SUN & MOON - Luna & Theo (HP)

Blaise landed on the cobblestones, exhaling a visible plume of breath into the chilly night air. The dimly lit street stretched out to his right, flickering lamplight casting elongated shadows that danced across the uneven ground. He had a destination in mind, a safe haven hidden in the labyrinth of downtown's backstreets.

He moved with purpose, his footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones, urgency propelling him forward. The address belonged to an old friend—a trusted ally from his shadowy past. Reaching the modest townhouse, he rapped on the weathered door, the sound resonating with an intensity that belied his anxiety. Minutes trickled by without a response. He knocked again, louder this time, but the house remained ominously silent. Frustration gnawed at him; he couldn't afford to be exposed for long. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, feeling his carefully laid plans beginning to unravel.

The crisp mountain air of Hargita-Băi bit at Draco's lungs as he ventured into the dense forest. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy overhead, casting long, eerie shadows that flickered like specters across the forest floor. Flanked by Blaise and Theo, their expressions grim, he surveyed the unsettling surroundings.

"Any sign of him?" Theo's voice barely rose above a whisper.

Draco shook his head, his gaze darting nervously between the gnarled trees. "Not yet. But this place…" he trailed off, an unsettling quiet pressing down on him. An unnatural stillness hung in the air, broken only by the occasional snap of a twig or the rustle of unseen creatures stirring in the undergrowth.

"Feels wrong, doesn't it?" Blaise murmured, pulling his cloak tighter around him. "Like the magic here is... twisted."

A shiver ran down Draco's spine. He had faced the darker corners of the magical world, but something about Hargita-Băi felt distinctly malevolent. Perhaps it was the lingering whispers of dark rituals rumored to have been practiced here centuries ago, or the weight of their mission—vengeance against the woman who had sought to harm his love.

Suddenly, a loud screech shattered the silence, sending a flock of crows scattering into the twilight sky. Draco instinctively reached for his wand, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Just a bird," Theo said dismissively, though his hand hovered near his own wand.

"Maybe," Draco replied, tension threading through his voice. "But keep your eyes peeled. This place is teeming with… something."

They pressed deeper into the forest, the silence oppressive, only occasionally broken by the rustle of leaves or the snap of twigs beneath their feet. The air grew colder, the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filling their nostrils. As they moved further, the trees became increasingly twisted, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers reaching for salvation.

"There," Blaise hissed, pointing toward a clearing ahead. In the center stood a dilapidated cabin, its darkened windows boarded up like vacant eyes. Smoke curled from a crooked chimney, the only sign of life in this desolate place.

Draco's breath hitched, a cold certainty settling in his gut. They had found Karkaroff. This was where Hermione's would-be murderer lay hidden. Now came the hard part—extracting their vengeance.

A wry smile crept onto Theo's lips. "About time, Neville," he chuckled, gripping the worn hilt of his sword. The years of relentless Herbology studies had transformed him, yet his Gryffindor courage still burned brightly. Here, in this remote village shadowed by an unsettling forest, he had a chance to prove himself worthy, not just to his friends, but to himself.

The white church, once a beacon of hope, now appeared strangely out of place next to the dilapidated house spewing ominous smoke. It served as a stark reminder of the corrupting influence of dark magic, even in the most unexpected corners.

Neville adjusted the straps of his pack, ensuring his arsenal of magical plants was easily accessible. Countless hours spent researching obscure flora with Professor Sprout had equipped him with knowledge of their unique properties and potential applications in combat. Today, that knowledge might be the difference between victory and defeat.

"Remember the plan," Draco said, his voice low and steely. "We take Karkaroff by surprise. No time for theatrics. Theo and I will disarm him; Blaise will watch the perimeter. And Neville…" Draco's gaze met Neville's, a flicker of respect replacing his usual indifference. "You'll handle any… surprises Karkaroff might have lurking in the shadows."

Neville straightened, determination surging within him. "Ready when you are," he replied, his voice firm.

With a silent nod from Draco, they crept toward the house, their movements cloaked in the shadows cast by encroaching darkness. The rhythmic creak of the old wooden door and the faint glow from a cracked window were the only sounds breaking the eerie stillness.

As they neared the porch, a low growl erupted from within, a sound that sent shivers racing down Neville's spine. It wasn't human. Whatever lurked inside with Karkaroff wasn't something they had anticipated. Neville's hand instinctively reached for the pouch containing powdered Dittany—a potent healing agent—just in case.

