SUN & MOON - Luna & Theo (HP)

Luna and Pansy were deep in their sacred afternoon ritual—a perfect blend of laughter, tea, and the delightful chaos that was Lysander. The drawing room, which was meant to be a refined sanctuary of peace and elegance, had long since surrendered to the whims of a giggling toddler and two pugs who seemed to believe they were part of some grand chase scene. Sunlight spilled through the towering windows, dappling the polished floors in gold, while the scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the earthy aroma of Luna's carefully tended herbs.

Lysander, the self-proclaimed ruler of this miniature kingdom, was currently leading Lady and Princess in what could only be described as an enthusiastic but ultimately doomed escape attempt. His tiny legs pumped furiously as he squealed with delight, the pugs hot on his heels, their stocky bodies moving with surprising speed.

"Mommy!" he shrieked, his voice high with both exhilaration and just a hint of alarm as he threw a glance over his shoulder. The pugs, undeterred by his distress, were closing in like highly affectionate bounty hunters.

Luna, curled up on the plush sofa, watched the unfolding spectacle with the indulgent amusement of a queen watching her subjects amuse themselves. Her fingers delicately cradled a cup of chamomile tea, though her attention was entirely fixed on her son. "Let them catch you, love," she encouraged, her voice warm with affection.

Pansy, lounging across from her with a glass of elderflower cordial, lifted a single, unimpressed brow. "Honestly, I think they're obsessed with him," she observed, tilting her glass toward the two pugs who were now operating at full-speed determination. "I've never seen them this committed to anything before. Are you sure you didn't hex them for extra stamina?"

Luna chuckled, setting her cup down. "They adore him," she said simply. "And Lysander, well, he thrives on the attention. In his little mind, he's leading a mighty pack."

Pansy smirked. "Leader? Please. If anything, he's their favorite chew toy. Look at them—they're seconds away from a full coronation."

Right on cue, Lysander's little legs gave out beneath him, and he tumbled onto the thick rug with a dramatic oof. Lady and Princess seized their moment, pouncing on their fallen ruler with unrelenting enthusiasm, covering his face in enthusiastic, slobbery kisses. Lysander shrieked with laughter, flailing helplessly as he tried—and failed—to escape their overwhelming devotion.

"Well," Pansy mused, watching the scene with a smirk. "I'd say he's doing a fantastic job as their ruler. If only all kings were this gracious with their subjects."

Lysander, now practically drowning in pug affection, gasped between giggles, "Mommy, help!"

Luna, fighting back laughter, reached down to rescue him, peeling one determined pug off his face. She settled Lysander in her lap, pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek as he huffed in dramatic relief.

Pansy, watching the interaction, found herself feeling something dangerously close to fondness. She took another sip of her drink, as if that might quell the uncharacteristic warmth creeping up her spine. "You know," she mused, swirling the liquid in her glass, "I think I might love him as much as the dogs do."

Luna's lips curved into a knowing smile. "You're already his favorite godmother, you know. He asks for you every day."

Pansy sighed, feigning boredom, though the unmistakable glint of satisfaction flickered in her eyes. "Well, obviously. I am his favorite. It was never a competition, really."

Luna smirked. "You do realize he calls you Pee-Pee, right?"

Pansy exhaled sharply through her nose, glaring as if Luna had just personally insulted her entire bloodline. "Yes, I'm aware. Thank you, so much, for reminding me."

As if summoned, Lysander twisted in Luna's lap and beamed at Pansy. "Pee-Pee!" he chirped delightedly.

Pansy let out a dramatic groan, dragging a hand down her face. "I swear to Merlin, Luna, I have built an impeccable reputation. People fear me. I am elegance, I am power, I am Pansy Parkinson—and yet, here I am, being called something that sounds like a toddler's bathroom break."

Lysander giggled, kicking his feet. "Pee-Pee!" he said again, now clearly enjoying himself.

Luna barely held back her laughter as she rubbed Lysander's back. "He says it with love."

Pansy shot her a flat look. "Oh, good. That makes it so much better."

Luna's grin was positively wicked. "You could correct him."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Oh, and break his tiny, adoring heart? Absolutely not. I may be vain, but I'm not that cruel." She sighed, lifting her glass dramatically. "Fine. I shall simply suffer in silence."

Lysander, clearly satisfied with himself, wiggled out of Luna's lap and toddled back toward the pugs, who were already preparing for round two. Pansy watched him go with a small, reluctant smile.

Then, out of nowhere, she set down her glass and announced, "I want one."

Luna, mid-sip of tea, nearly choked. "One what? A refill? A new pug? A—"

"A child," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand.

Luna blinked. Then she blinked again. "Pansy, darling, you're not exactly the type to… you know, treat having a child like picking out a new coat. It's a bit more involved."

Pansy scoffed. "Oh, please. I've already picked the name, planned the nursery, and obviously decided their Hogwarts house. All that's left is the minor detail of creating them."

Luna set her cup down with a sigh, massaging her temples. "Yes, just a minor detail. I assume you have a strategy?"

Pansy tossed her hair back with a confident smirk. "Oh, absolutely. It involves being devastatingly gorgeous and waiting for fate to deliver me a suitable candidate."

Luna arched a brow. "Ah, yes. The time-tested method of doing absolutely nothing and expecting results. Foolproof."

Pansy huffed. "Well, it usually works."

Luna took a slow sip of tea, eyes twinkling over the rim. "Shall I start knitting tiny 'Pee-Pee Jr.' jumpers now, or…?"

Pansy groaned, throwing a cushion at her. "I hate you."

Luna caught it with ease, grinning. "No, you don't."

Pansy exhaled dramatically, sinking further into her chair. "No, I really don't."

Luna's smile stretched into something positively gleeful as she leaned back, bracing herself for the spectacle of nonsense Pansy was about to unleash. "You've… picked out a name? Already?" she asked, incredulous. "Do I even want to know what it is?"

Pansy smirked, the embodiment of self-satisfaction. "Absolutely. Reginald Aurelius Maximilian Parkinson III," she declared, as though she had just unveiled the next heir to the wizarding throne. "Iconic, isn't it?"

Luna blinked at her, unimpressed. "Pansy, that poor child is going to need a Gringotts vault just to store their full name."

"Exactly!" Pansy exclaimed, her hands flying out as if Luna had just single-handedly validated every decision she had ever made. "It exudes power. Like royalty. Or, you know, a child prodigy who launches their own designer robe line before they hit puberty. I haven't decided yet."

Luna pressed a hand to her forehead as if this conversation was physically exhausting her. "And the actual raising of this hypothetical child? What's the plan there? Are you going to sit in your silk-draped armchair, sipping champagne and shouting 'Thrive, darling!' while someone else does the hard bits?"

