Hermione lounged on the sofa one afternoon, lost in a book, when a frantic crash erupted from the Floo. Smoke billowed out, momentarily obscuring the figure that stumbled through – Theo. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror.
"Granger, you are coming with me right now," Theo blurted, grabbing her arm and rushing back towards the Floo. "Luna, she's…" His voice cracked, and he couldn't seem to form another word.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Visions of a sick or injured Luna flashed through her mind. Without hesitation, she threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through after Theo.
They landed with a thump in The Nott Manor's cozy living room. Theo rushed to her side, his voice trembling as he called her name. Luna, however, seemed perfectly content, curled up peacefully on the sofa. A soft smile played on her lips.
Luna, however, seemed blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding around her. "Oh, Mimi, it's you," she mumbled sleepily, finally opening her eyes. "I'm okay, I'm just pregnant."
Relief washed over her in a wave, followed by a flicker of amusement. "Pregnant? But how?" she stammered, her gaze darting between Luna's serene expression and Theo's wide-eyed panic.
Theo finally found his voice, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone despite the earlier terror. "Surely Granger, even you know how babies are made." His words were laced with a playful jab, a stark contrast to the urgency that had brought them here.
She rolled her eyes, a familiar warmth returning to her chest. It was good to have some normalcy, even in these unsettling times. "Theodore, shut your mouth," she snapped, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Turning back to Luna, her eyes welled up with tears. "Luna babe, I'm so happy for you," she said, her voice breaking with a mix of joy and relief.
The weight of his fear hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket that threatened to steal Theo's breath. Luna, bless her oblivious heart, simply yawned and stretched, the sound echoing loudly in the tense silence. "Oh, Theo, don't be so dramatic," she said, her voice laced with her usual, airy unconcern. "I just felt a bit faint earlier. Perhaps you were a tad too… enthusiastic with your morning ministrations." Her brow furrowed in a rare moment of confusion, completely missing the storm brewing in Theo's face.
Hermione, watching the exchange unfold, felt a stifled giggle rise in her throat at Luna's innocent explanation, a welcome release from the tight knot of worry that had formed in her stomach. Theo, however, sputtered incoherently, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet that rivaled the Gryffindor common room banners. "Anyways..." she said, stepping forward to break the awkward silence, a genuine smile replacing the tears that had welled in her eyes earlier. "Congratulations to the two of you," she continued, her voice warm. "I'm so incredibly happy for you both."
Oh God, he would literally drop death if he couldn't be more dramatic. Oh the irony of simps.
Theo needed to be removed from the room.
His frantic energy was a whirlwind, each agitated step across the kitchen floor echoing his rising panic. His heart, a trapped bird in his chest, hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Fear, raw and primal, surged through him, a physical presence that clawed at his throat and constricted his breath. "Granger, you had to see her!" he burst out, his voice ragged with barely suppressed panic. "Luna, my Luna, pale as a ghost, crumpled on the floor like a broken doll!" He paced, his agitation evident in every twitch of his hand, every wild look in his eyes. "One minute she's humming happily, humming that strange tune of hers, and the next – nothing! Unconscious! Merlin's saggy… what if…?" He choked back a sob, the horrifying image flashing behind his eyes – the image he couldn't, wouldn't voice. Hermione, her own heart twisting with a potent cocktail of fear and concern, reached out a calming hand. "Theo, just please slow down," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "Tell me what exactly happened. We can figure this out, together."
He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, frustration etched on his face like a love letter carved into ancient stone. "It was nothing! A faint, that's all. But seeing my Luna, my moonbeam, like that… it ripped the ground from under my feet faster than a rogue Hippogriff. The fear… Granger, it squeezed the air from my lungs like a rogue Bludger in a Quidditch match. What if I lose her? My radiant moonbeam, the source of my own personal lunar eclipse? What if my child…" His voice trailed off, his eyes welling up with a vulnerability.
"Theo," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm. "Luna's strong. And you… you have feelings for her, don't you? Perhaps love her?"
He slammed his fist onto the table, the sudden movement making her flinch. "Love her? Granger," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, a tremor running through him like a rogue Accio spell. "Love is a feeble word, as inadequate as a quill trying to capture the brilliance of a phoenix's flight. It's a wildfire consuming my soul, a hurricane of emotions that threatens to tear me apart like a rogue Snitch caught in a whirlwind! But what good is this all-encompassing love, this devotion that burns brighter than Fiendfyre, if I can't protect her? If I can't be the man she deserves, the knight in shining armor who shields her from every lurking danger?" He sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands, his entire body a monument to his fear and his fierce, if slightly over-the-top, love for Luna.
