They woke early that morning, sunlight gently streaming through the curtains as they prepared for brunch. Luna brought him his coffee, the steam rising delicately from the cup. He lay there in bed, bare and exposed, his body relaxed in the early light, offering himself entirely to her without words. There was an intimacy in the quiet moments between them, in the way he trusted her presence—comfortable, unguarded. She smiled softly, her gaze lingering on him before placing the cup on the nightstand, savoring the quiet before the day began.
Sensing his desire, she leaned in closer to him, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. As their tongues intertwined, she let out a soft moan, her body pressing against his.
His hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch of her curves and teasing her nipples through the fabric of her lingerie. She arched her back, her breath hitching as his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body.
With a wicked smile, he stood up and pulled her to her feet, his hands gripping her ass as he guided her over to the plush armchair. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and spreading her legs wide open, exposing her dripping wet pussy to his gaze.
She let out a soft gasp as his fingers traced the outline of her soft and wet lips, teasing her and making her crave more. She rocked her hips, grinding her pussy against his fingers as he slipped them inside her, fucking her slowly and deeply.
His hand slid around the curve of her hip, the motion slow and deliberate, fingers spreading to grip the supple swell of her ass. He gave it a sharp slap, the sound cracking through the room like punctuation. She gasped, the sting blooming into heat that only made her grind harder against his fingers, already buried deep and curling inside her.
He struck her again, not cruelly, but with precision, watching the red flush rise beneath his palm like an offering. She whimpered, a sound tangled with pleasure and aching need, her thighs trembling around his wrist as he fucked her slowly with his fingers, knuckles dragging against sensitive walls, thumb circling her clit with maddening pressure. Each thrust was deeper, more insistent, building her into something high and shaking and barely held together.
Her hands clutched at the armrests, knuckles white, breath coming in shallow gasps that pitched higher every time his fingers plunged inside her. He knew exactly what she needed. He knew how close she was. And just when her cries twisted into that breathless, broken plea, just when her hips bucked with frantic urgency, he pulled his fingers out, leaving her empty and aching.
She made a sound of protest, one that dissolved the moment he stood before her, unzipping his pants and releasing his cock with a low groan. It sprang free, thick and flushed and already slick with need. Her eyes widened, lips parting as her gaze dropped, her pupils blown wide with desire. Her breath hitched. Her thighs shifted restlessly.
He watched the way she looked at him, like she wanted to worship and devour all at once, and his grin turned feral. Taking his time, he gripped himself and stroked once, twice, then guided the head to her entrance, sliding it through her slick folds without pushing in. The tease made her whine, made her hips chase his.
When he finally sank into her, the breath rushed from her lungs in one long, desperate moan. Her walls stretched around him, impossibly full, every inch deeper making her gasp and clutch at him until he was seated all the way inside her, their hips flush, their hearts pounding in unison.
She clenched around him, her body fluttering with the effort to take all of him, and he rewarded her with a slow, brutal thrust that forced another moan from her lips. He didn't stop. He moved again, and again, each motion grinding her deeper into the chair, each one stealing another piece of her breath.
He leaned forward, kissing her deeply, tongue sweeping against hers while his hands moved between torment and reverence, one twisting her nipples until she gasped, the other gripping her thigh and spreading her wider. Every stroke was hungry. Every breath was laced with heat. His pace grew rougher, harder, fucking her like he was trying to leave his mark beneath her skin, to rewrite every nerve ending with the memory of him.
She clung to him, legs locked around his waist, nails dragging down his back as her voice broke on his name. Her body was trembling, burning, completely undone beneath him. Her orgasm came like a tide, sudden and consuming, her whole body clenching, pulsing, crying out as pleasure ripped through her. He felt it, the flutter of her around him, the desperate way she held him closer, the way her eyes rolled back as if her body could no longer contain the sensation.
That was all it took. He groaned against her mouth, voice cracking, hips jerking in short, frantic thrusts as his own climax tore through him. He spilled into her with a low growl, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her hip so tightly it would leave marks. He stayed there, buried in her, kissing her like it was the only thing holding him to earth.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their breaths mingled. Their bodies trembled. And in that quiet, in that heat, wrapped in each other with hearts still racing, the morning sun found them again, tangled, spent, and more alive than they'd ever felt.
~~~~~~
" Who's on the guest list today?" Hermione inquired, a hint of nervousness lingering in her voice despite her poised demeanor.
Ginny scanned the opulent room, her fiery hair catching the sunlight. "The usual suspects, really. Harry and Cho are supposed to be here already, and Luna and Theo mentioned they'd make an appearance."
A genuine smile broke across Hermione's face. "It'll be good to catch up with Harry and Cho too."
"They'll be here any minute," Ginny confirmed, glancing at her watch. "Theo mentioned a slight delay, but Luna's fashionably early as always."
