Their world had become a quiet shelter, a place wrapped in warmth and filled with a kind of affection he had never known he could have. The manor, once hollow and cold, now held something alive beneath the stillness. It wasn't loud, but it was constant. The way his hands found her in the dark, the way his lips brushed her shoulder in passing, the way time seemed to slow whenever she laughed—these moments were everything to him. He loved her with a devotion so deep it frightened him sometimes, and with the soft curve of her belly growing beneath his hands, there were mornings he woke up and couldn't believe it was real.
He adored her completely. And yes, if he was honest, he was very aware that the sight of her pregnant had done something irreversible to his brain. Something primal. Something utterly unhinged.
He might have had a problem. Or as Luna would have said with that amused glint in her eye, a tender fixation .
The universe, apparently, had decided it was time to humble him.
Because one morning, just as he was tracing slow, reverent circles over the gentle swell of her abdomen, soaking in the way her body fit so perfectly against his, she stopped laughing mid-sentence. Her breath hitched in a way that was too sudden, too sharp, and her whole body tensed beneath his hands.
Then she went completely still.
"Luna?"
His voice broke the calm, barely more than a whisper, but something inside him had already snapped to attention. He caught her as she sagged against him, her weight unexpected, her limbs too loose.
"Luna."
He lowered her to the floor with shaking hands, every breath in his body catching, every instinct screaming. His fingers fumbled at her wrist, searching for the steady rhythm of a pulse, and when he finally found it, weak but present, he let out a breath that sounded more like a sob.
She was breathing. Barely. But she was breathing.
Her skin felt cold. Her lashes didn't flutter. And the silence pressing down on him was the loudest thing he had ever heard.
He cradled her against his chest, his hand still resting over her stomach, as if by holding her tightly enough he could keep her tethered to this world.
She was his everything. And she wasn't moving.
"Luna, wake up. Please." His voice cracked as he pulled her tighter against his chest, his fingers brushing along her cheek, searching for a flicker of response, any sign that she was still there.
He shouted without thinking, the panic bursting out before he could contain it. "Mimsy! Get a healer, now!"
The house-elf appeared instantly, her eyes wide with alarm, but Theo couldn't look away from Luna. His focus stayed locked on her face, on the stillness he couldn't bear.
"Stay with me," he whispered, brushing damp strands of hair back from her forehead, his hand trembling as it moved. "You have to stay with me, my moon. I need you."
For a moment there was only silence, a heavy stillness that dragged seconds into hours. Then her lashes flickered.
A breath escaped his lips, broken and shaking, as her eyes slowly opened. They were unfocused, not quite fully present, but they were hers.
"Oh, Merlin—Luna." His voice cracked again, full of relief and raw emotion. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs ghosting over her cheeks like he still wasn't sure she was real. "I—" The words stopped before they could form. Nothing he could say would match the fear that had torn through him.
Her fingers, weak but certain, found his wrist and curled around it. "Theo?" she breathed, barely audible.
"I'm here." His voice was rough, thick with everything he didn't know how to say. He lifted her carefully, holding her as if the very act of letting go might shatter her.
He carried her to the fireplace, moving with a steadiness he didn't feel, and lowered her onto the couch with a care that bordered on reverence. His hands shook as he pulled a blanket over her, tucking it in around her body, as if he could shield her from whatever had taken her strength.
She blinked up at him, her gaze gentle but still faint. "I'm alright," she said, the words soft and slow, her lips curling faintly in an attempt at reassurance.
He exhaled hard, one hand running through his hair, the other still resting over her arm. "No, you're not," he said, his voice steadier now but no less shaken. "You collapsed, Luna. You scared me."
"I'm sorry." She gave his hand a weak squeeze.
His jaw clenched. That word. Sorry.
"Don't—" He stopped himself. Shook his head. That wasn't what mattered now. He needed to fix this. He needed to act.
And suddenly, without needing to think, he knew exactly who he had to find.
"Granger." The name left his mouth as a decision already made. "I need Granger."
He looked down at Luna one last time, his eyes scanning her face, her breathing, the faint color returning to her lips. Just enough to know she was still with him.
Then he stood and strode toward the fireplace, his steps fast and certain, his mind already racing ahead.
The last thing he saw before the flames swallowed him was her face watching him go, her eyes full of quiet trust, the kind that only made his urgency burn hotter in his chest.
~~~~~~
Hermione was curled up on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her and a book balanced on her knee, when the Floo flared to life with a sharp roar. Smoke burst out in thick spirals, cloaking the room for a few heartbeats before it cleared just enough to reveal the figure stumbling through.
Theo emerged with wild eyes and an expression that made her chest clench, his face pale and drawn, like he had seen something that had torn the ground out from under him.
Before she could speak, he grabbed her arm with fingers that trembled against her skin, pulling her up so abruptly she nearly tripped over the edge of the rug.
"Granger, you're coming with me. Now." His voice was rough, too loud in the quiet of her living room, stripped of its usual bite and replaced with something jagged.
