Theo woke slowly, the weight of unfamiliarity pressing against his senses before he even opened his eyes. The pale morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting long, soft shadows across the ceiling. Something about the silence felt wrong, gnawing at the edges of his mind, leaving him disoriented. His fingers reached instinctively for the warmth that should have been beside him, only to be met with cold, empty sheets. A deep unease settled in his chest. This wasn't his home. This wasn't where he was meant to be.
The absence of her was suffocating.
Shoving the blanket aside, he sat up, raking a hand through his tousled hair as he tried to shake off the lingering disorientation. A knot of tension curled in his stomach, pulling tighter with every passing second. The bed was too big without her, the air too still. He stood abruptly, his movements sharp, and made his way downstairs, his bare feet silent against the hardwood floor.
The house felt unnervingly quiet. As he moved through the dimly lit hallways, an unnatural stillness clung to the air, like the walls themselves were waiting—holding their breath, anticipating something to break.
"Luna?" His voice was quiet at first, tentative, but the silence that followed felt unbearable.
"Luna?" he called again, louder this time, his voice cutting through the thick stillness.
Nothing.
His jaw clenched as a surge of frustration coiled in his chest, his anxiety bubbling dangerously close to the surface. "Bobsy!"
With a faint pop, the house-elf appeared, her large, wide eyes flickering nervously up at him. "Master?"
He exhaled sharply, trying to keep his irritation in check. He hadn't meant to snap, but the gnawing, restless feeling inside him made it impossible to stay calm. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Where is Luna?"
Bobsy hesitated, wringing her tiny hands together before answering carefully, "Mistress is at the neighbor lady's house."
He stilled. "The strange one… with the odd ways."
The elf gave a small nod.
Of course.
A mix of relief and exasperation swept through him, easing some of the tension but not enough to completely settle his nerves. His pulse still pounded too fast, his breath uneven as he tried to ground himself.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt thick, charged with something unspoken, something heavier than the simple answer he'd been given. Bobsy stood there, shifting anxiously, unsure whether to leave or stay.
His thoughts churned, tangled and messy, until a question surfaced—one he didn't even fully understand himself. It hung in his throat, uncertain, but the weight of it was unbearable.
"Bobsy…" He hesitated, his voice quieter now. "Have I… disappointed you?"
The elf blinked up at him, startled. She studied him for a long moment, her eyes filled with something he couldn't quite decipher—surprise, maybe, or something closer to sorrow. "Master?"
He exhaled, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "You've always been loyal to me," he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to her. "Even when I've been cold. Even when I didn't deserve it. But I wonder… if you think I've become something I shouldn't have. Someone I shouldn't be."
Bobsy took a hesitant step forward, her tiny face etched with an emotion that made something inside him twist. "Master…" she whispered. "Bobsy has seen you hurt. Seen you struggle. But Master has a good heart." Her voice wavered slightly, but there was conviction in it. "Bobsy does not think Master is bad… only lost."
The words struck something deep within him, slicing through his carefully constructed walls with an unexpected sharpness. Lost.
The word sat heavy on his chest, a truth he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Maybe that's all he had ever been—adrift, pretending he knew where he was going, all the while trying to outrun the weight of his past.
He slowly crouched down to her level, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "But I've done terrible things," he confessed, his voice raw. "I've killed. I've pushed Luna away. How can you still believe in me after that?"
Bobsy hesitated, but when she spoke, her voice was steady, fragile yet certain. "Master was forced to do bad things. But Bobsy believes that what Master does now is what matters." She paused, then added with quiet certainty, "And if Master chooses love, chooses to be better, then Master will never disappoint Bobsy."
He stared at her, the depth of her faith in him pressing against something aching and fragile inside his chest. He had never thought of it that way. He had never considered that redemption wasn't about erasing the past—it was about the choices he made now.
He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, standing slowly. "Thank you, Bobsy." His voice was rough, but genuine. "I'll try not to let you down."
He turned toward the door, his movements no longer uncertain. The cold morning air seeped through the cracks, crisp and biting, but he barely felt it.
"I'm going to bring my wife home," he said quietly, before stepping outside.
Bobsy watched him go, her expression unreadable, her small shoulders rising and falling with a quiet sigh. She had seen many versions of her Master over the years—some cruel, some lost, some weighed down by grief. But this? This was the one she had always hoped to see.
The cold hit him like a slap as he stepped onto the frost-kissed ground, but he barely noticed. His mind was focused, sharp with a singular purpose.
He had spent so much of his life running—running from his father's legacy, from his own demons, from the idea that he could ever truly be more than what he was born into. But now, for the first time, he understood what he needed to do.
No more running.
He wasn't going to lose her. Not like this. Not after everything.
He had no idea what he was going to say, no idea if he could fix what had already been broken.
But he had to try.
He just didn't know if it was already too late.
~~~~~~
The moment she stepped through the door, she barely had time to react before he was on her. With swift, deliberate force, he pressed her back against the cold stone wall, stealing the breath from her lungs. The chill of the surface bit into her skin, but the heat radiating from his body was all-consuming. His hands found her face, fingers firm but reverent as he caged her in. It wasn't an attack—it was a claim, a silent, searing declaration of possession.
Her pulse pounded, quick and frantic, as she locked eyes with him. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, a glint of something dark and insatiable lurking in the depths. The space between them dissolved, his breath mingling with hers, and before she could form a coherent thought, his lips crashed against hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a conquest.
There was nothing soft about it—his mouth moved against hers with unrelenting hunger, each touch demanding and unforgiving. His grip tightened just slightly, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. She should have resisted. She should have shoved him away, forced herself to remember why she was angry, why she had wanted distance.
But she didn't.
Instead, her body betrayed her, melting into the fire of him, into the way he consumed her without hesitation. Her fingers, which should have pushed him back, tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer instead. The sharp edge of frustration clawed at her, battling the undeniable pull of desire, but she was already lost, her body attuned to his in ways she could never deny.