Draco's gaze swept the room, his usual stoicism replaced by a relaxed curiosity. "It's good to see some familiar faces again."
Hermione offered a small smile, smoothing the emerald folds of her dress. "Indeed. It has been a while."
Ginny's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Don't worry, Hermione. They'll be thrilled to see you. And seeing you two together...well, let's just say it'll be the highlight of their day."
The air crackled with unspoken anticipation. Hermione and Draco exchanged a silent glance, a silent promise of support hanging between them.
As if on cue, Luna's voice echoed through the grand room, all eyes turned toward her. She was a breath of fresh air in the opulent space, her whimsical energy contrasting the formality of the gathering. The signature radish earrings swayed playfully with each step, catching the light as she made her way toward the group. Her smile was infectious, immediately lifting the atmosphere, and her ethereal presence seemed to fill the room with warmth.
"Hello, everyone!" she repeated, her voice like a song, bringing an instant lightness to the group. Her eyes sparkled with her usual carefree charm, as if the world outside held no weight against the joy she carried within.
Hermione, who had been feeling a nervous flutter in her chest just moments before, relaxed at the sight of her friend. "Babe," she greeted warmly, rising from her seat and moving to embrace her. The tension that had subtly hung in the air now melted away with her arrival.
Luna hugged her back with an exuberance that could only be hers. "Mimi! I've missed you. You look radiant, just like a moonlit forest."
Hermione chuckled at her typical but endearing oddness. "Thank you, babe. It's wonderful to see you too."
Theo strolled in behind her, a relaxed smile tugging at his lips as he scanned the room. His eyes briefly met Draco's in a wordless exchange before he turned his attention to the others.
"Apologies for the delay, everyone," Theo remarked casually, his deep voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Luna had me wrapped up in something important." His tone was light, but there was a knowing glance exchanged between him and Draco—unspoken truths understood by the few who knew them well.
"By 'important,' I assume you mean something quirky and delightful," Ginny teased with a grin, her fiery hair catching the sunlight as she moved to greet Luna and Theo.
"Naturally," she replied with a cheeky smile, "but I'll save the details for later."
Following close behind was Harry, his familiar scar hidden beneath a shock of messy black hair. Cho, her raven hair cascading down her back, walked beside him, a shy smile gracing her lips.
Relief washed over Hermione as she saw her friends. Pushing away the remnants of her nervousness, she rose to greet them with a genuine smile. Harry, his face lighting up with warmth, pulled her into a tight hug. Years might have passed, adventures shared and scars earned, but the comfort of their friendship remained undimmed.
"Hermione!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine joy. "It's been too long."
"Harry," she replied, squeezing him back just as tightly. "Too long indeed. It's wonderful to see you."
Draco watched the interaction with a flicker of something akin to approval in his eyes. He straightened in his chair as Harry turned towards him, extending a hand. "Draco," Harry greeted with a nod, his voice devoid of animosity.
Draco met his handshake firmly. "Potter," he acknowledged, his tone neutral.
A smile broke across Luna's face. "Lovely to see you all together!" she declared, her voice brimming with her usual brand of whimsical cheer. "Now, who wants to hear about the Wrackspurts I found nesting in my attic?"
Laughter filled the air as everyone found their seats around the table. The tension that had hung heavy earlier began to dissipate, replaced by the comforting warmth of camaraderie. Stories flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter and reminiscing. Hermione, nestled comfortably next to Draco, found herself relaxing, the initial apprehension replaced by a quiet contentment. Surrounded by loved ones, both old and new, she felt a spark of hope for the future flicker within her.
Hermione's apprehension melted away with each passing moment. Laughter filled the air, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and lively conversation. Glancing at Draco, she found him engaged in a surprisingly animated discussion with Harry and Theo, a genuine smile warming his features.
An unfamiliar flicker of something akin to pride sparked within her.
Across the table, Theo, ever the jester, broke the comfortable silence. "Ah, so the eagle's nest, the lion's cave opening, and the snake's den, all gathered under one roof, huh?" he remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.
Draco chuckled, a sound rarely heard these days. "Looks like we've almost got all the Hogwarts houses covered, wouldn't you say, Potter?"
Harry, ever the Gryffindor, met Draco's gaze with a hint of amusement. "Just missing a loyal Hufflepuff, Malfoy."
A small smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "Perhaps next time," she chimed in, the playful banter warming her heart.
Ginny, ever the peacemaker and bridge between their worlds, interjected with a warm smile. "It's good to see all of you together like this. A Hogwarts reunion, in a way, wouldn't you say?"
Theo raised his glass, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "To Hogwarts, surviving the trials it threw our way, and to the unlikely friendships forged in the flames!"
