Chereads / SUN & MOON - Luna & Theo (HP) / Chapter 11 - Filling the room with my fears and hopes

Chapter 11 - Filling the room with my fears and hopes

Life with a newborn was a breathtaking storm of exhaustion and wonder. For Theo and Luna, the days blurred into sleepless nights, each hour dictated by the soft, insistent cries of Lysander. Their world had shifted, reshaped by the tiny life they had created, and though it left them drained, it also left them utterly, irrevocably enchanted.

Theo, ever the vigilant protector, had transformed into a man on constant high alert. The slightest rustle from the crib had him sitting upright, heart pounding, wand within reach. He had long abandoned the idea of restful sleep, his instincts too sharp, too attuned to the fragile existence of his son. Luna, though equally exhausted, carried her weariness with grace, as if motherhood had settled into her like a second nature. She would soothe Lysander with an ease that left Theo in awe, humming soft lullabies as she rocked him, her voice weaving through the dimly lit nursery like a spell, calming both father and son alike.

The manor adjusted to the presence of its newest inhabitant. The elves had adapted, their silent efficiency now measured against the unpredictable rhythm of a newborn's needs. Visitors came and went, offering both help and distraction. Pansy and Neville were frequent presences—Pansy, of course, arriving with bags of impractical but exquisite gifts: tiny enchanted robes, monogrammed blankets, and a silver rattle that Theo suspected was charmed to calm a fussy baby. "He's a Nott, Luna," she had declared with dramatic conviction. "He must have things of quality."

Despite Theo's exhaustion, despite the way his entire existence now revolved around a baby who could barely open his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time, he wouldn't trade this life for anything. He found himself memorizing every little movement Lysander made—the way his tiny fingers curled instinctively around Theo's when offered, the way he would let out little sighs in his sleep, the way he turned toward Luna's voice like she was the center of his universe. And in truth, she was.

But there were moments when the weight of it all crept up on him, when he would sit beside Luna in the dead of night, watching her cradle their son with the kind of tenderness that made his chest ache. "Are we doing this right?" he had murmured once, his voice hushed with uncertainty.

She had smiled, tired but serene. "We love him," she had whispered, brushing a kiss against Lysander's downy head. "That's all he needs."