She wrenched herself back just enough to break the kiss, gasping for air, her lips tingling from the force of it. Her gaze locked onto his, burning with a mix of irritation and something deeper, something she refused to name.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Her voice came out breathless, laced with disbelief, but no amount of outrage could mask the flicker of desire that betrayed her. It was there—woven between the anger, lingering in the sharp edge of her words.
His smirk deepened, that infuriating, arrogant grin she both loathed and craved in equal measure. His voice dropped lower, rough with unfiltered possession. "You walk around all day like a fucking tease," he murmured, his words slow, deliberate, dangerous. "Wearing that little dress, no underwear, letting the world see what belongs to me. Flaunting yourself." He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as his fingers ghosted over her bare arm. "What the hell do you expect, Luna?"
The second the words left his mouth, she moved. A sharp crack echoed through the corridor as her palm connected with his cheek, the force of it snapping his head to the side. The sting spread across his skin like wildfire, a raw, biting heat that set his nerves ablaze.
"Do. Not. Speak. To. Me. Like. That." Her voice was low, seething with barely restrained fury.
The air between them turned electric, thick with something unspoken. His head slowly turned back to her, his breath uneven, his pupils blown wide with something she couldn't quite name. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to retaliate, to dominate.
But she wasn't done.
Before he could react, she struck again—this time not with words, but with action. A hand shot out, fingers curling around his throat, her grip unrelenting. He sucked in a sharp breath, the pressure sending a shiver of something dark and thrilling down his spine.
"You never… ever hit me before." His voice was strained, edged with disbelief, his pulse hammering against the constraint of her fingers.
Her breath came in shallow gasps, but her resolve was iron. She was testing him, pushing him, waiting to see what he would do. And fuck, he wanted to break her for it.
The moment stretched between them, charged and volatile. Then, in a blur of motion, she struck again.
The second slap landed harder, sending another searing jolt through his skin. His head snapped to the side once more, the force of it sparking something primal in his chest. It wasn't just anger—no, this was something far more twisted. More dangerous.
His grip tightened around her wrist, yanking her flush against him. Their bodies collided, breath mingling, rage crackling like a live wire between them. His free hand found her hip, his fingers digging in, holding her there.
He shoved her against the wall, his breath ragged, eyes dark with something primal. The impact sent a sharp thrill up her spine, but she refused to flinch. Instead, she met his gaze with fire of her own, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Are you done?" he growled, his voice hoarse, roughened by the weight of his fury and something far more dangerous.
Her lips curled into a defiant smirk, her fingers twitching with the urge to strike him again. "Not quite."
His body pressed flush against hers, pinning her against the cold stone, every inch of him radiating heat and dominance. His breath ghosted over her ear, his voice dropping into something low and lethally calm. "Where were you?"
Her nails dug into his forearm, refusing to let him think he had the upper hand. "None of your business," she spat, every word laced with venom.
A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening. "Oh, but it is my business," he murmured, his lips barely brushing against her jaw. "When you walk around all day in that pretty little dress, no underwear, nothing beneath… letting the wind lift the hem, showing off what belongs to me—what the fuck else would you expect?"
Her body tensed, a sharp inhale betraying her, the heated implication of his words making her heart pound. "Let me go," she demanded, though her voice lacked the conviction she desperately wanted it to hold.
He tilted his head, amusement flashing across his face as he leaned in closer, his lips barely grazing her pulse point. "Never."
She shoved against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. But he was immovable, his hold a silent declaration that he wasn't done with her yet.
The air between them crackled with something volatile, something twisted and irresistible. Her entire body trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer force of the tension pressing down on her, wrapping around them like a noose. She refused to give in. She refused to let him win.
"I don't need you to control me," she bit out, her voice fierce despite the breathlessness creeping into her tone.
His smirk widened, slow and predatory, his fingers skimming the curve of her waist in a touch that was anything but innocent. "Oh, Moonbeam," he drawled, voice dripping with arrogant certainty. "You've been asking for this since the second you walked in here. You know it. I know it. So don't waste your breath pretending otherwise."
Her pulse roared in her ears, a war waging between her body and her mind. She should slap him again. She should shove him away, end this dangerous game before it spiraled beyond control.
With a wicked grin, he grasped the delicate fabric of her dress, the soft material bunching beneath his fingers as he gave a single, forceful tug. The silk tore apart with a sharp rip, the sound slicing through the charged air, making her gasp—not in fear, but in pure, unrestrained excitement. The remnants of the dress fluttered uselessly to the floor, leaving her bare before him, vulnerable yet utterly electrified by the way he looked at her.
"Theo!" she scolded, a breathless mix of indignation and desire, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself. "That was one of my favorites!"
His smirk deepened, dark and unapologetic. "Then you shouldn't have worn it when you knew damn well how much I'd want to rip it off you," he murmured, his voice gravelly with lust. His eyes raked over her, full of hunger and possession. "You walk around looking like this and expect me to just sit there? Not happening."
She swallowed hard, her breath catching as his fingers ghosted over her exposed skin. "Let me go," she whispered, though the plea lacked any real conviction, her body betraying her even as she said the words.
His expression darkened with amusement, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her flush against him. The warmth of his body pressed against hers sent a shiver down her spine. "I don't think I will," he murmured, his tone laced with promise. "Not now, not ever."
With effortless strength, he spun her in his grip, pressing her front against the cool stone wall. The sudden contrast of heat and cold sent a gasp from her lips, but he didn't give her a moment to recover. His lips followed the curve of her spine, trailing slow, reverent kisses down her bare back, each press of his mouth igniting her skin like fire.
A moan slipped from her lips as his hand slid around her, fingers moving with calculated precision, teasing at her most sensitive spot. The touch was deliberate, torturous in its slowness, drawing out the tension in her muscles until she was trembling against him.
"You—infuriating—man," she panted, her fingers curling into fists against the wall, her breath uneven as pleasure coiled deep in her belly.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin, sending another wave of heat through her. His hand glided up, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her throat, tilting her head slightly so his lips could brush against her ear. His voice was a low, reverent whisper.
"I love you more than anything in this universe," he murmured, his words an intoxicating mix of devotion and possession. "And I need you to remember that, because right now, I'm going to ruin you, and I'm not holding back."