The friends, united by a shared history and a bond forged in the crucible of war, clinked their glasses in a toast. The sound echoed through the opulent room, a testament to the enduring power of friendship, love, and the unexpected connections that bloom even in the most unlikely places.
Maybe things weren't perfect, but they were getting there. And for now, that was enough.
~~~~~~
The others had already gone, their laughter fading down the hallway until it became nothing more than a soft echo tucked into the bones of the house. The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows in golden sheets, casting long, warm lines across the floorboards and bathing the dining room in the kind of light that made everything feel slower, softer. The scent of coffee still clung to the air, mingling with the last traces of cinnamon and roasted fruit from brunch. It felt like the kind of quiet that asked to be left undisturbed.
Luna and Ginny moved in easy rhythm around the room, clearing plates, tucking chairs back into place, not speaking at first. Ginny wiped down the table with the sort of efficiency that came from years of habit, while Luna, graceful as always, sent a small stack of dishes floating toward the sink with a casual flick of her fingers. The silence between them wasn't heavy, only familiar, broken now and then by the soft clinking of silverware or the creak of polished wood.
"I'm glad Harry and Cho could come too," Luna said suddenly, her tone light and floating, as though she were commenting on the weather rather than brushing up against something more delicate.
Ginny paused. It was subtle—barely a breath—but her fingers tightened around the rim of the dish she was holding. She caught herself quickly and kept moving, her expression unchanged. "Yeah," she replied, her voice breezy. "It was really nice to see them in person again. We've all been relying on letters for too long."
She floated another plate toward the sink, watching it settle neatly beside the others. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Luna's thoughtful stare, that way she had of tilting her head as if trying to listen to something unsaid.
"Isn't it a little strange, though?" Luna asked softly, her gaze never wavering. "You and Harry, I mean. Is it really not awkward?"
Ginny let out a laugh that was just a little too quick, a little too polished around the edges. "Between us? No, not really," she said, brushing a hand down the front of her blouse like she was smoothing something invisible. "It wasn't even that serious, not compared to everything that came after. And honestly, it feels like another life." She shrugged, letting the words hang lightly, as though it was all just simple history. "He's like family now. We've been through too much for it to be anything else."
Luna hummed in response, sending another dish floating gently through the air. "It must be a comfort," she said after a beat. "To have someone like that. Someone who stays, even when everything else changes."
Ginny turned toward her, the late light catching her hair and setting it alight. She looked at Luna for a long moment, the edges of her expression softening, her guard lowering just a little. "It is," she said quietly, and this time the words weren't measured. "That's what the war did, I think. Tied us all together, whether we meant to be or not. Even when we end up with different people in different lives, we're still part of the same story."
There was a pause. A gentle one. The kind of pause that fills a room without needing to be explained. Ginny glanced toward the open doorway, her eyes flickering as if she expected to see a familiar silhouette pass by, all messy hair and tired eyes. But of course, Harry wasn't there.
He had already left. And he had left with her.
Luna watched her for a moment longer, her expression unreadable in that way only Luna could manage. She didn't speak right away. Instead, she stacked the final plate with careful precision, her movements slow and deliberate, as if weighing her words with each pass of her fingers.
"Things change," she said at last, her voice soft and distant, almost as though she was thinking out loud. "But that connection never really disappears, does it?"
Ginny's breath caught for a moment. Her grip on the towel tightened, fingers curling around the fabric with a tension that didn't quite match her composed exterior. "No," she murmured, the word slipping out before she could shape it into something stronger. "It doesn't."
She turned back to Luna with a smile, bright and polished, the kind she had grown used to offering when the truth felt too big or too heavy. "It's comforting in a way, knowing that some things stay. That even after everything, we're still here for each other."
Luna's gaze didn't waver. Her eyes, always full of something calm and ancient and quietly piercing, held Ginny's for a long moment. "Like the roots of a tree," she said, her tone thoughtful, not dreamy. "Even when the branches stretch far and wide, they're still tied to the same place. Still drawing strength from the same soil."
Ginny let out a breath of laughter, though it came from somewhere deeper than amusement. "That's the most Luna Lovegood metaphor I've ever heard," she said, her voice gentler now, less guarded. "But yeah. You're right. I think you're always right about that kind of thing."
Luna beamed. Her hands now free of tasks, she twirled in a slow, idle circle, the hem of her skirt brushing the air as if she was dancing with a feeling rather than a song. "It makes everything seem less heavy, doesn't it? Like no matter how far we go or who we become, we'll never be completely lost to each other."
Ginny nodded, pressing the damp towel into the counter as if grounding herself in the motion. Her shoulders relaxed by a fraction. Her thoughts had stopped spiraling for now, settling into something quieter. "Yeah," she said softly, the word resting on the edge of her breath. "I wouldn't trade that for anything."
She meant it. Truly, she did.
