SUN & MOON - Luna & Theo (HP)

The scent of fresh produce and wildflowers clung to her as she stepped through the door, the warmth of a late afternoon sun still lingering on her skin. The quiet comfort of home should have welcomed her, but the moment her eyes landed on the unfamiliar figure standing in the hallway, a ripple of unease slithered through her spine.

Tall, imposing, and exuding an unsettling stillness, the stranger seemed to draw the light out of the room despite the golden glow filtering through the windows. His presence didn't belong here—too sharp, too calculated, a jagged edge in the soft sanctuary she had built.

"My Sun?" she called out, voice measured but edged with something taut beneath the surface.

"I'm coming, my Moon," came the familiar reply, warm and reassuring, the sound of his footsteps following swiftly. His presence settled her even before he reached her, but as soon as he stepped beside her, his hands brushed against her arms in silent greeting, and she could see the ease in his expression. He was unbothered.

Too at ease.

Pressing a brief kiss to her forehead, he turned to the stranger, gesturing smoothly. "Oh, my love, this is Titus—my cousin. I thought it was time you two met."

Titus stepped forward, his movement slow and deliberate, his eyes scanning her with the careful observation of a man who measured everything before making a move. When he extended his hand, his mouth curled into a smile, but it was one that never quite reached his eyes.

"It's a pleasure, Luna," he greeted, voice smooth, unnervingly composed. "I've heard much about you."

"Titus Nott," she repeated, her own voice level, but something in her gaze sharpened, the weight of his name heavy in her mind. The Butcher of Manchester. Not a myth, not a cautionary tale, but a man who stood before her now, living, breathing, and completely unbothered by the bloodstained reputation he carried like a second skin.

She did not take his hand.

Instead, she let it hang there, ignored, as she tilted her head ever so slightly. "And what, exactly, brings you into my home, Titus?" There was no warmth in her voice, no invitation to familiarity, only cold, cutting curiosity wrapped in politeness.

His smile didn't falter, but there was amusement in the way his eyes glinted. "I've been invited for tea."

"Oh, by 'tea,' he means planning an assassination, my Moon." The casual nonchalance in his voice was almost absurd, his hand resting on her shoulder as if that would lessen the absurdity of the conversation. "No need for formalities—she's very much in the know."

Titus chuckled, finally lowering his unshaken hand, a glint of approval flashing through his expression. "A sharp one, isn't she?"

His smirk deepened, the amusement in his voice evident as he watched her turn on her heel toward the kitchen. "Sharp as a blade, cousin. And just as fierce when necessary."

She moved with a kind of unhurried grace, a woman too accustomed to their world to be rattled, though as she reached for the fresh ingredients on the counter, she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. "Tea and assassination. Of course, in my home."

Titus, who had followed at a respectable distance, leaned against the doorway, watching as she began unpacking the fresh produce with methodical precision. "She's a bit… different, isn't she?" His voice held something unreadable, something testing.

He barely flicked his gaze toward him, the warning laced in his next words razor-sharp. "I'd advise you to choose your next words very carefully."

A beat passed before Titus shifted, recalibrating. "I meant—she's ethereal, like she's from another world entirely." This time, his voice held something more genuine, a note of reverence slipping through. "A dreamer. Someone who doesn't quite fit the ordinary."

The tension in his stance lessened just slightly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the counter as he observed her from a distance. "Much better," he said, voice softer now, his eyes lingering on her. "That otherworldliness you're noticing? It's part of what makes her irreplaceable."

Titus nodded in understanding, the shift in his expression subtle but perceptible. "Alright then," he murmured, pushing off the doorway, "back to business."

The dining table had been transformed into a battlefield of blueprints, maps, and scribbled notes, each document marked with the meticulous detail of men who had long since abandoned the luxury of mistakes. The lamplight flickered over their sharp expressions, highlighting the intensity in their gazes as they leaned over the plans with the precision of architects shaping a war.

His fingers traced a route along the creased parchment, tapping over two specific entry points with a surgeon's steadiness. "We'll need to neutralize the guards here and here."

Titus studied the map, his fingers steepled under his chin. "The surveillance system will be trickier. Cameras and motion sensors every twenty feet."

He smirked, sliding a separate diagram toward him. "Then we create a diversion. Explosives here, at the south entrance. Their focus shifts, and in that window, we slip through."