A tremor ran through his voice, a raw desperation replacing the bluster. "She deserves the moon and the stars, Granger. All the beauty and wonder in the world," he choked out, the words scraped raw by his fear. "And here I am, a walking reminder of the darkness, a shadow clinging to her light. What if she sees it too? What if she realizes the monster I truly am?"
The weight of his unspoken fear hung heavy in the air, a suffocating fog that threatened to drown them both. She saw a glimpse of the young boy hidden beneath the bravado, a boy terrified of the darkness within himself, a darkness he feared would taint the brilliance of Luna's light. It was a vulnerability that cracked the carefully constructed facade he presented to the world, a glimpse of the insecure soul yearning for acceptance beneath the bluster.
"There is a famous quote", she began gently, "The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children. But Theo, listen closely. You are not your father. He chose darkness, a path that stained his soul. You, Theo, you chose differently. You chose to hide, to fight for a different life during the war. You haven't hurt anyone, not then, not ever. And that love, that fierce protectiveness you feel for Luna, for your child – that's the antithesis of your father. That's the fire that will break the cycle, Theo. You have the chance to be the man he never was, the light in their lives, not the shadow. They won't be burdened by his past, because you'll write a new future, one filled with your love and unwavering devotion." Her voice softened further. "You are capable of incredible things. Don't let fear dim that light."
The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the earlier bluster. Tears welled in Theo's eyes, brimming but stubbornly unspilled. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the bravado finally giving way to raw vulnerability. "Are we friends, Granger?" he rasped, his voice trembling.
Seeing his pain, a fierce protectiveness bloomed in her chest. "Of course we are, Theo," she said, her voice firm and reassuring as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Always."
"Because if we are," he choked out, his voice thick with a raw, desperate plea, "I'm begging you – help me show Luna how much I love her. Merlin, Granger, I don't know how to do this on my own. I'm terrified I'll mess it up, that I won't be enough for her, for our child. But the thought of losing them..." He couldn't finish the sentence, fearing a physical weight constricting his throat. man beneath.
"Did you ever talk about your feelings?" she asked gently.
"Oh, fuck no" Theo replied, his voice tinged with fear and desperation.
"Then show it," she said firmly. "Show her how much you love her, Theo. Actions speak louder than words. Be there for her, support her, and make her feel cherished every single day."
After Theo finished his dramatic speech about how he would woo Luna's heart, they decided to spend the afternoon drinking and playing board games. The tension from earlier slowly melted away as they laughed and shared stories, the warmth of their friendship providing a comforting backdrop to their evening.
Theo, determined and a bit tipsy, proclaimed, "I will win her over, Hermione. Just watch me."
She chuckled, raising her glass in a toast. "To love, friendship, and the courage to show our true selves. May they always win the day"
(Weeks later, Hermione would learn the full story of Theo's grand gesture, a tale that would forever solidify his reputation as Luna's most devoted, and slightly eccentric, admirer. It seems Theo, in his quest to impress Luna, envisioned a grand gesture, something that would sweep her off her feet. Flowers? Too ordinary. Jewels? Too cliche. No, Theo needed something grand, something magical, something that screamed, "Luna, I love you more than words can express!"
His initial idea involved a veritable mountain of blooms, every color and variety imaginable. Several frantic Floo calls and near disasters involving exploding Dungbombs (don't ask) later, Theo found himself with a much less floral, and considerably more feathery, solution perched on his doorstep: a live Hippogriff.
Now, Luna, bless her wonderfully whimsical heart, simply giggled when the magnificent creature graced her doorstep. She accepted the gift with her usual equanimity, even offering the Hippogriff a plate of Crumple-Horn Snorkack Horns (a questionable snack choice at best). Yes, Luna loved the Hippogriff (though mostly as a large, feathery friend), and Theo? Well, Theo was left several Galleons lighter, and forever remembered as the boy who tried to win her heart with a Hippogriff.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was positively drunk when she arrived home, and saw Draco pacing in front of the fireplace.
"Where were you, love? I was so worried." Draco said, his voice tinged with concern. What happened darling?"