Pansy waved a dismissive hand, as though Luna had just suggested something offensively mundane, like grocery shopping. "Oh, please. Of course I'll be involved. I'll hire an elite nanny, naturally, but I'll handle the important things—like teaching them how to perfect a dramatic exit, wield both a wand and a martini glass with grace, and, obviously, the art of the devastating eyebrow arch."

Luna gave her a long, tired look before exhaling a laugh. "I am genuinely concerned for this imaginary child's future."

"Ugh, you're so dramatic," Pansy scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder with all the regality of a queen dismissing an unworthy subject. "They'll have an extraordinary life. Imagine it—me, the epitome of elegance, guiding them with love, charm, and an unshakable sense of superiority." She gestured wildly. "And just picture the wardrobe. The miniature tailored suits. The tiny velvet capes!"

Luna let out an undignified snort. "Oh, Merlin, velvet capes? And what, pray tell, will they be doing in these outfits? Auditioning to be the next Minister of Magic at age four?"

Pansy's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Exactly! And monocles, Luna. Tiny, distinguished monocles. Honestly, at this rate, they'll probably solve the Ministry's economic crisis before their first Hogwarts letter."

Luna buried her face in her hands, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. "I refuse to believe this is a real conversation."

"And wait until you hear my backup baby name ideas," Pansy continued, undeterred, now fully committed to her own madness. "I've got loads. Lysander Junior—because, obviously, your perfect little cherub deserves to have his legacy continued through my superior genetics." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Or… Parkinson Legacy. Has a real sense of grandeur, don't you think?"

Luna lifted her head just enough to give her a withering look. "Pansy. You cannot name a child Legacy. That's not a name; that's a real estate investment strategy."

Pansy gasped, clutching her chest in deep mock offense. "Excuse me! Legacy is sophisticated. It's visionary. It says, 'I was born for greatness.'"

"It says, 'My mother had a God Complex,'" Luna shot back, grinning. "I swear, you are completely unhinged."

Pansy rolled her eyes and reached over to give Luna a playful shove. "Oh, please, you're acting like I'm planning to pop out a baby tomorrow. Relax, Lovegood, I'll give it at least a week before I go full maternity mode."

"A week?" Luna repeated, struggling to contain her laughter. "That's so… generous of you."

"I know, right?" Pansy sighed dramatically, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Honestly, I'm a saint."

Luna shook her head, wiping away a tear of laughter. "Merlin help us all."

"Merlin doesn't need to help, darling," Pansy declared with a confident smirk, raising her glass in a mock toast. "I've got this handled."

After what felt like an eternity of laughter, dramatic proclamations, and entirely too many ridiculous baby name suggestions, Luna and Pansy finally managed to compose themselves—well, mostly. Their giggles still lingered in the air like the scent of a summer breeze, the remnants of their amusement impossible to fully shake. Wiping away the last traces of tears from their eyes, they exchanged a knowing glance before deciding it was time to head inside. The afternoon was slipping away, and while Lysander still had enough energy to fuel a Quidditch team, Luna knew nap time loomed like an unavoidable fate.

Lysander, of course, was blissfully unaware of his impending doom. He continued to zoom around in erratic circles, his laughter bubbling up like a tiny, overenthusiastic wind-up toy that absolutely refused to power down. His loyal entourage of pugs, however, had a far better understanding of the situation—or, more accurately, they sensed danger. The moment the word "nap" was mentioned, Lady and Princess immediately abandoned their frantic pursuit of their tiny overlord and switched tactics. No longer playful hunters, they transformed into highly skilled bodyguards, trotting behind Lysander as if escorting him to his royal chambers. Their eyes were sharp. Their tails were wagging. Their mission was clear: if their human prince was going down, they were going down with him.

With Lysander securely cradled in Luna's arms, they made their way inside, his highness squirming just enough to express his protest, but not quite enough to escape his mother's firm grasp. The pugs marched solemnly behind them, their tiny paws padding purposefully across the floor, each step filled with the gravity of their duty.

Upon arriving at the nursery—a room of absolute comfort, where every pillow was plump and every stuffed animal stood in dignified silence—Lysander's resistance began to wane. The quilt-covered bed, decorated with his favorite plush companions, beckoned like a siren song. But before Luna could so much as tuck him in, his ever-vigilant pugs made their move.

Princess immediately hopped onto the bed, spinning in an aggressive circle before flopping down dramatically, effectively claiming her spot. Lady followed, curling up directly against Lysander's side, her body pressed protectively against his tiny form.

Luna sighed, shaking her head with mock exasperation. "I suppose the dogs need to be tucked in too, don't they?"

Pansy, arms crossed, surveyed the ridiculous display with an arched brow. "If we don't tuck them in, they'll probably start wailing about it later. And I, for one, refuse to deal with pug-induced emotional distress."

With a resigned chuckle, Luna carefully arranged the blankets, tucking them around Lysander and his fur-laden security detail. It took some delicate maneuvering—primarily because the pugs refused to move even an inch from their positions—but eventually, all three were settled. Lysander let out one last sleepy little sigh before snuggling deeper into his covers, his eyelids fluttering as sleep finally claimed him. The pugs followed suit, their snores coming almost instantaneously, as if they had also been running in circles for hours (which, to be fair, they had).

With a final glance at the absurdly cozy scene, Luna and Pansy tiptoed out of the nursery, shutting the door with the precision of highly trained spies. The moment the latch clicked, Luna collapsed against the doorframe, exhaling deeply.

"Finally," she whispered dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart like a woman who had just survived an ordeal. "Some peace."

Pansy, ever the realist, gave her a sideways glance, already seeing the cracks in Luna's blissful optimism. "Some peace?" she echoed, feigning incredulity. "You do realize that within an hour, your son is going to explode out of that room like a human firework, and those pugs are going to act like they've been released from captivity, right?"

Luna huffed a small laugh, glancing at the closed nursery door with a fond smile. "I wouldn't trade it for the world," she admitted. But then, stretching her arms above her head with an exaggerated groan, she let out a hopeful sigh. "That being said… for now, we have the house to ourselves. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

Pansy's lips curled into a sly smile as she looped her arm through Luna's and pulled her toward the drawing room. "Oh, let's definitely enjoy it," she agreed. "But let's also be realistic—this peace is an illusion. We are talking about a toddler and two pugs, Lovegood. We might have twenty minutes before all hell breaks loose. Thirty, if we're extremely lucky."

With a soft chuckle, Luna allowed herself to be guided to the sofa, sinking into the cushions as the quiet of the house finally settled around them. It was a rare moment of stillness, fleeting but precious—a pause in the beautiful chaos of life.

