mean?" she repeated, her voice lilting in mock surprise. "Mean is what I wanted to be today. Do you have any idea how many times I wished that Blaise's last remaining friend in this world would also be his executioner? I mean, I prayed for it, darling. Out loud."
He exhaled slowly through his nose, but the effort to remain neutral was futile. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding around her waist with an ease that came from years of knowing exactly how she fit against him.
She let out a dramatic huff, as if pretending to resist, but the moment he nuzzled into her hair, she melted, the tension in her body ebbing away like a receding tide.
"That unhinged behavior," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost teasing but edged with something deeper. "I want that from you."
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, his grip instinctively tightening around her. "Then you married the wrong man, love," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "I'm a calm man."
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her dark eyes flickering over his, searching for something she couldn't quite name. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, trailed along the collar of his shirt, nails skimming lightly over the fabric, a slow, absentminded movement that belied the storm inside her.
"I want you to be over the top for our baby."
His breath caught, a subtle intake of air that she might have missed if she weren't already so attuned to him. His eyes darkened, not in fear or hesitation but in understanding. He knew what she meant, what she wasn't saying. She needed to know he would want this, crave this, that the thought of their child would consume him the way it consumed her. She needed reassurance, needed to hear him say it, to feel it in the way he touched her, in the way he looked at her.
"Would you like that?" he asked, his voice dropping into something lower, something heavier.
She swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze settle over her like a warm, steady pressure. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, in her wrists, in the way her fingers curled just a little too tightly into the fabric of his shirt. She was Pansy Parkinson, she had never been the kind of woman to feel small or uncertain, never been the type to second-guess herself. And yet, here she was, standing in front of him, uncharacteristically raw, unguarded in a way that terrified her.
"I… I'd like to have your baby," she admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "To have our baby."
Something in him shifted. His entire body went rigid for a brief second, as if something inside him had snapped into place, as if the world had rearranged itself into something clearer, something inevitable. Then, before she could say anything else, before the silence between them could stretch into something unbearable, he cupped her face, his thumb tracing a slow, reverent path along her cheekbone, his other hand pressing firmly into the small of her back, anchoring her to him.
"Should we start trying for a…?" He let the question linger between them, unfinished, the weight of it filling the space between their lips. His mouth curled into the ghost of a smile, teasing, coaxing, waiting.
She didn't let him finish.
"YES."
It burst out of her with no hesitation, no calculation, no carefully crafted response. Just raw, unfiltered certainty. The kind of certainty that burned bright and undeniable, the kind that left no room for doubt, no space for second thoughts.
And then his lips were on hers, slow and deep, a kiss that wasn't just about love or passion, but about promise. About commitment. About a future neither of them had fully realized they wanted until now.
Pansy felt herself drowning in him—his warmth, his presence, the sheer gravity of the moment. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the quiet, electric hum of certainty coursing through her veins. Every touch, every breath, every lingering second stretched between them felt like an unspoken promise, an undeniable surrender to what they both craved.
This was theirs, raw and unfiltered, built on something deeper than just love or devotion, this was possession. And as he kissed her—possessive, commanding, his—she knew, without a single shred of doubt, that she had never wanted anything more in her entire life.
His voice, low and steady, sent a thrill down her spine.
"Strip."
She blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. "Sorry?" she murmured, though the heat curling in her stomach betrayed her feigned innocence.
His gaze darkened, a slow smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Do I need to repeat myself, princess?"
Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening. "No… no, sir."
She moved slowly, deliberately, her hands trailing over the fabric of her dress before slipping it from her shoulders. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, and she shivered, not from the temperature but from the intensity in his eyes. He watched her with unwavering focus, his expression unreadable, yet filled with a quiet dominance that left her breathless.
"Come here, pet."
She obeyed instantly, each step toward him feeling heavier than the last. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the heat of anticipation coiling low in her stomach.
"Kneel."
A flicker of confusion crossed her features, her lips parting as if to protest. "Nevie… I was a good girl. Why—"
His look alone silenced her. He didn't need to speak; the sheer force of his presence commanded obedience.
Her knees hit the floor without another word.
He took his time, undressing at a leisurely pace, letting her anticipation build with every slow, deliberate motion. When he finally revealed himself, thick and heavy in his hand, her mouth watered.
"Open for me."
She obeyed immediately, parting her lips without hesitation. The need to please him burned through her, more intoxicating than any wine, more addicting than any vice. She took him into her mouth, inch by inch, her tongue gliding over every ridge, every vein, reveling in the quiet groan that escaped his lips.
She lost herself in the rhythm of it, in the way he filled her mouth, in the deep, barely restrained sounds of pleasure that rumbled from his chest. Time ceased to exist, stretching and folding in on itself as she worked him with unwavering devotion, her tongue tracing every ridge, every vein, learning him in the most intimate of ways.