Titus leaned closer, eyes narrowed in assessment, the brush of his shoulder against him going unnoticed as they both zeroed in on the details. "And once we're inside?"

His gaze darkened, his finger dragging across the map toward a heavily shaded sector. "We move fast. Silent. Anyone in our way is eliminated. We secure the target and extract before they even realize the walls have been breached."

Something in his voice made Titus pause—something ruthless, something perfectly calculated. A breath hitched in his throat as he studied him, the sheer force of his unwavering focus settling like a vice.

"You've always had a mind for this, cousin," he murmured, voice dipping into something almost reverent.

The weight of his gaze didn't waver, nor did the slight curve of his lips. "This isn't just tactics, Titus. This is precision. Every second accounted for, every action predetermined. A plan executed with clarity leaves no space for error." His voice had dropped lower, a quiet intensity weaving through each word.

Titus exhaled slowly, drawn into the magnetic command laced through his tone. "And the extraction point?"

His smirk returned, sharper this time. "North alley. There's an abandoned sewer line—ancient, forgotten. We'll be ghosts before they even realize we were real."

Titus reached forward, his fingers tracing the marked escape route, pausing for just a second too long over each mark. "You really have thought of everything, haven't you?"

His hand moved in a slow, deliberate motion, settling over Titus's, the touch firm, grounding. "In our work, cousin, one slip—just one—and it's over. That's why I'm meticulous."

A silence settled between them, heavier than before, the unspoken weight of their shared history pressing into the charged space. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows over their faces, the moment stretching long enough to let something dangerous linger.

"Are you ready for this?" His voice was barely above a murmur, but the quiet authority in it was inescapable.

Titus's breath came slow, measured. "With you leading," he admitted, "I always am."

The spell broke with the ease of a hand withdrawing, the return to business smooth but not without the imprint of the moment lingering. His expression remained composed, but beneath it, something unspoken had already been etched into the fabric of the night.

"We leave nothing to chance," he stated, his voice returning to cool precision. "Every move, every step, executed flawlessly."

They continued refining the operation, speaking less as the hours wore on, their work descending into a near-silent rhythm. They didn't need words anymore—their understanding ran deeper than that, forged in the quiet space between loyalty and necessity.

By the time they pulled back, the map before them was a masterpiece of strategy, a plan honed to lethal perfection. And as they stood in the stillness of their shared accomplishment, neither spoke of the moment that had passed between them—because some things did not need to be said.