And they were damn well going to savor it.

~~~~~~

In fact, their quiet moment didn't last long. Just as they were starting to relax into the peaceful calm of the house, a frantic voice suddenly echoed through the Floo network, cutting through the tranquility like a clap of thunder.

"Help me! Ginny's in labour and I'm going to die!" Blaise's voice came through in a wild, panicked shout.

Pansy, who had just settled comfortably into the sofa with her feet up, let out an exasperated groan and slapped her hand to her forehead. "Oh, for fucks sake," she muttered, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Really? At a time like this?"

Luna, on the other hand, looked utterly unphased. She was already on her feet, the serene calm of motherhood slipping away as she moved toward the fireplace with swift precision. Her usual soft voice now carried an urgent edge. "Bobsy!" she shouted with authority, her gaze flicking toward the head elf, who appeared almost immediately, his pointy ears twitching at the sound of her call.

"Bobsy, love, Master Zabini is in need of help. Please, watch the children for me, and the furry one too," Luna instructed, her words clipped but kind. Bobsy gave a quick nod of understanding, though he did look slightly apprehensive at the prospect of watching not only Lysander, but also the two ever-present furballs who seemed to have made themselves permanent fixtures in the family.

"Yes, Mistress Luna, I will take care of the young master and the dog misses," Bobsy squeaked, his voice full of determination. "No worries, Miss Luna! But do please be careful! 

Pansy was still muttering under her breath as she reached for her coat. "Ginny's in labour, Blaise is in crisis—why am I the only one who ever gets a quiet day off?" she grumbled. "I swear, this is the universe's idea of a joke."

Luna, on the other hand, simply chuckled and slipped on her own coat, her expression calm as ever. "Pansy, you wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, it's an adventure, and you do love those. Even if they involve the occasional panic-stricken man."

Pansy shot her a look, raising an eyebrow. "An adventure, huh? You call saving a screaming man from his own dramatics an adventure? Next thing you know, we'll be saving him from himself in some broom cupboard."

Luna grinned, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "If it's not too much trouble, I'll take the broom cupboard rescue. I think I'm far more qualified to handle Blaise than a certain godfather is."

With a dramatic sigh, Pansy adjusted her scarf and pulled out her wand. "Fine, but this is the last time. Blaise owes me a full week of quiet time after this little escapade."

As they made their way to the Floo, Luna shot Pansy a teasing grin. "Oh, I'm sure he'll make it up to you. After all, if anyone can handle a full-blown wizarding birth, it's you."

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically as they stepped into the fireplace, ready for yet another chaotic adventure. "You're right. I'm practically a certified healer at this point."

"Only because you've survived Blaise's melodramas," she quipped.

~~~~~~

When they finally arrived at the Zabini residence, they expected to find a scene of utter chaos—somehow, that's always how these things go when Blaise is involved. However, what they found was Ginny, sitting calmly on the couch, sipping tea and looking like she was in no rush at all. There was no sign of panic, no wild-eyed Blaise running around in a frenzy. In fact, Ginny seemed perfectly fine, which was both a relief and, frankly, a bit of a letdown.

Luna walked into the room with a concerned frown. "Ginny, are you okay?" she asked gently, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of distress.

Ginny looked up from her cup with a small, relaxed smile. "Yes, I'm fine," she replied with an ease that could only come from someone who had already weathered a few storms in her life. "My water broke, but there's no need to panic. We're just packing to go to St. Mungo's." She patted her belly reassuringly, clearly unbothered by the impending arrival of her baby. "No big deal."

Pansy, who had been mentally preparing herself for a scene out of a dramatic, high-stakes childbirth movie, blinked in disbelief. She turned to Ginny and then to the staircase, where she could faintly hear Blaise's frantic voice in the distance. "I swear, Ginny, I'm going to kill him," Pansy muttered, her hand resting on her hip as she crossed the room toward the couch. "This is supposed to be the most dramatic moment of his life, and what does he do? He freaks out like a bloody child."

Ginny chuckled softly, shaking her head with a knowing smile. "He's just scared," she explained, rolling her eyes playfully. "You know what he's like. He acts tough, but when it comes to big life changes, he's all nerves and no spine."

Luna, who had been quietly observing the interaction with a gentle smile, added in her usual serene tone, "Well, it's understandable. The anticipation of a baby arriving is a bit overwhelming for everyone involved. Even for those who act like they have everything under control."

Pansy gave a short, dry laugh, clearly unimpressed by Ginny's calm demeanor. "Understandable? That's rich. He's in there throwing a fit like we're about to face a Dark Lord. Meanwhile, here you are, looking like you're about to host a tea party."

Ginny shot her a mischievous grin. "I've had a lot of practice at this," she said, her voice teasing. "It's not the first time I've had to deal with a panicking Zabini." She looked down at her growing belly and patted it affectionately. "Besides, I have more important things to focus on. Like making sure we don't forget the baby bag."

Pansy crossed her arms, shaking her head with mock indignation. "Oh, I get it. You're handling this like a pro while Blaise plays the damsel in distress, and I'm supposed to just accept it? No, no, no. I'm going in there to remind him how to be a man during childbirth. A little bit of calm wouldn't hurt."

Luna couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. "Well, if anyone can bring order to the chaos, it's definitely you, Pansy," she said, her voice filled with genuine amusement. "But I think Ginny's got everything under control. You can always yell at Blaise later."

Ginny, still sipping her tea, winked at Pansy. "You know, Pansy, it might actually be better if you just let him off the hook this time. After all, he is going to be a father in a few hours, and I have a feeling that might be a bigger shock to his system than any of us expect."

Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Fine," she conceded with mock reluctance. "But only because you're both so damn calm about this whole thing. If it were up to me, I'd have him in a corner with a stiff drink, begging for forgiveness."

Luna clapped her hands together in that way she had when she was clearly happy with the way things were going. "Well, let's not keep him waiting then. I think it's time to give Blaise the good news that his wife is completely unbothered by the whole ordeal. That should help with his nerves."

Ginny's smile grew wider as she set down her tea. "Oh, it'll help—until he sees me in labor. Then I'm sure his nerves will return tenfold."

Pansy grinned, turning toward the stairs. "Well, in that case, let's go deliver the message that might just save him from his own meltdown. It's only fair that someone gets to have a calm moment in this circus."