"Theo…" she gasped, her voice trembling with anticipation, her body already arching toward him, seeking more.
"Would you like me to stop?" he teased, his fingers circling her clit in maddening, feather-light strokes, his breath hot against her ear.
She let out a strangled moan, her nails dragging against the stone as her control slipped further. "Don't you dare," she hissed, her hips pushing back into him, desperate for more. "Yes, Theo—please."
He groaned at her words, the sound deep and rough. That was all he needed.
With one swift motion, he unzipped his trousers, freeing himself. His grip on her waist tightened as he positioned himself against her, the anticipation so thick in the air it was suffocating. And then, without warning, he thrust into her.
A sharp cry escaped her lips as he filled her completely, stretching her in a way that sent stars bursting behind her eyes. His pace was immediately relentless, deep and claiming, every movement a testament to his need to possess her.
His hand never faltered, fingers still working at her clit, drawing her higher and higher until she was trembling beneath him, her body melting into his with every thrust.
"You're mine," he growled against her skin, his voice laced with both reverence and desperation. "Say it."
Her head fell back against his shoulder, her body breaking apart beneath him. "I'm yours," she gasped, her voice a breathy plea.
His fingers tightened at her waist as he thrust into her harder, deeper, chasing his own release while pushing her to the edge of hers. She shattered first, a strangled moan slipping from her lips as her orgasm crashed over her, her body convulsing around him, pulling him over the edge with her.
They remained there, breathless, tangled together, the only sound in the room their ragged gasps.
"Still mad at me for yesterday?" he rasped, his voice rough with pleasure yet laced with teasing amusement.
"A little," she admitted, though her breathless moans betrayed just how little resistance she had left.
His smirk deepened against her skin as he drove into her harder, his fingers working her in tandem with each precise thrust. "Then after you come on my cock," he promised, his voice dark and wicked, "we'll sit down and talk it out properly." He punctuated his words by pressing down just right, sending a jolt of unbearable pleasure through her.
Luna's cries grew louder, her body arching against his, her fingers clawing at the sheets, until the tension inside her snapped. She shattered around him, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave, her entire body trembling with the force of it. He held her steady, his grip strong, guiding her through each exquisite pulse of pleasure, his own release following soon after, groaning into the crook of her neck as he emptied himself inside her.
When her breathing finally slowed, her limbs boneless in his arms, he brushed damp strands of hair from her flushed face, pressing a lazy, affectionate kiss to her shoulder. His lips curved into a familiar, smug smirk. "Feel better now?"
She turned in his arms, still flushed, her eyes hazy yet filled with something both satisfied and amused. "You're lucky I love you," she murmured, tugging him down for a deep, lingering kiss.
"And you're lucky I'm utterly obsessed with you," he countered, his grip tightening possessively around her waist. He let his lips ghost over her ear, voice dripping with mischief. "Now, let's go find you a new dress—though I can't promise it'll stay on for long. And after that… we finish what we started."
~~~~~~
Draco's attacker had remained a mystery for an agonizing month, and it was driving him to madness. The constant sleepless nights, his mind plagued by visions of the ambush, gnawed at him like an unhealed wound. Every moment spent remembering the attack—a shadow lurking in the dark, the sudden pain, the betrayal of being caught off guard—was an acidic burn in his chest.
The thought that someone had slipped past his defenses, hurt him, and vanished into the shadows was like an open wound he couldn't bring himself to treat. The injustice of it ate at him, eating away at the carefully built walls around his emotions. Until the person responsible was found, there would be no peace, no reprieve.
And Draco didn't just want them dealt with—he wanted them obliterated, erased from existence, in a way that would leave no room for retaliation, no trace to hunt down.
"We've got a mission," Blaise said, his voice unshaken, as usual, but there was a flicker of urgency in his eyes. He tossed a folder onto the table in front of Draco, its edges crisp and clean, the weight of it a reminder that duty never ceased.
Draco didn't even look at the folder, his gaze instead sharpening in irritation. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, anger fueling the fire that already burned within him. "I don't have time for this," he spat, his words clipped and cold.
Blaise crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe, but the tension in his posture told a different story. "You don't have a choice," he replied, his voice unwavering. "Orders from the top. We need to move on this, and we need to move now."
Draco's frustration flared, his lip curling into something between a sneer and a grimace. "Do they have any idea what's at stake here, Blaise? Someone attacked me. Me. And you expect me to drop everything—my plans, my revenge—and go halfway across the world for some damn trinket?" His voice shook with barely contained fury, each word carrying the weight of months spent planning his retribution.
Blaise didn't flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. "It's not just a trinket, Draco, and you know that." His tone remained calm, though there was an edge to it now, one that matched the tension in the room. "The artifact is tied to a map—one that, in the wrong hands, could put all of us in jeopardy. It could unravel everything we've fought for, and we can't afford to let that happen."
Draco clenched his fists, the sharp pain in his palms grounding him for just a moment. His mind screamed at him to reject the mission, to push Blaise and Theo aside and focus solely on the hunt, but he knew the truth in Blaise's words. He hated it, but he knew it. The mission was too important to ignore. As much as he wanted to dive headfirst into his personal vendetta, this was bigger than him. The fate of their entire cause was at stake. For now, revenge would have to wait.
His jaw tightened, frustration still bubbling beneath the surface, but he took a deep breath, forcing his anger down. "When do we leave?" he asked, his voice cold and clipped, each word deliberate.
"Tomorrow," Blaise replied, his tone as direct as ever. "Luna's already preparing the supplies. We'll be ready to go at first light."
Draco exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the weight of his decision settle on his shoulders. He didn't like it—he hated it, in fact—but there was no turning back now. He had a role to play, and right now, that role was to follow orders. "Fine," he muttered, his voice thick with reluctant resignation. "We leave tomorrow."
~~~~~~
Theo stepped inside, his mind preoccupied with the mission ahead, only to come to a dead stop as his eyes landed on his wife. Luna stood in the center of their living room, utterly, unapologetically naked, her ethereal glow even more captivating in the golden light streaming through the windows.