They were written in blood.

~~~~~~

As the door closed behind Titus, the echo of his departure reverberated through the quiet house, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than it should. He lingered in the entryway, his fingers brushing absently over the wood grain, his gaze still fixed on the empty space where his cousin had stood just moments ago. The weight of their conversation clung to his skin like a second layer, the carefully laid-out strategies and whispered threats still buzzing in his mind like static.

But none of it mattered—not now. He needed something else, something grounding. He needed her.

His steps carried him through the dimly lit corridors with purpose, drawn instinctively toward the presence that had become his anchor in a life so often ruled by shadows. The house exhaled softly around him, the faint scent of lavender and parchment filling the air, but it was the open garden doors that caught his attention.

And there she was.

The fading twilight bathed her in a soft glow, her silhouette framed by the climbing ivy and blooms she had so carefully nurtured. Barefoot, hands covered in the dark earth she loved so much, she moved with the same quiet grace that had always left him in awe. There was something almost otherworldly about her, as if she existed between realms—between the brutality of his world and the untamed beauty of hers.

"Luna," he called, his voice quieter than intended, as if hesitant to disturb whatever magic surrounded her.

She turned, her expression softening the moment her gaze met his. A knowing smile curled at the edges of her lips as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "My Sun," she murmured, warmth threading through her voice. "Are you finally finished?"

He stepped closer, the tension in his chest unraveling as he reached for her. "For now," he admitted, fingers brushing against her wrist before lacing their hands together. "I hope your day was more peaceful than mine."

Something flickered in her eyes, a sharp glint that told him she was already ahead of him, already knowing. "It was," she said smoothly, but the velvety edge in her voice made his grip tighten. "But we need to talk."

His brow furrowed slightly, instinct kicking in as he studied her. The way she held herself—shoulders squared, chin slightly raised—told him that whatever was on her mind, it wasn't something he could charm his way out of.

"Luna—"

She cut him off, her smile fading. "I don't want you bringing Titus here again. Ever."

The weight of her words settled over him, a pang of guilt curling in his stomach. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. It was unavoidable—a matter that needed urgent attention, and there was no time to arrange another place to meet."

Her expression didn't shift, not an inch, her stillness more piercing than any raised voice could ever be. "Unavoidable?" she repeated, voice dangerously quiet. "You brought him here. To our home."

He reached for her hand again, but she pulled back, crossing her arms in a rare show of defiance. "Please, my love," he tried, his voice dipping into something softer, almost pleading. "It won't happen again. I promise you, it was only this once."

Her eyes burned into him, unwavering. "Theodore, I don't care what emergency you faced, nor what plans you were making. Titus is ruthless, reckless, and dangerous. And you know exactly why I don't want that kind of energy under our roof, near me, or near our son."

He exhaled, watching as the fire in her eyes refused to dim. There was no budging on this—she wasn't asking. She was stating a fact, a boundary drawn in steel.

And yet, he loved this about her.

She was fiercely protective, not just of their sanctuary but of everything they had built, of everything that mattered. A loyalty so deeply embedded in her that it manifested as this quiet, formidable strength—the same strength that had made him fall in love with her over and over again.

His shoulders relaxed, his voice dropping to something sincere. "I understand. I'll make sure it never happens again."

Her lips pressed together, eyes searching his, assessing. "I'm serious, Theo," she warned, her voice laced with finality. "This is the last time I'm telling you this. I'll never allow our lives to be shadowed by the chaos he brings. Not here, not in our home."

He nodded, the promise settling into his bones as he finally managed to take her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, grounding himself in her warmth. "You're right, my love," he murmured. "This is our sanctuary. I'll protect it, and you, with everything I have. I swear it."

A moment passed, their silence filled with unspoken words, before the sharp edges in her expression softened, giving way to something familiar, something warm. The tension eased from her frame as she allowed herself to lean into him, their fingers entwining as they stood beneath the soft glow of the setting sun.

He tightened his hold, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "From now on," he whispered against her skin, "our world remains ours. Untouched by the shadows we've fought so hard to leave behind."

A faint smile played on her lips, one that told him she was ready to move forward—as long as he kept this promise.

And he would.

Because nothing, no war, no man, no past, would ever be worth losing this.

The warmth of the moment lingered between them as they made their way back inside, her hand still firmly in his. Their children's laughter echoed faintly from another room, filling the house with the kind of peace that made his heart ache in the best way.

But Luna, ever full of contradictions, had an entirely different kind of peace in mind.

She pulled him toward their bedroom, eyes gleaming with something mischievous, something knowing. The shift in the air was subtle but undeniable.

"You seem to forget who holds the reins here, Theodore," she murmured, stepping impossibly close, her fingers ghosting over the fabric of his shirt. A slow, deliberate touch. A test. A challenge.

His pulse quickened, anticipation thrumming beneath his skin.

"Oh?" he hummed, voice thick with amusement. "And who, exactly, holds them, my love?"

She smirked, tilting her head. "Take off your clothes."

A slow exhale left him as he obeyed, watching her all the while. Every button undone, every inch of fabric that slipped away, was another moment of unspoken tension, of power shifting between them.

She watched, assessing, reveling in the control she held over him, the weight of her gaze setting him alight. And when she finally closed the space between them, her fingers trailing over the bare expanse of his chest, she whispered against his lips, "You're mine."

And gods help him, he would never deny it.

"Say it," she breathed.

"I'm yours," he murmured, voice low, reverent. "Always."

A victorious gleam flashed in her eyes before she claimed his mouth, her kiss slow and consuming, unraveling him in a way only she could. She knew exactly how to push him to the brink, how to pull him under and leave him drowning in her.

And he would go willingly, every single time.

~~~~~~

The news of Draco's attack landed like a fist to Theo's gut, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending a sharp, searing rage through his veins. It was unthinkable—impossible. They were the ones who struck first, who moved unseen, who eliminated threats before they even became threats. They were the predators, not the prey. Yet, someone had dared. Someone had slipped past Draco Malfoy's defenses and left him bleeding, vulnerable, broken.