Even if, in the quiet hush of the night, when everyone else had fallen asleep and the world outside the window lay still and silver under the moon, there were moments when she wondered. Moments when she ached for the version of herself who had once been the girl he chose first.
The girl who didn't have to pretend she had never looked back.
~~~~~~
They arrived home late in the evening, the last of the sunlight slipping behind the trees and casting long shadows across the front steps of their cottage. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of honeysuckle, and everything felt hushed, as if the world was holding its breath.
Luna moved slowly now, her hand resting on the curve of her swollen belly, every step deliberate and full of purpose. Only a few weeks to go. The thought filled her with joy, of course, but the discomfort had started to wear her patience thin. The weight, the sleepless nights, the questions neither of them could fully answer—it had begun to feel like too much to carry, even with his help.
He noticed the fatigue in her eyes the moment they stepped through the door. Without a word, he knelt to the floor and began undoing the delicate straps of her sandals, his fingers moving with a reverence that made her smile. He didn't rush. He never did. Each movement was careful, almost ceremonial, as if he were unwrapping something sacred.
She eased into the armchair near the fire, a small sigh escaping her as she sank into the cushions. He was still crouched at her feet, her sandals in his hands, when her voice drifted across the room—light, curious, and entirely unbothered.
"My Sun," she said thoughtfully, eyes on the flickering flames. "Do you have many ex-girlfriends?"
He froze.
Like actually froze. Not a blink, not a breath, not even a twitch of muscle. Just stillness, as though the universe had paused mid-frame and forgotten to press play again.
The question landed in his chest with the quiet devastation of something he had absolutely not seen coming. One moment, he was immersed in the soft hush of domestic peace. The next, he was staring into the metaphorical abyss, trying to remember if he had ever signed up for this particular line of questioning.
Luna turned her head slightly, studying him with innocent curiosity, as if she'd just asked him what he wanted for dessert.
He was still frozen.
His fingers clamped around the strap of her sandal as if it were a lifeline, and then they stopped moving altogether. Completely frozen. His entire body went still, as though petrified by some silent, invisible curse. His breath hitched violently in his chest. His heart, that poor, unsuspecting organ, lurched to a halt so suddenly he genuinely wondered if this was what dying felt like.
He looked up at her. Slowly. Painfully. Like a man dragging himself to the gallows. His eyes were wide, wild, and utterly betrayed.
"Ex-girlfriends?" he repeated, but it wasn't a question—it was a death knell.
She looked back at him with that maddening serenity she always wore, her eyes twinkling in the glow of the fire. "Yes, my love," she said sweetly, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Have you had many?"
The universe collapsed.
Theo shot to his feet with such violent force the poor coffee table rattled against the floorboards in protest. He flailed a hand dramatically toward the fireplace, as if to summon divine intervention.
"Luna," he gasped, staggering back a step like she had struck him, "my moon, my stars, my sweet celestial goddess—how could you drop such a soul-shattering question on me without warning? Do you want me to perish right here? Is this your plan? Death by casual inquiry?"
She blinked at him, calm and curious. "I was only wondering. No need to be so dramatic."
"Dramatic?" he repeated, his voice high and trembling. "Dramatic? You ask me if I've had many ex-girlfriends while you're glowing and barefoot and with child , and I'm supposed to what? Smile and casually reminisce about the ghosts of failed romances while I unstrap your sandals like a dutiful husband? This—this is psychological terrorism, Luna!"
He was pacing now, full circles around the room, dragging a hand through his hair with such ferocity it stood on end. "I wasn't built for this conversation. I barely survived my own adolescence! I was a wreck, Luna. A walking cautionary tale. I had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the romantic charm of a flobberworm!"
She watched him, entirely unbothered, her lips twitching with amusement.
"There was one girl before you," he cried, hands outstretched like a preacher delivering a confession to the heavens. "One! And she dumped me after two weeks because I couldn't make eye contact without breaking into a cold sweat. You think I had options ? You think girls were lining up for the sad, brooding Slytherin boy who quoted dead poets and refused to speak at parties?"
He turned on the spot to face her, eyes wide with wounded disbelief. "And now you ask me if I have regrets? If someone got away? Luna Lovegood , the only woman I have ever loved, the sunlit madness who taught me what it means to feel, dares to ask me if someone else got away ?"
Her smile deepened, clearly delighted, but still silent.
He collapsed onto the arm of the sofa, gripping it for dear life. "Do you have someone who got away? Is that what this is? Some smug Ravenclaw philosopher's trap? Is there a charming Danish wandmaker in your past? A former flame who sends you letters in runes and herbal tea blends and wears linen tunics without irony?"
His voice broke as he stood again, clutching at his chest. "Just say the word, and I'll track him down and duel him under the moonlight. I'll write a sonnet in blood and carve his name into the earth with my wand!"