With that, the three women headed upstairs, ready to deal with the man who was still likely somewhere in the house, convinced that the fate of the world rested on the arrival of his child. And while Ginny was right—he was just scared—Pansy was more than happy to take a bit of pleasure in the irony of it all.

~~~~~~

By the time they arrived at St. Mungo's, the atmosphere around Blaise had shifted so drastically that it felt as though they had entered an entirely different universe. Gone was the jittery man on the verge of hyperventilating, the one who had spent the last few hours alternating between pacing and babbling nervously about worst-case scenarios. In his place was someone… formidable.

Blaise Zabini, now cloaked in the aura of a man on a high-stakes mission, strode through the hospital doors as though he were leading an elite team on a covert operation. His posture was rigid, his expression carved from stone, and his eyes scanned every inch of the bustling hospital with calculated intensity. Every step he took seemed to echo with authority, and those in his path instinctively moved aside, sensing that Blaise Zabini was not a man to be trifled with today.

"Where's maternity?" he barked at the receptionist before she could even ask for their names. The poor witch behind the desk blinked up at him, momentarily frozen by the sheer force of his presence.

"M-Maternity ward is on the third floor, sir. You'll need to—"

"We don't need to do anything except get there," he cut in sharply, already turning toward the lifts. "Come on, keep up," he added, glancing over his shoulder at Pansy, Luna, and Ginny, who followed at a more leisurely pace.

Pansy raised a brow as she exchanged a look with Luna. "Well, this is new," she muttered. "I didn't realize impending fatherhood turned Blaise into a deranged drill sergeant."

"I'm not deranged," he snapped without looking back. "I'm prepared. There's a difference."

"Sure," Pansy drawled. "Let's go with that." She leaned toward Luna and whispered, "I give it ten minutes before he tries to interrogate a nurse about their qualifications."

When they reached the third floor, Blaise stepped out of the lift first, immediately zeroing in on a passing healer. His voice was sharp, clipped, and entirely too loud for the peaceful environment of the maternity ward. "You there—healer. I want the best room you have available, preferably one with charm-reinforced walls. None of that flimsy privacy curtain nonsense. And make sure there's a fully stocked potions cabinet. We're not taking chances."

The healer blinked, looking momentarily bewildered before nodding slowly. "Uh… yes, sir. We'll… make sure everything is up to standard."

"Good," he said curtly, already scanning the corridor for their assigned room. "And find someone to double-check the charms on the bed. I don't want my wife lying on something that might malfunction halfway through labor."

Pansy's jaw dropped as she watched him stride ahead, barking out orders like he owned the place. "Merlin's saggy pants, he's serious," she whispered to Luna. "I thought he'd calm down once we got here, but this… this is next level."

Luna gave a serene smile as she glided along beside Pansy. "Blaise has always had… a flair for control," she said softly. "It's how he handles things when he's scared. He can't control what's happening with Ginny, but he can control the environment around her. It makes him feel useful."

"Useful?" Pansy echoed incredulously. "He looks like he's about to start giving lectures on obstetrics." She paused, watching as Blaise cornered a cleaning crew near the end of the hall. "Oh, this should be good."

"Cleaning staff!" he barked, causing the two witches and a wizard holding enchanted mops to flinch. "You're going to sanitize that room from top to bottom, and I mean to perfection. I don't want a speck of dust or a lingering charm that hasn't been refreshed in the last twenty-four hours. My wife is about to give birth, and I expect nothing less than immaculate conditions. If I walk in there and so much as smell a trace of stale air, you'll be answering to me."

The cleaning crew exchanged uneasy glances before hurrying off to do as they were told, muttering nervously among themselves.

"Blaise," Ginny called from behind him, her tone calm but firm. She was still clutching her belly as another mild contraction passed, but she didn't look remotely as frazzled as her husband. "You need to stop terrorizing the staff. They're here to help, not to audition for a military squad."

He turned on his heel, his eyes wide with something akin to righteous indignation. "They're here to ensure your safety," he retorted. "I won't have any mistakes or subpar preparation. This is your first labor, Luce dei miei occhi . Do you know how many things can go wrong during a first birth? Blood pressure spikes, miscast spells, potions not brewed properly—"

" Vita mia ," Ginny interrupted, holding up a hand. "Breathe. You're spiraling."

"I'm not spiraling," he snapped, though his twitching left eye suggested otherwise. "I'm being thorough."

Pansy snickered quietly behind her hand. "Thorough. Sure. That's definitely the word I'd use for this level of madness."

Before he could respond, a nurse approached, clipboard in hand. "Mrs. Zabini? Your room is ready. If you'll follow me—"

"We'll follow you," he said immediately, cutting her off as he stepped forward protectively. "And make sure that IV drip is set correctly. None of this automatic charm nonsense—I want manual regulation, and I want the best healer on duty assigned to this delivery."

The nurse opened her mouth to respond but was silenced by the intensity of his glare. She gave a stiff nod and quickly turned on her heel, leading the group toward their room.

"Are you always like this during high-pressure situations?" Pansy whispered as they walked.

"Only when it matters," he muttered, not breaking stride. "This is my wife and my child we're talking about. Excuse me for wanting things done right."

"You know what's funny?" Pansy said with a smirk. "You're acting like you're the one about to go into labor."

Blaise shot her a withering glare but said nothing, instead focusing his attention on Ginny as she carefully lowered herself onto the hospital bed with Luna's help. For a brief moment, his expression softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly.

"Better?" Ginny asked, raising a brow at her husband's sudden shift in demeanor.

"Almost," he replied, stepping closer and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Now that you're settled, maybe I can relax… a little."

"Good," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Because if you keep acting like a deranged warlord, I'll have to ban you from the delivery room."

Pansy snorted loudly, while Luna simply smiled, ever the picture of calm. "Well," Pansy said with a grin, "at least this will be a birth to remember."

He sighed, muttering something about ungrateful friends under his breath, but he didn't argue. After all, this was only the beginning—and knowing Blaise, he was prepared to keep barking orders until the baby was safely in their arms.

The moment they entered Ginny's room, it was as though the world outside ceased to exist. His sharp eyes scanned every inch of the room, from the glimmering charms on the walls to the sterile equipment beside the bed. He was silent at first, his entire demeanor radiating tension, but the second his gaze landed on Ginny, something in him shifted. His stiff shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the hard edge in his expression melted into something tender—loving.

"Everything okay, my love?" he asked, stepping toward her with uncharacteristic gentleness. He reached for her hand, his thumb brushing soothing circles over her knuckles. His voice was softer now, though beneath that warmth was still the steely determination of a man ready to do whatever it took to protect her.

Ginny, reclining comfortably on the birthing bed, gave him a tired but affectionate smile. "Yes, love. Everything's fine," she said with calm assurance. "We're just waiting for things to get interesting." Her tone was light, teasing even, but there was a flicker of appreciation in her eyes as she watched him fuss over her.

He didn't seem entirely convinced. He gave her hand a brief squeeze before turning his attention back to the room, his expression hardening once more. "Good," he murmured, though his mind was clearly already moving on to the next item on his mental checklist. Without missing a beat, he rounded on the nearest nurse with the intensity of a man who thought he was briefing a team before battle.

"Is the birthing bed at the correct angle?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing critically. "I've read up on optimal positioning for labor. This—" he gestured to the bed as though it were a malfunctioning piece of machinery, "—had better be perfect. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

The nurse blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer force of his presence. "Er… yes, sir. The angle is correct," she replied hesitantly, glancing at Ginny for reassurance.

"Amore," Ginny said, exasperation mingling with amusement. "Relax. You're acting like we're storming a fortress. I've done this before. Trust me, it's not that complicated."

But he wasn't listening. He had already moved on, his eyes darting toward the bedside monitor with suspicion, as though it might betray them at any moment. He leaned in, studying the readings, muttering something under his breath about spell calibration and mana fluctuations.

Ginny sighed, her lips quirking into a wry smile. "I swear, if he doesn't calm down soon, he's going to stress himself into early labor." She glanced at Pansy, who was leaning casually against the wall, thoroughly entertained by Blaise's antics. "I think he might actually believe he's the one giving birth."

"Oh, he definitely does," Pansy agreed, crossing her arms with a smirk. "You should've seen him on the way here—he was giving orders like we were on a bloody battlefield. I half-expected him to demand a security escort."