His mind reeled, struggling to process the reality of it. Draco—fierce, untouchable Draco—had been taken down. It wasn't just an attack; it was a statement. Someone had planned this with precision, had known exactly where and when to strike. The implications settled over him like a suffocating weight, thick with anger and something else, something colder—betrayal.

His pulse hammered in his ears as the image played out in his mind, Draco caught off guard, unable to fight back the way he always did. And then there was her. Hermione. She had saved him. She had stepped into the chaos without hesitation, risking her own life to pull him back from the edge. Small but unyielding, fierce in the face of danger, she had stood over Draco, a barrier between him and death.

The thought unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite name. Relief? Admiration? It was typical of her, he supposed, throwing herself into the fire without a second thought, but that didn't mean he had to like it. That didn't mean he had to accept it. The idea of anyone outside their circle—an outsider—being the reason Draco was still breathing made something uncomfortable settle in his chest. He hated how much they depended on each other. Hated how deeply their fates were entwined.

His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles turning white as the rage bubbled hotter beneath his skin. They had come too close. Too close. For years, he had told himself they were untouchable, invincible. Yet, in one brutal moment, that illusion had shattered, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth. They were vulnerable.

That realization sent a slow, creeping dread through him, something he couldn't shake. If Draco could be attacked, so could the rest of them.

So could Luna.

He pushed the thought away before it could take root, before the fear could turn into something unmanageable. No one touched what was his. No one even tried.

His mind pivoted, sharp and ruthless, calculating the next steps. Retaliation was inevitable. They had to make a statement—one so clear, so devastating, that no one would dare attempt something like this again. They had to remind the world what happened to those who crossed them. Whoever was responsible would suffer, and there would be no mercy.

But even as the cold fury settled over him, something else clawed at the edges of his mind, something quieter, something more dangerous. Uncertainty. For the first time, he saw the fragility of what they had built. The balance they so carefully maintained could be upended in a single move.