A tense silence enveloped them, broken only by the ragged breaths of the approaching group. Neville's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

This was it. The moment of truth. He was no longer the shy boy who had struggled to remember a simple charm. He was Neville Longbottom, and he was here to fight.

But the fight wasn't what he expected. As they burst through the creaking door, a hulking creature lunged from the shadows. It was a monstrous boar, its tusks glinting wickedly in the dim light. Karkaroff, pale and sweating, scrambled back in fear, his wand clattering to the floor.

Theo and Blaise reacted instinctively, disarming Karkaroff before he could reach his wand. But Neville's focus was solely on the enraged beast. Adrenaline surged through him, sharpening his senses. He recalled Professor Sprout's lessons on Mooncalf aggression—how soothing scents could calm them. Thinking quickly, he rummaged through his pack, retrieving a vial of lavender essence.

With a deep breath, Neville tossed the vial at the boar's feet. The creature, momentarily stunned by the sudden fragrance, hesitated in its charge. Seizing the opportunity, Neville lunged forward—not with the grace of a skilled swordsman, but with the raw courage of a Gryffindor. He parried a vicious swipe from the boar's tusk and used his knowledge of Herbology to his advantage.

Spotting a clump of Devil's Snare growing in the corner, he yanked a length of the vine with surprising strength and entangled the beast's legs.

The enraged creature squealed in frustration, thrashing against the constricting vines. With a final heave, Neville managed to trip the boar, sending it crashing to the ground with a thud. He stood there, chest heaving, his sword pointed at the subdued creature.

Silence engulfed the room, broken only by Karkaroff's ragged breaths.

Theo and Blaise stared at Neville, a mix of surprise and grudging respect on their faces. Even Draco's eyes held a flicker of something that could have been admiration. In that moment, Neville Longbottom was no longer just the Herbology prodigy. He was a warrior, a protector, a testament to the courage that lay within him.

Neville tightened his grip around the sweat-slick hilt of his sword.

He wasn't sure what awaited him outside, but the chilling finality in Draco's voice sent a shiver down his spine. Loyalty warred with unease, the weight of their mission pressing heavily on him.

"What about Karkaroff?" he managed, his voice hoarse. Leaving the former Headmaster to Draco and the others, especially after encountering that monstrous creature, felt wrong.

A flicker of respect crossed Draco's face, a stark contrast to his usual Malfoy sneer. "We'll handle him," Draco said curtly. "Just… go. Clear your head."

Neville hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the subdued boar and the disarmed Karkaroff. Finally, with a deep breath, he nodded curtly and turned toward the doorway. As he stepped outside, the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him with a finality that echoed in the oppressive silence.

He found himself standing on a creaky wooden porch, bathed in the cool moonlight filtering through the dense canopy. The crisp mountain air stung his lungs, a stark contrast to the stale, fear-tinged atmosphere within the house. The distant sounds of the forest—the rustling of leaves, the hooting of an owl—seemed amplified in the sudden quiet.

Neville leaned against the rough wooden railing, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He wasn't naive.

He understood what awaited Karkaroff inside: swift, merciless vengeance. A part of him, the Gryffindor part, recoiled from the violence. But another part—the part that ached for his parents and all the others lost to the war—understood the thirst for justice, even if it came at a dark price.

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

The air crackled with a different kind of tension now, thick and oppressive. The silence that followed the sudden apparition was deafening, punctuated only by the soft clinking of a glass as Pansy set it down with a trembling hand, the sound echoing in the stillness like a warning bell.

Their gazes fell upon Draco, their initial relief at his safe return morphing into sheer terror as they absorbed the macabre spectacle before them. He stood there, an unsettling stillness radiating from him, an eerie calm that seemed at odds with the chaos surrounding his presence. Blood, a sickening crimson, soaked his clothes and dripped from his hands, one of which clutched a grisly trophy— Karkaroff's severed head , its eyes wide with a permanent, silent scream.

Hermione lurched forward, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. The image before her threatened to shatter her, a grotesque tableau that was far from the determined Draco she thought she had been fighting alongside. This was not the man she knew; this was a monster, a chilling reflection of the very darkness they were trying to vanquish.

"Draco… what have you done?" Her voice was a mere whisper, laced with tremors of fear and disbelief.

