LOVERS- Ginny & Blaise (HP)

Her fingers fumbled with the clasps of her luggage, each snap echoing through the room like a cannon blast. Her movements were frantic, shaking, and the suitcase lay open on the bed, her clothes spilling over as she tossed item after item inside, heedless of order or purpose. Her breaths came in short gasps, her chest tight, as if the walls were closing in, squeezing the air from her lungs. She needed to get out. Now.

Then, the door flew open, crashing against the wall, and he stormed in, filling the doorway like a dark storm cloud. His face was twisted with a fury she hadn't seen before, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and dangerous. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his tone a lethal whisper that sent a chill down her spine.

Her head snapped up, her emerald eyes ablaze with fury and anguish. "Away from you," she hissed, her voice trembling with a volatile mix of rage, hurt, and defiance. "Away from this… this nightmare you've trapped me in."

His gaze darkened, and he took a slow, measured step into the room, his entire being radiating a menace that made the air feel thick, suffocating. "You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice low, a quiet warning that vibrated through the walls. "Not with my child, and certainly not without me."

She recoiled, her grip on the suitcase tightening as she fought the urge to break. But instead of shrinking, she bristled, standing straighter, her eyes never leaving his. "Your child?" she spat, voice sharp with indignation. "Since when have you cared about anything but your damned 'business,'? Since when has this… family mattered to you?"

His mouth twisted into a bitter smirk. "You really don't understand, do you? This isn't just about you. Or me. You belong to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. There's no escape from that."

"Oh, so we're back on the surname basis, then? How very noble of you, Zabini," she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt. "Well, excuse me if I'm done being your little trophy wife, the dutiful pureblood prize in your twisted family legacy!"

"You're delusional if you think you can just walk away," he snapped, his voice colder now, edged with a venom that cut through the air. "You knew who I was. You chose this life when you chose me."

Her laugh was hollow, bitter, echoing in the heavy silence of the room. "Don't you dare," she said, her voice trembling with rage. "Don't you dare pretend this was my choice. You knew I'd never want this — this shadow world you drag me through. I thought… I thought I could live with it. I thought I could learn to trust you, but every day, it's another lie, another secret. And now — now, when I tell you I'm pregnant, you act like it's just… another part of your business plan!"

His expression wavered, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his face, but he quickly buried it beneath a hardened mask. "It's not that simple. You knew what this life was, and it's not something you can just walk away from because it's suddenly inconvenient."

"Inconvenient?" Her voice broke, the word laced with both disbelief and heartbreak. "You're talking about our child, Blaise! Not a transaction, not some cold, calculated decision in your twisted empire. Our baby! And you've done nothing but treat it like a liability since the moment I told you."

He took a step forward, his jaw clenched, voice simmering with frustration. "Don't you understand that I'm doing all of this for you? For us? This is how I protect you. This is the only way I know how."

Her hands clenched at her sides, her gaze hard and unwavering. "You think this is protection?" she whispered, her voice shaking with the force of her anger. "Leaving me here, wondering if you're even coming back? Wondering if the next knock on the door will be someone telling me you're dead — or worse, that you've sold our souls for a bloody deal?" She shook her head, a look of disgust twisting her features. "That's not protection. That's a prison."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand, silencing him. "And you know what's worse?" she continued, voice growing louder, angrier. "That I actually believed you. I believed in the man you pretended to be, the man you swore you were. I convinced myself that beneath all the shadows, there was still some part of you that wasn't… wasn't this. But I was wrong, wasn't I?"

His face contorted, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don't you dare pretend you're some innocent victim here," he snarled. "You knew the kind of life I lead. You knew —"

"No, I didn't," she interrupted, her voice rising with a fierce conviction. "You never gave me the chance to know. You kept me locked out, kept your precious secrets safe, while I was left wondering who I'd married. And now, I'm supposed to bring a child into this — into a life of lies, of danger, of darkness?"

Her voice broke, and for the first time, tears spilled over, tracing down her cheeks, raw and unchecked. "I can't do it. I can't live in a world where I'm always looking over my shoulder, where I'm raising our child to fear the very life you lead."