And if that was true, then what else had he been blind to?

~~~~~~

Draco, Theo, and Blaise leaned over the massive map spread across Draco's polished desk, the silence around them thick with tension. The dim light from the single desk lamp cast sharp shadows over their faces, emphasizing the intensity in their eyes as they pored over every detail, each man acutely aware of the gravity of the situation. They had been attacked—not only a breach of their usual dominance but a threat that now required a merciless answer.

The map of London lay like a battlefield between them, meticulously plotted with colored pins and markings. The pins—reds for high-risk zones, blues for known allies, yellows for intel points—were scattered across the city, creating a complex web of possibilities. They traced invisible routes over bridges, alleyways, and safe houses, examining every known asset and hiding place. Each pin held the potential to lead them closer to the one who dared strike at Draco, to the person who had disrupted the delicate, dangerous balance they maintained.

Theo's fingers skimmed over a line connecting two blue pins on the eastern edge of the map. His gaze hardened as he tapped the desk, the precision in his touch betraying his calculated, simmering rage. "This area," his voice was barely a whisper, yet the weight of it silenced the room further, "is where they're most vulnerable to us."

Blaise gave a grim nod, his eyes glinting with a deadly promise as he adjusted a few pins on the map, shifting their potential targets. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, and in this unspoken rhythm, they worked as a single force. They had always been a step ahead of the world, a unified front—but tonight, a ruthless urgency drove them to eliminate every possibility of further attack .

Draco, his jaw clenched, pushed a stack of intelligence files towards them, his steely gaze never leaving the map. The pain of the recent attack lingered in the tightness of his shoulders, a reminder of the threat that had hit too close to home. He traced a direct path through a network of high-risk zones, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity. "This," he finally said, his voice low, "is where we make them regret ever thinking they could come for us."

The door burst open with a resounding crash, and Hermione strode in, her eyes blazing with a fierce, unrelenting resolve that instantly captured the room's attention. The silence that followed was almost palpable; even the air seemed to thicken as her gaze fell on Draco, unwavering and sharp as steel.

Draco's eyes darkened, a flash of irritation flickering before he masked it with his usual indifference. "Darling, we're in the middle of something," he murmured, his tone dismissive as he turned his attention back to the map. His voice was cool, but there was an underlying tension, as if he anticipated what was coming.

Hermione's jaw clenched, her voice cutting through the air like a razor. "I don't care," she declared, her words as unyielding as the intensity in her gaze. "From now on, I need to know everything."

He finally looked up, taken aback by the fierce determination radiating from her. "Hermione, this isn't—"

"No, Draco." She stepped closer, eyes blazing with a fire he had rarely seen in her, a power that demanded his full attention. "No more secrets. No more half-truths. I need to know what you're planning, what risks you're taking. I won't stand by while you throw yourself into danger without telling me." Her voice was firm, a tone of finality in each syllable that left no room for negotiation.

Blaise and Theo exchanged a look, the weight of the moment settling heavily on them both. Hermione's entrance had shifted the entire atmosphere; she wasn't just angry—she was asserting herself in a way that made them all acutely aware of her presence and her importance in Draco's life. Theo leaned back, an eyebrow arched as he watched the scene unfold.

"She's got a point, Malfoy," Theo said, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and understanding. "Maybe it's time she knew. All of it."

Draco glanced between his friends and his wife, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He had always believed that keeping his dealings separate from Hermione would shield her from the darkness that surrounded his world. It was a protective instinct, one that had served him well in the past. But now, standing before her, he felt the walls he'd built around his life crumbling. She wasn't just asking for insight; she was demanding to be part of his reality, regardless of how perilous or shadowed it might be.

His gaze locked onto hers, and he could see the fierce determination etched on her face. A silent battle raged within him. He knew she was right. This wasn't just about him anymore.

With a heavy sigh, he felt the weight of his resolve slipping. His shoulders slumped slightly in defeat as he acquiesced. "Fine," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want to know? Then you'll know everything."

Hermione nodded, her eyes softening with understanding as she sensed the struggle within him. "Thank you," she whispered, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on his arm, her touch grounding him.

Draco turned his attention back to the map sprawled across the desk, his mind already shifting gears to the task at hand. "Alright," he said, his tone more focused now. "Let's get you up to speed."

He hesitated for a moment, casting a glance at Hermione filled with a mixture of gratitude and exasperation. "Last night, I walked right into a trap. If it weren't for my brilliant wife, I wouldn't be standing here now."

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm, her heartbeat quickening as the gravity of his words sank in. "What happened?" she urged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco pressed on, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "Titus and I had a plan in place, but things went sideways. As I moved through the alleyway for the drop, a hooded figure lay in wait. He attacked me, but I managed to fight him off and immobilize him." His voice lowered, almost as if speaking the name aloud might bring some dark power upon them. "It was Viktor Krum."

"Viktor?" Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. "He… he's a good man."

Theo leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. "Granger, honey, he's not the same teenager you remember. We've seen him around before, and he's changed."

Blaise leaned in, unable to resist the urge to add a jab. "By the way, didn't you date him? You were, what, 14 and he was 18? Pretty creepy when you think about it."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she nodded, acknowledging the shift in focus. "Yes, it was. But that's not the point right now." Her voice regained its urgency. "What does this mean for us? For you?"

Hermione took a deep breath, willing herself to regain her composure. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, but she refused to be intimidated. "Let's focus on what we need to do next," she stated firmly, her voice steady and resolute. "We have to figure out why Viktor was involved and what this means for our plans."

Blaise shifted in his chair, folding his arms as he contemplated her words. "You're right," he admitted, a hint of respect creeping into his tone. "But we're missing something crucial here."

Hermione's frustration surged as she pressed on. "You killed Karkaroff, his mentor. That's a significant move, but why is Viktor Krum coming after you now? What does it have to do with our current situation?" She leaned forward, her gaze piercing as she searched for answers in their eyes.

"Bravo, Granger," Blaise said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe we should've had you in on these meetings from the start."

Draco shot Blaise a warning glance, his expression serious. "Yes, but that was a year ago. We need to understand why this is happening now and what the new threat might be. There's more to this than just past grievances." He paused, his brow furrowing as he considered the implications. "We need to figure out why Viktor's actions are surfacing now and how they fit into the broader scheme."

"Granger," Theo interjected, his tone laced with curiosity. "Are you still in contact with him?"

"Yes, we exchange letters frequently," Hermione replied, her voice steady despite the rising tension in the room.

"Frequently?" Draco's voice was edged with anger, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed her words. "Why am I only finding out about this now?"

"It's innocent, Draco. Stop reacting like this," Hermione said, frustration creeping into her tone. She struggled to keep her composure in the face of his sudden suspicion.

"It's not about innocence, Hermione," Draco snapped, his frustration palpable. "It's about being transparent. If Viktor is involved in something dangerous, we need to know everything, including your connections to him."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the situation weighing down on them all. Draco's gaze remained intense as he addressed the group, his voice low and controlled. "We'll discuss this later," he said sharply, his frustration barely contained.

Turning his attention back to the map that sprawled across the desk, he felt a surge of determination to regain control of the situation. "For now, we need to focus on gathering information about the next steps," he said, his voice firm. "Theo, Blaise, you're dismissed."

The two men exchanged glances but stood up, sensing that the discussion had shifted to a more serious tone. They quietly filed out of the room, leaving Hermione and Draco alone with the weight of their conversation hanging in the air.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Hermione crossed her arms, her brow furrowing with concern. "Draco, I know you're worried, but I can handle this. I promise you, there's nothing going on with Viktor that you need to be concerned about."

Draco's jaw clenched as he struggled to rein in his emotions. "It's not just about you, Hermione. It's about the safety of all of us. I can't have you caught up in this mess without knowing the full extent of what's happening." He took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself. "If Krum is a part of this, it changes everything. We can't afford to make mistakes."

Hermione stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I understand your concern, but I'm not helpless. I've dealt with threats before, and I'm not afraid to face this one. But I need you to trust me. We need to work together, not against each other."

Draco looked down at the map, the various pins and markings a stark reminder of the dangers they faced. He felt the heat of her determination, and it stirred something deep within him—a mix of admiration and anxiety. "I want to trust you," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But this isn't just about you and me. This is about our friends, our family. The stakes are too high for us to keep secrets."

Hermione nodded, the understanding between them deepening. "Then let's figure this out together. We can't let Viktor's involvement derail our plans. We need to find out why he's here and what he wants from us."

Draco straightened, his expression resolute. "Alright, then. Let's get to work." As they leaned over the map together, the tension shifted into a focused energy, their minds united in purpose as they strategized their next move. Despite the uncertainty looming ahead, they were determined to face whatever challenges awaited them—together.

With a quick nod, Theo and Blaise vanished, leaving Draco and Hermione alone in the study. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint rustle of parchment and the distant ticking of a clock.