~~~~~~

Blaise's eyes locked onto the maternity ward manager, a man in his late forties standing by the nurse's station. As Blaise approached with an air of quiet menace, the manager stiffened.

"Mr. Zabini!" the manager greeted nervously. "Your wife is in excellent hands—"

Blaise raised a hand, silencing him. His calm, quiet voice carried a threat. "This is the most important day of my life. I expect perfection. No mistakes."

The manager faltered but nodded quickly. Blaise handed him a pouch of galleons. "Priority care. Handle it personally."

Before turning away, Blaise leaned in closer, his voice dangerously low. "If anything goes wrong, you'll answer to me." He shifted his coat, revealing a dagger, ensuring the message was clear.

The manager paled. "Understood, sir. Everything will be perfect."

With a cold smile, Blaise added, "Good. Oh, and make sure the tea is fresh. My wife deserves the best." Then he walked off, leaving the manager trembling, muttering something about preferring dragons to Zabinis.

Back in the room, Pansy and Luna had clearly witnessed the entire exchange from the doorway, judging by the identical grins plastered across their faces.

"Did you just threaten the maternity ward manager with a knife?" Pansy asked, raising a brow in amused disbelief. "Honestly, Zabini, I think that might be a bit much, even for you."

"It wasn't a threat," he said smoothly, settling back into the chair beside Ginny. "It was… encouragement."

"Encouragement," she repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Right. And I suppose flashing your knife was just your way of saying 'thank you for your service.'"

He ignored her, turning his full attention back to Ginny, who was watching him with a mixture of exasperation and affection. He reached for her hand again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he leaned in close.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice devoid of the icy tone it had carried moments before. Here, with her, he was no longer the cold, calculating hitman—he was just a man in love, desperate to do everything right.

Ginny smiled, her fingers curling around his. "Better now," she admitted, her voice warm. "Even if you did just terrify half the staff."

"They'll thank me later when everything goes perfectly," Blaise said, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "And if they don't… well, they'll still have all their limbs, so I'd call that a win."

Luna leaned over to Pansy, whispering with a grin, "You have to admit, he's committed."

"Oh, he's committed all right," Pansy muttered, shaking her head. "Committed to making this the most dramatic birth in wizarding history. I almost feel sorry for the poor staff. Almost."

Ginny chuckled softly, squeezing Blaise's hand. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I'm yours," he replied, his voice low and sincere. "And that makes it worth it."

Pansy groaned loudly. "Oh, Merlin. If you two start getting all sappy on top of this, I'm going to need a drink"

Luna smiled serenely. "I think it's sweet. Besides, I'm sure the staff will recover… eventually."

As the time drew closer, tension hung thick in the air, every second dragging like an eternity. The early stages of labor had been exhausting enough, but now Ginny was entering the critical phase—the pushing stage. Blaise had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past hour, focused entirely on Ginny's every movement and expression, as if he could will the pain away by sheer force of determination.

By now, Pansy and Luna had retreated back to the Zabini residence at Blaise's insistence. They had offered to stay, of course, but Blaise wasn't having any distractions—not when his wife was about to give birth to their first child.

"Go," he had said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I've got this."

Pansy had smirked, whispering to Luna, "He's got this? More like he's one scream away from fainting."