"Luna!" he burst out, throwing his hands in the air as if trying to shield himself from the sheer audacity of the scene. "For fuck's sake, get dressed!"
She merely arched a delicate brow, the picture of unbothered serenity. "This is my house, Theodore," she replied smoothly, folding her arms over her chest in a way that only made her stance look even more regal, not modest in the slightest. "I'll do whatever I damn well please."
He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as though physically restraining himself from further dramatics. "What if I had walked in with someone?"
A slow, knowing smile curled at her lips as she tilted her head, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Then you'd better gouge their eyes out before they have the chance to look at me. And don't pretend you wouldn't."
His brows shot up. He blinked, thrown for a beat—not because she was wrong, but because she was so astoundingly right. He let out a defeated sigh, rolling his shoulders before admitting, "Yeah. Yeah, I would absolutely do that. No one sees you like this but me."
"Good." She turned her back to him with an effortless grace, completely unbothered by the conversation, reaching for a bundle of supplies neatly arranged on the table. "I prepared everything you asked for," she continued, her voice level but firm. "Herbs, medicine, all the necessary supplies for your mission. I even added some of my own blends. You're welcome."
He crossed the room in a few lazy strides, stopping just behind her, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he regarded her with a lopsided smirk. "You know we're completely fucked up, right?" His voice carried a hint of laughter, but there was something serious lurking beneath it.
She turned to face him, her expression unreadable, but her eyes held that unshakable, sharp-edged intensity that had drawn him in from the very start. "Obviously," she said without hesitation. "But I'd rather you be over-prepared than have to read about your gruesome demise in the Daily Prophet while I'm left a widow before I even turn thirty."
His smirk vanished. Her words hit him like a physical force, knocking the air from his lungs, and without thinking, he reached for her, cupping her face between his hands. His fingers curled against her skin, tilting her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
"No one will ever harm me, Luna," he said, his voice low and unyielding, a quiet storm of conviction. "I need you to believe that. No one dares to touch me. And if they ever try…" His jaw tightened, his grip on her face soft but firm, his tone promising nothing but death. "I'll end them."
Her gaze never wavered, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she simply searched his face, as though memorizing every line, every flicker of emotion in his darkened eyes.
Finally, she exhaled, a slow, measured breath, and let her fingers trail over the back of his hands, grounding him in her touch. "You'd better."
She met his gaze, unflinching, before pulling away with a soft, almost amused laugh. "I don't like your cousin," she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade, shifting the conversation without a moment's hesitation.
Theo's brow furrowed. "Titus? What about him?"
"There's something about him," she said, her tone darkening, a quiet storm gathering behind her words. "Something… wrong. Like he's got the devil himself living inside him, and he enjoys the company."
Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair, the weight of her words pressing against the unease he hadn't yet admitted to himself. "He's… strange, I'll give you that. But he's still my blood."
Her eyes, normally distant and dreamy, sharpened into something piercing—something unyielding. "I don't care," she said, her voice low and sure, the kind of certainty that left no room for argument. "I'm your family now, Theo. Not him. And I don't want him anywhere near this house."
His lips quirked up at the corner, a smirk tugging at his otherwise serious expression. He took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against her palm. "Already handled it, love," he murmured. "The Floo connection is closed off to him, and he's forbidden from Apparating inside."
For a moment, she simply studied him, searching his face as if deciding whether to be satisfied with that answer. Then, slowly, a rare, genuine smile broke across her lips, something both wicked and pleased glinting in her eyes. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, a promise edged with something dangerous. "Good," she murmured. "Because if he sets one foot in here, I'll handle him myself. And it won't be pretty."
Theo chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Merlin, you're terrifying sometimes."
She placed her hands flat against his chest, tilting her head up at him, her smile sweet but her meaning anything but. "I don't have to be terrifying, Theo," she mused. "I just have to remind you who your family is. It's me. It's Lysander. And I'm not in the mood to share—not even with your devil cousin."
His smirk deepened, his fingers tightening around her waist. "Noted," he murmured before leaning down, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
As he pulled back, her eyes gleamed with that mischievous glint that always left him completely undone. "That's good to hear," she whispered, trailing her fingers along the lapel of his jacket.
Theo arched a brow, curiosity flickering through his gaze. "Why? Have something in mind?"
She leaned in just enough that her breath fanned against his skin, her voice dropping into a purr. "Because you have something I want."
His lips parted slightly, anticipation curling in his stomach. "Anything, my moonbeam," he murmured. "You know I'm yours entirely."
Luna guided his hand to her hip with a deliberate slowness, her gaze locked onto his, brimming with a blend of love, mischief, and something deeper—something that burned. The moment his fingers made contact, Theo felt his pulse stutter, his breath catching as if he were discovering her touch for the first time. His grip tightened instinctively, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her waist, reverent in the way he explored the familiar terrain of her body.
"Is this what you want?" he murmured, his voice a rich, teasing whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. "Yes," she answered, her tone effortless, her certainty unwavering.
Theo inhaled deeply, drinking her in, before dipping his head to press a kiss against the delicate skin of her throat. He moved with a deliberate slowness, savoring the way she arched into him, her breath hitching as his lips ghosted over her pulse point. He dragged his lower lip against the sensitive spot just beneath her jaw, his tongue flicking out ever so slightly, tasting her warmth, relishing the way her body responded.
As if unable to hold himself back any longer, his arms encircled her in one fluid motion, lifting her effortlessly. A startled laugh escaped her, bright and airy, as he carried her across the room and set her down on the edge of the table. His hands remained firm against her thighs, his fingers pressing possessively into her skin as he stepped between them.
"Missed me, didn't you?" she teased, tilting her head, her fingers playfully toying with the collar of his shirt.
His gaze darkened, heat simmering beneath the surface of his usual composure. "Always," he admitted without hesitation, his voice low and hoarse, thick with the weight of his devotion. "I hate it when you're not home. You are my home, Luna."
Her teasing faltered for just a moment, something softer flickering in her gaze. She reached up, brushing her lips against the sharp edge of his jaw, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the playful challenge in her next words. "Then stop talking and kiss me properly, Sunny."