He looked away, his own mask cracking, showing a glimpse of vulnerability beneath. "Ginny… this is who I am. I can't change that."

She shook her head, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Maybe you can't. But I can't keep pretending that I can live with it." She took a shaky breath, wiping her tears, her voice suddenly calm, almost eerily so. "I won't raise our child in a house built on lies, on blood money. I won't let our baby grow up thinking that this is love. Because it's not. This isn't love. This is… control. And I'm done."

His face hardened again, his gaze narrowing. "So, what, you're leaving? You think you can just walk out that door and everything will magically be better? You think you can escape me?"

She met his gaze, unflinching, her voice quiet but firm. "I don't know. But I'd rather try than stay here and lose myself… and lose my child to this darkness." She turned back to the bed, gripping the suitcase with a renewed determination.

He took a step forward, a sudden desperation flickering in his eyes. "Baby, please… don't do this. Don't throw us away."

"Throw us away?" She whirled to face him, the raw pain in her eyes enough to freeze him in place. "You threw us away the moment you decided that this… twisted world was more important than us, than our future. You chose this. Not me."

For a moment, silence hung between them, thick and heavy, a thousand unsaid words crackling in the air. He stared at her, his face a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, regret, fear, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. But even in that helplessness, there was something dark, something sinister that twisted his expression. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low, deadly murmur. "Nowhere to go, nowhere to run. I will always find you, Ginerva."

Her eyes narrowed, and her face twisted with disgust. "Find me? Find me?" she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Do you even hear yourself, Zabini? Do you even realize how twisted that sounds? What is it with you pureblood men and your sick, possessive obsession with ownership? Is it in your bloodline, this need to treat people like things you can control?"

His lips curled into a mocking smile, but his eyes were cold, unfeeling. "Oh, please. Save me the lecture. Where would you even go? Back to that tiny, shabby little cottage with your mother and all her hand-me-down dreams?"

"At least I have a mother who knows how to love," she spat back, her voice shaking with fury. "At least I have people who don't see me as a pawn in their sick, twisted game."

"Love?" he scoffed, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you call this? Love? You're playing house with a man who does things you couldn't even stomach to know about, and you think you can just walk away?" His tone darkened, mocking, dripping with contempt. "What are you going to tell her, hmm? That your husband, whose cock you beg for every night, happens to be a hitman?"

Her face flushed with fury, her voice a deadly whisper. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'll tell her that her daughter's husband is a monster. Or that I live with a man who treats human life like a game, like it's nothing more than a collection of… trophies to show off. Would you like me to tell her about that? Would you like me to explain the man you really are?"

His gaze darkened, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "Go on, then," he taunted. "Tell her. Tell her about the things I've done. Tell her about the bodies. Tell her about how, tonight, I chopped someone up for crossing us—how I laid each piece of him out, shaped them like an arrow so he'd die with some sense of direction." He let out a cold laugh. "Though Draco had the honor of the final kill."

Her hands were clenched at her sides, her breathing ragged, but she refused to back down. "You think that scares me?" she asked, voice laced with scorn. "You think that's going to make me stay? The fact that you're some twisted, heartless… butcher? All that shows me is that you're incapable of caring about anything or anyone that doesn't serve you."

His expression hardened, his voice turning cold and calculated. "Me? Incapable of caring?" He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed in the room. "Everything I've done, everything, has been for you. I've kept you safe, sheltered you from a world that would eat you alive without a second thought. I've done things you couldn't even begin to understand, all to protect you."

"Protect me?" she snarled, voice filled with disdain. "Protect me from what? The life you've dragged me into? The constant danger, the fear, the lies? Don't you see that you are the threat? That it's you I need protection from?"

His face twisted in anger, and he took a step closer, his voice low, simmering with rage. "I've shielded you from everything you don't have the stomach to face. You're living in a world of luxury, comfort, privilege—all because of what I've done, what I've sacrificed. You live in a palace, while I deal with the monsters at the gate. And yet you stand here, looking down on me, like you're somehow better than this."

