He was never far from her side these days, his protective instincts sharpening with every passing hour as the inevitable moment drew closer. She had always been accustomed to his presence, to the way he hovered, watchful and ready, but now it was nearly unbearable. Suffocating. Yet, she understood. This was how he loved—with unwavering vigilance, with a devotion so fierce it bordered on obsession.
She moved through their bedroom, folding freshly laundered baby clothes, smoothing her hands over the soft fabric with quiet anticipation. As she bent down to gather another pile, his voice cut through the air, laced with alarm.
"Please don't bend down!" The urgency in his tone made her pause mid-motion, glancing up with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
Straightening with deliberate slowness, she arched a brow. "Theo, I'm pregnant, not made of glass."
His jaw tightened, his hands twitching as though he wanted to physically prevent her from continuing. "That's exactly what I'm saying," he grumbled, stepping closer, his eyes scanning her for any sign of discomfort. "You shouldn't be straining yourself. Ask the elves to help. They'll be devastated if you don't let them."
A soft laugh escaped her, filling the room with warmth. "They've already helped, my love. There were just a few things left, and I can manage them," she assured him, her voice calm, the way it always was when she soothed his worries.
But he wasn't convinced. His hands found their way into his hair, raking through the strands in restless frustration. "I just—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I just want everything to be perfect."
That was the thing about him. He needed control, needed to prepare for every possible scenario, but this—this was something he couldn't plan his way through. And that terrified him more than he would ever admit.
She stepped toward him, reaching out and sliding her fingers through his, grounding him. "It already is," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "We're in this together, remember?"
His shoulders eased, the tension melting beneath her touch. She had that effect on him, always. A steady presence, a light in the chaos that threatened to consume him. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.
"I don't like feeling useless," he admitted after a beat, his voice quieter now.
She smiled, the kind of smile that held entire galaxies of love and understanding. "You're not useless," she murmured. "You're here. You're worrying over every tiny detail. You're making sure I don't have to lift a finger." She placed a hand over her belly, feeling the faint movement beneath her touch. "And most of all, you're about to be the best father in the world."
Something in his expression shifted, the fear flickering for just a moment before being replaced with something softer. Reverence. Awe.
He placed his hand over hers, feeling the small, strong kicks beneath their joined palms. "I hope she knows how much I love her already," he whispered.
"She does," she promised, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "And she's going to adore you."
A silence settled between them—not the kind that carried unspoken fears, but the kind that whispered of something profound. A love so vast, so immeasurable, it didn't need words to be understood.
Eventually, he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You're still not bending down again."
She rolled her eyes, but the fondness in them was unmistakable. "Fine," she relented with a sigh, though they both knew she'd test him again soon enough.
For now, though, she let him have this small victory. Because in a matter of days, their entire world would change, and for all his worrying, for all his desperate attempts to make things perfect, she knew one undeniable truth—there was no better place in the world than right here, in his arms, waiting for the future they had built together.
~~~~~~
Theo had always considered himself a capable man. He had mastered complex dueling spells, navigated the treacherous world of politics and assassination, and could take down a target from a hundred meters without so much as breaking a sweat.
But assembling a crib?
A fucking nightmare.
The nursery looked like a crime scene. Wooden planks were scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers, screws had rolled into every possible crevice, and the instruction manual—what kind of cruel bastard wrote this?—might as well have been an unsolvable Arithmancy equation.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, glaring at the half-built monstrosity before him. "Alright, you stubborn piece of furniture, it's just you and me," he muttered, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to duel the damn thing.
Fifteen minutes later, he had successfully built… something. Was it a crib? A warped table? A portal to another dimension? Hard to say.
With a deep sigh, he finally admitted defeat and reached for his wand, prepared to burn the whole thing to ashes and simply purchase a new one like a civilized man. But just as he aimed his wand, a thought struck him—there was one person who could help.
Swallowing his pride, he Floo-called Pansy.