And in those moments, Theo knew—despite the sleepless nights, the self-doubt, and the sheer chaos of their new reality—he had never been more certain of anything in his life. They were a family, and they would figure it out together.

~~~~~~

The nursery was bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight, casting gentle shadows across the walls. The house was quiet—unnervingly so—without Luna. She was out for the evening, indulging in a well-earned night with Pansy and Ginny, leaving Theo alone for his first solo shift with Lysander. He had faced countless challenges in his life, had dueled, strategized, survived wars of both politics and blood. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

Lysander lay on the changing table, gurgling happily, utterly unaware of the monumental task at hand. Theo, standing before him with his sleeves rolled up and wand at the ready, took a steadying breath. "Alright, little love," he murmured, eyeing his son with cautious determination. "We're in this together."

Unsnapping the onesie, he pulled back the diaper tabs—only to be hit with a stench so foul it made his stomach lurch.

"Bloody hell," he choked out, momentarily reeling. "What in Merlin's name have you been eating?!"

Lysander, the traitor, merely giggled, wiggling his legs in sheer delight at his father's misery.

Theo exhaled through his mouth, steeling himself. I survived years of my father's bullshit, I can survive this.

The wipes were within reach. He grabbed one—then another, then six, because surely something this catastrophic required excessive preparation. As he set to work, Lysander proved to be anything but cooperative. The moment Theo lifted his legs, the baby twisted, flailed, and very nearly launched himself off the table.

"Hold still, will you?" Theo muttered, frantically catching one tiny foot while using his free hand to manage the mess. Why is he so strong? How is he so small and yet so impossible to control?

The process quickly devolved into an awkward, lopsided battle. The soiled diaper barely made it into the bin before Lysander attempted to grab it back. The wipes refused to come out of the package in a single motion. At one point, Theo lost track of which side of the clean diaper was the front. How is it possible to feel this outmatched by an infant?

By the time he managed to fasten the new diaper and snap Lysander back into his onesie, he felt as if he had fought an entire duel blindfolded. He exhaled heavily, stepping back to admire his work. The onesie was slightly crooked, one of the tabs on the diaper was definitely not aligned, but it was done.

"There," he declared, lifting Lysander triumphantly into his arms. "That, my son, was an act of war."

Lysander yawned, utterly unimpressed.

Theo carried him over to the rocking chair, sinking into it with a weary sigh. As he cradled his son against his chest, the frustration melted away. His fingers brushed gently over Lysander's tiny back, his breathing soft and even, completely unaware of the absolute disaster he had just unleashed.

Theo glanced toward the door, already anticipating Luna's return, wondering if she would see right through him the moment she stepped inside. But for now, it was just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet peace of the nursery. Maybe he wasn't perfect at this. But he was here, trying.

 

Luna returned well past midnight, the soft glow of the moon casting silver shadows across the quiet home. The moment she stepped inside, she spotted him—pacing in the living room, bare feet soundless against the hardwood floor. His expression was a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety, but the second he laid eyes on her, his entire body seemed to exhale.

"My love," he breathed, his voice tinged with anticipation. "Did you have a good time?"

She laughed, eyes alight with joy as she kicked off her shoes and all but ran into his arms. Without hesitation, she leaped, wrapping herself around him, her warmth chasing away the hours of restless waiting. "It was incredible! We laughed, talked, and even danced—Merlin, Theo, I had so much fun."

He caught her easily, arms tightening around her as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of wine and laughter. His grip softened, his body relaxing into hers as the tension of the evening melted away. "I'm glad," he murmured, lips brushing against her temple. "But I won't lie—I was worried about being left alone with Lysander."

She pulled back slightly, her hands cupping his face, fingers tracing his cheekbones with a knowing smile. "You did just fine," she reassured, her voice warm with affection. "Lysander's lucky to have you as his dad."

He sighed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "I survived my first solo diaper change," he admitted, shaking his head. "I swear, I fought in wars with less carnage."

She giggled, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. "We're a team, my Sun. We can handle anything."

Her kisses deepened, slow and lingering, her fingers threading through his hair as she pressed closer. He felt her intoxication in the way she melted into him, the way her movements were just a little looser, her breath a little warmer against his skin.

"My love," he whispered between kisses, his hands settling on her waist, steadying her. "You're drunk."

"And?" she murmured, her lips trailing down his jaw, her fingers curling into his shirt as she nuzzled closer.

He groaned softly, desire warring with concern. He knew that tone, knew the way her body pressed against his with unmistakable need. He wanted her—fuck, he always wanted her—but his protective instincts overrode his lust.

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his fingers brushing against her flushed cheeks. "My moon, you need to rest a bit. It's been a long night."

Her pupils were blown wide with desire, and she huffed, clearly unimpressed with his restraint. "But I want you," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear, her voice thick with longing.

His cock twitched at her words, his entire body responding before his mind could catch up. He had never been able to deny her, not when she looked at him like that, not when she spoke to him in that voice—soft, commanding, utterly irresistible.

She smirked, sensing his resolve slipping. Her hands drifted lower, nails raking lightly down his chest. "I want to feel your mouth on me," she purred. "I want your tongue, your fingers—I want you to make me fall apart."

A growl rumbled low in his throat as he let his grip tighten on her hips. His control snapped like a thread stretched too thin. "Come here," he commanded, his voice rough, filled with dark intent.

Luna grinned, stepping back just enough to let him undress her, his hands quick and eager as he slid her jeans down her legs. She stepped out of them, her bare skin illuminated by the dim firelight, utterly breathtaking.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she climbed onto the couch, straddling his face, her thighs bracketing his head. She threaded her fingers through his hair, tilting his face up to meet hers.