Pansy, usually so composed and full of bravado, seemed to shrink under the weight of the moment. Her face drained of color, mirroring the horror dawning on Hermione's. This wasn't vengeance; this was cold-blooded murder, and the implications sent a shiver down her spine, wrapping her in a shroud of dread.

Draco, however, remained unmoved. His gaze was distant, as if he were lost in a world only he could see. He raised the severed head, its lifeless eyes staring vacantly into nothingness, and spoke in a voice devoid of emotion.

"Justice has been served," he said, the words echoing hollowly in the tense silence, reverberating off the walls like a death knell.

Pansy, as if sensing a shift in the atmosphere, practically leaped out of her chair. Her usual poise was replaced by frantic desperation as she flew into his arms, seeking solace in the face of chaos.

"Nevie, my love, are you alright?" she whispered, her voice trembling, a fragile lifeline amidst the horror.

Neville met her embrace with a measured calmness that surprised him. He held her close, a silent promise of protection in the face of the storm brewing around them. Across the room, Draco stood like a statue, Karkaroff's head still dangling from his hand . His earlier detachment had given way to a chilling emptiness in his eyes that seemed to suck the warmth from the room.

"I should've brought you trophies as well, home sooner," Draco murmured, his voice barely a whisper, the words slithering through the air. Was it a genuine apology or a twisted justification for his actions? It was impossible to tell, and the uncertainty hung heavy in the air.

The room hung on a knife's edge, the tension palpable. Pansy clung to Neville, her body shaking with silent sobs, her heart breaking for the man she once knew. 

Luna and Lysander, thankfully, remained blissfully unaware, their peaceful slumber a stark contrast to the turmoil within the room.

Theo, with a faint grimace, used a silent charm to levitate Luna and Lysander, their peaceful forms undisturbed. They drifted upwards, glowing faintly in the moonlight filtering through the window, before Theo gently deposited them in the guest bedroom, their innocence preserved amidst the surrounding darkness.

Blaise, ever the pragmatist, broke the suffocating silence. "Where's Ginny?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. His wife, usually calm and collected, wouldn't just disappear without a word.

Pansy, drained from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening, sighed deeply, her voice weary. "Ginny had a… meltdown," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Big one. She Apparated out of here in a huff."

Blaise's face hardened, the news of Ginny's outburst striking a chord of concern within him. Without a word, he rose from his chair, his cloak billowing around him as he prepared to take action. A crack echoed in the room as he Disapparated, his destination likely shrouded in urgency and fear.

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, its warmth a stark contrast to the chilling scene before them. Hermione stood there, isolated in her disbelief, alone with Draco and the severed head of Karkaroff, a grotesque centerpiece on the table. The air crackled with unspoken words, the weight of the night pressing down on them like a shroud of despair.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Hermione spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "The head," she said, her throat tight. "Toss it in the fire. Get rid of it."

Draco turned towards her, his face an unreadable mask, the shadows of the room dancing across his features. He picked up the head by its hair, the lifeless eyes staring vacantly at nothing, and for a fleeting moment, Hermione thought she saw a flicker of something akin to satisfaction in his gaze—a dark thrill that sent shivers down her spine.

"Thank you, sweetness," she said finally, the words catching in her throat, laced with a mixture of gratitude and horror. "For taking care of things."

A wry smile played on Draco's lips, a chilling counterpoint to the sincerity in her voice. "Anything for you, my love," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of something that could have been devotion—or something far more dangerous. The night hung heavy with unspoken truths, and Hermione felt the darkness close in around them, leaving her wondering if the man she once loved was still in there, buried beneath layers of blood and betrayal.

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

Luna woke up, warmth surrounding her as she nestled in Theo's arms. She blinked, disoriented, her heart pounding as she processed that he was really there, holding her.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Her breath hitched. "You're... alive."

He tightened his embrace, concern shadowing his eyes. "Of course I am, my moon. Right here with you."

Tears welled up as her hands gripped his shirt. "I thought... I thought you were gone." Her voice trembled, and then, unable to hold back, she began to cry.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, brushing his fingers through her hair. "No tears, my moonbeam. I'm here, safe and sound."

She clung to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek, grounding her.

His hand drifted down, resting on her belly as he traced gentle circles. "I'm right here, exactly where I'm supposed to be," he said softly, his voice like a balm.

She took his hand and guided it down, sliding it slowly into her knickers, her breath hitching.