A slow smirk ghosted over his lips, his fingers sliding up to cup her face, his touch gentle but insistent. He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb before pressing his lips to hers, pouring every unspoken word, every ounce of longing, into the kiss. It wasn't just passion—it was a promise, a tether binding them together, stronger than words, stronger than time.
And as their world narrowed to nothing but the heat between them, Theo knew one thing with absolute certainty—he would never need anything more than this. Than her.
As the kiss deepened, his hands roamed to her hips, pulling her closer against him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he responded with a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Luna…" he breathed against her lips, his voice unsteady. "You're making it very hard for me to focus."
"Good," she replied, her tone filled with playful defiance. "I like keeping you on your toes."
He chuckled softly, his forehead resting against hers as he looked into her eyes. "I love you," he murmured, the words holding the weight of everything he felt for her. "Every part of you, every moment. You're my light in the darkness, my everything."
Luna's hands slid down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms. "And you're mine, Theo," she whispered. "Forever."
He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring every moment as if it might slip away. When he finally pulled back, his hands still cradling her face, he gave her a lopsided grin. "You've completely ruined me, you know that?"
She laughed, the sound like music to his ears. "Good. Someone has to keep you in check."
Her laughter faded into a sigh as Theo trailed his fingers gently along her jawline, his touch so soft it sent a shiver down her spine. "I'll give you everything, Luna," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Whatever you want, whenever you want it."
She trembled under his touch, her breath hitching as he whispered in her ear, "I want to fuck you, Luna. Right here, right now."
Her response was a sigh, a mix of pleasure and caution. "I'm ovulating, Theodore. Do not mock me."
His voice was filled with a primal desire. "Then I'll fuck a baby into you. Right here, right now."
The room filled with the sound of their clothes hitting the floor, their bodies meeting in a frenzy of desire. He picked up the pace, laying her down on the table, her body trembling with anticipation. She slowly slid her hand down to her clit, her fingers circling it with a rhythm that matched their bodies.
He fucked her gently, dragging out her wants, her needs. She looked at him desperately, her eyes pleading. "I... oh Merlin... I want you deeper," she moaned.
He pulled her even closer, his voice a growl. "You feel that, love? I'm going to fuck a baby into you. Right there."
Her response was a plea, a desperate cry for more. "Do it, Theo. Please."
Their bodies moved in sync, their moans echoing through the room. The table creaked under their weight, their bodies slapping against each other with a rhythm that was both primal and intimate. His voice was a constant whisper, a dirty talk that drove her wild.
"You like that, don't you? You like feeling my cock deep inside you."
Her response was a moan, her body arching against his. "Yes, Theo. Yes."
He pulled out, his cock glistening with her juices. He flipped her over, her ass in the air. He licked her cunt from behind, his tongue exploring her folds, her clit. She moaned, her body shaking with desire.
"You taste so good. I could eat you all day."
Her response was a plea, a desperate cry for more. "Fuck me, Theo. Please."
He obliged, his cock sliding into her pussy with ease. He fucked her hard, his hands gripping her hips, his body slapping against hers. Her moans filled the room, her body shaking with each thrust.
"Harder."
He complied, his body moving like a machine, his cock slamming into her with a force that left her breathless. Her orgasm built, her body tensing, her moans becoming screams.
"I'm ..going ..to come.
His response was a growl, a primal sound that matched the intensity of their fucking. "Come for me, love."
Her body convulsed, her orgasm washing over her, her body shaking with the force of her release. Theo followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside her, his body shaking with his own release.
They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths ragged. He pulled her into his arms, his voice a whisper in her ear. "I'll give you everything. Whatever you want, whenever you want it."
Luna smiled, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and desire. "I know, Theo ."
~~~~~~
The sun blazed high above, an unyielding fire that seared the endless expanse of sand stretching out in all directions. Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Titus stood as silent sentinels against the vast emptiness, their shadows long and sharp in the blinding light. The air shimmered, heavy with heat and foreboding, and each man was swathed in protective armor, their wands clenched tightly. A fine layer of dust coated them, mingling with sweat and grit, but none of them paid it any mind. They had long ago learned to ignore discomfort in the face of duty.
This mission was unlike any they had encountered before. They'd been pulled from their usual assignments, dropped into the arid heat of the Middle East without their usual intel or support. Their instructions were stark and absolute: leave no witnesses. The weight of this directive pressed on each of them, a silent reminder of the moral murkiness they were venturing into. It wasn't a mission they could walk away from without leaving parts of themselves behind.
"The Raven Order," as they were notoriously known among their enemies, had carved a reputation on the darkest edges of society. They were mercenaries with a finely honed skill for carnage, precision, and unwavering loyalty to their cause. Yet, despite their notoriety and experience in high-stakes missions, something about this assignment felt different.
The mission briefing had been surprisingly sparse, leaving them with little more than vague coordinates and the chillingly simple directive: "eliminate the target, no questions asked." Typically, their assignments included dossiers filled with everything from the target's background to security measures, which allowed them to anticipate every move. This time, the silence around the mission details gnawed at them, stirring an uneasy curiosity. But curiosity, they had been trained to remember, was a weakness.
They exchanged tense glances, each member harboring unspoken questions. For a group accustomed to executing plans with ruthless precision, this assignment's shadowy vagueness pressed on their instincts like a warning. But in their line of work, loyalty came before comfort, and they each knew that when their boss issued orders, it wasn't their job to ask why. Their boss, after all, was a figure cloaked in infamy—someone who had taken them all in, molded them into who they were now, someone who demanded, above all, loyalty beyond reason. And loyalty, they each knew, had a price.
Draco looked to his friends, each one a seasoned warrior in their own right. Blaise's calm exterior masked a mind that was always calculating, always planning the next move. Theo's eyes, usually filled with mischief, were now cold and focused, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. Titus, the newest but most intimidating member of their group, stood tall, his presence casting a long shadow over the others. His face was a mask of stoic indifference, unreadable to even his closest comrades. Despite—or perhaps because of—his terrifying reputation, there was something oddly reassuring about having him on their side. His mere presence was enough to silence any lingering doubts, a constant reminder that they had a weapon of pure, unyielding force among them..