Finally, she reached for him, catching his wrist mid-spiral with a soft tug. The touch grounded him instantly, like the silence that follows a tempest. His breath hitched again—this time for a very different reason—as she drew him in close.
"Theo," she said gently, her fingers brushing over the delicate hollow of his wrist, right where his pulse thudded with frantic insistence. The touch was featherlight but somehow managed to slow the storm inside him, just by existing. "Breathe for me. Calm down."
"I can't," he rasped, but the fight had already drained from his voice. He let her pull him to the floor like a prayer being answered, collapsing to his knees in front of her with the kind of desperate surrender that only came when a man needed to be forgiven for something he hadn't even done. He buried his face in her lap, clinging to her like a man who had almost drowned.
She smiled faintly, her hand slipping into his hair, stroking through it with a patience so tender it made his chest ache. "Listen to me," she murmured, her voice quieter now, like sunlight on water. "There's no one else. There never was. Not before you, not during, and not in any version of the future I can imagine."
He tried to look up, but she gently cupped his face, guiding him until their eyes met again. Her thumb brushed across his cheek, slow and sure, grounding him. "It's always been you. From the moment you first looked at me like I was something worth holding on to. You are my only. My always."
He collapsed all over again. This time not from panic, but from overwhelming relief. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, as if holding her could convince the universe to stop testing him. "Thank Merlin," he groaned, his words muffled against the softness of her dress. "Luna, you can't just spring questions like that on me. My heart is held together with string and tea leaves. It's delicate. It can't survive these surprise emotional minefields."
She giggled, pressing a kiss into the crown of his hair. "You're completely ridiculous."
"And yet, you married me," he muttered, still half-buried in her lap. "Which means you're stuck with this nonsense forever. You've made your bed, and now I'm in it. Loudly."
She smiled down at him, threading her fingers through his hair again, slower this time, her touch steady and loving. "Forever," she agreed, her voice soft with promise. "My dramatic, impossible Sun."
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only comes when two people know every corner of each other's chaos. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting golden light across their skin.
Then, with no warning and even less ceremony, she added thoughtfully, "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just thinking."
He lifted his head just enough to squint at her. "Thinking is dangerous. What were you thinking about now?"
"Ginny," she said, almost absently. "Do you think she's really happy with Blaise?"
Theo blinked. "Wait. What?"
She looked far away now, her voice wrapped in that dreamy stillness that always signaled something sharp underneath. "I mean it. I look at her sometimes, and I wonder if she's really happy. Or if part of her still loves Harry."
He sat up straighter, rubbing his temples like he was trying to force the gears in his brain to switch topics. "How did we go from my complete lack of ex-girlfriends to Ginny's romantic history?"
"I don't know," she said, her tone light but pensive. "I guess I just wonder. She's been through so much. And I've seen the way she looks at him sometimes, when she thinks no one's watching."
Theo frowned, reaching for the nearest throw pillow and clutching it like a man preparing for battle. "That's madness. She chose Blaise. She married him. If she still had feelings for Potter, Blaise would know."
Her gaze didn't waver. "Would he?"
"Yes," Theo insisted, though now there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "I think so. Blaise isn't blind. And he's not stupid. If there was even a hint of that kind of... unresolved emotion, he'd feel it."
Luna tilted her head, studying him with her usual unnerving clarity. "And if he did?"
He leaned forward, meeting her gaze with an edge of grim certainty. "Then I wouldn't want to be in the same room when he found out. Because Blaise doesn't take heartbreak quietly. He would either fix it with precision or burn down everything around him without blinking."
There was a pause, stretched thin and quiet.
And then Luna said, very softly, "That's what I'm afraid of."
He blinked at her, visibly thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. "Blaise? Ginny?" His brows drew together in confusion as he sat up straighter, rubbing his temples like he needed to reset the entire conversation. "Wait, how did we go from me having exactly zero ex-girlfriends to dissecting Ginny's love life?"
Luna gave a small shrug, her eyes drifting away from him, caught on something invisible and far away. "I don't know," she said softly. "She's been through so much. And sometimes I wonder if… maybe a part of her still loves Harry. Even after all this time."
Theo let out a short, incredulous laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. "Luna, darling, that's ridiculous. If that were even remotely true, Blaise would have figured it out."
She turned back toward him, her head tilting in that thoughtful way of hers, like she was trying to untangle a knot without pulling too hard. "Would he, though?" she asked gently. "How would he know, really?"
He sighed and sank back into the armchair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. Instinct, maybe? Blaise isn't stupid. He may act like nothing gets to him, but he sees more than he lets on. If Ginny still had feelings for Potter, he'd feel it in his gut."
Theo leaned forward, his eyes serious now. "And if he did feel it, he wouldn't sit around pretending everything's fine. He'd do something. He'd either fix it or tear the whole thing apart and rebuild it in his own image."