~~~~~~

As he stepped through the grand doors of Nott Manor, the familiar scent of home wrapped around him like a warm embrace, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the world outside. The dim light of dusk filtered through the towering windows, casting a golden glow over the elegant living room, where soft candlelight flickered against the walls. The hum of distant laughter, the quiet crackling of the fireplace, and the faint aroma of vanilla and fresh parchment filled the space, grounding him in the reality of what truly mattered.

His heart swelled the moment his gaze landed on the two souls who made his world complete. She was curled up on the plush sofa, bathed in the fading sunlight, golden strands of hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid silk. A well-loved book rested in her hands, her fingers idly tracing the spine as her eyes lifted to meet his. That smile—the one that never failed to steal the breath from his lungs—bloomed across her lips, warm and knowing, instantly melting away the weight of the day.

Nestled in her arms was their son, Lysander, a small bundle of boundless energy, his tiny hands curled into the fabric of her dress. He was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, the peaceful expression on his little face a stark contrast to the storm that raged within his father's mind.

Without hesitation, he crossed the room in a few long strides, sinking onto the sofa beside them, pulling them both into the sanctuary of his arms. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of baby lotion and the faint trace of lavender that clung to her skin. Pressing a gentle kiss to his son's soft curls, he whispered, "There's my little lion," his voice a low murmur of reverence.

Lysander stirred, his tiny fists clenching before his bright blue eyes fluttered open, his face lighting up with unfiltered joy the moment recognition dawned. "Dadda!" he babbled, his small hands reaching for him, and Theo's heart clenched in a way he still wasn't used to.

He chuckled, pressing another kiss to his son's forehead before pulling back to meet her gaze, his expression softening. "I missed you two more than I can put into words," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

She leaned into him, allowing herself to sink into his warmth, her fingers tracing slow, familiar patterns against the fabric of his coat. "I can tell," she teased, but there was something deeper in her eyes, something that mirrored the emotions swelling within him.