She blinked at him, her mind struggling to catch up. "What on earth—"
"It's Luna." His voice cracked on her name, and the panic in his eyes did something awful to her ribs. "Something's wrong. She collapsed. I couldn't wake her. I need you to come right now."
Hermione's book hit the floor without a second thought. She reached for the nearest jar of Floo powder and tossed a handful into the fire, calling out the destination with urgency tightening every word. "Nott Manor."
The green flames flared, and she stepped through, the panic already clawing at her from the inside.
She stumbled out into the living room just behind him, catching her balance as Theo rushed ahead to the couch. Her heart pounded as she braced herself for the worst—Luna pale and unconscious, barely breathing, some curse or illness stealing her away before help could reach her.
But what she found was Luna wrapped in silk, curled up in one of Theo's robes with her head resting against a pillow, looking more comfortable than anyone had a right to.
Luna opened one eye lazily, her voice still thick with sleep. "Oh, Mimi, it's you," she murmured, offering a soft smile. "I'm alright. I'm just pregnant."
Hermione stared. For a second, her brain flatlined, words scattering in every direction.
"Pregnant? But how—"
She looked between Luna's serene face and Theo's expression, which still hadn't recovered from whatever horror had sent him through the Floo like a madman.
Theo finally let out a shaky breath and dropped onto the edge of the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Surely even you know how babies are made, Granger," he muttered, the faintest hint of his usual sarcasm returning.
Hermione exhaled hard, part laugh, part sob, as her hand flew to her chest. "Theodore, please shut up," she said, though the words lacked any bite.
Her eyes turned back to Luna, and the relief hit her so fast it made her knees weak. "Luna, sweetheart, I'm so happy for you," she said, her voice catching as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
The weight of Theo's panic still hung in the room, thick and heavy, but Luna stretched with a quiet sigh, completely untouched by the tension.
"Oh, Theo, don't be so dramatic," she said softly, her tone light and unbothered. "I just felt a little faint. Perhaps you were being a bit too enthusiastic with your morning affections."
She tilted her head, her brows pulling together slightly in thought, clearly unaware of the slow-burning chaos her words were about to unleash.
Hermione, watching the exchange unfold, felt a stifled giggle rise in her throat at Luna's innocent explanation, a welcome release from the tight knot of worry that had formed in her stomach. Theo, however, sputtered incoherently, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet that rivaled the Gryffindor common room banners. "Anyways..." she said, stepping forward to break the awkward silence, a genuine smile replacing the tears that had welled in her eyes earlier. "Congratulations to the two of you," she continued, her voice warm. "I'm so incredibly happy for you both."
Good God, he'd simply perish if he couldn't be the most dramatic person in the room. The irony of simps—one moment, they're smug bastards, and the next, they're on death's doorstep because their wives sighed too prettily.
Theo needed to be physically removed from the room. Immediately. Preferably by force.
His frantic energy consumed the space like an unchecked wildfire, each agitated step across the kitchen floor only fueling the storm. His heart, a caged bird on the verge of breaking its wings, hammered wildly against his ribs. Panic wrapped around him like Devil's Snare, tightening with every breath, every tortured thought. "Granger, you had to see her!" he burst out, voice raw with hysteria. "Luna, my Luna—pale as death, crumpled on the floor like a broken doll!" His hands, usually so composed, trembled as he gestured wildly, pacing with all the grace of a man moments from combusting. "One minute, she was humming, her usual otherworldly nonsense, and then—nothing! Unconscious! Gone! Merlin's saggy—what if—?" His throat clenched around the words, the horrifying image flashing behind his eyes.
Hermione, whose patience had been strained within an inch of its life, pinched the bridge of her nose before reaching out with a calming hand. "Theo," she said, firm but exasperated, "breathe. I am begging you, for the sake of my own sanity, slow the hell down and tell me exactly what happened. Luna is fine. You, however, are one dramatic hand-wave away from being Stunned and forcibly sedated."
He dragged a shaking hand through his already disastrous hair, his frustration practically tattooed across his forehead. "It was nothing! A faint, that's all! But seeing my Luna, my moonbeam, my everything, like that—Granger, it ripped the ground out from under me faster than a rogue Hippogriff." His voice cracked, the vulnerability slicing through the theatrics for just a second before he spiraled again. "The fear—it squeezed the breath from my lungs like a rogue Bludger to the chest. What if I lose her? What if—what if my child…" His voice wavered, his eyes shining with something she recognized instantly.
Pure, unfiltered, catastrophic love.
And as much as she wanted to throttle him for acting like a Shakespearean widow, she couldn't bring herself to blame him.
She took a slow breath, bracing herself against the storm raging in Theo's eyes. "Theo," she said gently, her voice a steady balm against the chaos in him, "Luna is strong. And you… you love her, don't you?"