The fireplace roared to life, and moments later, she stepped through, dressed impeccably as always, looking entirely too amused by the desperate look on his face.
"Theodore Nott, requesting assistance? Oh, this is rich." Her sharp eyes flicked over the chaos in the nursery before she let out an exaggerated gasp. "Merlin's saggy left tit, Theo, what in Salazar's name have you done?"
He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. "I wanted to do something for Luna and the baby. I thought it would be… I don't know, sentimental. But this bloody thing is cursed."
Pansy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "It's not cursed, you incompetent ape. You just have the spatial awareness of a flobberworm."
"Rude," he muttered, crossing his arms.
"Accurate," she countered, smirking as she pulled a sleek tool kit from her bag. "Alright, move aside before you accidentally Transfigure it into a dragon or something."
She got to work, her movements precise and efficient, while Theo watched, trying to pretend he wasn't completely useless.
"By the way," she said casually as she tightened a bolt, "I assume you read the instructions before you started?"
He glanced at the booklet, which was currently upside down on the floor. "I glanced at them."
Pansy snorted. "You mean you stared at them with the intensity of a man trying to decipher ancient prophecies and then just winged it?"
He scowled. "It's a crib, not an enchanted labyrinth!"
"You say that, but somehow, you managed to make it resemble a sacrificial altar to some dark entity," she teased.
With some extra help from the house elves—who, frankly, were judging him with their tiny, unimpressed eyes—the crib finally took shape. And, to his immense relief, it actually looked like a crib.
Pansy dusted off her hands, surveying their work with a pleased expression. "There. Now, Luna won't come in and put you out of your misery for singlehandedly ruining your child's sleeping arrangements."
He let out a breath of relief, stepping back to admire their work. "I owe you for this."
Pansy smirked, flipping her hair. "Oh, I know. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I'll let Luna believe you did this all on your own—so long as you name your next-born child after me."
"Absolutely not."
"Middle name?"
"Not a chance."
She sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll settle for being the child's stylish, slightly chaotic godmother."
"That," he said, smirking, "was already a given."
As they stood there, the nursery finally looking ready for their little one's arrival, something settled inside him. The anticipation, the nervous excitement, the overwhelming love he already felt for the tiny person who would soon fill this crib—it was all real.
And with that realization, he turned to Pansy, sincerity flickering in his usually guarded eyes.
"Thank you," he said, his voice quieter now.
She softened, just slightly, before rolling her eyes. "Ugh, don't get sentimental on me, Nott. Now, go make Luna swoon over your fake carpentry skills. And for Merlin's sake, stay away from DIY projects in the future."
With a final smirk, she stepped back into the Floo and disappeared in a flash of green flames.
Theo took one last look at the crib, feeling an odd sense of triumph. Maybe he hadn't built it entirely on his own, but Luna didn't need to know that.
…Unless, of course, Pansy decided to milk this for all it was worth.
Which, knowing her, she absolutely would.
~~~~~~
Theo had to leave for 'work' unexpectedly, and the very idea of it had him pacing the foyer, his steps uneven, his jaw clenched. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to stay, to ignore duty, responsibility—everything—because nothing was more important than her, than their unborn child. She was so close to the end of her term, and the thought of something happening while he was away gnawed at his insides like a curse he couldn't shake.
"I'm not sure I should go," he admitted, his voice tight, his fingers running anxiously through his hair. His gaze drifted toward the nursery, where she had been resting peacefully just moments ago, oblivious to the war waging inside him.
Soft footsteps sounded above him, and as he turned, she appeared at the top of the staircase, bathed in the gentle glow of the afternoon light filtering through the windows. Even now, serene and impossibly beautiful, she was a vision of calm in the storm of his thoughts.
"I'll be fine, my Sun," she reassured him, her voice steady and full of warmth. "You're only a Floo call away if anything happens."
He let out a sharp exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know, but—" His words faltered as she started making her way down the stairs, one careful step at a time, her movements slower now, more deliberate. He resisted the overwhelming urge to reach out, to hold her, to carry her if he had to.