"Taste me, my love," she ordered, her voice breathless, heavy with need. "Lick me and make me cum."

Theo groaned, gripping her hips as he pulled her down onto his mouth, eager to devour her, to drown in the intoxicating sweetness of his wife.

He didn't need to be told twice. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers pressing into the soft curves of her body as he pulled her closer. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path through her wet heat, savoring the taste of her, drinking her in like a man starved. She was already dripping, her arousal slick against his lips, and he groaned, the vibrations sending a shiver through her body.

She gasped, her fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging him closer, wordlessly urging him on. He loved this—loved the way she responded to him, the way her breath hitched at every flick of his tongue. He could feel the tension coiling inside her, the way her thighs trembled around his head, and it only drove him further, his desire to please her overriding everything else.

"Yes, just like that," she moaned, rolling her hips against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he was so desperate to give her.

Theo hummed against her, sliding two fingers inside her with ease, curling them just right, his tongue flicking against her clit in perfect rhythm. Her moans grew louder, her breathing ragged as he worked her toward the edge. She was so sensitive, so responsive, and it made his chest tighten with pride. He was the only one who got to see her like this, to feel her like this, to know every secret her body had to offer.

"Theo—" she gasped, her voice breaking as she shattered beneath him, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. He didn't stop, his tongue still lapping at her, dragging out every last aftershock, prolonging her pleasure until she was left boneless, her body sinking into the couch.

When she finally looked down at him, her silvery eyes were dazed, heavy-lidded with satisfaction, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. And Merlin, if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"You're insatiable," she murmured, her voice thick with pleasure, her fingers brushing against his flushed cheek.

He smirked, licking his lips before crawling up her body, his weight pressing against her in a way that made her shiver. "Only for you, my love."

She hummed, but her hands were already moving, fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He let her undress him, her touch soft but purposeful, her nails lightly scraping against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"My moon," he started, but the words caught in his throat as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, palming him through the fabric, her touch making his breath hitch.

She pushed him back against the couch, straddling him, her body still warm and soft from her release. "Now," she murmured, her lips tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Let me take care of you."

His head fell back as she slid lower, her fingers wrapping around his thick length, stroking him slowly, teasingly. He was already hard, aching for her, and she knew it. She always knew.

Luna pressed soft kisses to his stomach, working her way lower, her touch both reverent and maddening. His breath stuttered when she finally licked a long stripe up his cock, her tongue warm and wet and so, so perfect.

"Luna—" he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as she took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head before sucking him deep.

His fingers found her hair, threading through the silky strands, his grip tightening as she set a slow, torturous pace. She was deliberate, taking her time, her mouth a hot, wet heaven around him. Every flick of her tongue, every hollowing of her cheeks sent sparks of pleasure racing through his body.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his head falling back against the cushions. She hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to his spine.

He was already close, the coil in his stomach winding impossibly tight, but he didn't want it to end. He wanted to savor this, to bask in the way she worshipped him with her mouth, the way she took him deeper, her throat tightening around him.

But she wasn't letting up. If anything, she was relentless, her hands gripping his thighs as she took him as deep as she could, swallowing around him in a way that made him curse under his breath.

"Luna, I'm going to—"

She didn't stop. She wanted this, wanted all of him, and that realization alone sent him over the edge. His entire body tensed as his orgasm tore through him, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he spilled into her waiting mouth.

She swallowed every drop, her tongue still swirling around him as he shuddered beneath her. When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction.

Theo was still catching his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears as she climbed back up his body, her bare skin pressing against his. She kissed him, slow and deep, letting him taste himself on her tongue.

"You are trouble," he murmured against her lips, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along her back.

She smirked, resting her head against his chest. "And you love it."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hair, his arms tightening around her. "I do."

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together on the couch, the world outside forgotten. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting golden shadows across their bodies, the warmth of the night settling between them.

Luna shifted, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before nuzzling into his neck. "I think I love you even more when you're like this," she murmured, her fingers lazily stroking his chest.

"Like what?" he asked, amusement tugging at his lips.

"Soft. Content. Completely undone."

He let out a hum of agreement, his hand smoothing up and down her spine in slow, lazy strokes. "That's what you do to me," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "Every single time."

She smiled against his skin, her breathing evening out as sleep began to pull at her. "Then I suppose I'll just have to keep doing it," she whispered sleepily.

Theo chuckled, holding her closer. "My love, you're going to be the death of me."

She hummed in amusement, already half-asleep in his arms. "A good way to go."

He pressed another kiss to her hair, his heart full, his mind at peace. And as they drifted off together, tangled in each other's warmth, he knew that no matter what the world threw at them, they would always have this—this love, this closeness, this undeniable bond that nothing could ever break.