The moment the words left her lips, something in him snapped. He slammed his fist against the table, the force of it rattling the teacups and making her flinch, but she held her ground. His breath came ragged, his entire body taut with barely restrained emotion. "Love her?" he repeated, voice hoarse, almost disbelieving. A tremor ran through him, as if the very word was too weak to contain the weight of what he felt. "Granger, love is a feeble, paltry thing—a pathetic excuse of a word. Calling what I feel for Luna 'love' is like trying to describe the sun as merely warm, or the ocean as just wet. It's—" he broke off, running a shaking hand through his hair before looking at her, truly looking at her, as if she could possibly understand the wildfire consuming him from the inside out.
"It's like a hurricane tearing me apart from the inside," he continued, his voice breaking. "A raging, endless storm that drowns me whole, yet somehow, I never want to breathe again. It's like Fiendfyre, unstoppable and all-consuming, but I don't fear being burned—I welcome it. I crave it. But what good is this all-consuming, ruinous devotion if I can't protect her? If I can't be the man she deserves? If I'm nothing more than a broken boy playing pretend at being her knight in shining armor?"
He collapsed into the chair beside him, burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with the weight of everything he had never spoken aloud.
She exhaled slowly, her heart twisting at the sight of him unraveling. "Theo…" she murmured, but he wasn't done.
"She deserves the moon and the stars, all the beauty this world has to offer, and instead, she has me," he whispered harshly, his fingers digging into his scalp. "What if she sees it,? What if she finally understands what I've known all along—that I am nothing but the darkness trying to swallow her light? What if she realizes the monster I truly am?"
His voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time, she saw past the sharp wit and carefully composed mask. She saw the frightened boy who had spent years caged by the sins of his father, the boy who had lived in the shadow of war, terrified that one day, he might become the very thing he despised.
She reached out, not touching him, but close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence. "There's a famous quote," she began softly, choosing her words carefully. "'The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.' But Theo, listen to me—you are not your father."
His head lifted slightly, eyes hollow, guarded, but listening.
"He chose darkness," she pressed on, her voice unwavering. "He let it consume him. You, Theo, chose differently. You survived. You fought for a different life. You hid because you refused to become part of their war. You have never hurt anyone—not then, not ever. And this love you have for Luna, this desperate, unrelenting need to protect her and your child? That is proof of who you truly are. Not a shadow, not a curse waiting to unfold, but a man who has the power to break the cycle. You are the one who gets to rewrite history—not as a Nott, but as Theo."
Her voice softened, but the conviction in her eyes never wavered. "You think you're the darkness in her world? No, Theo. You are the light. And if you let this fear control you, if you let it convince you that you're unworthy of them, then you let your father win. You let him take from you what could be the greatest love of your life. And I refuse to let that happen."
A silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of her words.
Theo's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes burning with something unreadable. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "What if she regrets choosing me?"
Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Luna Lovegood is many things, but foolish is not one of them. She saw something in you worth choosing. And I think, deep down, you know that too."
For the first time since he had stormed into the room, Theo let out a shaky exhale—something between a laugh and a sob. "Merlin, Granger," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "You should've been a Slytherin."
She smirked. "Too late now."
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "So what do I do?"
"You go to Luna," she said simply, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You tell her the truth. And you love her with every ounce of that ridiculous, overdramatic heart of yours."
The weight of his confession pressed heavily between them, stripping away every ounce of his usual bravado. Theo's eyes shimmered, unshed tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes, but his pride refused to let them fall. He dragged a shaking hand down his face, his composure splintering as raw vulnerability took its place. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, as he asked, "Are we friends, Granger?"
She blinked, momentarily taken aback by the tremor in his voice. It was rare to see Theo like this—unguarded, stripped of his carefully curated indifference. And in that moment, something fierce and unrelenting swelled in her chest. "Of course, we are, Theo," she said, her voice unwavering as she squeezed his shoulder.
Theo exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath for far too long. His fingers dug into the wooden table as if steadying himself against a force greater than he could handle. "Because if we are," he choked out, his voice rough with something that bordered on desperation, "then I need you. I'm begging you—help me show Luna how much I love her. Merlin, Granger, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be the man she deserves. I'm terrified I'll ruin it, that I won't be enough for her, for our child. But the thought of losing them—" His throat constricted, and he shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. It was as if voicing the fear would give it power, would make it real.
She studied him for a long moment, her heart twisting at the sight of him unraveling before her. "Did you ever just… talk to her about your feelings?" she asked gently.
Theo looked at her like she had suggested he voluntarily jump into a nest of Acromantulas. "Oh, fuck no," he blurted out, his voice laced with sheer horror.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before leveling him with a knowing look. "Then show her," she said simply, her voice firm. "Show her how much you love her, Theo. Actions mean more than any poetic declaration you think you need to make. Be there for her, support her, remind her every single day that she's cherished, that she is your world. That's how you love someone."
Theo swallowed hard, nodding slowly as if her words were sinking into his very bones. Then, because he was Theo, he exhaled dramatically, running a hand through his already-messy curls. "Granger, you really missed your calling as a marriage therapist."
"And you missed your calling as a bard with all that over dramatic poetic nonsense," she shot back, smirking.
The heavy atmosphere gradually lifted, and somehow, they ended up spending the rest of the afternoon drinking, laughing, and playing board games. The earlier intensity melted into something familiar, something warm. Their friendship, battered but unshaken, held strong.