"But nothing," she murmured, placing a hand on his arm when she reached him. "Everything will be alright. You need to focus on what you have to do. I promise, if anything changes, I'll call."
He stared down at her, his pulse hammering with the sheer force of his love and worry. "You know I hate this," he admitted, voice thick, his fingers ghosting over her cheek. "Being away from you. Especially now."
A small smile curved her lips as she leaned into his touch. "I know," she whispered. "But I'll be here, waiting for you. And when you come back, you'll see—everything will be just as you left it."
His forehead pressed against hers for a lingering moment, as if he could somehow pour every ounce of love, every protective instinct, every unspoken vow into that simple touch. "Okay," he finally murmured, though the weight in his chest refused to lessen. He kissed her forehead, then her lips, taking his time, unwilling to let go just yet. "But I'll be back as soon as I can."
As he stepped outside, the crisp air did little to clear the suffocating worry from his mind. He paused for just a moment, turning back to glance at the house, at the warm glow in the windows, the home he had built with her. His sanctuary. His heart.
Knowing she was inside, waiting for him—strong, composed, and full of the quiet certainty he so often relied on—was the only thing that gave him the strength to walk away.
But, even as he disappeared into the evening, he knew one thing for certain.
He wouldn't breathe easy again until he was back in her arms.
~~~~~~
Everything was far from fine. The moment he left, a searing pain tore through her abdomen, sharp and relentless, as if invisible claws were raking through her insides. She gasped, her breath stolen by the intensity of it, her hands flying to her belly as she staggered against the nearest wall. The world around her blurred, the dim lighting of the house warping into something surreal, something wrong. This wasn't normal. Something was wrong.
Her nails dug into the wall as she steadied herself, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped animal. A cold sweat broke out across her skin, and for the first time in her pregnancy, fear gripped her in its cold, unrelenting hands. This wasn't the gentle discomfort of Braxton Hicks, nor the gradual build-up of labor pains she had read about—this was something else entirely.
Panting through the waves of pain, she forced herself to move, her instincts screaming at her to find relief, to do something. She made her way—slow, unsteady, every step agony—to his office, her only thought to search for a potion, something, anything, to ease the pain.
The room was dim, the scent of parchment and ink mingling with the faint trace of his cologne. She reached the shelves, her hands trembling as she scanned the rows of bottles, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Her fingers brushed against a particularly ornate bottle, but as she lifted it, she accidentally nudged a heavy leather-bound book beside it.
A sharp click echoed through the silent room.
She froze.
The bookcase shuddered, and then, slowly, a hidden panel groaned open, revealing a dark, gaping passageway beyond. A rush of cool air slithered out, carrying with it the scent of metal, gunpowder, and something faintly metallic—something she recognized instantly.
Blood.
A shiver crawled down her spine, her earlier pain momentarily forgotten as she took a hesitant step forward. The dim light barely reached into the space beyond the doorway, but as her eyes adjusted, what she saw sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her.
The walls were lined with weapons—an unholy fusion of magic and Muggle destruction. Gleaming swords hung next to sleek, modern firearms, their barrels catching the faint glow of the sconces. Daggers, wickedly curved and meticulously polished, sat in neat rows alongside wands bound in dark leather holsters. Each weapon was arranged with precision, displayed like artifacts in a museum of death.
And then she saw the photographs.
Pinned to the far wall, barely visible in the dim light, were a series of images—some old, some recent. People she didn't recognize, faces frozen in time, captured in black-and-white surveillance shots, their expressions varying from oblivious to terrified.
She took a shaky breath, her pulse roaring in her ears, her fingers gripping the doorframe so tightly they ached.
She knew.
She always knew.
She had never been naive about his work, about the blood that stained his hands and the shadows that followed him. But this? This was something else. This was methodical, cold, something beyond the dangerous world she had accepted when she chose to love him.