As much as he wanted to lose himself in this moment, the weight of what had happened that day loomed over him like a storm cloud. He exhaled slowly, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze with quiet intensity. "From now on, you're not to go anywhere alone," he stated, his voice firm, the command laced with something far more fragile—fear.

Her brow furrowed as she carefully shifted Lysander onto the plush rug beside them, giving him the space to play. She sat up straighter, the shift in his demeanor not lost on her. "What happened?" she asked, her voice calm but edged with growing concern.

He took a slow, steadying breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "Draco was attacked," he said, the statement heavy, each syllable sharp as a blade. He watched as her expression fell, the color draining from her face, her hands tightening where they rested on her lap.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered, her fingers instinctively covering her mouth. "Attacked? By who? Is he alright?"

"He fought back," he said, voice strained, "but it was a trap. It was close. Too close."

She inhaled sharply, her gaze flickering between concern and something more—something that unsettled him. "Is he safe now?"

"For now," he admitted, his voice low. "But this made me realize how vulnerable we are. How easy it would be for someone to come after any of us." His jaw tightened as he glanced at their son, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening in the air. "I can't take that risk with you. With him."

Her expression softened, but her gaze remained resolute. "Theo," she said quietly, reaching for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "I understand why you're worried. But I can take care of myself. You know that."

"I do," he admitted, his grip tightening around her hand. "But this isn't about just you. If anything happened to you—if anyone tried to take you from me..." He trailed off, shaking his head, unable to voice the thought. "It would break me, Luna."

She exhaled, her free hand lifting to cradle his cheek, her thumb brushing over the tension in his jaw. "We can't let fear dictate our lives," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "Lysander deserves to grow up without the weight of constant fear pressing down on us."

He knew she was right. But the gnawing dread inside him refused to be silenced.

"I just need you to be careful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand. "Promise me."

"I promise," she said softly, though the fire in her eyes told him she wouldn't be caged. Not even by him.

Before he could respond, their son suddenly crawled into his lap, his bright, curious eyes searching his father's face. "Dada sad?" he asked, his small hands pressing against Theo's cheeks as if to physically erase whatever worries lingered there.

Theo blinked, his heart squeezing at the sight of such pure, unfiltered love staring back at him. He forced a smile, wrapping an arm around his son and pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. "No, little lion," he assured him, his voice warm but hoarse. "Dada's just thinking."

Lysander beamed, clearly unconvinced but eager to move on. "Play!" he demanded, bouncing excitedly.

Theo laughed, the sound easing some of the tension from his chest. "Play, huh?" He glanced at his wife, who was already gathering a stack of colorful blocks.

"See?" she murmured, amusement dancing in her expression. "Nothing can get to us when we're together."

He watched as she settled on the floor, their son eagerly crawling toward her, his tiny fingers grabbing at the blocks with excited determination. The sight of them—his world, his home, his greatest purpose—made the weight in his chest ease, if only for a moment.

"You're right," he admitted, leaning back against the couch, watching as their son sent the tower of blocks crashing to the floor with a triumphant squeal. "This is our safe place."

A soft smile curved her lips as she reached for his hand once more. "And no matter what's waiting for us out there," she whispered, "we'll always have this."

As the evening stretched on, their world became smaller, quieter, wrapped in love and laughter, filled with the kind of warmth that no enemy could ever take from them. But deep inside, Theo knew the peace wouldn't last forever. The war outside their walls had already crept too close.