Her laughter was cold, cutting, her gaze filled with contempt. "A palace? A prison. That's all this is—a gilded cage that you've locked me into. And you know the worst part? I fell for it. I actually thought there was something real here. That maybe, just maybe, I could love you."

His face flickered, a brief flash of something vulnerable, but she wasn't done. "But no," she continued, voice shaking with barely-contained fury. "I was nothing more than a possession to you. Someone to parade around, to use, to control. Someone to hide behind when you're done hacking people to pieces like they're nothing more than… furniture."

He took a step back, a dark shadow crossing his face. "I did what I had to do. To protect you, to protect us. Do you think any of this is easy for me? You think I enjoy being this person? But someone had to. And I'd do it again if it meant keeping you safe."

"Safe?" she whispered, her voice a strangled mix of anger and heartbreak. "Safe? That's what you call this life of yours? This life of violence, of blood, of endless fear? That's what you call safety?"

He clenched his jaw, his gaze icy. "You don't understand, and you never will. You don't know what it takes to survive in my world. People like you are prey. People like me… we survive. And I've kept you in your little tower, kept you ignorant, so you wouldn't have to face the darkness I live in every day."

She looked at him, her face filled with scorn. "You're right. I'll never understand. I'll never understand how someone can be so cold, so heartless. How someone could look at me, tell me he loves me, and then go out and kill like it's nothing."

"Because I am nothing to the people who cross me," he hissed, his voice filled with fury. "To them, I'm a threat. To them, you're a target. And that's why I've done what I've done. To keep you safe from that world. You should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" she laughed, her voice breaking. "Thanking you for what? For stealing away any hope I had of a normal life? For trapping me in this darkness with you? You think this is love? Love doesn't chain someone down, doesn't smother them until they can't breathe. You don't love me. You love the idea of me—the obedient, silent wife who stands by your side no matter how many bodies pile up."

His gaze softened, but she shook her head, her voice turning bitter. "And don't you dare try to tell me that you do this all for me. This isn't for me. This is all for you. For your power, your reputation, your damned pride."

His eyes flashed with a dangerous light, and he took a step closer, his voice low and filled with menace. "You think I don't love you?" he growled. "You think I don't know what love is? You're the only one who's ever seen me. The only one who's ever understood the man beneath all of this. I've given you everything, every piece of myself, in ways I never have with anyone else."

She shook her head, her voice filled with a cold anger. "You don't get it. You don't get what love really is. It's not this… this sick obsession you have. Love isn't control. Love isn't fear. And it sure as hell isn't whatever twisted thing we have here."

His expression faltered, his anger giving way to something that looked almost like pain. "I've done everything I could for you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Everything. I've sacrificed, I've fought, I've killed to keep you safe. And you stand there, looking at me like I'm some kind of… monster."

Her gaze wavered, her defiance momentarily dimming before a new wave of anger and disbelief hardened her features. "Do you even hear yourself? Every word that comes out of your mouth is a justification, a rationalization for being a monster. And you call it love? You think these violent, twisted acts are some grand gesture for us?"

He took a step closer, his voice a harsh whisper. "It is love. I've built a fortress around you, a life of luxury and safety that you would've never had if it weren't for me. Everything I've done, every unspeakable thing—has been to protect what's mine."

Her laugh was cold, biting. "Protect me? Or control me? Because there's a difference, and don't think I haven't noticed it. You're obsessed. Obsessed with power, with control, with possessing everything and everyone around you. And now you're trying to possess me."

His eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. "Possession? Call it whatever you want. But let's not pretend you're some helpless captive here. You could have walked away a long time ago, but you didn't. You stayed. Because deep down, you need me just as much as I need you."

She felt a surge of disgust. "Need? Don't flatter yourself. I stayed because I thought there was something human left in you, some piece worth saving. But you know what? I'm starting to think you're right. Maybe there isn't."

He laughed, a bitter, mirthless sound. "And yet, here you are, standing in my house, surrounded by the life I gave you. You can talk all you want about humanity and morality, but when it comes down to it, you're here, reaping the benefits of all the terrible things I've done."