The air in the room felt suffocating now, thick with secrets she wasn't sure she wanted to understand. The man she loved—the father of her children—wasn't just dangerous. He was a force of calculated destruction, living in a world where death was as routine as breathing.
The illusion of their peaceful life cracked like glass beneath a hammer.
A sob tore from her throat before she could stop it, a broken, helpless sound that echoed through the chamber. She spun on her heel, panic clawing at her ribs, and with a sharp crack, she Apparated away—her magic erratic, fueled by raw emotion, and she landed harshly in the living room, stumbling against the coffee table.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the fireplace, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Her knees gave out beneath her, and she collapsed onto the rug, hands clutching her stomach as another wave of pain crashed through her.
But the physical agony was nothing compared to the storm raging in her chest.
She curled in on herself, the sobs wracking her body as the weight of her discovery pressed down on her like an iron cage. She had always trusted him, believed in the love they had built, but now… now she felt lost in the abyss of what she had uncovered.
Who was he?
Who was she to love him anyway?
Her fingers trembled as she wiped away the hot tears streaming down her face. She was strong—she had always been strong—but for the first time in a long, long while, she felt breakable.
And she hated it.
Barely ten months into their marriage, their love had once felt unshakable, an unbreakable force woven from devotion, trust, and an intimacy so deep it felt almost sacred. And yet, as she sat alone in the dim glow of the living room, her arms wrapped protectively around the swell of her belly, she could feel the weight of an unspoken fracture settling between them.
The quiet pressed in, her sobs having faded into something heavier—a silence that carried grief, confusion, and the gnawing sense that the foundation they had built their life upon had somehow shifted beneath her feet. The man she had loved so fiercely, so unconditionally, had always been dangerous. That was not new. But this side of him—the meticulous, calculated, secretive man who had a shrine to death hidden within their home—was something she had not been prepared to face.
Had she been naive? Had she blinded herself to the full truth of who he was, choosing only to see the parts of him that felt safe, that felt like home? And now, after everything, could she still say she knew him at all?
A fresh wave of anguish crashed through her, but it wasn't the same as before. This wasn't just the heartache of a betrayed wife or the fear of an uncertain future—this was something deeper, something primal.
Motherhood.
The thought struck her like lightning, cutting through the storm of her emotions with sudden clarity. She wasn't just a woman struggling with the weight of her husband's secrets. She wasn't just a wife trying to reconcile the man she had chosen with the truth she had uncovered. She was a mother. And her child— their child—deserved more than fear, more than uncertainty.
Her body tensed as another sharp pain shot through her, this one stronger than the last. Her breath hitched, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as she realized—this wasn't just stress, or exhaustion, or the weight of her emotions manifesting in physical discomfort.
She was in labor.
A shiver ran down her spine, panic trying to claw its way to the surface, but she refused to let it take hold. There was no time to dwell on what she had just discovered, no time to break down further. Her baby was coming, and no matter what had happened tonight—no matter what she now knew about the man she had married—she would not let any of it touch her child.
Her focus shifted, her instincts sharpening. Every doubt, every fear, every unanswered question about her marriage could wait. But this —bringing her baby safely into the world—could not.
With shaky hands, she pushed herself off the floor, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. She needed to move, needed to prepare. She needed him.
She swallowed, her throat dry as she considered her next move. Could she call him? Would he even answer?
Another contraction gripped her, stronger this time, stealing her breath. No more time to wonder. She had to act.
~~~~~~
Luna, caught between waves of pain that stole the breath from her lungs, forced herself to focus. The world around her blurred, the edges of the room flickering as her body prepared for the most excruciating and beautiful moment of her life. This was happening. Now. And she had no time to be afraid.
Gritting her teeth, she forced out a steady breath and summoned the house elves. Within seconds, they materialized before her, their eager faces bright with excitement. Their large, twinkling eyes brimmed with anticipation as they took in the sight of their mistress, heavy with child, on the cusp of bringing new life into the world.
"Please," she gasped, her voice raw but laced with command, "finalize the preparations in the bathtub for the birth. Make sure everything is ready and comfortable."