And he would burn the world before he let it touch what was his.

~~~~~~

The uneasy feeling that had settled in her chest days ago refused to fade. It gnawed at her, a quiet, persistent weight dragging at the edges of her thoughts, dulling even the warmth of his embrace. Ever since the attack on Draco, the dangers of their world had become impossible to ignore, crashing into their lives with merciless clarity. The once-distant threats felt closer now, tangible and suffocating, and though she had found comfort in Theo's presence, in the way he held her tighter at night, in the way his touch lingered as if afraid she might slip through his fingers—none of it could silence the growing sense of dread.

She clung to him more than usual, always within reach, always seeking the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. But even as she burrowed into the safety of his arms, she could feel a shift between them, an invisible wall forming in the quiet moments when neither of them spoke. His body carried a tension she couldn't ignore, a weight pressing into his shoulders that hadn't been there before. His smiles were just a little too forced, his silences stretched just a little too long. And she knew.

She knew he was hiding something.

That knowledge settled in her bones like ice, and the longer she sat with it, the more it burned.

The breaking point came one evening, curled up together in the living room. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting soft, dancing shadows over the space that had always been their sanctuary. He sat beside her, his arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absently toying with the loose strands of her hair. There was a moment—a single fleeting second—where everything felt normal. Safe.

And then, with a voice quieter than a whisper, he shattered it.

"My love," he murmured, his fingers stilling, his tone thick with something heavy, something hesitant. "I need to tell you something."

A slow chill crept down her spine. The way he spoke, the way his fingers curled into his palm like he was bracing himself—it sent warning bells clanging in her mind. Still, she forced a small, teasing smile, hoping—praying—it was nothing serious. "What is it, Sunny?" she asked, though the knot in her throat made it harder to breathe.

He inhaled sharply, the sound loud in the quiet room. "The jewelry I gave you," he said, each word falling like a stone between them. "It has a tracker inside."

Silence.

The words didn't register at first. They hovered in the air, cold and foreign, refusing to make sense. Then, realization hit her like a slap to the face.

"You did what?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her body suddenly rigid.

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never left hers. "It was for your safety," he said, his tone steady, as if that was explanation enough. As if it was justified.

Her heart pounded, a cold, unfamiliar rage unfurling in her chest. "Why would you do that?" Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with something much sharper, something close to betrayal. "Oh, Lord, Theodore, you are disgusting."

She shot to her feet, her breath shallow, her pulse roaring in her ears. The walls of the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her beneath the weight of his confession. She had trusted him. Trusted him with everything she was. And now, he had reduced that trust to nothing more than surveillance.

"Luna—please," he started, his voice desperate, but she had already turned on her heel, fury coursing through her veins.

His voice followed her as she stormed down the hall. "Just listen to me!" he pleaded, the sound of his footsteps echoing behind her. "I didn't do this to control you—I did it to protect you!"

She reached their bedroom, her sanctuary, and slammed the door shut behind her, twisting the lock with shaking hands. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, her fingers curling into fists as she pressed her back against the door. The sound of his footsteps stopped abruptly on the other side.

"Luna, please," he murmured, his voice muffled but heavy with regret. "Let's talk about this."

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay composed. But the anger, the betrayal—it was too much. "You put a tracker in my jewelry," she hissed, her voice dangerously low. "Do you even hear yourself?"

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. "I thought it would keep you safe."

"Safe?" she repeated, the word burning on her tongue. "You think safety means stripping away my freedom? My choices? Do you have any idea how violating this is?"

His voice softened, but the desperation remained. "I know this seems wrong, but you have to understand why I did it. The world is dangerous, Luna. I can't—" His breath hitched, as if the thought alone pained him. "I can't lose you."

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, her nails digging into her palms. "Make sure I what?" she snapped. "That I don't leave the house without your permission? That I can't go anywhere without you knowing my every step? Do you hear how insane that sounds?"

"I don't think you're a prisoner," he shot back, frustration creeping into his voice. "I just need to know you're safe!"

"You don't trust me," she whispered, the words tasting bitter. "Not really."

Another heavy silence fell between them. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, allowing the tears to spill freely. She had never felt this small, this exposed—not even in the face of danger. Because this was different. This was him. The one person she had always believed would never betray her.

His voice broke the quiet, rough and filled with something raw. "I didn't think you'd react this way."

She let out a humorless laugh, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. "Then you really don't know me at all."

He let out a slow, heavy breath, the sound of his hand running through his hair reaching her ears. "You're right," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have talked to you first. But the thought of something happening to you... it terrifies me."

A part of her wanted to reach for him, to pull him close and erase the pain in his voice. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"You could have just told me," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You could have trusted me to make my own choices."

"I do trust you," he said, the words sounding almost broken. "But I don't trust the world."

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, feeling the weight of everything settle in her chest. She loved him. That would never change. But this… this was something she needed time to process.

"I need space," she finally said, her voice quieter now.

On the other side of the door, he was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice heavy with resignation. "Okay," he murmured. "I'll give you that."

But even as his footsteps retreated, she remained on the floor, staring at the door between them. The love was still there, but for the first time, so was the doubt.

And that terrified her more than anything else.