~~~~~~

Fatherhood, Theo quickly learned, wasn't just about the big things—feeding Lysander, rocking him to sleep, or making sure he was safe. It was about the quiet, fleeting moments in between. The gentle weight of his son's tiny body against his chest in the early hours of the morning, the way Lysander's fingers instinctively curled around his own, holding on as if Theo was his entire world. It was about the hushed lullabies sung off-key, the soft sighs of a baby nestled in his arms, and the indescribable feeling of being needed so completely.

Lysander had changed everything. He had softened the sharp edges of Theo's world, filling it with warmth and purpose. No amount of preparation could have taught him the overwhelming love he felt for his son, how just one look from those wide, curious eyes could bring him to his knees. He was utterly, irrevocably enchanted.

One afternoon, when Lysander was about three months old, Theo took him for their usual walk through the garden. It had become a quiet ritual, something that allowed Luna to rest while giving him uninterrupted time with his son. He carried Lysander in a sling against his chest, the baby's head nestled just under his chin, his little breaths warm against Theo's skin.

As they wandered beneath the canopy of trees, Theo spoke softly, narrating their surroundings as if Lysander could truly understand. "And this," he murmured, stopping by a patch of wildflowers, "is where your mum made me plant moonflowers. She said they'd bloom in the night, just like you, my little moonbeam."

Lysander cooed in response, his tiny hand batting against Theo's chest, and Theo smiled, adjusting his hold as he continued down the path.

"You're going to grow up so loved," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your mum and I... we'll make sure of it. You'll never have to question if you're enough, because you are. You are everything."

The realization hit him all at once, the sheer magnitude of what fatherhood meant. He wasn't just Theo Nott, heir to a dark legacy, a man shaped by shadows and expectations. He was Lysander's father. Luna's husband. And that meant more than anything.

He couldn't help himself—Lysander had become the center of his world. Every conversation, every thought seemed to lead back to him. He found himself speaking of his son with unrestrained adoration, proudly recounting the smallest moments—the way Lysander's eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he squealed in delight at his favorite toy, the way he reached for Theo with unwavering trust.

And Luna—Merlin, Luna. She was his heart, his anchor, the woman who had given him a life he never thought he deserved. He spoke of her with the same reverence, describing her as his guiding light, his constant, the reason he had learned to believe in happiness.

Looking down at his son, Theo knew that this was it. This was his purpose, his reason for every breath. Fatherhood wasn't just something he had stepped into—it had become the very fabric of who he was.

 

It had become such a routine that even the most mundane errands turned into Theo Nott's Greatest Hits: A Compilation of Fatherly Bragging. Shopping for vegetables? A prime opportunity to discuss Lysander's superior motor skills. Browsing through books? A chance to wax poetic about Luna's brilliance. Merlin help anyone who made eye contact with him for more than two seconds—they were getting the speech.

"Have I told you about my son?" Theo would say to an unsuspecting vendor, flashing a grin so wide it should have been illegal.

The poor vendor, trapped, would blink. "Uh—"

"He's already making sounds that are basically words. Genius-level stuff, honestly. You should hear the way he says 'Dada'—clear as day. Clear as day." Theo emphasized, as if the fate of the wizarding world depended on this information. "And Luna, my love, my moon, my radiant wife—she's an incredible mother. You wouldn't believe how effortlessly she makes everything look. The woman is practically ethereal."

Luna, accustomed to the spectacle, would simply smile, shaking her head fondly. She had given up stopping him ages ago. He was unstoppable. The man was on a mission to make everyone aware of just how ridiculously in love he was with his wife and child.

"I swear, my love," she teased, as she casually examined a bunch of grapes, "if I ever get lost, I won't even need the stars to guide me home. I'll just follow the sound of you gushing about us."

Theo grinned, completely unfazed. "Good. That way, you'll always find me." And then, because he was Theo Nott, he turned back to the vendor and added, "Did I mention he has my eyes? Poor bloke doesn't stand a chance—he's already devastatingly handsome."