The elves sprang into action, their tiny hands working with remarkable efficiency. The room came alive with movement—sheets being adjusted, vials of soothing potions being lined up on the nearby vanity, soft towels enchanted to stay at the perfect warmth draped over the tub's edge. The air filled with the delicate scent of chamomile, lavender, and peppermint as they infused the water with healing herbs meant to ease her pain and calm her nerves.
One elf, sensing her discomfort, climbed onto the edge of the tub, his tiny fingers brushing damp strands of hair from her face. Another pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, their small voice whispering words of encouragement. Their care was a balm in the middle of her storm, their hands steady where she trembled.
But no matter how attentive they were, no matter how much she appreciated their devotion, it wasn't enough.
She needed him.
Not just in the way she always had—not just as her partner, her anchor, her greatest love—but in a way that felt primal, desperate, like something in her very soul was reaching out for him. The agony tearing through her body was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the hollowness of his absence. He was supposed to be here. He had promised her the world. He had sworn to never leave her side.
And yet, he wasn't here. He didn't know.
She couldn't stand it.
With what little strength she had left between the relentless waves of pain, she threw her head back and screamed his name, raw and unfiltered.
" THEO! "
The sound ripped through the house, a plea, a demand, an unbreakable tether stretching across whatever distance separated them.
And he heard her.
He, who had been caught in the violent rush of his so-called "work," felt his entire world shift on its axis the moment her voice reached him. It wasn't just a sound—it was everything. It struck him like lightning, sending a pulse of sheer panic racing through his veins.
His heart, already pounding from the night's chaos, twisted painfully in his chest. There was no time to think, no time to process. He ran.
He was already halfway up the stairs before he even registered moving, his breath ragged, his mind a storm of frantic thoughts.
"LUNA!"
His voice echoed off the walls, desperate, pleading, filled with a kind of terror he had never known before.
"Where are you? Luna! "
He burst through the door with the force of a man ready to fight off an entire army if that's what it took. But the moment his eyes landed on her, everything inside him stilled.
The bathroom was warm, bathed in soft candlelight, the air thick with the scent of calming herbs and enchanted steam rising from the tub. The house elves had done their work flawlessly, transforming the space into something sacred, something gentle—something worthy of her.
And there she was.
His moon, his everything.
She was radiant even in her agony, her golden hair damp against her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling as she fought through each wave of pain with a strength that left him breathless. Tears clung to her lashes, but when her eyes met his, they weren't just filled with pain.
They were filled with love.
He barely remembered crossing the room, but suddenly, he was there, falling to his knees beside her, grasping her hand in both of his. His own fingers trembled as he held her, as if grounding himself in her presence.
"Love," he whispered, his voice barely holding steady. " I'm here. "
Her grip tightened, her nails digging into his skin as another contraction ripped through her, but she never looked away from him.
"Theo..." her voice was fragile, almost breaking. "I need you."
It nearly shattered him.
"You have me," he swore, his voice hoarse, thick with emotion. " Always. "
He pressed his forehead against hers, his lips brushing her damp skin in a silent vow, a desperate apology for not being there the moment she needed him.
The house elves moved carefully around them, their excited murmurs now quiet with reverence, sensing the gravity of the moment.
He could feel the tension in her body, the way she was bracing herself, the sheer exhaustion woven into her every breath. His heart ached at the sight of her like this, yet he had never seen anything— anyone —so powerful, so unbreakable.
"We're almost there, my love," he murmured, his lips pressing against her knuckles, her wrist, anywhere he could reach. "You and me. Together."
She nodded, though her breath was shallow, her body trembling. He stayed by her side, unwavering, his entire being focused on her. He had never been more sure of anything in his life—he would give her every ounce of his strength if it meant carrying her through this.
His world had shrunk to this singular moment, to the storm of agony and desperation unfolding before him. Everything else—his past, his future, his name, his power—had been stripped away until all that remained was her. Every breath she took, every tremor in her exhausted body, every sound that left her lips was his entire universe. And in that universe, he was helpless.