"Is that really what you think? That I'm some gold digger clinging to this twisted life you've built?" her voice cracked with fury. "I stayed because I thought I could make a difference, that I could pull you out of the darkness. But you don't want saving. You enjoy this. You relish in the chaos and bloodshed like it's some kind of game!"

He sneered, stepping closer, his face inches from hers. "Maybe I do. Maybe I like knowing that I hold power over people who think they're untouchable. I like the feeling of knowing that anyone who crosses me ends up regretting it. And maybe, just maybe, I like knowing that you could never leave, that you'd be terrified to walk out that door."

Her gaze turned icy, her voice a razor-sharp whisper. "Don't kid yourself. The only reason I stayed was because I thought there was something left of the man I fell in love with. But he's long gone, replaced by this twisted shadow who can't see beyond his own cruelty. You think this life is something to be proud of? Something to shield me from? It's a prison. And you're just as trapped in it as I am."

His eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. "You don't get it, do you? You've never understood the weight of what I carry, what I've sacrificed. Every day, I make choices so you don't have to. You live in your pretty little world, ignorant of the blood I spill to keep it that way. And you judge me?"

"I judge you because you have no remorse. No regret, no second thoughts. You're not a protector; you're a tyrant with a thin veneer of romance over your brutality. You're everything I despise, everything I swore I'd never let into my life."

His voice was barely a whisper, trembling with an anger that felt close to violence. "Despise me? After everything I've done for you?"

"Yes. Despise you. Because love doesn't look like this. Love doesn't come with threats and blood-stained promises. And don't you dare pretend it does."

For a brief second, his mask cracked, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve. "Fine. You want to hate me? Go ahead. But don't forget that without me, you're nothing. A naïve little girl who'd be swallowed whole by the world without someone like me to keep you safe."

"Safe?" she repeated, her voice filled with bitter disbelief. "This isn't safety. This is a gilded cage, one you built to keep me dependent on you, terrified of leaving. Well, I'm done being afraid."

His jaw clenched, his voice barely controlled. "So go, then. Run back to that simple little life you're so desperate to reclaim. But don't expect me to wait around when you come crawling back, begging for the protection you scorned."

Her voice was raw, shaking with fury. "I'd rather risk everything than live one more day as your captive. Because I refuse to become a monster just to fit into your warped vision of love."

For a moment, a silence hung between them, thick and pulsing with a thousand unsaid words. The air was electric, each of them holding their ground, neither willing to give an inch. Then, his lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. "You can try to walk away, Ginerva. But you'll never be free of me.

His eyes were cold, a twisted smile curving his lips. "Pansy's been brewing potions for ages, Ginny—poison that ends the suffering of a wife for her husband. It's as simple as a drop in a cup, the tiniest sip to set you free. If you're so desperate to escape this, if I disgust you so much—then take one. Slip it into my tea, and rid yourself of the monster you claim I've become."

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide with horror. "You think I'd… that I'd ever want that? You really think I'm so far gone I'd even consider it?" Her voice broke, tears slipping down her face. "No. I don't want to end things like that. I don't want you dead. I want you to change."

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Change? The idea that love can change a person is such sentimental nonsense. Look at Longbottom, blindly devoted to Pansy, oblivious to the poisons she brews with those delicate hands of hers. He's so pathetically enamored, he'd never believe she's capable of such darkness. Longbottom's a fool, and he'll pay for it eventually."

She shook her head, her voice rising in anger. "And Luna? What about Theo and Luna? They're not blinded by poison or darkness. They understand each other; they're committed without all this… rot."

A twisted smile flickered over his face. "Oh, Luna. Luna's a peculiar one, I'll give her that. People call her loony, but she's sharper than anyone realizes. She sees straight through Theo's carefully crafted facade, sees all the things he hides from the rest of the world. And Theo, the ruthless, calculating Theo Nott, becomes a different man entirely around her. He's soft, he's patient. A paradox, really. Theo's darkness pales in comparison to what he'd sacrifice to keep her safe."

Her voice was thick with bitterness. "So you're saying Theo—a man who could be as ruthless as you if he wanted to—can find it in himself to change, to be tender, to be human. And you're incapable of that?"