"Just sorting out some... Hippogriff-sized drama," Hermione wheezed, collapsing onto the nearest armchair. Firewhiskey, a powerful truth serum disguised as a delicious beverage, loosened her tongue considerably. "Apparently, Luna fainted earlier, and Theo went into full meltdown mode."
A surprised snort escaped Draco's lips. It wasn't a full-blown laugh, more like a startled exhale that softened the sharp angles of his face. "Merlin, Nott always was a bit of a drama queen," he drawled, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Though, I can't say I entirely blame him. The thought of miniature Notts bouncing around Hogwarts, setting off Dungbombs like rogue fireworks, is enough to give anyone nightmares." He cast a teasing glance at her, a hint of amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "Though at least they wouldn't have the greasy hair."
A warmth bloomed in her chest, a familiar counterpoint to the amusement bubbling up inside her. Theo's theatrics were legendary, even amongst their closest circle. "Miniature Theos, Draco? Don't be ridiculous," she managed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Luna will surely tame the wild Nott streak in a generation."
He imagined her with a baby in her arms, her hair falling gently over her shoulder as she smiled down at their curly haired child. The thought warmed his heart in a way he hadn't expected. He wanted to protect her, to provide for her and their future family. The idea of being a father to her children filled him with a sense of purpose he hadn't felt before. He is going to make everything possible to make Hermione love him. He'll try to fuck a baby into her. Even if that's the last thing he does in his miserable life.
Theo had always been one of Draco's closest friends, and they had been through a lot together. They had faced the horrors of the war, and now they were stepping into a new chapter of life—parenthood.
As he stared out at the city below, Draco couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy mixed with longing. Seeing Theo and Luna embark on this new journey made him realise just how much he wanted the same thing for himself—with Hermione.
Draco cleared his throat, a blush creeping up his neck. "Actually," he stammered, "there's something else. I, uh, I was wondering if maybe… the lads are planning a get-together tonight. Just a night out, you know, nothing fancy. Blokes' business and all that."
She glanced up from her night snack, her smile warm and genuine. "Of course.Enjoy yourselves," she replied.
Draco nodded, feeling a mixture of surprise and relief at her response. "Thank you, darling," he said gratefully. "I won't be out too late."
"Take your time," she assured him, turning back to her crisps. "I'll be here, with a bottle of firewhiskey and a healthy dose of scepticism about the true purpose of this 'blokes' business.'"
He smiled at her, feeling a sense of gratitude for her understanding. "I appreciate it," he said softly before kissing her softly, heading out to join his friends for the evening.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They were three bottles of Firewhiskey deep into their conversation. Blaise, smirking over his drink, raised an eyebrow at Theo. "So, I hear you're going to be a father, Theo?"
Theo chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Aye, can't believe it myself. Feels like just yesterday we were causing mayhem at Hogwarts." A content sigh escaped his lips. "I'm happier than I ever thought possible, Blaise. Honestly, mate, words can't describe it." His eyes softened. "My wife, she's radiant. Like a goddess, really. Botticelli himself couldn't capture her beauty now."
"Ginny is definitely more exquisite," Blaise declared, a glint of smug pride in his dark eyes. "Have you looked at that red-haired menace lately?"
The playful jab sent a snort erupting from Theo. Firewhiskey sprayed across the table, narrowly missing a snoring goblin slumped in the next booth. "Ginny? Fiery?" Theo wheezed, wiping the amber liquid from his beard. "Blaise, have you taken a bludger to the head one too many times practising with Flint?"
Blaise scoffed, a playful fire dancing in his own eyes. "Come on, Nott," he countered, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Look past the Weasley jumper for a second. The girl's got fiery hair that puts a sunset to shame and those emerald eyes that could melt a galleon at ten paces. Exquisite, I tell you!" He leaned back, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face, daring Theo to disagree.
Blaise's smirk widened as he nudged Theo with his elbow. "Look who's finally decided to join the conversation," he bellowed, his voice thick with amusement. "Draco over there is awfully quiet, brooding like a thunderstorm. Don't tell me your little lion turned into a right shrew, eh? We all know she's a right handful, a perfect little minx."
"Don't EVER talk about my wife in that manner ever again," he said angrily. "Well, we kissed….. a few times, but that's it."
Blaise's booming laughter echoed through the smoky pub, startling a nearby pixie perched on a dusty shelf. "Kissed? Are you serious, mate? That's not much," he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Merlin Draco, for a bloke who fancies himself a ladies' man, you're about as smooth as a troll's backside."