"We've faced worse," Draco muttered, more to himself than to the others, though they all heard him.
"Still doesn't mean I like this," Theo replied, his voice low. "We don't even know what we're dealing with."
"Doesn't matter," Blaise said, his tone as steady as ever. "We follow orders, get in, and get out. Simple as that."
Draco nodded, though his mind was racing with possibilities. They all knew the drill—stick to the plan, trust each other, and leave no loose ends. But something about this mission felt off, a nagging sense of dread that they couldn't quite shake.
"Let's move," Draco said finally, taking the first step forward.
As they began their trek across the desert, the weight of their task pressed down on them, a heavy burden that they carried without complaint. They were soldiers, after all—soldiers who had seen the darkest corners of the world and had become shadows themselves.
As they passed through the remnants of a village that had clearly been bombed, Draco felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The destruction was unlike anything he had ever seen, even in the darkest days of the Wizarding War. The sight of the crumbled buildings and the eerie silence of what was once a lively community was a harsh reminder of the cruelty Muggles could inflict upon each other.
Draco exchanged a glance with Blaise, both of them shaken but determined to press on. They moved cautiously, their senses heightened as they sought out a safe place to regroup. Eventually, they found shelter in a well-covered house, its walls still standing despite the devastation outside. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the remnants of a life that had been violently interrupted.
Titus stood at the doorway, his expression hard, as he scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. "We set up here," he said in a low, commanding tone. His voice, as cold and unwavering as the steel in his hand, left no room for argument.
Draco nodded, still trying to process the reality of what they were walking into. This mission was unlike anything they had done before, and the horrors they were witnessing only added to the weight of what was to come.
Gathered around the dusty table in the dimly lit room, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Titus studied the map of the surrounding area. The map was old, worn at the edges, and had clearly seen its share of conflict, just like the land it depicted. The red ink marking potential threats and targets stood out starkly against the yellowed parchment.
Theo, always one to have a trick up his sleeve, released a tracker fairy that Luna had given him for situations exactly like this. The tiny, shimmering creature flitted around the room for a moment, getting its bearings before darting out through a crack in the wall.
They waited in tense silence, each of them mentally preparing for what might come next. The fairy returned after what felt like an eternity but was likely only minutes. It hovered in front of Theo, its wings fluttering rapidly as it relayed its findings.
"No human or magical presence in the area," Theo announced, his voice barely above a whisper.
Draco and Blaise exchanged a glance, the tension in the room easing slightly but not disappearing entirely. "Good," Blaise said, his voice steady but his eyes hard. "It means we have the advantage for now."
Draco felt a chill run down his spine at Titus's words. The mission was about to begin, and despite the emptiness of the surrounding area, he knew they were far from safe.
After hours of intense strategizing, the group decided it was time to rest. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls as they rolled up the map and tucked away their gear. The exhaustion was beginning to set in, but none of them would admit it. They each had their own way of coping with the looming threat of the mission ahead.
Draco found a spot near the back of the room, where the walls felt sturdy, and the air was slightly cooler. He lay down on the hard floor, using his pack as a pillow, his mind still racing with thoughts of the mission and the dangers they would face.
Blaise settled in a corner, his back against the wall, his wand close at hand. He closed his eyes but remained alert, his instincts honed from years of dealing with the unpredictable.
Theo, always the last to settle, made sure the tracker fairy was safely tucked away before finding a spot near the door. He muttered a quick spell, ensuring they'd be alerted if anything—or anyone—tried to approach during the night.
Titus was the last to lie down. He stretched out on the floor, his massive frame taking up more space than the others. His eyes remained open for a while, scanning the room, making sure everyone was settled before finally closing them. Even in sleep, his presence was intimidating, a reminder of the strength he brought to the group.
As the night wore on, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of clothing or a deep breath. Despite the uncertainty of the mission ahead, sleep eventually claimed them, one by one. They would need every ounce of rest they could get for what awaited them at dawn.
~~~~~~
And there, in the dead of night, they made a rookie mistake—one that could cost them everything. Exhaustion had taken its toll, and in their need for rest, no one had thought to stand guard.
At precisely 4:16 a.m., Draco was jolted awake by the sudden, cold pressure of a hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes shot open, but before he could react, before he could even register what was happening, a wave of darkness crashed over him. It wasn't just the absence of light—it was an all-consuming void, pulling him down into nothingness.
The last thing he felt was his heart pounding wildly in his chest, a surge of panic rushing through his veins. Then, there was nothing. Just silence and darkness.
~~~~~~
Hermione bolted upright in bed, a scream ripping from her throat, shattering the thick silence of the dimly lit room. Her body trembled, drenched in sweat, as she clutched her chest, gasping for breath. Her heart pounded wildly beneath her fingertips, but no matter how tightly she pressed her palm against it, the terror wouldn't subside.
This wasn't just fear. It was something deeper, something primal.
Her soul bond with Draco had ignited like wildfire, flooding her with raw, unfiltered panic. It crashed through her, leaving behind an unbearable weight of dread, sharp as broken glass lodged in her ribs. She could feel it—his terror, his pain, his struggle against something unseen.
Something had happened. Something unthinkably dark.
She willed herself to move, but her body refused to cooperate. Her breathing was ragged, uneven. Fragments of sensations flickered through her mind—flashes of suffocating fear, of unseen hands dragging, of cold steel against burning skin.
A sob wrenched from her throat as she grabbed her wand.
"Expecto Patronum," she gasped out, her voice cracking with the weight of her panic. A silvery otter burst forth, glowing in the dimness of the room. "Pansy! Now!" The urgency in her voice was unmistakable.
Moments later, emerald flames roared to life in the fireplace, and Pansy stepped through, her face already creased with worry. She rushed to Hermione's side, her hands immediately steadying her trembling shoulders.
"Darling, breathe," she instructed, her voice firm yet gentle. "What happened?"