His face twisted, anger flashing in his eyes. "You think you know these people so well? Fine. Let's talk about Granger and Draco. She's been through hell and back, carrying her own damn nightmares. And Draco—well, he's as close to a demon as I've ever met. But somehow, they found each other in the darkness, bound by the scars they share. Their love is built on broken pieces, a dark understanding of each other's flaws and shadows. They don't pretend to be something they're not. You, Ginny—you want me to be some storybook hero, some reformed prince. But I'm not him, and I never will be."

Her voice trembled, her face a mix of heartbreak and rage. "They didn't have to lose themselves to be together. They didn't use their darkness as an excuse to hurt each other. Draco fights his demons for her, and Hermione—she finds strength in her love for him. But you? You use your darkness to justify every terrible thing you do."

"Oh, don't act so righteous," he spat, his voice laced with contempt. "You want to compare me to Draco Malfoy? Fine. But don't pretend that he's a saint just because he wears a mask of redemption. Deep down, he's still the same dangerous man he always was. Hermione just chose to accept him, every twisted part of him."

"And I suppose you think that's what I should do with you?" she shot back, her eyes blazing. "Accept you as you are? Watch you lie and manipulate and destroy everything we touch? Is that what love is to you?"

He shrugged, a cold indifference in his gaze. "Love, hate—what difference does it make? At the end of the day, this world is full of darkness, and you either fight through it or you get swallowed whole. The weak try to change it; the strong embrace it."

She shook her head, her voice filled with disgust. "No. That's where you're wrong. There's strength in fighting against the darkness, not letting it consume you. But you—you'd rather revel in it, drag me down with you."

His expression hardened, a glint of warning in his eyes. "You're playing with fire. I'm not some wounded soul you can save. You think you're better than me? That somehow your morality makes you superior? You're as trapped in this as I am. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can stop pretending."

"Pretending?" her voice was sharp, incredulous. "Pretending that there's still a shred of decency in you? Pretending that there's anything worth saving here? I'm done pretending. I don't want to be like you. I don't want to wake up every day wondering how many lives I've ruined or how many lies I've told to keep this twisted life intact."

A cruel smile crept over his face. "And yet, here you are. You're still here, still reaping the benefits of my 'twisted life.' Don't pretend you don't enjoy the power, the thrill. You've tasted the darkness, and deep down, part of you loves it. You love me."

Her face twisted in fury, her voice barely above a whisper. "Love? Is that what you call this? If I love you, Blaise, then it's only because I can't shake the memory of the man I thought you were. But that man's gone, replaced by this… this hollow shell who thinks love is just another weapon to wield."

Silence stretched between them, thick with anger and resentment. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Maybe the man you thought I was never existed. Maybe you fell in love with a ghost, an illusion. Because this is who I am. And if you can't accept that, then maybe it's time you decide just how much you're willing to sacrifice to walk away from it all."

Her voice cracked, raw with pain. "I already have. I'm sacrificing the future I thought we'd have, the life we could have built together. I'm sacrificing everything, because I won't let you drag me down into this abyss you seem to love so much."

His eyes turned cold, his face an unreadable mask. "Then go. But know this: you can walk away from me, but you'll never be free. Because no matter where you go, you'll carry this darkness with you. And someday, you'll realize that it's a part of you, too."

Her voice was trembling, but her words cut like a knife. "No. That's where you're wrong. The darkness belongs to you, and you alone. I refuse to let it consume me the way it's consumed you." And with that, she turned away, leaving him standing in the shadow of his own making, the cold emptiness of his words echoing in the silence she left behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was done. She was beyond done. The sheer weight of everything, the lies, the manipulation, the constant emotional warfare, had finally broken her. Without a second thought, she threw her belongings into a suitcase, her hands shaking with a rage she could hardly control. Every movement was sharp, deliberate, fueled by the months of pent-up anger and resentment that had simmered beneath the surface.

She didn't need to say goodbye. She didn't owe him that courtesy. Instead, she grabbed a piece of parchment, her quill scratching violently across the paper, each word a venomous barb aimed straight at the heart of the man who had twisted her into a version of herself she didn't recognize.