He scowled, a blush creeping up his neck that even the dim lighting couldn't hide. "No shit, Zabini," he muttered, swirling the remnants of his Firewhiskey in his glass. "It's like living with a firecracker that refuses to light the fuse. I look at her every day, that fiery hair, those freckles... beautiful. But I'm terrified of making any move on her, so I'm stuck with wanking." He sighed dramatically, the picture of a lovesick puppy.
Theo, finally regaining his composure after Blaise's outburst, shook his head in mock disappointment. "That is pathetic, mate. Honestly, a bloke in your position needs a nudge in the right direction. Maybe a well-timed compliment, some candlelight..."
"Don't even suggest it, Nott," Draco snapped, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.
"Don't even suggest the bloody candlelight, Nott," he snapped, his voice laced with a surprising edge. He grabbed his nearly-empty glass and slammed it down a little too hard on the table, the sound echoing in the smoky pub.
Blaise, momentarily taken aback, simply raised an eyebrow. Theo, ever the mediator, chuckled nervously. "Alright, alright, let's all calm down a bit. Another round, anyone?"
He ignored him, already pushing himself out of the booth. "Just where do you think you're going, Malfoy?" Blaise called after him.
"To get some air," he mumbled, his voice tight. He stormed out of the pub, the cool night air hitting him like a slap. He took a long, deep breath, the firewhiskey churning uncomfortably in his stomach. Blaise was right. He was being a coward.
Drunk Italian Blaise was mean but always honest.
His jaw clenched, but instead of a retort, a strange determination flickered in his eyes. He muttered something about Blaise's "oversized blabbermouth" and stalked out of the pub.
The florist wasn't exactly thrilled when the pissed drunk blonde stormed into her shop moments after closing time. But the generous wad of galleons Draco shoved at her silenced any complaints. He emerged, triumphant, with a chaotic mix of red roses, white lilies, a few bewildered tulips, and an armful of bright pink peonies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The roaring of the fireplace startled her from her book. A moment later, he stumbled into the living room, his face flushed and hair askew. In his arms, he clutched a riot of colour – a haphazard bouquet of awful looking flowers.
She blinked, momentarily speechless. Draco, looking every bit like a lovesick puppy caught in the act, dropped to one knee with a thud. The book tumbled from her lap, forgotten. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stared, wide-eyed, at the sight before her.
"Je te reconnaîtrais dans l'obscurité totale, même si tu étais muet et moi sourd.
Je te reconnaîtrais dans une autre vie entièrement, dans des corps différents, à des époques différentes.
Et je t'aimerais dans tout cela, jusqu'à ce que la toute dernière étoile dans le ciel s'éteigne dans l'oubli."
If you thought drunk Italian Blaise was bad, drunk French Draco was even worse.
She sat there extremely confused. She did not understand the flower situation; she knew it meant something. She didn't understand the French speech, mostly she didn't understand a single sentence because he was so drunk that his monologue didn't make any sense.
"Alright Draco," she said with a chuckle, "Let's see what we can work with here. Maybe we can arrange them in a few smaller vases? Thank you for the beautiful flowers. Pink peonies are my favorite. And perhaps a glass of water for the poor little boy?"
Placing the glass of water on the coffee table with a gentle clink, shepaused at the sight before her. he was sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep, his previous bravado replaced by a peaceful vulnerability. Curled contentedly on his chest, purring softly, was Crookshanks. The usually aloof feline's presence added a layer of surrealism to the scene.
A mix of amusement and disbelief washed over her. Here was Draco Malfoy, the embodiment of Slytherin arrogance, looking utterly harmless in his slumber, even embraced by her ever-skeptical cat. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Draco Malfoy than his carefully constructed facade.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunlight speared through the gaps in the curtains, assaulting his throbbing head. He groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow. The telltale signs of a night gone overboard thrummed through his body – a leaden ache in his limbs, a cotton mouth, and a head that felt like it was trying to separate from his neck.
He stumbled out of bed, his vision blurry. On his nightstand, a potion bottle with a cheeky label – 'Remedial Potion for the Incapacitated' – sat beside a glass of water. A small flicker of gratitude sparked within him – a silent thank you to the bushy-haired witch who'd undoubtedly cleaned up after his mess.