Hermione tried. She tried to steady herself, but the sobs kept coming, shaking her to the core. "It's Draco," she choked out, voice barely more than a whisper. "I felt him, Pans. Through the bond. It wasn't just fear—it was terror. It was pain." Her fingers dug into her arms as if bracing herself from breaking apart. "I don't know where he is, but I know he's suffering, and I can't reach him."
Pansy's lips pressed into a thin line, her usual sharp wit replaced by pure, unwavering determination. "Then we find him," she said, voice steel-edged. No hesitation. No doubt.
Without another word, she conjured her own Patronus—a sleek silver fox that streaked into the night, carrying an urgent call for Luna.
It took mere moments before the fireplace flared again, and Luna stepped through, her blue eyes brimming with concern. She didn't waste time with questions. She took one look at Hermione—her tear-streaked face, her shaking hands—and moved to her side, kneeling down.
"Mimi, we'll find him," Luna whispered, pressing a steadying hand against Hermione's back. "I promise."
Pansy, already moving, yanked open Hermione's wardrobe, rummaging through it with practiced efficiency. "You need to change, love. You're freezing," she murmured, swiftly unfastening the damp fabric clinging to Hermione's skin. The tender care in her hands contrasted the storm of emotion flickering behind her eyes.
Hermione barely had the strength to lift her arms, but she let Pansy guide her through the motions, her limbs weak with fear. The second she was clothed again, she curled into herself, her body wracked with shivers.
"We need Ginny," she whispered hoarsely. "She might know something. She has to know something."
Pansy nodded sharply. With a flick of her wand, her Patronus was off, vanishing through the walls.
Not long after, a loud crack echoed through the room.
Ginny appeared, her auburn hair wind-tossed, her face grim as she took in the scene. The weight of the moment hit her instantly—Hermione's tear-streaked face, the urgency in Pansy's and Luna's eyes. She wasted no time.
"What's happened?" she asked, voice clipped.
Hermione swallowed hard. "Draco. And—" she sucked in a sharp breath, the realization hitting like a curse to the chest. "All of them. It's not just him, Gin. It's Theo, Blaise—they're all in danger."
Ginny's stomach twisted, but she didn't let her expression falter.
"Where were they?" Pansy demanded.
Ginny's eyes darkened. "Last I knew... Afghanistan. Draco, Theo, and Blaise were sent on a mission."
The room fell into a suffocating silence. The mere mention of the location sent a fresh wave of panic through Hermione's already fractured mind.
"Oh, gods." Her hands clenched into fists, her breathing ragged. "They're trapped out there, somewhere, and we can't reach them."
Ginny dropped to her knees beside her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. "We'll find them," she murmured, her voice steady.
She turned to Luna, her tone firm. "Can Kippy watch Valerius? I need to be all in for this."
Luna gave a sharp nod. "I'll handle it."
As the urgency solidified into a plan, Hermione's panic shifted into something else. Determination.
She tore herself away from the embrace, rushing to Draco's study, her hands shaking as she rifled through his belongings. Every shelf, every drawer—she searched with frenzied desperation.
And then—her fingers curled around something small. A bear-shaped Portkey.
One of Draco's own creations. One of his most trusted means of travel.
Her heart pounded as she held it close to her chest, relief and terror warring within her.
She returned to the others, her expression grim, her grip tight on the Portkey. "I found it," she said, voice trembling. "This will take us to him."
Pansy, already dressed for battle, exchanged a look with Luna and Ginny. In silent agreement, they donned their protective robes, their wands at the ready.
The four women stood together, a united force of unwavering love and unbreakable loyalty.
No words were needed.
They gripped the Portkey.
The pull was instantaneous—a sharp, gut-wrenching lurch through space.
~~~~~~
The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, casting harsh shadows across the sprawling desert, as the four women stood on the sands of the Registan. Sweat beaded on their brows, and their breaths were heavy, partly from the journey and partly from the weight of fear pressing on their hearts. In every direction stretched miles of emptiness, desolate and unyielding, with not a single sign of life or any indication of where to go.
Ginny's anxiety was barely contained. She clenched and unclenched her fists, her gaze darting over the horizon as if, by sheer force of will, she could somehow summon her husband out of thin air. Panic gnawed at her insides, twisting with every heartbeat. If Draco was in trouble, then Blaise, her husband, was almost certainly in danger too.
"Blaise!" Ginny finally screamed into the vast emptiness, her voice cracked and raw, her desperation echoing out into the unforgiving silence of the desert. Her heart ached with a fierce longing, and fear clawed at her as she waited breathlessly, scanning the desert for any sign of movement.
And then, as if summoned by her desperation, Blaise appeared. He stood before them, his face shadowed with exhaustion but etched with relief as his gaze fell on Ginny. His expression softened at the sight of her, and without a second's hesitation, he reached for her, taking her hands in his and squeezing tightly.
"My love," he said, his voice thick with worry, his eyes flickering over her disheveled appearance. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come—please, go home. Are you alright?"
Ginny's fingers tightened around his, her voice trembling. "We had no choice," she managed, her voice a desperate whisper. "We felt something… something terrible. Blaise, where is Draco?"
His expression darkened, the tenderness replaced by a hard edge as he glanced at the girls, each of them watching him with equal intensity. He took a steadying breath before replying, his voice laced with regret and frustration.
"Granger," he said, his voice low and heavy with guilt as he met Hermione's eyes. "Malfoy… he was taken." He paused, struggling to steady himself. "It happened in the dead of night, while we were sleeping. We didn't hear a thing—no warning, no signs. When I woke, his bedroll was empty, and the wards were broken. They took him, Hermione. Right from under our noses. I have no idea where they've taken him."
Hermione's face drained of color, and for a moment, she swayed as if she might collapse. Pansy quickly reached for her, steadying her by the shoulder, and Hermione gripped her friend's hand tightly, drawing strength from the touch.
"WHO?" Hermione asked, her voice barely a whisper, raw with anguish and fear. "Who has him, Blaise?"