Every flick, every suck, every desperate attempt to pull a reaction from him was fueled by something deeper than desire, she needed his approval, his praise, the weight of his dominance settling over her like a tangible force.
"My good girl, aren't you?" His voice was low, thick with pleasure, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head back, forcing her to look up at him.
She nodded, unable to form words, her lips still slick and swollen. Mascara ran in dark streaks down her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.
His grip on her tightened as he wrapped a hand around her throat, his thumb pressing just enough to make her pulse stutter. He rolled his hips forward, pushing himself deeper, and she whimpered against him. It was sensual, intoxicating, rough in the way that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
He didn't just fuck her mouth—he claimed it, with slow, deliberate strokes, his control absolute. And she surrendered to it completely, her nails digging into his thighs as she took him deeper, the need to please him burning through her veins.
Finally, he let her go, his breathing ragged as he pulled back, his cock glistening with her effort. She gasped, swallowing hard, her throat raw but her heart pounding with exhilaration.
He offered her a hand, guiding her to her feet, and the moment she was standing, his fingers smoothed over the bare expanse of her stomach, trailing lower with an almost lazy reverence. His palm landed between her thighs, pressing against the slick heat he found there, and he groaned, deep and satisfied.
"My love gets wet just from sucking my cock."
She flushed, her cheeks burning as she bit her lip, unable to meet his gaze.
Without another word, he lifted her effortlessly, turning her until her stomach pressed against the cool surface of the dining table. She shivered at the contrast, her skin burning from his touch, her anticipation spiraling into something unbearable.
"Open your legs."
She obeyed instantly, parting them without hesitation, her breath hitching as she felt the thick press of him nudging at her entrance. The first push stole the air from her lungs, the stretch deliciously slow, her nails scraping against the wood beneath her as he sank into her inch by inch.
Her moan turned into a strangled cry as he went deeper, the intrusion overwhelming, pushing past the limits of her body until her legs trembled beneath her. He reached for her arm, pulling it behind her back, holding her there, keeping her in place, completely at his mercy.
"Nevie… I don't… like it… oh, fuck, it's so deep. Please stop." Her voice was breathless, shaking, torn between pleasure and something almost too intense to bear.
He froze immediately, his grip loosening in an instant as he withdrew just enough to give her space.
"Come here, my love," he murmured, his hands already soothing over her skin, guiding her up and turning her to face him. He cupped her cheek, searching her expression with concern. "Tell me where it hurts."
She exhaled shakily, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she tried to steady herself. "It's just too much," she admitted, her voice breathy, small but sure. "Put me on the table."
Without hesitation, he lifted her with effortless strength, placing her onto the cool surface. She stretched out beneath him, her body pliant, her legs parting instinctively as he positioned himself between them. This time, he was slower, more deliberate. He guided himself back into her, inch by inch, filling her in a way that stole the very breath from her lungs.
She was so full—full of him, consumed by him. It was everything she wanted, everything she craved.
But he wasn't done with her yet. No, he intended to make her beg.
A wicked smirk played at his lips as he let his fingers wander south, teasing over her trembling thighs, his touch featherlight, never quite where she needed it. His fingers ghosted over her slick folds, brushing past her aching clit with infuriating precision, never once giving her the pressure she was silently pleading for.
She writhed beneath him, her frustration growing, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as he continued his torturous game.
"Nevie," she whimpered, her voice laced with desperation.
Still, he ignored her, dragging his fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, watching with satisfaction as she squirmed, her body twitching with every near-touch.
She was a mess beneath him, her body begging for mercy, her lips parting in choked moans.
"Please, oh God, please!" Her voice cracked on the plea, her nails scraping against the table as she bucked her hips, trying to chase the sensation he so cruelly denied her.
That was all he needed.
His thumb finally dragged over her swollen clit, pressing down just enough to send a shudder through her. He circled it with slow, agonizing precision, feeling the way her body tensed beneath him, the way her walls fluttered around him as she climbed higher and higher.
"Say it," he demanded, his voice dark, commanding.
She gasped, her back arching off the table. "Please—please make me come."
And he did exactly that.
He pressed just a little harder, flicked just a little faster, and she shattered beneath him, a scream ripping from her throat as she came undone. Her entire body convulsed, her pleasure crashing over her in relentless waves, her nails digging into his skin as she clung to him, as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
He watched her, mesmerized by the way she unraveled beneath his touch, by the sheer force of her release, by the way his name left her lips like a prayer.
And he knew, without a doubt—he would never get enough of her
Notes:
My favourite spicy scene from them. I just love Pansy.