As Theo downed another glass of whiskey, his face set with renewed determination (and a mild buzz), he pointed a finger at Hermione. "I will win her over, Granger. Just watch me."
She chuckled, raising her own glass. "To love, friendship, and the courage to actually express our goddamn feelings. May they always win the day."
Theo clinked his glass against hers, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Merlin help us both."
~~~~~~
The three of them were deep into their third bottle of Firewhiskey, conversation growing looser and louder with each pour. Blaise, his smirk widening as he refilled his glass, eyed Theo with an exaggerated air of curiosity. "So, I hear you're about to become a father, Theo?"
Theo let out a laugh, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with a nostalgic sigh. "Aye, mate. Feels surreal, really. Seems like only yesterday we were sneaking Firewhiskey into the Slytherin common room, and now—Merlin help me—I'm about to be a dad." His expression softened, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Luna, though… she's something else. Glowing like some goddess from a Renaissance painting. Botticelli would've tossed his brushes in frustration trying to capture her."
Blaise snorted into his drink, shaking his head. "Radiant goddess, you say? Sounds familiar." A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink. "Ginny's got that beat any day. I mean, have you seen that redhead recently? She's pure fire."
Theo nearly choked on his drink, spraying Firewhiskey across the table in a wild laugh that earned a disgruntled grumble from a snoring goblin in the booth next to them. "Ginny? Fiery?" Theo wheezed, catching his breath. "Blaise, have you been hit with one Bludger too many? That Weasley menace?"
Blaise leaned forward, his smirk deepening. "Oh, come on, Nott. Don't be daft. Look past the hand-me-down Weasley jumpers for a minute. The girl's got hair like a bloody sunset—no, better than a sunset. Fiery waves that'd put a phoenix to shame. And those green eyes? You can't tell me they don't put your heart through the wringer just looking at them."
Theo shook his head, his laughter bubbling up again. "Alright, alright, Zabini. But I'm telling you, Luna's got a magic of her own—wild, unpredictable, and utterly uncontainable. Botticelli couldn't do her justice, and neither could any sappy line you come up with for Ginny."
Blaise threw his head back, laughing loudly enough to draw a few raised eyebrows from the nearby patrons. "Touché, but we'll see who wins this battle of the muses."
Blaise smirked as he elbowed Theo, his voice carrying across the pub with a teasing lilt. "Look who's finally decided to crawl out of his moody abyss. Draco's been sitting here brooding like a bloody thundercloud. What's the matter, mate? Did your little lioness sink her claws into you? She's a right handful, isn't she? A proper minx."
Draco's jaw clenched, his grip tightening around his glass. His voice came out low, dangerous. "Don't ever talk about my wife like that again."
Blaise merely raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Relax, Malfoy, just having a bit of fun," he chuckled. Then, as if finally realizing something, his smirk widened. "Wait—have you actually done anything about it? You're looking a bit… pent up."
Draco exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before muttering, "We kissed. A few times."
A beat of silence. And then Blaise howled with laughter, slamming a hand against the table so hard their Firewhiskey nearly toppled over. A startled pixie, perched on a dusty shelf nearby, let out an indignant squeak and took flight.
"Kissed?" Blaise wheezed, gasping between fits of laughter. "You're telling me that's all you've done? Merlin's bollocks, Malfoy, I thought you were supposed to be the smooth one! You're living with the woman, you married the woman, and yet—kissed? What are you, a fourth-year?"
Theo, shaking his head in mock disappointment, leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink with an air of faux sympathy. "That's just sad, mate. Absolutely tragic."
Draco scowled, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. He stared down at his drink, swirling the amber liquid with a brooding intensity. "You think I don't bloody want to?" he snapped. "Every damn day, I wake up and see her—her hair, her skin, the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating—I'm losing my fucking mind. But if I do anything, if I push too far, she'll hex my bollocks into another dimension. So yeah, I'm stuck with wanking."
Theo snorted into his drink, while Blaise nearly fell out of his chair with laughter. "That," Blaise managed, breathless, "is the most tragic thing I have ever heard. Draco Malfoy—wealthy, handsome, legally wed—and he's still wanking like a desperate schoolboy. Pathetic."
Draco glared at him, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Theo, sensing impending doom, raised his hands in a peace offering. "Alright, alright, let's not push him into full meltdown mode. But mate," he added, his voice taking on a conspiratorial lilt, "you need to take some initiative. A well-timed compliment, some candlelight, a little—"
"Don't even suggest the fucking candlelight, Nott," Draco growled, his voice sharp with exasperation.
The way he slammed his nearly-empty glass onto the table made even Blaise momentarily pause. Theo blinked, then, attempting to lighten the mood, gestured to the bar. "Another round, then? Maybe some liquid courage will help."
But Draco was already pushing himself up from the booth, his movements jerky and agitated. "Where do you think you're going?" Blaise called after him, his smirk still firmly in place.