Luna hummed low in her throat, the sound barely there, her fingers absently brushing her stomach. "Maybe," she said quietly. But her eyes still held that faint glint of doubt, something small but persistent, like a shadow slipping beneath a door.
That intuition was called a tracker in her bracelet.
Her expression softened, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she looked down at him. "You're right," she said gently, the words brushing the air like a breeze. "I think I'm just overthinking everything lately. This pregnancy has my mind running in ten different directions all at once."
He looked up at her, his eyes full of something deep and unwavering. Without a second thought, he reached out and rested his hand against the curve of her belly, his palm catching the smallest movement from the life growing inside her. It was subtle, but it was real, and it stopped his breath in his chest for just a moment. A miracle, wrapped in flesh and quiet magic.
"There's nothing for you to worry about, love," he said, his voice steady and low, the kind of voice that only came out when he was speaking from the very center of himself. "Everything's falling into place, exactly as it should. Blaise and Ginny. Harry and Cho. And most of all…" He smiled, slow and crooked, the way he always did when it was just the two of them and the world faded into the background. "You and me. Right where we belong."
She bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, her breath warm against his skin. "You and me," she whispered, sealing the promise with those three simple words. "Always."
He let out an overly dramatic sigh, flopping across her lap like a man freshly wounded. "You nearly killed me," he groaned, burying his face against her. "Do you have any idea what that question did to my poor, delicate heart?"
Her laughter bubbled up, light and melodic, the kind of sound that made the walls feel warmer, the air brighter. "Oh, darling," she said, her fingers moving through his hair in slow, lazy strokes, "what on earth would I do without your flair for the dramatic?"
"You'd be bored out of your brilliant mind," he muttered without lifting his head. Then, without warning, he stood and swept her into his arms, ignoring her startled yelp and the half-hearted scolding that followed.
"Time for bed," he declared with the air of someone making a grand decree. "You and our little star need rest. And I need at least a decade to recover from the emotional chaos you've just inflicted on me."
She rolled her eyes but didn't protest, resting her head against his shoulder with a content sigh. He carried her up the stairs slowly, savoring the weight of her in his arms, the soft sound of her breathing, the way she fit against him like she had always belonged there.
And in that quiet ascent, with nothing but her heartbeat against his chest and the promise of their future just beginning to unfold, he knew this was home. He didn't need anything else.
But who was he trying to fool? He was just as consumed as ever, tangled up in his own obsessive urges. Every glance at her sparked something raw and possessive inside him, a quiet desperation to remind himself she was his. The ring on her finger should have been enough. It was supposed to be a promise, a line in the sand that marked her as his forever. Still, he found himself checking for it constantly, as if love could slip away in silence, as if someone might steal her without making a sound.
Luna was his calm, the quiet center in the storm of his thoughts. Her days moved like poetry, gentle and soft, full of little routines that always brought her back home. She wandered the market in the mornings, pausing to smile at old shopkeepers and gather herbs she probably didn't need. In the afternoons she visited Pansy or shared tea with Hermione, sometimes sitting with Ginny in the garden until the sun dipped below the trees. Her laugh could turn the air gold, and people noticed. They always noticed. Strangers stopped to stare, enchanted by something they couldn't name, and their eyes lingered too long for his comfort.
But she always came back. She walked through the door with her hair tousled by the wind and the same light in her eyes, like she had never once thought of leaving. She gave him no reason to doubt her.
And yet, reason had never been enough to silence the fear. It lived under his ribs like a second heartbeat, quiet but relentless. He didn't distrust her. He never had. But the idea of losing her twisted something inside him, something ugly and sharp. It curled in his chest and whispered awful questions. What if someone took what was his? What if she slipped away without warning? The thought alone was unbearable.
It wasn't suspicion. It was terror.
~~~~~~
Luna visited Pansy as always, but lately, stepping into Parkinson Manor felt like entering the war room of a particularly unhinged general. Pansy had always been dramatic, but now—now she was a force of pure, unfiltered chaos, her wedding planning consuming not just her own life but the lives of everyone around her.
Before she even reached the door, she could hear Pansy's sharp voice slicing through the air like a well-aimed hex. "I said ivory, not eggshell! Do you think I want to look like I'm walking down the aisle in a dingy bedsheet?"
Luna inhaled deeply, bracing herself, and stepped inside—only to be met with absolute pandemonium. Fabric swatches covered every available surface like an explosion of silk and lace, florists engaged in heated debates over the superior emotional impact of peonies versus roses, and at the heart of it all stood Pansy, clutching a quill like a dueling wand, her entire posture radiating barely contained hysteria.
"Luna! Thank Merlin you're here!" Pansy shrieked, charging toward her like a woman on the verge of collapse. "I am this close to losing my mind with these incompetent imbeciles!"
Luna smiled serenely, unfazed. "Hello, Pansy. You look... busy."