"Is that what you need?" he whispered, his voice low and full of promise.

"Yes, please," she murmured, her voice a breathy plea. "I need to feel you."

With a teasing smile, he began tracing slow, lazy circles over her sensitive clit, drawing soft moans from her lips as she clutched his shoulder.

"What else do you need, my love?" he asked, his voice warm against her ear.

"Your fingers… please," she whispered, barely able to contain herself.

In a fluid motion, he pulled her knickers down and settled between her legs, lifting one of them over his shoulder. His mouth began to move over her slowly, torturously, tasting her with a leisurely, maddening pace.

"Theo, please," she gasped, her voice raw with need.

"Please what, baby?" he teased, looking up at her with a wicked grin.

"Your fingers… please," she begged, her voice trembling.

"Three this time?" he suggested, his tone daring.

She shook her head, overwhelmed. "No, gosh… I can't."

His lips brushed against her inner thigh, reassuring yet challenging. "Let me show you that you can."

He didn't hesitate, sliding two fingers inside her, curling them just right to find that perfect spot. She moved against him, her rhythm desperate, her breaths shallow.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "Come for me."

Her body tensed, then shattered around him, her release spilling over his hand.

"More… please, more," she gasped, still quivering.

He smiled, slipping in a third finger, stretching her just a little further. She was on the brink again, her moans growing louder as his mouth returned to her clit, drawing her closer, over and over.

Before she could come down, he lifted her, positioning her over him. She barely had a moment to catch her breath before he pulled her down onto him, filling her completely, his eyes locked with hers.

She began to ride him slowly, her movements tentative at first but soon growing bolder as his hands guided her hips. Each shift of her body brought them both closer, the intensity building between them. Theo's gaze never left her face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed her features.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he reached around, sliding a finger into her other entrance. She gasped, her eyes wide as she took in the new sensation, her body tensing.

"Shh, it's okay, darling," he murmured, his voice a soothing, reassuring whisper against her ear. "Just trust me… It'll feel amazing in a moment."

She took a shuddering breath, surrendering to him completely, her body relaxing into his touch. And just as he'd promised, a rush of pleasure spread through her, so powerful it left her breathless. She moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as she found her rhythm again, each movement more intense, her control slipping with each wave of sensation.

"Please… I want you there… all of you," she whispered, her words barely audible over her breathy gasps.

"Lift up a bit, love," he guided her, his tone gentle but filled with desire. His hands held her steady as he pressed into her fully, filling her completely. The new sensation made her cry out, her head tipping back, and he took the opportunity to press soft kisses along her collarbone and up to her neck, savoring her every reaction.

She whimpered, arching into him as his hand drifted down to her clit, fingers tracing circles that drove her wild. "Oh, Theo… don't stop… I'm so close…"

He responded by pressing harder, on her clit, his fingers moving in sync with his thrusts, and with one final cry, she shattered, her release overtaking her in waves. Her body trembled, and she felt herself lose control entirely, the intensity of her climax washing over her like nothing she'd ever felt before.

"Oh… oh no…" she stammered, a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she looked down, seeing the evidence of her release.

"That…" Theo murmured, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips as he looked up at her, "was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The heat in his eyes sparked something deep within her, and she leaned down, her mouth meeting his in a fierce kiss, her hands tangling in his hair. His grip on her hips tightened as he began to guide her movements once more, pulling her down onto him harder, deeper. Each time she sank onto him, it sent a thrill through her, and her moans grew louder, filling the room.

His voice was low and thick with need. "That's it, love… just like that…"

Lost in the rhythm, she felt another climax building within her, stronger than before. His hands roamed over her body, igniting every inch of her skin as he held her, his pace quickening as he felt her tightening around him.

And then it happened again—a second wave crashed over her, even more intense than the first, her body surrendering to him completely as she climaxed again, squirting all over him. He watched her in awe, his own release finally overtaking him as he buried himself deep, holding her close as he shuddered, his own body lost in pleasure.

They stayed that way for a long moment, tangled together, their breaths slowly steadying. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he whispered, his voice filled with admiration.

She smiled, her fingers tracing light patterns along his chest. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of you, my love."

He pulled her closer, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Good," he murmured, his voice a soft promise. "Because I plan to keep you right here, my love, for as long as you'll let me."

Nestled together, they lay in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten as they drifted off, content in the quiet, shared intimacy of the moment.