"Air," Draco muttered darkly, shoving his chair back and stalking towards the exit.
The cool night air hit him like a slap, doing little to calm the fire burning beneath his skin. He braced his hands against the wall of the pub, inhaling deeply, trying to steady himself.
Blaise was right. He was being a coward. And that was unacceptable.
Theo and Blaise remained at the pub, the sharp edge of their earlier teasing now softened by the warm glow of alcohol and shared reminiscence. The tension from Draco's dramatic exit had dissipated, replaced by an easy camaraderie—the kind that only years of friendship, a few bottles of Firewhiskey, and the shared experience of being utterly besotted with their wives could create.
Theo, leaning back in his chair with a wistful smile, swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. His voice, usually laced with sarcasm, softened into something more reverent. "You know," he murmured, half to himself, "Luna has this way of making the world feel... enchanted. The other day, she surprised me with a picnic in the garden—nothing extravagant, just blankets, fresh fruit, some ridiculous little pastries she insisted we eat with our hands—but, Merlin, it felt like we had stepped into some untouched, sacred place. She doesn't just exist in the world; she transforms it. Sometimes, I look at her and think Botticelli would have snapped his brushes in half trying to capture her."
Blaise let out a low laugh and raised his glass with casual ease, the gesture loose and comfortable. "Cheers to that. Ginny's got her own kind of magic. It's not just how she looks, though that hair of hers could set a room on fire, and those eyes could probably convince a man to start a war. But it's more than that. It's her spirit. She doesn't bend, doesn't break. She's wild in the best way, always pushing back when the world tries to box her in. And when she walks into a room, you feel it, but it's never about stealing the spotlight. It's that kind of fierce, unshakable kindness that catches you off guard. You think she's chaos, and maybe she is, but there's something steady in it too. You can't help but be pulled in."
Theo smiled into his drink and nodded slowly. "I get that. Luna's got that same pull, just wrapped in something softer. Dreamier. People think she's drifting through life, like she's lost in some thought no one else could ever understand, but then she says something that cuts straight to the heart of things. You think she's floating, but she sees everything. She makes the impossible feel like it was always going to happen. She makes it feel easy."
Blaise tipped his glass toward Theo, his grin full of mischief but edged with sincerity. "That's exactly it. Ginny doesn't let me coast. She pushes me. She calls me out when I'm being an idiot, keeps me sharp. Being with her means being ready for anything, and I'd never want it any other way. There's something about knowing the person you love won't just stand next to you, but will challenge you to be better. She drives me mad half the time, but I'd be a fool to want anyone else."
Theo laughed quietly, shaking his head as something softer settled in his eyes. "Luna's got this quiet defiance. She won't let the world dim itself just because it makes others uncomfortable. She sees what it could be and lives like it already is. When I start spiraling, which is often, she finds me in it. She doesn't try to fix me. She just reaches for me, sometimes with words, sometimes with a look or a hand on my shoulder, and somehow, I always find my way back. She keeps me grounded. She's the one constant I never expected, and now I can't imagine a world without her in it."
Blaise's grin returned as he lifted his glass again. "To our wives—brilliant, impossible, and entirely too good for us."
Theo raised his glass and tapped it lightly against Blaise's, his smile real and full. "To Ginny and Luna, the only women in the world who could make men like us fall this hard and not regret a second of it."
They drank, the Firewhiskey burning warm as their laughter filled the dim corners of the pub. The stories came easy after that, one after another, laced with exaggeration and affection, until time slipped by unnoticed. In the haze of old friendship and the quiet certainty of love that had been earned rather than stumbled into, they both understood something that didn't need to be said.
Whatever madness had shaped their lives, somehow, they had ended up exactly where they were meant to be.
~~~~~~
He stumbled through the front door, his steps slow and uneven, each one shaped by the steady burn of too much Firewhiskey and not nearly enough common sense. His hair was a mess, his shirt half-untucked, and his expression was somewhere between adoration and total collapse. When his eyes finally landed on her standing in the hallway, bathed in the low golden glow of a single lamplight, he stopped moving entirely.
There she was. Luna. Barefoot. Radiant. Calm in a way that made his heart ache. She stood like she had been waiting for him to arrive exactly this unhinged.
"Oh, my moon," he breathed, his voice thick with alcohol and feeling, slurring the words slightly as he leaned his shoulder heavily against the doorframe. "You are the most precious creature in this entire world. The sun… the sun only shines because it gets to look at your face every day."
He blinked slowly, as if what he had just said was the most irrefutable truth he had ever known.
Luna tilted her head, her eyes warm with patience and just a hint of amusement. She stepped toward him with that same graceful ease she always carried, her hand finding his arm, steadying him before he could slide all the way down the wall.
"That's a very sweet sentiment, Theodore," she said gently. "But right now, I think we should focus on keeping you upright. You need a shower, and possibly a gallon of water."
He nodded too enthusiastically, the motion making him sway. "Yes. Let's do that. But also, Luna… you're the brightest star in my entire galaxy. Everything else just orbits around you. I orbit around you."