"Busy? Busy?! Luna, I am on the precipice of disaster!" With a dramatic sigh, Pansy flung herself onto a chaise lounge, one hand draped across her forehead like a tragic heroine in the final act of a play.
Luna stepped carefully through the battlefield of ribbons and pearls, her voice as soothing as ever. "I'm sure it will be perfect, Pansy. You always manage to make things come together."
"Oh, you sweet, delusional thing," Pansy groaned, sitting up with a wild look in her eyes. "I'm marrying Neville Longbottom. I can't just have 'perfect,' I need flawless. Do you think anyone will take me seriously as Lady Parkinson-Longbottom if there is so much as a wrinkle in the tablecloths?"
Luna blinked. "I don't think anyone notices tablecloths that much, Pansy."
Pansy recoiled as if Luna had personally cursed her wedding gown. "Luna!" she gasped, clutching at her chest in horror. "The tablecloths are the foundation of the entire reception aesthetic! They set the tone for everything! Everything!"
Luna nodded sagely, having long since learned that the best way to navigate Pansy's dramatics was simply to agree. "Of course. The tablecloths are vital."
"Exactly!" Pansy leapt to her feet, pacing furiously. "And don't even get me started on the flowers. The florist arrived this morning with the wrong shade of roses. I specifically requested blush pink, and she brought coral. Coral, Luna. Can you imagine?!"
Luna tilted her head, trying to picture the difference. "They both sound lovely."
"Lovely?" Pansy's eyes widened, aghast. "Lovely is for mediocre garden parties. This is a wedding! My wedding! I need flowers that make people weep with their beauty. I need perfection!" She clutched a fabric swatch to her chest like a lifeline, her expression one of utter despair.
Luna simply patted her arm. "I'm sure you'll make it perfect, Pansy. One way or another."
Pansy spun around, her eyes narrowing. "Luna Lovegood, don't you dare bring logic into this. This is not the time for one of your 'everything will be fine' speeches. Nothing is fine. My hairdresser just canceled on me. My hairdresser, Luna! The one person I trust to make me look like the goddess I am on my wedding day!"
"I'm sure we can find someone else," Luna said soothingly.
"Someone else? Someone else? Do you think I can just waltz into Diagon Alley and pluck a world-class stylist off the street? No, Luna. No, this is a disaster of epic proportions!" Pansy collapsed onto the chaise again, her arms flung wide in despair.
She took a seat next to her, resting a hand on Pansy's arm. "I'm sure it feels overwhelming now, but it's going to be a beautiful day. You and Neville love each other, and that's all that matters in the end."
Pansy sat up, eyes wide with disbelief. "You think love is going to save me from a wardrobe malfunction or the wrong floral arrangements? No, Luna. Details save weddings. The devil is in the details, and right now, I'm surrounded by incompetence!"
Just as Pansy was about to launch into another tirade, one of her assistants rushed into the room, holding up two identical-looking shades of ribbon. "Miss Parkinson! We need your approval! Is it 'champagne' or 'ivory' for the chair sashes?"
Pansy stared at the ribbons as though her entire future depended on them. "Champagne. Obviously. Do you think I want to look like I'm throwing a party in a cheap hotel ballroom?"
The assistant scurried away, and Pansy turned back to Luna with a sigh. "I don't know how I'm going to survive this, Luna. Between the caterers, the florists, the music—don't even get me started on the music—it's enough to drive a sane woman mad."
Luna smiled softly. "You're doing great, Pansy. And when it's all said and done, you'll be married to Neville, and that's what really matters."
Pansy's expression softened, just for a moment, before the tension returned. "Yes, yes, I know, but still—everything has to be perfect. I can't have people thinking I've gone soft. The Parkinson name is on the line!"
She patted her arm. "I have no doubt it will be the most stunning wedding anyone's ever seen."
Pansy grinned, her usual self-confidence momentarily restored. "You're right. It will be. Because I won't let anything less than perfection happen. Not on my watch."
As Pansy whipped back into her tirade, barking out commands to the army of wedding planners surrounding her, Luna stood quietly by the window, watching with an amused yet affectionate smile. She had known Pansy long enough to see through the tempest of complaints and perfectionism. Beneath it all, Pansy was simply a woman who wanted her wedding day to be flawless—not because of the linens or flowers, but because she truly, deeply loved Neville. She admired that about her friend, even if it meant enduring the whirlwind of chaos that followed her wherever she went.
A stack of guest lists and seating charts in hand, Pansy paced across the grand room, her voice sharp and piercing. "No, no, no! I said peonies for the centerpieces, not lilies! Are you trying to sabotage me?!"
She quietly cleared her throat, standing by a chaise that was piled with fabric swatches, lace samples, and velvet cushions that had somehow become part of Pansy's aesthetic vision. Pansy, oblivious to Luna's presence, was far too consumed by her world of meticulously organized chaos. The poor wedding planners looked as if they were about to melt into puddles of stress.