But they'd left, trusting Blaise to do what he always did: take control of the situation.

~~~~~~

Blaise Zabini, usually stoic and composed, was a mess today—pacing, tearing up, and gazing in awe at his newborn son. Ginny, exhausted but happy, smiled as he nervously fussed over her.

"Dolce metà," she called softly, and he rushed to her side, asking if she needed anything. She chuckled. "I'm fine. I've never seen you like this."

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping his face. "He's perfect, and you… you're amazing." Leaning in, he kissed her forehead. "I'll never take you for granted again."

"Good," she teased, "because I plan to milk this forever." Blaise smiled, gently touching Valerius's tiny hand, emotions brimming once more.

"Alright," Ginny said with mock seriousness, "if you cry again, I'm calling Pansy to drag you out."

As if on cue, the Floo flared to life in the corner of the room, and moments later, Theo, Neville, Luna, and Pansy stepped through in quick succession.

Theo was the first to speak, grinning broadly as he surveyed the scene. "Well, would you look at that. Blaise Zabini, the ruthless assassin, reduced to a puddle of emotions. Never thought I'd see the day."

Blaise shot him a withering glare, though it lacked its usual venom. "Say one more word, Nott, and I'll ensure your next mission involves chasing pixies through the Forbidden Forest."

Theo raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Hey, no judgment. I think it's adorable."

Pansy swept forward and leaned over Ginny with a mischievous smirk. "How are you holding up, Red? You look like you've been through hell."

She snorted. "That's because I have. But at least I have this little guy to show for it." She tilted the baby slightly so Pansy could get a better look.

"Oh, he's gorgeous," Pansy breathed, her eyes softening as she gazed at the tiny bundle. "Good job. And Blaise, well done on not fainting. I had my doubts."

Luna floated over to the other side of the bed, her usual serene smile in place. "He has Ginny's nose," she said dreamily. "And Blaise's serious little brow. He looks like he's already plotting his first adventure."

Neville, who had been standing quietly at the back, finally stepped forward, his face lighting up as he got a glimpse of the baby. "Congratulations, you two. He's perfect."

"Thank you, Neville," Ginny said warmly. She glanced at Blaise, who was still staring at Valerius as if he couldn't quite believe he was real. "Blaise, do you want to… you know, let them hold him?"

Blaise's eyes snapped up, alarmed. "What? No. He's too tiny. What if they drop him?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Blaise. We're not going to drop him. Give him here."

"No," Blaise said firmly, holding Valerius a little closer. "He's fragile."

Theo burst out laughing. "Mate, you've handled cursed artifacts with less care than that baby. Hand him over. We'd like to meet the newest Zabini."

Reluctantly, and only after Ginny shot him a pointed look, Blaise stood and very carefully transferred Valerius into Pansy's waiting arms. She cradled him expertly, her sharp features softening into something almost maternal.

"Hello, little Valerius," Pansy cooed, her usual sarcasm replaced by genuine warmth. "Welcome to the madhouse. Don't worry—we'll make sure your dad doesn't turn you into a mini-assassin too soon."

Blaise crossed his arms, watching like a hawk. "Support his head properly, Pansy."

"I am supporting his head," Pansy shot back, rolling her eyes. "Relax. He's fine."

Luna leaned over to tickle Valerius's tiny fingers, her expression full of wonder. "He has such a strong aura. He's going to be a very special child."

Theo leaned in next, peering at the baby with a grin. "Well, he's already got Zabini's brooding intensity. Poor kid."

Neville, ever the peacemaker, smiled kindly at Blaise. "You'll be a great dad, Blaise. You're already doing amazing."

Blaise didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, watching his friends coo over his son, a strange mixture of pride and anxiety swirling in his chest. Finally, he exhaled and muttered, "Thanks, Longbottom."

Pansy handed Valerius back to Blaise, who took him with the utmost care, as if handling the most precious thing in the world—which, to him, he was.

"Well," Pansy said, clapping her hands together. "Now that we've all met the heir to the Zabini empire, who's up for drinks? I think Ginny deserves something strong after all that."

"I'll settle for pumpkin juice," Ginny said with a tired laugh. "But go ahead. Celebrate for me."

As the group began discussing plans for a celebratory gathering, Blaise sat down beside Ginny, holding Valerius close. He leaned over and kissed her cheek softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

Ginny smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "We did it together."

Blaise looked down at his son, his heart swelling with emotions he never thought himself capable of feeling. For once in his life, he didn't care about appearances, missions, or the opinions of others. All that mattered was here, in his arms.

Ginny shifted slightly in the bed, drawing everyone's attention. Despite her exhaustion, there was something weighing heavily on her mind. She glanced over at Theo, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.

"Theo…" Ginny began, her voice soft but clear. "Can you… perhaps go over to… you know, to Hermione? To tell her."

The lighthearted atmosphere of the room dimmed slightly as everyone registered her words. Theo, who had been leaning casually against the wall with his hands in his pockets, straightened up, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more serious.

"Of course, Red," he said gently, his voice lacking its usual teasing tone. "So… you're still not talking to each other?"

She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. There was a flicker of sadness in her gaze, one that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Please, Theo. Don't make this harder than it should be… I need my best friend more than life."

There was a beat of silence as everyone processed the raw honesty in her words. Theo's expression softened, and he nodded once, a silent promise in his gesture.

"I'm going, Red," he said quietly. "Don't worry."

Without another word, Theo stepped away from the group, giving Blaise a quick nod before turning on his heel and disapparating with a soft pop .

As the sound faded, the room grew quieter. Everyone exchanged glances, the weight of Ginny's request lingering in the air. Luna was the first to break the silence, her voice calm and soothing as always.

"I think it's time for us to leave," she said, offering Ginny a serene smile. "We'll visit you and Val tomorrow, okay?"

Ginny smiled back, grateful for Luna's gentle understanding. "That will be lovely. Thank you, Luna."

Neville stepped forward next, his warm, steady presence offering silent reassurance. He bent slightly, giving Ginny a soft, one-armed hug so as not to disturb the baby resting in Blaise's arms. "We love you, Ginny. You did amazing today."

Ginny's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she managed to keep her composure. "Thank you, Nev. I love all of you too."

Pansy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the exchange, finally spoke up as she adjusted her coat with a dramatic flair. "Well, this has been a surprisingly emotional day, even for me," she said, her tone light but not without affection. "See you guys."

Blaise gave her a curt nod, though his lips twitched in what might have been the hint of a smile. "Try not to cause too much trouble on your way out, Parkinson."

She winked at him. "No promises."

With that, the group began to filter out, leaving Blaise, Ginny, and Valerius alone once more. The silence that followed wasn't heavy or uncomfortable—it was peaceful, a moment of calm after the storm.

~~~~~~

Theo had a knack for showing up unannounced, an ever-present fixture in their lives, and today was no exception. Without so much as a knock, he strode into their living room, looking as if he'd just waltzed off a train of thought so bizarre it could only come from his mind.

Hermione, who had been curled up on the couch with a book, glanced up at the sudden intrusion and barely had time to raise an eyebrow before Theo spoke, his voice booming with that confident tone of his that made everything sound like an urgent matter.

"Granger," he said, his eyes bright with that infamous gleam he always got when he was about to ask a question no one in their right mind could possibly anticipate. "I have an important question."

She looked up from her book, prepared for one of those philosophical, borderline absurd questions that Theo tended to throw at her out of nowhere. With a long-suffering sigh, she responded, "What is it? Let me guess—something about Jesus again?"

He chuckled, shaking his head, and took a seat without being invited, as usual. "No, no. But it's just as important, if not more." His eyes gleamed with the seriousness of someone who had just stumbled upon a great truth that the rest of the world clearly hadn't discovered yet.

"Alright," she said, bracing herself. "What's so important?"

Theo leaned forward, his face an open book of intrigue as if the entire universe depended on the answer to this question. "Why are pyramids shaped like that? Is it to stop homeless people from sleeping on them?"

Her mouth was half-open as she tried to comprehend what she had just heard. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch with a smug look, as though he had just cracked the code of the universe. "What do you mean, Granger? It's obvious. Look at the way they're built—wide at the base and sharp at the top. If you're a homeless person, you're not exactly going to set up camp on the side of a pyramid, right?"

She stared at him in stunned silence, blinking repeatedly, as if the words were too outlandish to grasp in any coherent way. "Theo. Pyramids were built as tombs, not public utilities for stopping people from sleeping. How—why—would you even think that?"

"Well," Theo said, looking pleased with himself for having raised such an important point, "the shape just seems… a bit too strategic , don't you think? You've got a massive, flat surface at the bottom, and then it narrows to an impossible point at the top. It's like they were designed to be inaccessible. I'm just saying—it's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

She rubbed her temples, a small headache beginning to form. "Theo, please. The pyramids were built by ancient Egyptians to honor their pharaohs. They were designed with religious and cultural significance, not as some sort of giant human repellent. You're overthinking this."