They had prepared for this, hadn't they? They had gone through the motions, the mediwitch's instructions ingrained in his mind like a spell cast over and over again. He had held her through practice contractions, whispered reassurances into her hair, traced soothing patterns on her back when she felt overwhelmed. But none of it—none of it—had prepared him for the raw, visceral reality of this.
Her cries of pain shattered him, carving through his chest like jagged glass, each contraction an unbearable torment that made him feel as though he were coming apart at the seams. He had known pain before. He had seen war, inflicted wounds, carried scars both visible and unseen. But this was different. This was her pain, and he would have taken it all onto himself in an instant if it meant she wouldn't have to endure a second more of it.
His grip on her hand was unrelenting, his fingers interlocked with hers as if their bond alone could anchor her through this storm. The sheer force of her hold sent pain lancing up his arm, but he welcomed it. He needed it. It was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
His breath was uneven, his pulse a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm against his ribs. The helplessness clawed at him, suffocating, unbearable. He had spent his entire life fixing things, controlling things, winning. But there was no enemy he could fight here, no spell he could cast, no price he could pay to make this easier for her.
"I can't stand this," he muttered hoarsely, his voice raw and barely above a whisper. He felt like a man on the brink of collapse, his body wound so tightly with unspent rage and fear that he thought he might break. His free hand clenched into a trembling fist, his nails digging into his palm. "I hate this. I hate that I can't make it better."
She turned her head, her sweat-dampened hair clinging to her face, and through the haze of pain, she smiled. It was faint, strained, but it was real, and it was for him.
"Love..." her voice was weak, breathless, but it still carried that unshakable steadiness that had always grounded him. "Just stay with me. Your strength... it helps me more than you know."
His breath caught, his throat closing as emotion surged violently through him. He had never felt so utterly in awe of her. She was dying in his arms—or at least it felt like she was—and yet she was still trying to comfort him.
His beautiful, resilient, impossible Luna.
His vision blurred as unshed tears burned behind his eyes. He felt like the weight of the world was crushing him, and yet, somehow, she still made him want to be strong.
"I'm here," he whispered, his voice breaking. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling, their pain and love intertwining in the small space between them. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." He swallowed hard, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her face with shaking fingers. "We're going to get through this. I promise."
The words were meant for her, but they were also for himself—an affirmation, a vow, a desperate plea to whatever cruel forces in the universe were watching.
As another contraction ripped through her, she cried out, her body arching, her grip on him turning brutal. He gasped, the pain sharp where her nails bit into his skin, but it didn't matter. He would have let her break every bone in his body if it meant she could take some of the pain out of hers.
He had never prayed before—not really. But now, in this moment, he prayed to anything. To fate, to magic itself, to the gods he had never believed in. Let her get through this. Let her be okay. I'll do anything, just let her be okay.
And still, through all of it, he stayed.
He held her through each agonizing moment, whispering words of love, of devotion, of promise. His lips found her temple between contractions, pressing desperate, reverent kisses to her damp skin. His voice never stopped murmuring reassurances, even when it shook, even when it broke entirely.
Because this was their battle. And if she had to fight through it, then so would he.
And soon—soon—it would be over.
And in its place, they would have something perfect. Something theirs. A life born from love, from pain, from every moment that had led them here.
And he knew—the second he saw that tiny, fragile life take its first breath—he would never love anything in this world more than he loved the woman who had brought them into it.
The storm of labor had been relentless, an unforgiving tempest of pain and exhaustion, but his presence—his unwavering, unyielding presence—was her anchor through it all. His love was fierce, palpable, a force as steady as the rhythm of her own heartbeat. No matter how unbearable the agony became, no matter how much her body trembled under the sheer weight of it, he never wavered. He was there.