"Pansy?" she called softly, her voice a calm oasis amidst the storm. "Pansy, I brought you something."
"Unless you brought the right tablecloths or a miracle, Luna, I don't want it. I don't have time for anything right now." Pansy didn't even look up as she spoke, her fingers frantically flipping through invitation designs, muttering about font choices and gold foiling. "Can't you see that I'm extremely busy?"
She crossed the room and, with her signature quiet confidence, slipped herself into Pansy's line of sight. "I really think you'll want this."
"Luna, whatever it is, just... put it somewhere. I'm trying to save my wedding from a complete disaster. Do you know how many people are expecting this day to be perfect?" Pansy groaned, running a hand through her perfectly styled hair, which was now teetering on the edge of disarray from her constant fidgeting
She, unfazed, tilted her head and smiled serenely. "It's weed, Pansy. The good kind. You know, the one you like."
For the first time in what seemed like hours, Pansy's frenzied movements halted. Her eyes, which had been filled with a manic intensity, widened as they locked onto Luna. "Why didn't you start with that?!"
In an instant, Pansy's voice dropped an octave from screeching wedding commander to something far more pleasant. She practically sprinted to Luna, her eyes gleaming with the desperation of someone who had been teetering on the edge for far too long. "Oh, Luna, my darling, why didn't you lead with that? You're a saint, a gift from the heavens above. Give it to me!"
She chuckled and pulled a small, beautifully wrapped tin from her oversized handbag. "I thought you could use something to calm you down. You've been at this for days, Pansy."
"Days? Try weeks, Luna! WEEKS! Do you have any idea what it's like coordinating all of this? I thought planning a wedding would be a delightful little affair—some flowers, some cake, a dress, and boom, happily ever after. But no. It's war. An unrelenting, soul-sucking war. These wedding planners? They're foot soldiers. The florists are traitors. And don't even get me started on the caterers."
Luna raised her eyebrows as Pansy quickly grabbed the tin from her, inspecting it with the kind of care she had reserved previously only for her floral arrangements. "You've always been dramatic," she said, settling herself onto the chair and leaning back, her airy smile never fading. "But even this is a bit much for you, Pansy."
"Of course it's a bit much, Luna! I'm planning the most important wedding of the century." Pansy threw herself onto the chaise beside Luna, opening the tin with a flourish as though it were a priceless artifact. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, before exhaling with a look of pure bliss. "Oh, yes. This is exactly what I need. How do you always know?"
She leaned in with a knowing smile. "Because I know you. And I know that beneath all the theatrics, you're just nervous."
"Nervous?!" Pansy scoffed, though it was less convincing now, her bravado slightly softened by the scent of the herbs. "I'm not nervous, Luna. I'm prepared. I'm ready for this."
"I didn't say you weren't ready," she replied, her voice soft and measured. "But I know you, Pansy. You always want everything to be perfect, and when it's something this important, you get... well, a little over the top."
Pansy sighed, taking a moment to relax into the chaise as the tension in her shoulders began to melt away. "I don't mean to be like this. It's just... everyone expects so much from me, you know? The pureblood elite, the whole society—they're all watching, waiting for me to slip up. If I don't have the perfect wedding, they'll never let me hear the end of it."
She rested a gentle hand on Pansy's arm. "But you don't need their approval. Neville loves you, Pansy. He doesn't care about tablecloths or peonies or whether you have champagne or ivory ribbons. He just wants to marry you."
For a moment, Pansy was quiet, the weight of her words settling in. She fiddled with the tin in her hands, her usual dramatic flair tempered by the honest truth in her voice. "I know," she whispered, almost reluctantly. "But it's hard, you know? Everyone expects me to be this... perfect version of myself, and I've spent my whole life trying to live up to that."
She nodded. "But you don't have to be perfect. You just have to be you. That's all that matters."
Pansy sighed again, this time less dramatic and more genuine. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just... making this harder than it needs to be."
"You are," she replied, smiling. "But that's okay. That's why I brought this." She gestured to the tin. "To help you relax a little. Take a step back. Breathe."
Pansy looked at her, her expression softening into something that almost resembled gratitude. "I don't deserve you."
"No," she said, her smile widening, "but you've got me anyway."
Pansy finally let out a small laugh, the first real laugh she had heard from her in weeks. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Of course," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Now, how about we light this up and forget about tablecloths for a little while?"
Pansy grinned, all traces of her earlier frenzy gone. "Let's. To hell with the tablecloths."
And so, for the first time in weeks, Pansy set aside her wedding plans, her worries, and her never-ending pursuit of perfection. With hrr by her side and the world's chaos momentarily forgotten, she allowed herself to simply be.