She gave a quiet laugh, soft and affectionate, and began guiding him toward the stairs. He clung to her with more enthusiasm than balance, stumbling slightly on each step, though he never once stopped smiling at her like she was made of starlight and salvation.
"You're quite the poet tonight," she said, amusement curling around every word. "I think the Firewhiskey might be doing the talking."
"The Firewhiskey only wishes it could speak like this," he replied, his voice slurred as he attempted a dramatic flourish with his arm and nearly took them both down. "You inspire me. You're my muse. My masterpiece. My miracle."
She didn't roll her eyes, though it was clearly a close call. Instead, she helped him into the bathroom with practiced ease, adjusting the water temperature while he blinked at her like she had just invented gravity.
"Alright. In you go," she said patiently, reaching for the buttons on his shirt when it became clear that he had forgotten how they worked.
He looked down at her fingers, then at her face, then back again, his voice suddenly quiet and heavy with sincerity. "You take such good care of me. Better than I deserve. I don't know how I got this lucky, but I know I'm never letting it go."
His words were messy. Slurred. Half-wrecked from drink. But every syllable rang true, and when her hand paused briefly over his chest, he saw the way her eyes softened.
He didn't need her to say anything. She was already here. Still holding him steady. Still loving him, even when he could barely stand.
And that, in his hazy, hopeless, love-sick mind, made her the closest thing to magic he would ever believe in.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and trailing steam behind him, she met him at the door and guided him toward the bed with the same steady care she always offered. He didn't resist. His steps were slow, and the exhaustion had settled deep into his bones, but his eyes found hers and held there.
He reached for her hand, barely brushing his fingers against hers before his body gave in and he sank onto the mattress. "Thank you," he mumbled, his voice already heavy with sleep.
She leaned down and pushed a few damp strands of hair back from his forehead, her touch light and familiar. "You're welcome," she said softly, placing a kiss just above his temple. "Rest now. I'm here."
His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but the words didn't come. Within seconds, his breathing slowed, deep and even, his body finally giving in to rest.
She stayed for a while, sitting beside him in the quiet, watching the rise and fall of his chest. There was no need for big words. The love she felt for him lived in these small moments—the way she smoothed the blanket over him, the way she kept the room quiet, the way her hand stayed close in case he reached out for her in his sleep.
Eventually, she lay down beside him, close but not crowding, her fingers resting lightly against his. She watched the ceiling for a moment, then turned her face toward him, her eyes still open.
No matter how many nights he may stumbled home with too much Firewhiskey in his system and too much feeling in his chest, no matter how many dramatic speeches he slurred into her neck, she would always be here. Not because she had to. Because she chose to.
She was his constant. And he was hers.
~~~~~~
He had always been a man of ambition, but when it came to expressing his feelings for her, he was determined to outdo even his wildest fantasies. His mind whirred with elaborate plans, each grander than the last, as he envisioned how to make a lasting impression on his beloved.
It all started one crisp spring morning when he decided that flowers simply wouldn't suffice. After all, she was no ordinary witch; her taste was as unique and enchanting as she was. He envisioned something monumental, a gesture so extraordinary it would forever etch his devotion in her heart. Flowers? Far too mundane. Jewels? Way too conventional. He needed something extraordinary, something magical, something that shouted, "My Luna, I love you more than words can ever convey!"
The first iteration of his plan involved an entire mountain of flowers. He envisioned a cascading waterfall of blooms, each petal a testament to his adoration. He enlisted the help of several florists, arranged for shipments from across the country, and even had a few magical mishaps along the way. There were incidents with enchanted roses that turned into feral vines and a flower delivery that resulted in a minor explosion of Dungbombs in his living room. His ambition was not without its trials.
However, as the flower mountain grew to an unmanageable size and the costs spiraled beyond reason, he had a sudden epiphany: flowers might be too ephemeral, too transient for someone as unique as her. He needed a gesture that spoke of enduring affection and wonder.
Thus, he switched gears and focused on something decidedly less conventional—a live Hippogriff. he envisioned this majestic creature as a symbol of his unbounded love, a magical being that would symbolize both the extraordinary and his unwavering commitment. After negotiating with several rather dubious magical creatures' dealers and nearly causing a catastrophe involving a rogue spell and a particularly disgruntled Niffler, he finally managed to secure a Hippogriff. It was a beautiful creature, its feathers a dazzling array of colors, and it had an air of majestic grace that he believed would perfectly capture her heart.
The big day arrived. He arranged for the Hippogriff to be delivered to theo home, complete with a grand, if somewhat haphazard, presentation. He'd envisioned a dramatic entrance: the Hippogriff would descend upon her doorstep in a flurry of feathers, accompanied by a spellbinding display of fireworks. However, the reality of the situation proved a bit less flawless. The fireworks fizzled out after a spectacularly underwhelming display, and the Hippogriff arrived slightly worse for wear after a skirmish with a particularly stubborn thestral.
Still, his heart pounded with anticipation as he waited for her reaction. When she opened the door and saw the Hippogriff standing there, her eyes widened, but instead of the awe Theo had hoped for, she merely laughed—a melodic, infectious sound that filled the air with joy.