The elves worked around them with an ethereal precision, their delicate hands moving quickly yet gracefully, ensuring every detail was perfect. The air was thick with the scent of enchanted herbs, their carefully curated aromas easing her pain in ways words never could. Every breath she took was laced with chamomile and lavender, grounding her in the moment, keeping her from succumbing to the all-consuming pressure tightening around her. The warm water in the tub, enchanted to maintain the perfect temperature, cradled her body, offering a fleeting reprieve from the contractions that wracked her frame.
And then, just when she thought she had no more to give, it happened.
A sharp cry pierced the still air, shattering the tension in the room, filling the space with a raw, powerful new energy.
The sound was small, fragile, yet so incredibly alive.
Time seemed to stop.
Theo felt his chest cave, his breath catching in his throat as the realization crashed into him.
Their baby was here.
A choked sound left his lips, something between a sob and a laugh, his knees buckling beneath him as he collapsed beside her. His vision blurred, his mind unable to process the rush of emotions overtaking him. The weight of the past hours, the helplessness, the fear, all of it melted away in an instant, replaced by something far greater.
Love.
Unfiltered, unbreakable, soul-altering love.
The tiny, wriggling bundle was gently placed into her waiting arms, still slick with the remnants of birth, his delicate cries echoing through the room.
Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her body trembling with exhaustion, but nothing—not the pain, not the overwhelming fatigue—could take this moment from her.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she gazed down at the small, impossibly perfect face before her. He was here. Their son was here.
A sob of pure joy escaped her lips as she brushed a trembling hand over his soft, damp hair. "Oh, my love," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Look at him."
Theo could barely see through his tears. His hands shook as he reached forward, touching his son's tiny fingers with a reverence he had never known before. The baby curled them around his father's much larger hand, holding on as if he had always known him, as if this connection was something that existed beyond time itself.
"IT'S A BOY, MY BABY BOY!"
The triumphant exclamation rang through the room, filled with a joy so pure that even the elves paused, their large eyes glistening with emotion.
Luna laughed through her tears, her body still wracked with exhaustion, yet her heart felt lighter than it ever had. She turned to Theo, her gaze locking onto his, and the depth of love in his eyes was almost too much to bear.
"He's perfect," he whispered, voice hoarse from emotion. He reached for her, his hands cradling her face as if she were something fragile, something divine. His thumbs brushed away the tears trailing down her cheeks. "You are perfect."
The exhaustion that clung to her body was immense, but in this moment, she had never felt stronger. "We did this," she murmured, her fingers reaching up to brush against his jaw, grounding herself in him. "We brought him into the world."
A soft whimper came from their newborn son, drawing their attention back to him.
Luna adjusted her hold, watching in awe as he nestled against her, his tiny body seeking the warmth and comfort of his mother. His cries softened, then quieted altogether, his breathing evening out as he found solace in the arms that had carried him for so long.
Theo was transfixed. His hand trembled as he reached out again, barely daring to touch the soft skin of his son's cheek. It felt surreal, impossible, that something so small, so precious, could be theirs.
The elves moved quietly around them, tending to the remnants of the birth with the same reverence they had shown throughout. They wiped down surfaces, whispered amongst themselves, ensuring that the space was restored to its pristine state. Yet, even as they moved, they couldn't help but cast adoring glances toward the new family, their small hearts swelling with pride and joy.
Theo barely noticed them.
His entire world was here, in this room, in his wife's arms.
A shuddering breath left him as he leaned forward, pressing a reverent kiss to Luna's forehead. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, yet carrying the full weight of his heart. "For him. For everything. For loving me."
She smiled, her fingers lacing through his as she whispered back, "Always."
They sat like that for what felt like eternity—wrapped in warmth, in love, in the quiet, sacred moment of their son's first breaths in the world.
Theo knew then, beyond any doubt, that his life had just been split into two parts—before this moment and after it.
And there was nothing in the world, no force of magic or fate, that could ever make him love anything more than he loved the two people in his arms.
Their son, their little universe, had arrived.
And Theo Nott had never been more complete.