The vendor sighed, handing over the change with the weary patience of someone who had, unfortunately, been told.

~~~~~~

Theo practically exploded into Draco's study, the door swinging open so forcefully it nearly rebounded off the wall. Lysander was cradled in his arms like the crown jewel of wizarding society, and Theo's face was glowing with the kind of excitement usually reserved for actual historical discoveries.

"Draco, look!" he declared, as if he had just unlocked the secrets of the universe. "One tiny tooth! Right there!" He pointed frantically at Lysander's drooly little mouth, his expression a mixture of awe and unbridled joy.

Draco, who had been peacefully reviewing documents behind his mahogany desk, exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I am looking, Theodore," he drawled, barely lifting his gaze from the parchment. "And yet, despite my keen eyesight, I remain unimpressed."

Theo ignored him entirely. "No, no, you're not getting it," he insisted, shifting Lysander in his arms as if better angling him would somehow make Draco appreciate the gravity of the situation. "You have to really look, mate. Here—just—Granger!" He suddenly bellowed toward the hallway. "Get in here! I need a qualified opinion!"

Draco's head snapped up, his entire body tensing with irritation. "Do not summon my wife like a bloody house-elf," he hissed, his tone positively lethal.

But before Theo could even attempt to defend himself, Hermione entered the room at a brisk pace, clearly having heard the commotion. "What now?" she asked, an amused smirk playing at her lips, her arms crossed as she surveyed the scene.

Theo turned to her with the energy of a man unveiling an ancient prophecy. "Look, Granger," he said, practically thrusting Lysander toward her. "He's teething! See?! The tiniest little tooth, right there."

Hermione leaned in, her expression shifting from mild exasperation to genuine delight as she caught sight of the tiny pearly white barely poking through Lysander's gums. "Oh, look at that!" she cooed, reaching out to ruffle the baby's soft tufts of hair. "Well done, Lysander. You're growing up so fast, aren't you?"

Theo beamed, as if she had just awarded Lysander the Order of Merlin, First Class.

Draco, despite himself, sighed and reached out, plucking Lysander from Theo's arms with the kind of grace that suggested he had been forced into fatherly roles far too often for his liking. The baby cooed and grabbed at the collar of Draco's robes, blinking up at him with big, trusting eyes.

Draco scowled at Theo. "This little prince is growing up too fast," he muttered, though his grip was firm, his thumb absently brushing against Lysander's chubby cheek.

Theo, who was already reveling in fatherly pride, somehow managed to turn it up another notch. "Isn't he? And look at him—so perfect, so advanced. I bet he'll be casting spells before he's one."

Hermione snorted, shaking her head. "Yes, Theo, I'm sure he'll be dueling in the backyard by Christmas."

Draco handed Lysander back with a smirk. "With you as his father? He's going to need somebody to make sure he doesn't become completely unbearable."

Theo grinned, utterly unbothered. "That's what Luna's for."

 

~~~~~~

Theo had a terrible habit of barging into people's homes uninvited—especially when it came to showing off his son or, in this case, catastrophizing over the smallest of injuries. Today was no different. He stormed into Blaise and Ginny's living room without so much as a knock, his face flushed with distress, Lysander cradled protectively in his arms as if he had just survived a great battle.

"Ginevra!" Theo practically shouted, his voice a mix of panic and righteous indignation. He held Lysander out like some kind of injured royal. "Look at this! He's got a scrape on his knee! His knee! Do you understand the gravity of this situation?"

Ginny, who had been peacefully curled up on the couch with a book, barely lifted an eyebrow. She glanced at the tiny, barely-there scrape and then up at Theo, unimpressed.

"Theo," she said, voice perfectly even, "he crawls now. That's what happens when babies crawl. He got a tiny scrape. It's not the end of the world."

But Theo was not satisfied with this blasé attitude. His expression twisted in sheer disbelief. "Not the end of the world? Ginny, he is bleeding!" He turned Lysander slightly, as if to emphasize the microscopic red mark on the child's knee. "What if he hit something sharp? What if he tripped? What if—"

"—What if he's just a baby?" Blaise interrupted smoothly from the couch, sipping lazily from his drink, completely unbothered by the theatrics unfolding before him. "Theo, mate, you do realize this is what kids do, right? They get scrapes, they fall over, they get up, and then they do it all over again."

Lysander, blissfully unaware of his father's very real internal crisis, let out a happy babble and reached for Blaise's sleeve, tugging at it with adorable determination. Blaise chuckled, giving his godson an affectionate pat on the back. "See? He's fine. Little warrior. Probably didn't even notice."

Theo shot Blaise an expression of pure skepticism, as though the very idea of brushing off his son's suffering was offensive. "You really don't think it's serious?" he asked, his tone still hovering dangerously close to full-blown hysteria.

Ginny finally closed her book, rising from her seat and placing a calming hand on Theo's shoulder. "He's fine, Theo," she reassured gently, suppressing a laugh at the way he was clutching Lysander like an endangered species. "Babies get scrapes. It's part of growing up."

Blaise smirked, shaking his head at Theo's ridiculous overprotectiveness. "Trust me, mate, if you think this is bad, wait till he's running full speed into furniture. Or climbing things he shouldn't be climbing. Scrapes are just the beginning."