"Oh, Theo!" she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "A Hippogriff! How delightfully unexpected!" She stepped forward, extending a hand towards the majestic creature. "Hello there, beautiful. Would you like some Crumple-Horn Snorkack Horns?"
He watched in a mix of pride and bewilderment as she lovingly tended to the Hippogriff, offering it the oddest of snacks. The creature seemed to appreciate the gesture, though he couldn't help but notice that her genuine affection for the Hippogriff didn't quite match the grandeur of his original plan. The moment was sweet, certainly, but also surprisingly down-to-earth.
In the end, his grand gesture, while not the sweeping declaration of love he had envisioned, became a beloved story among their circle of friends. It was a testament to his devotion, albeit one marked by a series of amusing mishaps and magical misadventures. Theo, now several Galleons lighter and with a slightly bruised ego, found solace in her unreserved acceptance of his gift.
They spent the rest of the day enjoying the Hippogriff's company, laughing at the comical antics that ensued, and marveling at how perfectly imperfect his grand gesture had turned out to be. Luna, with her characteristic whimsy and charm, had not only accepted the Hippogriff but had also embraced his heartfelt, if somewhat eccentric, attempt to win her heart.
In the end, his love for her was solidified not by grandeur or spectacle, but by the genuine, if slightly misguided, affection he had poured into his grand gesture. And as they stood together, sharing laughter and joy, it became clear that sometimes the most heartfelt gestures are those that come from the most unexpected places.
His grand gesture had, in the end, delivered him a Hippogriff, and while it hadn't been the romantic triumph he'd envisioned, it had become a rather memorable part of his life with her. Named Fawkes by Luna, after the legendary phoenix due to its fiery feathers, the Hippogriff quickly became an integral, if somewhat stinky, member of their household.
The creature was a magnificent sight with its shimmering, multicolored feathers and striking eyes, but its grandeur came with certain challenges. Fawkes had an insatiable appetite for Crumple-Horn Snorkack Horns, a preference that led to an alarming amount of detritus strewn about their home. It was as if every meal was followed by a mini explosion of feathers and detritus, leaving Theo to rue his decision to opt for such an extravagant gift.
He often found himself wondering why he hadn't just settled for something simpler, like a cat or even an unattractive pug, as Hermione and Pansy had. Cats were known for their independence and ease of care, and an ugly pug, while not glamorous, would have been far less of a handful. Instead, he was stuck with Fawkes, a creature that required frequent grooming and had a habit of leaving trails of feathers in its wake.
Despite the occasional chaos, his affection for her never wavered. He loved her more than ever for her ability to embrace the whimsical and unexpected. Fawkes had become part of their routine, and his grumbles about the creature's antics were often met with her soft laughter. She adored Fawkes, and her happiness was all that mattered to him.
He would often remind himself that the trials of dealing with a giant, feathered creature were insignificant compared to his feelings for her. In moments of frustration, he'd catch her radiant smile and remember why he'd endured so much to make her happy. It didn't matter that their home was now perpetually covered in a layer of feathers; what mattered was that she was content, and he would go to great lengths—no matter how inconvenient or absurd—to ensure she was.
As the days went by, Theo came to appreciate Fawkes for more than just his initial inconvenience. The Hippogriff's presence became a constant reminder of the love and commitment he had for her, embodied in the most unexpected and colorful of forms. And while he might still fantasize about a quiet life with a more manageable pet, he wouldn't change a thing. The joy she derived from Fawkes, the way her eyes lit up when she cared for the creature, made all the mess and inconvenience worthwhile.
In the end, he accepted that some things, like his extravagant gesture or their ever-feathered home, were a small price to pay for the love he shared with her. No matter the complications, he was content knowing that, for better or worse, he was building a life full of love, laughter, and an unexpectedly large, feathered friend.
He had been pacing the library for hours, his thoughts a tempest of longing and fear. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting gentle shadows that danced along the walls. He was preparing for this moment with an intensity that bordered on the absurd. Tonight, he had resolved to declare his feelings to Luna—his love, his devotion, his entire heart—but the words had tangled in his throat, held captive by a paralyzing dread.
He had planned to be calm, collected, and eloquent, yet now, standing amidst the sea of books and the warm flicker of the fire, he felt as if he were drowning in his own emotions. He wanted everything to be perfect. The setting, the words, the very air they breathed. His love for her was a tempestuous ocean, vast and deep, and he was struggling to find the right vessel to convey it.
The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, her presence a quiet force that set the very air around her alight. Her gaze swept over the room, taking in the carefully laid-out flowers, the soft flicker of candlelight casting golden halos against the walls. Every detail was deliberate, each petal and flame whispering a silent confession of love before he even had the chance to speak it. A warmth spread through her chest at the thought of him putting all this together, but beneath the romance, she could feel the anxious energy radiating from him.
"Theo," she murmured, her voice weaving through the quiet, grounding him. "What's all this?"