He shook his head stubbornly, his lips curling into a knowing smile as though Hermione was missing some great truth that was obvious to him. "Sure, sure. I mean, I get that it's all about religion and all, but the shape does seem a little too convenient. Think about it: these things are everywhere, especially in places where people might want to nap during the day, or—"

"Stop," she interrupted, her voice steady despite the confusion flooding her thoughts. "Theo, you're not suggesting that the ancient Egyptians were planning for modern-day problems like homelessness, are you?"

"Well," he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I'm not not suggesting it. What I'm saying is that the shape might not be as accidental as we think. Maybe they were ahead of their time, like ancient architects with a bit of foresight."

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to remain patient, but she could feel herself starting to lose the plot entirely. "Theo, please, just... just stop talking for a second. You're giving me a headache," she said, covering her face with her hands for a moment. "I can't even begin to understand how you connect these ideas. How do you go from Jesus to pyramids and homelessness in one conversation?"

Theo pondered for a moment and then asked, "I have a better question. Why did they call World War I 'World War I'? It seems quite pessimistic to number it that way. Or they just know it was the start of a franchise? 

Hermione sighed and replied, "Jesus Christ, At the time they weren't numbering the wars, although I think that in the I. World war the ideal of being a "Great" war denoting the sheer scale of the conflict. The term 'World War I' came about later, denoting the sheer scale of conflict, and the casualty rate was becoming used quite a lot." 

Theo smiled a little too smugly for Hermione's liking, clearly undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm. "I mean, come on, Granger. You've got to admit it's a little funny. 'World War I'—like, they were just waiting for another one to show up, right? You've got to give it some credit for foresight. So it was called 'The Great War,' but not because it was great?"

Hermione shook her head, mentally preparing herself for the flood of nonsense that was sure to follow. "Theo, please," she said, her voice a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. "Just—stop. Leave. Go."

Theo, as expected, didn't heed her request. Instead, he continued with his trademark dramatic flair, leaning forward with the kind of urgency that could only be sustained by a person who believed they were on the cusp of a major revelation.

"Well, I do have some important news," Theo announced, his voice taking on an air of mystery. "Ginny had a son."

She blinked, utterly thrown off by this unexpected shift in conversation. She looked at Theo, then at Draco, who had been quietly listening in the corner of the room. They both sat there for a long moment, processing the weight of his words.

"What?" the Malfoy's both exclaimed in unison, their voices simultaneously tinged with confusion and shock.

"Ginny had a baby," he repeated, his lips curling into a grin that seemed to say, I know this is news to you, but I'm not going to make it easy for you to digest.

Draco, who was clearly fed up with the erratic direction the conversation had taken, glared at Theo. "You need to get your priorities straight, mate. You come barging in here asking about pyramids and then drop this bombshell on us like it's just another Tuesday."

Theo, unfazed by the chastisement, raised a hand defensively. "What? It's big news. And you lot are too caught up in your historical debates to notice. Priorities, Draco. You should try it sometime. I'm just making sure you're all in the loop."

Her expression softened as the gravity of Theo's words finally hit her. "Wait, when? When did this happen?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, suddenly all business.

"A few hours ago," he replied, his voice casual, but Hermione could hear the undercurrent of worry. "Blaise is with Ginny and the baby at the hospital right now. I thought you two would want to know."

Without even another word exchanged, Hermione and Draco exchanged a look that said everything. In an instant, they were both up on their feet, barely acknowledging Theo as they rushed to grab their things, a shared urgency propelling them forward.

"Come on, mon cœur ," she said, already making her way to the door. "We need to go. Now."

Theo, having successfully derailed any semblance of normal conversation, watched them leave with a self-satisfied smirk. "See? Important news. Told you it was worth sticking around for."