You think you own me, Blaise? The words bled onto the page, dripping with venom. You think you've broken me, trapped me in this suffocating, toxic little cage of yours? You haven't. Not yet. But you're damn close. I don't owe you anything, least of all my loyalty, my soul, or my love. I see you for what you are now—a monster in a fine suit, hiding behind charm and manipulation, thinking that's enough to keep me here.

Well, here's the truth, you arrogant bastard: She paused, her fingers curling around the quill so tightly it almost snapped. I was a fool to believe there was even a sliver of decency left in you. I thought you might actually love me, but I was just another thing to own, another possession to control. Your little games, your threats, your twisted love... it's disgusting. You've suffocated me with your darkness and I'm done gasping for air. I'm walking away because I'm not about to drown in your mess.

Her words grew more venomous, her anger pouring out with every line.

You are a coward. Hiding behind your 'power' and your lies, thinking that because you've put me in this gilded cage, I won't leave. But I will. I am leaving, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. Because the thing about power is, it means nothing if you have no one left to control. You've pushed me to my breaking point, and now you get to deal with the aftermath. I hope you're proud of what you've turned me into—a woman who hates you as much as she once loved you.

Go ahead, make your threats, tell me I belong to you, but I'll laugh in your face. I belong to no one but myself. You were never a man to me. You were a parasite, feeding off my love, my trust, until there was nothing left but emptiness.

She read over the letter, a twisted satisfaction curling in her chest. This was it. The final blow.

This is me, finally free of you. Enjoy your loneliness. You've earned it.

She slammed the letter down onto the table, her chest heaving with the force of the release. The words weren't enough, but they were all she could give. Without another glance at the man who had once been her everything, she stormed out, the door slamming behind her with the finality of a lifetime of pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He and Theo sat in Draco's study, the heavy, intoxicating scent of liquor permeating the air. The room was dimly lit, the amber glow of their drinks casting long shadows over the shelves of dark leather-bound books. It was the kind of space where secrets were kept, where lives were planned, and where regrets could hide in the corners, waiting to pounce when the moment was right.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the contents of his glass as if trying to find some semblance of meaning in the swirling liquid. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, was unfocused, distant—lost in something darker than the quiet of the study. His normally pristine appearance seemed disheveled, his usual sharp suit now a wrinkled reminder of the turmoil inside him. There was no fire in his eyes now. There was no anger. Only an emptiness, an abyss that seemed to stretch out further the more he drank.

Theo sat across from him, eyebrows arched in a mixture of curiosity and mockery. "What's the matter, lover boy?" he asked, his voice light, trying to push past the tension, but unable to hide the undertone of concern. "You look like someone kicked your puppy."

He didn't laugh. He didn't even look up. His voice, when it came, was hoarse, a hollow whisper that carried the weight of something broken. "She left me."

Theo blinked, his playful smirk fading as he registered the devastation in his voice. It was rare for him to admit weakness, let alone speak with such quiet despair. Theo didn't respond immediately, letting the silence sit thick between them. The space felt colder, somehow, as if the room itself was pulling away from the pain he was feeling.

Draco, who had been nursing his drink in silence, slowly raised his eyes to the two of them. He hadn't spoken since they arrived. He hadn't needed to. There were moments when Draco didn't need words—when everything was said in the silence, when the weight of the decisions they had all made was enough to fill any empty space. He stared into his glass as if seeking some kind of salvation in the amber liquid, but found nothing but the reflection of his own guilty conscience staring back at him.

His thoughts drifted like a slow, heavy current, pulling him deeper into the web of lies and violence that they had all become tangled in. Each move they made, each decision they thought they were controlling, seemed to lead them further into darkness. It was a spiral of betrayal, blood, and broken promises, and every step forward felt like falling.

He thought about Hermione. He thought about the woman who had brought warmth and light into his life, only to be dragged into this world of shadows and deceit. The promises he had made to her, the vows that now seemed meaningless in the face of everything he had done. He wondered, not for the first time, how long they could all keep pretending that their lives could somehow stay intact. How long they could maintain this charade, keeping up appearances, avoiding the inevitable collapse.