Theo let out a long, dramatic sigh, still cradling Lysander like a fragile heir to the throne. "Fine," he relented, albeit begrudgingly. "But just so you know," he said, squinting at both of them with suspicion, "if anything else happens, I'm coming straight back here."

Blaise rolled his eyes and took another leisurely sip of his drink. "By all means, mate. But next time, bring a bottle of something decent. If we're going to endure your dramatics, the least you could do is contribute."

Ginny chuckled as she patted Theo's back before settling back into her chair. "You're a great dad, Theo. But you really need to relax—Lysander's tougher than you think."

Theo let out another put-upon sigh but finally allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. He kissed the top of Lysander's head, rocking him slightly. "Alright, alright," he admitted, relenting just a little. "But don't say I didn't warn you when something actually catastrophic happens."

Blaise smirked. "Oh, we'll be waiting."

~~~~~~

 

Pansy was going to lose her mind if Theo didn't stop hovering over that baby like a deranged mother dragon. Every time she came over for their usual gossip and wine-fueled debates, he would rudely interrupt with some new, completely unhinged concern about Lysander. And today? Today was no different.

She had been mid-sentence—detailing, in vivid color, the absolute circus that was her upcoming dinner party—when Theo, as if possessed, suddenly gasped dramatically and shot up from his chair, cradling Lysander like he was on the verge of death.

Pansy froze, slowly turned to him, and sighed, rubbing her temples like she was preparing herself for the nonsense about to unfold. "Theodore." Her voice was slow, measured, but dangerously sharp. "I swear on every galleon in my vault, if you interrupt me one more time with some absurd Lysander crisis, I will strangle you. And if you die, I will raise him as my own—badly."

Theo, completely unfazed by this very real and serious threat, turned to her with wild, pleading eyes. "But Pansy," he whispered dramatically, as if his next words would shake the very foundation of the world, "his tummy aches."

Pansy stared.

Theo clutched Lysander closer, as though his son were a fragile heirloom on the brink of shattering. "They're terrible, Pansy," he continued, his voice thick with panic. "He's been fussing all day! What if it's something serious? What if—"

Luna, ever the beacon of calm in his storm of absolute lunacy, sighed patiently from her spot on the couch, barely looking up from her book. "Theo, love. Babies get fussy. He's fine."

Theo ignored her completely, continuing his nervous bouncing like he was performing some ancient ritual to ward off digestive demons. "But what if it's not normal fussiness?" he muttered to himself. "What if it's something serious? What if—"

Pansy snapped.

She shot up from her chair, hands dramatically thrown into the air, her expression one of pure, unfiltered exasperation. "Theodore, for Merlin's sake, get a grip." She waved a manicured hand toward Luna, as if to emphasize the sheer absurdity of his entire existence. "Your wife, who pushed this baby out of her body, is telling you he's fine. I, who could not care less but still somehow know more about children than you do, am telling you he's fine. The only person who thinks he's dying is you."

Luna laughed softly, amused rather than exasperated, and gave Theo a gentle, adoring smile. "Unfortunately, she does have a point, my love. You tend to overthink just a little."

Theo blinked at both of them, clearly caught in a mental battle between his all-consuming paranoia and the inconvenient truth that his son was, in fact, not perishing from a fatal case of mild gas. He glanced down at Lysander, who was, unsurprisingly, fast asleep against his chest, completely oblivious to his father's existential crisis.

"You think so?" Theo asked weakly, as though he had just spent the last three hours preparing for a devastating eulogy.

Pansy fixed him with a flat stare. "No, Theodore. I know so. Now sit your ridiculous self down and let me finish telling Luna about my dinner party before I gut you."

Theo let out the most dramatic sigh in human history before grudgingly lowering himself onto the arm of Luna's chair—still holding Lysander like he was a glass ornament on the brink of shattering.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if his tummy aches again, I'm taking him straight to St. Mungo's."

Luna reached out, squeezing his hand affectionately, her voice still sweet and full of eternal patience. "No need for St. Mungo's, my sunshine. He's just fine. Now relax and let Pansy gossip in peace."

Pansy, now fully victorious, collapsed back into her seat with a satisfied sigh. "Thank Salazar," she exclaimed, dramatically tossing a strand of dark hair over her shoulder. "Now, finally—as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by Mr. Overprotective-Helicopter-Father over here—about the scandal at the Ministry last week…"