Hermione didn't respond, too focused on getting to St. Mungo's Hospital to even entertain Theo's ego. The only thing on her mind now was Ginny, the baby, and how quickly they could get there.

~~~~~~

Theo had walked into his home expecting peace, maybe even a kiss from Luna or a sharp-witted remark to put a smirk on his face. Instead, he stepped into a disaster zone—his wife on the floor, cradling a red-eyed, trembling Bobsy as if the house-elf had just returned from battle.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes flicking from the sniffling elf to Luna's eerily calm expression. His instincts prickled with warning, but like a man walking straight into a cursed trap, he opened his mouth anyway. "What the hell happened now?"

Luna let out a slow, exhausted sigh, patting Bobsy's head with the kind of patience one reserved for shell-shocked survivors. "Rough day—Lysander, two pugs, no backup. It was a massacre."

Bobsy hiccupped pitifully, looking up at Theo with tear-filled eyes. "I tried, Master Theo, I truly did! But the dogs—they chased the little master everywhere! He squealed so loudly, I thought my ears might fall off!"

Theo exhaled sharply, already regretting everything about this day. "Right. That's it. Next time, I'm dealing with Parkinson's little hellhounds myself," he muttered darkly, cracking his knuckles like a man preparing for war.

And just like that, he had fucked up.

Luna's eyes, which had moments ago been filled with exhausted amusement, turned to ice. The room, which had still held traces of lighthearted chaos, became dangerously still. When she finally spoke, her voice was deceptively soft, laced with an edge sharp enough to slice through bone.

"Excuse me?"

Theo barely had time to react before she rose to her feet with a slow, deliberate grace that set every one of his instincts screaming. Her posture was rigid, the kind of tension that only meant danger, and when she took a single step toward him, he suddenly wished he had kept his damn mouth shut.

"You don't get to dictate my friendships, Theodore." The way she said his name sent an unpleasant chill down his spine.

He frowned, confusion creeping in at the sudden hostility. "Love, I didn't mean it like that, I just—"

"No." The single word cracked through the air like a whip, cutting his excuse off before it could take form. Her voice was no longer soft—it was sharp, simmering with an anger he hadn't realized had been brewing beneath the surface. "You never mean it like that, do you? You never stop to think before you run your mouth."

He blinked. "It's just—her dogs, Luna. They're turning Bobsy into a nervous wreck!"

"And yet," Luna snapped, her hands clenched at her sides, "you expect me to sit here and nod along while you play executioner to half the fucking world. The irony, Theo. The fucking irony."

His pulse kicked up, heat rushing through his body at her words. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't make this into something it's not. This is about Pansy's dogs, Luna, not—"

"NO, THEO, THIS IS ABOUT YOU!"

Her voice exploded, reverberating off the walls, and for the first time in years, Theo flinched.

Luna took another step forward, her silver-blue eyes ablaze, her fury no longer restrained. "It's always everyone else who's the problem, isn't it? Everyone else is too loud, too messy, too inconvenient for you. You pretend like you're above it all, but you are just as reckless—just as fucking disastrous—as the people you look down on."

He opened his mouth, but she didn't give him the chance.

"You think you're a hero?" Her voice cracked with something raw, something painful. "You think killing in the name of your own twisted sense of justice makes you noble? That it makes you any different from the men you put in the fucking ground?"

Theo's heart slammed against his ribs. He had been called many things—monster, executioner, nightmare—but never this. Never by her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he hissed, his own anger rising to meet hers.

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," she spat. "You live in this delusion where you get to decide who lives and who dies, where you get to be the untouchable force holding everything together—but what you don't see is that you're just as dangerous as the people you claim to be protecting us from."

Theo took a step back. A step back. He had faced men who begged for their lives, men who spat curses at him with their dying breath, and he had never backed down. But now, with Luna staring him down like she was looking straight through him, he felt like he was being peeled apart layer by layer.

"You think this is just about Bobsy? About Pansy? You really think that's what this is about?" she went on, her voice shaking with fury. "Merlin, Theo, wake the fuck up."

He had no words—just the hammering of his pulse, the tightening of his chest as she cut him open with every syllable.

"Do you have any idea what it's like?" Her voice trembled, her expression twisting into something almost unreadable. "Do you know what it feels like to wonder if the man you love is going to come home with more blood on his hands? To have to explain to Bobsy why his master looks like he just walked out of a fucking warzone? To dread the day Lysander asks why his father's hands are never clean?"

Theo swallowed hard, his throat dry, his entire body wired with tension.

"You think you're protecting us, but you don't even see what you're doing to us," she whispered, and this time, her voice wasn't just angry—it was exhausted. "You don't have to explain anything. You don't have to sit there and tell our son why his father spends his nights playing god with other people's lives. That'll be me, Theo. It'll always be me."

A sharp, searing pain bloomed in his chest, something deeper than guilt, heavier than regret.

"And the worst part?" she whispered, her voice quieter now, but somehow more damning. "You don't even care."

The words crushed him.

Because she meant them.

Because in this moment, standing in their home, with her looking at him like he was something she barely recognized—he realized that maybe she was right.

Luna inhaled deeply, as if centering herself, as if making a decision right then and there.

Then, with a slow exhale, she turned her back on him.

"I'm done trying to make you see what's right in front of you," she said, her voice eerily steady. "If you want to keep living in your own little world, fine. But don't expect me to sit here and pretend it doesn't fucking terrify me."

And then she walked away.

Not storming off. Not slamming doors.

Just leaving.

And for the first time in his life, Theo felt it.

The weight of everything. The unraveling of everything. The slow, gut-wrenching realization that he might have finally pushed her too far.

And for the first time in years, Theo fucking Nott—cold, calculated, untouchable—was scared.

What had his life become?

Just hours ago, he had stood amidst laughter and warmth, celebrating Ginny's baby, feeling—just for a fleeting moment—that maybe, just maybe, things were falling into place. It had been a rare moment of peace, the kind that felt foreign to him, slipping through his fingers before he even had the chance to hold onto it. And now? Now, everything was a blur of frustration, confusion, and the sharp, unforgiving sting of reality slamming into him like a curse.

Luna. His Luna. The woman he had built his world around, the one he trusted above all else, had turned on him with a fury he hadn't anticipated. It wasn't just anger—anger, he could have handled. No, this was something else. Something colder. Something that dug its claws into his chest and refused to let go.

Disappointment.

He could still hear her voice, low and steady, laced with something venomous yet heartbreakingly soft. "You think you're the hero of your own story… but you're blind to the damage you've done."

The words rang in his head, circling like vultures, waiting for him to finally collapse under the weight of them.

Wasn't he the hero of his own story? Hadn't he done what was necessary to survive? To protect? To ensure the safety of those he loved? Hadn't he sacrificed enough?

But at what cost?

He had isolated himself, convinced himself that the blood on his hands was just a necessary evil, that the violence, the control, the choices he made in the shadows were the only way to keep the world from swallowing them whole. But Luna—Luna had seen past that. She had seen the aftermath of his choices, the stains on his soul, the wreckage he left in his wake.

And now, she had finally had enough.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers pressing into his temples. How was he supposed to explain to her that he had never wanted this? That every kill, every calculated move, every cold, ruthless decision was made because he thought he had no other choice? That he didn't enjoy being this person?

But that was the thing, wasn't it? It didn't matter if he wanted it or not. He was this person.

And Luna had seen it—the whole, brutal truth of it. And she had rejected it. Rejected him.

What had they even been, the two of them? He had always thought they were untouchable, that their love was something written in the stars, something unshakable. But now, for the first time, he saw it for what it really was—delicate, fragile, hanging by a thread that he had frayed with every choice he made.

She wasn't just angry. She was done trying to save him.

"I'm done trying to explain, trying to make you see what's right in front of you. If you're going to keep living in your little bubble, then fine. But don't expect me to be there when it all comes crashing down."

And that was what terrified him the most.

Because it was crashing down.

He could feel it unraveling, slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. Everything he had built—his sense of control, his carefully constructed world—was collapsing, and the one person who had always been his anchor was slipping away with it.

And he didn't know how to stop it.

His thoughts spiraled further. What did she mean by that? Don't expect me to be there. Was it just a threat, something said in the heat of the moment? Or was it something more? Something real?

A cold, unfamiliar dread coiled in his stomach.

Was it too late?

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room, his mind racing. How had he even gotten here? Just this morning, he had been standing in that hospital room, watching Ginny cradle her newborn, feeling—for the briefest second—that there was still good in the world. And now, that moment felt like a lifetime ago, an illusion that had shattered before he even had the chance to believe in it.

He had been so focused on control, on ensuring everything remained in his grip, that he hadn't noticed what it was costing him. Luna. Bobsy. Lysander. He had become so obsessed with keeping his demons at bay that he hadn't realized he was letting them devour the people who mattered most.

And now, the one person who had always stood by him was walking away.

His heart clenched, a deep, suffocating ache settling in his chest. Luna wasn't just angry—she was hurt. And he had done that. He had hurt her in ways he hadn't even fully understood until now.

And the worst part?

He didn't know how to fix it.

He thought about going after her, about apologizing, about begging her to stay. But the words felt meaningless when they lived in a world built on violence and secrets.

Would anything he said even change things?

Did he even deserve to fix this?

He wasn't sure who he was anymore.

And worse—he wasn't sure who he was without her.

The guilt coiled tighter, sinking its teeth into him, gnawing at the edges of his control. He had to fix this. He had to make it right.

But where the hell did he even begin?

And that, more than anything, terrified him.