He looked at him, still lost in his own turmoil. There was a reflection of himself in his eyes—a man desperate to hold onto the one thing that still made sense in the chaos, clinging to love and connection while being forced to navigate a world built on deception. It was a fight he had lost before it even began, and Draco knew, deep down, that he wasn't much different.

The air in the room felt heavy, oppressive. The silence stretched on, thick with regret and unspoken fears. His hand trembled slightly as he took another sip of his drink, his gaze distant, consumed by the thought of her and the weight of the child she carried.

"I have a tracker on her," he finally muttered, his voice cracking with desperation. "I know she's in Romania. She's with Charlie Weasley, of all people. But I need her back. She's carrying my child, Theo. I can't... I can't let her keep our child away from me."

Theo raised an eyebrow, trying to deflect the tension with a light joke, though even he knew it wouldn't help. "Do you have a pregnancy kink or something? 'Cause it sounds like you're more obsessed with the kid than with her."

He shot him a venomous look, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "This isn't a joke, Theo. I need to be there for her. I need to be a part of this. I need to... to fix this. I can't let her raise our child without me." His fists clenched around his glass, knuckles turning white. "I can't bear the thought of her... them... living without me. I don't care what it takes. I'll tear apart the world if I have to."

Theo saw the raw edge of pain in his eyes. There was no hiding it now. No bravado. Just pure, unfiltered agony. "Alright," Theo said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "I get it. But you need to think straight. If she left, there's a reason. You can't just barge in and expect everything to go back to the way it was. You need to fix that first."

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and frustration. "I don't care about the reasons. I need her. And I need my child." He slammed his glass down on the table, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. "I'll do whatever it takes. I don't give a damn about anything else. I'll burn this world down to get her back, Theo. I'll make her see that she's meant to be with me. That we're meant to be together."

Theo's expression darkened, his earlier attempts at humor gone. "You're not thinking clearly. You can't just force this. If she walked away, there's something deeper going on. Maybe you've crossed a line you can't come back from." He looked at Draco, whose eyes were narrowed in thought, though still as cold as ever. "We can figure something out, but you need to focus. You've got to be smarter about this."

But he was beyond listening to reason now. His thoughts were consumed with only one thing—Ginny. His obsession had taken root, and nothing would stop him from getting her back. No amount of logic, no amount of caution could quell the storm inside him.

Days passed, and his attempts to track her down proved futile. No matter how many resources he threw at the problem, no matter how many people he bribed, begged, or threatened, she remained resolute. She stayed in Romania, far out of his reach.

With every passing day, the distance between them grew. The space that had once been filled with the promise of a future together was now an endless chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. Her absence became a suffocating weight, and no matter what he tried, he could not close the gap.

She had left him. And no amount of power, no amount of control, could change that.

The ache of her absence gnawed at him like an open wound, a constant reminder that he had lost everything that truly mattered to him. And all the while, the child she carried, his child, would grow without him, without the man who had sworn to protect it, to love it.

Theo watched the destruction unfold, the man who had once been his close friend slowly unraveling before his eyes. His obsession with her had consumed him, and there was nothing left but a shadow of the man he once was.

As for Draco, he remained silent, his thoughts dark and tangled, wondering if any of them would survive the damage they had all done.

Yet, in the hollow silence of her absence, there was one small mercy: she still wrote to him. Her letters, laced with bitterness and venom, arrived sporadically, each one a brutal slap of reality that kept him tethered to her in the strangest way. The words on the page dripped with resentment, and every sentence was a jagged edge meant to cut him down to his core. Her handwriting, once so familiar and comforting, had become jagged, scrawled across the parchment with an anger so fierce he could almost feel it searing through his fingertips. But he took each letter like a man taking poison willingly, clutching them as if they were precious artifacts, a lifeline he could not let go of.