He turned to face her, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of wonder and longing. He had spent days—weeks—agonizing over how to tell her, how to put into words the magnitude of what he felt. But now, standing before her, all his carefully rehearsed speeches evaporated like mist.
"Luna," he breathed, her name tasting sacred on his tongue. "I've spent so long trying to find the right moment, the perfect words, but tonight, I can't hold it in anymore."
Her heart quickened, anticipation dancing in her veins like stardust. She had sensed this moment coming, felt it in the lingering glances, the touch of his hand that always lasted just a heartbeat too long. And now, standing in the warmth of his devotion, she realized she didn't want him to struggle through a speech, didn't want him to drown in uncertainty. She wanted to meet him in that place of honesty, to take the step forward that she knew he was desperate to take.
"Theo," she whispered, stepping toward him, their space shrinking until only air and the thundering of their hearts remained between them. "Before you say anything, I need to tell you something first."
He tensed slightly, his breath catching. "Luna, please," he pleaded, as if terrified she might change the course of this moment. "Let me—"
"No," she interrupted, her fingers brushing his as she reached for him, steady and sure. "I need to say this now."
She took a deep breath, searching his face, committing every freckle, every sharp and beautiful angle to memory before she let her truth pour forth.
"I love you."
The words settled into the space between them, quiet yet earth-shattering. His entire world tilted on its axis, his breath stolen from his lungs as he stared at her, disbelieving, awestruck.
"I've loved you for so long, Theodore," she continued, her voice unwavering, every syllable carrying the weight of years of quiet devotion. "Every moment with you has felt like a gift, every touch, every glance—pieces of a love I've held in my heart without even realizing how deeply it had rooted itself. And now, I don't want to hold it back anymore. You are my heart, my home, my greatest adventure."
He staggered, his entire body caught between elation and disbelief. He had imagined a thousand ways this night might go, had prepared for every possible outcome—except this. The way she had stolen his words, the way she had stripped away all his fears with just a few whispered truths.
"My moon," he choked out, his voice raw with emotion. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of hearing those words from you."
His knees gave out before he even realized he was falling, sinking before her as if gravity itself had finally allowed him to surrender. He reached for her hands, bringing them to his lips, his breath unsteady against her skin. "Luna," he murmured, his voice filled with reverence, "you are my beginning and my end, the stars in my midnight sky, the breath in my lungs. You are every hope I've ever dared to have. And if I could, I would spend eternity proving to you just how fiercely, how irrevocably, I love you."
Tears shimmered in her eyes, not from sadness but from the sheer overwhelming force of this moment. She knelt with him, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him into her arms, their bodies pressed so close that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
"You don't have to prove anything, Theo," she whispered against his temple. "Just love me as you already do, and that will be more than enough."
His hands cupped her face, tilting her head so he could drink in the sight of her—the way her love for him softened every line, the way she held him like he was the most precious thing in the universe. "Forever?" he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.
"Forever," she promised.
Their lips met in a kiss that tasted like devotion, like the silent prayers they had both whispered into the night before they were brave enough to say them out loud. And as they held each other in the glow of candlelight and love, time seemed to bend around them, wrapping them in the eternity they had just sworn to.
She began to notice a possessive side to him. At first, she found it endearing, as it showed how much he cared for her. But as their lovemaking sessions grew increasingly intense, she couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.
He would often begin their lovemaking sessions with a hunger in his eyes that she had never seen before. He would ravish her body with his hands and mouth, driving her wild with desire.
As her moans grew louder and more desperate, he would grow even more possessive, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching her. He would grip her hips tightly, pulling her onto his cock with a force that made her gasp.
He was a master of the art of seduction, and he knew exactly how to draw out her pleasure. He would take his time, teasing her with his fingers and tongue until she was begging him to take her.
"Please, Theo," she would whimper, as she writhed beneath him. "I need you inside me."
He would respond by thrusting into her, filling her cunt with his thick cock. She would cry out in pleasure, as he began to fuck her with a fierce intensity that made her body tremble.
As he pounded into her, she could feel his possessiveness growing stronger with every thrust. He would whisper filthy words into her ear, telling her how much he loved her and how he would never let anyone else have her.
She would respond by wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him in deeper with every thrust. She could feel her orgasm building up inside her, and she knew that it was going to be one of the most intense climaxes of her life.
He could sense how close she was to the edge, and he began to fuck her even harder, driving his cock in and out of her with a savage intensity. she could feel the pleasure building up inside her until it finally exploded, sending wave after wave of ecstasy coursing through her body.
As she cried out in pleasure, he finally let go, emptying his load deep inside her. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily as he savored the feeling of her gorgeous cunt clenching tightly around his cock.
For a moment, they lay there together, their bodies slick with sweat. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, and she knew that he was just as affected by their lovemaking session as she was.
As they lay there together, he pulled her in close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He kissed her softly on the forehead, whispering words of love and devotion into her ear.
She knew that she would never get enough of him. He was the man of her dreams, and she knew that she would always be his. And as they lay there together, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the passionate and possessive love that he had brought into her life.