The aroma of frying bacon lured him downstairs. In the kitchen, a plate piled high with his favorite breakfast – eggs done sunny-side up, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes – awaited him. Beside it lay a folded piece of parchment, the elegant script a stark contrast to his pounding headache. A hesitant smile tugged at his lips as he unfolded the note.
"Dearie, I hope this will help. See you tonight.
Yours,
Hermione"
A wave of mortification washed over him. His mind was a blank slate – no recollection of the previous night's events. Panic clawed at his throat. Had he done something stupid? Said something he shouldn't have to Hermione? The mere thought of blurting out his feelings in a drunken stupor sent a jolt of fear through him. His biggest secret, carelessly revealed under the influence? He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to surface, but there was nothing. Just a hollow dread.
Dread morphed into a different kind of panic as the Floo roared to life, erupting in a shower of emerald flames. Stepping out of the fireplace, brushing soot off his robes, was none other than the Weasel. The very last person he wanted to see right now, especially with his mind in such a precarious state.
Instinct took over, and with a snarl, he whipped out his wand, pointing it straight at Weasel's chest. His voice was laced with cold fury. "My wife isn't home right now, so I can behave however I want, Weasel. There's no one here to save your pathetic life." Draco quickly cast a Stunning Spell from his wand, and Ronald dropped to the floor.
"Now you're going to listen to me, Weasel. Ronald swallowed hard, feeling his wand pressing against his neck. "You and Hermione are broken up. She doesn't love you, she never loved you. I'm the only person who understands her. I'm the only one who knows how to kiss her neck and make her luscious mouth moan. She's my wife, and you're just a loser. Do you really think she would choose you over me? She's moved on, Weasel. And you're not going to get in my way again.
Malfoy dropped to his knees and started to beat the living shit out of Weasel's face.
"You were supposed to be the man, but you acted like a bitch. She.Only.Wants Me."
"I am a man, and you are just a pathetic excuse for a boy. You will never see her again. You will never speak to her again. She belongs to me," he hissed, his voice filled with possessive rage.
He finally finished his attack, leaving Ronald bruised and battered on the floor. He sat down in front of him, his breath heavy, while Ronald sobbed quietly.
"You think you can just waltz back into her life, disrupt everything we've built? You're nothing to her now, Weasel," he sneered, his eyes cold and unyielding.
Ronald struggled to sit up, his body trembling with pain and emotion. "She... she deserves better than you, Malfoy," he managed to choke out between sobs. "She deserves someone who truly loves her."
His expression hardened. "And you think that's you? You had your chance, and you blew it. Now, she's mine. And I will do whatever it takes to keep her.
He released the spell that had been holding Ronald down, allowing him to catch his breath. Ronald coughed and gasped, his body aching from the assault.
"Kneel," he commanded, his voice icy and firm.
Ronald, defiant even in his weakened state, shook his head. "No."
Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed him hard onto the floor, his strength overpowering Ronald's resistance. "You will learn your place, Weasley. You will understand that Hermione is no longer a part of your life. She is mine, and I will protect what is mine."
The room was filled with tension as his words hung in the air. He stood up, looking down at Ronald with disdain. "Now get out. And if I ever see you near her again, I won't be so merciful."
Ronald, struggling to his feet, gave Draco one last look of sorrow and determination. "This isn't over, Malfoy. She deserves to know the truth."
His eyes flashed with anger, but he said nothing as Ron staggered toward the door. Just as he reached the threshold, he raised his wand and muttered, "Obliviate."
A flash of light enveloped Ronald, erasing the memory of the beating and his threats from his mind. Ronald blinked, momentarily disoriented, before he spoke again, his tone now deceptively calm. "Leave now, Weasley."
Ronald, now confused and without recollection of the confrontation, stumbled out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his dark, possessive love for her.
He watched Ronald stumble out, feeling an unexpected sense of satisfaction wash over him. After ten years of irritation that he felt for Weasley, this beating felt like a breath of fresh air. Finally, he had put the redhead in his place.
With a sigh of relief, he turned away from the fireplace, heading back towards the kitchen. He needed to clear his mind and prepare for her return. She could never know what had just transpired; it would only complicate things further.
As he sat at the kitchen table, he picked up the note she had left for him again, reading her kind words. He smiled despite himself. Tonight, he would make everything perfect. He would show her just how much he loved her and how far he was willing to go to protect their life together.
But for now, he would savour the quiet victory he had achieved. The irritation and tension that had built up over a decade were momentarily lifted, and he felt more determined than ever to keep her by his side, no matter the cost.