In the hours after each letter arrived, he would shut himself in his study, unfolding the worn edges with a reverence that almost looked like worship. He read her words over and over, the hateful accusations and biting remarks sinking into him as though they were truths he'd always known about himself. She blamed him for everything—her life unraveling, her pain, the choices she felt were ripped from her hands. She called him every name in the book, sparing no detail in painting him as a tyrant, a monster, a man unworthy of any form of redemption.

Yet, he could not stop reading, could not bring himself to throw even one of her letters away. He pored over them like a madman searching for something hidden between the lines, some glimmer of the love they once shared, now buried beneath her rage. There was a sick sort of comfort in her words, as if the cruelty and anger were reminders that she still acknowledged him, still remembered him. She could have ignored him completely, left him with nothing but empty silence. Instead, each hateful missive was like a signal flare in the darkness, a message from across an emotional battlefield that, somehow, they were still fighting.

He poured over her accusations, her indictments of his character, her barbed words about the life he had promised her and then destroyed. Her resentment was palpable in every letter, her anger flaring up like fire across the page. She recounted his every betrayal, every selfish act he'd ever committed, each incident painted in the worst possible light. She reminded him of the life he'd dragged her into—a life of secrets and lies, a life that had sucked the air out of everything she once held dear. She called him out, page after page, sparing him no reprieve, painting him as the villain she saw him to be. And in those moments, he could almost feel himself becoming that villain, could almost believe he was the man she so clearly despised.

As the weeks passed, her letters grew longer, but no less brutal. She wrote of how she was learning to breathe again, how life without him had returned a part of herself she thought she'd lost forever. She described her days in Romania with an eerie, unsettling happiness, the thrill of freedom that no longer included him. She spoke of the quiet countryside, of long, peaceful walks with no one to answer to, of the endless horizons that stretched out before her, promising a new beginning. She told him of Charlie's kindness, his unwavering support, and hinted at moments of laughter and warmth that she had not felt in years. And with every mention of Charlie, with every hint of joy in her words, he felt something inside him break a little more.

There were parts of her letters he could barely bring himself to read. She taunted him with the life he would never know, with the small happinesses she was reclaiming, the pieces of herself she had pieced back together far away from him. She described moments of peace, of sitting alone under the stars without the weight of his world pressing down on her. She spoke of the quiet nights, the way her laughter sounded in the open air, free from the walls they had once shared. She told him of her child, growing each day, a tiny life that he could not touch, could not protect, and she made it clear that she didn't intend for him to be part of that life.

With every letter, she reminded him of what he had lost, of the family he would never truly know. She spoke of the dreams she had for their child, dreams in which he played no part, a future in which he was merely a memory, a story she might one day tell their child as a cautionary tale. He clung to these words, desperate for even the slightest hint of his place in their lives. He looked for anything that could give him hope, any sign that she might forgive him, that she might want him to return to her and the child she carried. But there was no forgiveness in her letters. Only a promise that she was moving on, carving out a life that did not include him.

And still, he held onto each piece of parchment as if it were his last breath. Each letter was like a drug he couldn't quit, a painful reminder of the life he'd ruined, the love he had taken for granted. He kept them all, stashed away in a hidden drawer, unfolding and reading them late into the night when the silence of the house felt like it might swallow him whole. They became his punishment, his penance—a constant reminder of what he had lost, what he had driven away.

In the quiet hours, alone with her words, his mind would spin with regret and shame, playing back memories of their life together with a clarity that felt almost cruel. He remembered the way she used to smile at him, the softness in her voice when she'd whisper his name in the dark. He remembered the promises he'd made to her, promises he had shattered without a second thought. And now, all that was left were these letters, these venom-laced reminders of a love he had single-handedly destroyed.

Yet, despite the anguish they caused him, he would read them again and again, hoping—foolishly—that the next letter might be different, that perhaps her anger might give way to forgiveness, that she might see through the haze of her resentment and remember the good they once shared. But each letter was a brutal reminder that he had crossed a line he could never uncross, a boundary that no apology could ever mend.

And so, he lived in that torturous limbo, chained to her words, haunted by her bitterness, and held captive by the slender hope that one day, she might let him back in. Until then, her letters were all he had, a poison he willingly swallowed, a punishment he knew he deserved.