"I'm not entirely sure. But they knew exactly what they were doing. They targeted Draco specifically; they were after him," he replied, his jaw clenching. The air around them felt heavy, almost suffocating. Every word out of his mouth seemed to weigh them down further.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken dread. Hermione closed her eyes, grappling with the fear that threatened to consume her. She could feel the bond between her and Draco pulsing faintly, but it was distant and faint, like a candle barely flickering in the darkness. The thought of him suffering, of him alone and vulnerable in an unknown location, sent a shudder through her.
"We can't just stand here," she said, her voice fierce, cutting through the silence. "We have to do something. We have to find him, Blaise. Can you track them?"
Blaise's face hardened as he considered her words. "I can try, but it won't be easy. They were prepared, and they knew the terrain better than us. But I won't stop until we bring him back."
Luna stepped forward, her gaze focused and uncharacteristically intense. "Then let's not waste time," she said. Her soft voice had a steely determination that resonated with each of them. "We've come this far; we'll do whatever it takes."
~~~~~~
They returned to the hideout, the place where Draco had been taken. The tension in the air was suffocating, and every step Hermione took felt heavier with the weight of her fear and rage.
Inside, a flickering magical map was projected onto the wall, its glowing contours casting eerie shadows across the room. Theo and another man stood over it, their faces grim, deep in conversation.
As they entered, Theo looked up sharply. His expression shifted to one of alarm when his eyes landed on Luna.
"Theodore Atticus Nott!" Luna snapped, cutting off his attempt to speak.
"Luna, my life—" Theo began, stepping toward her, his tone urgent and pleading. "You shouldn't be here. Please, go home. This isn't your fight!"
Luna's expression hardened, her usual dreamy demeanor replaced by steely resolve. "If any of us is out there, it is my fight. I'm not leaving until we bring him back."
Hermione, her arms crossed, let her gaze fall on the unfamiliar man standing beside Theo. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who's this?" she demanded, motioning toward the stranger.
The man stepped forward, offering a tight, almost mocking smile. "Titus Nott. A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy," he said smoothly. "I've always admired your work—"
"Save it," Hermione interrupted sharply. Her tone cut through the room like a blade. Her gaze was unrelenting. "So, you're the butcher."
The air in the room grew even tenser. Pansy, standing beside Hermione, glared at Titus like he was a stain that refused to be scrubbed clean. Her lip curled in disgust.
Titus didn't flinch. His voice remained even, but his smirk faltered. "Yes," he admitted, his tone clipped. "The butcher."
"Good," Hermione said coldly, her voice laced with contempt. "We're going to need every weapon we can get to find my husband. And if you can't deliver, you're dead weight."
Titus's smirk returned, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "This job isn't for the ladies," he said, almost casually.
Before he could blink, every woman in the room snapped in unison, "Shut the fuck up."
Titus held up his hands in mock surrender. "Yes, ma'ams," he muttered.
Ginny stepped forward, her fiery hair and even fiercer expression adding weight to her words. "Besides murdering people, do you have any actual skills? Because if you're just here to look dangerous, we don't need you."
"Enough!" Hermione barked, her voice ringing through the room. "When this is over, you can kill him for all I care. Right now, I want to know where the nearest hideout is!"
Theo stepped forward cautiously, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Hermione, please, calm down. He's my cousin."
"Like we give a fuck," Pansy said, her voice dripping with disdain. She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping Titus up and down. "Though, at least you're nice to look at. That's something."
Titus gave her a wry smile. "Thank you, ma'am," he replied, his tone deliberately smooth.
Blaise, leaning against the wall, cut through the tension with his calm, measured voice. "The nearest hideout is kilometers away. But there's a run-down residential property nearby. It could be worth checking."
"Finally, a useful conversation," Luna muttered, her tone laced with exasperation.
The group fell into a tense silence, the weight of the mission ahead pressing down on them. They exchanged glances, the unspoken promise between them clear: whatever it took, they would find Draco.
~~~~~~
Just as Draco's world seemed to collapse into an endless cycle of pain and despair, when every breath felt like it was dragging him deeper into the abyss, a sound shattered the oppressive silence—a deep, gut-wrenching explosion that sent shockwaves through the very foundation of the building. The walls trembled violently, dust and debris cascading from the ceiling like the first warning signs of an earthquake. Then, before he could even process what was happening, the door was obliterated in a deafening blast, the force of it sending splinters of wood and shrapnel through the air like deadly confetti. Smoke curled into the room in thick, choking tendrils, swallowing everything in a suffocating haze, turning shadows into specters, blurring the line between salvation and damnation.
Through the blinding cloud of dust and destruction, figures emerged—swift, methodical, a force of nature tearing through the chaos like they were born in it. The metallic glint of weapons, the sharp bark of commands, the relentless momentum of bodies moving with precision—it was war in its purest form. He could barely make out the shapes, the people who had just stormed in, but instinct screamed at him to brace himself. His already battered body tensed, his mind clawing through the exhaustion and pain, forcing himself upright even as his vision wavered. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out all logic.
He was prepared to meet thy God.
Because this was it, wasn't it? The moment where all debts were paid in blood. Whether salvation or judgment awaited him, he couldn't be sure. His past sins, his regrets, his triumphs, his mistakes—everything balanced on a knife's edge. Would the next second bring rescue or reckoning? Was this the moment he was finally put down like a wounded animal, or had some foolish, reckless soul decided he was worth saving?
His lips curled into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace, bitter amusement tugging at the edges of his exhaustion. If this was his end, he'd meet it standing. But if by some cruel twist of fate, this was his reprieve—then may whatever poor soul dared to come for him be ready for the storm he was about to unleash.
But not until God willed it—and, as fate would have it, she did not.
And in this universe, God went by the name Hermione Granger-Malfoy.
Standing in the center of the chaos, her breath steady, her grip unshakable, Hermione raised her wand with the kind of finality that only came from absolute conviction. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. With a single, fierce incantation, she cast the Killing Curse. A jet of sickly green light split through the darkness, striking Cormac McLaggen square in the chest. His body seized for the briefest of moments, his expression frozen in surprise—then he crumpled, lifeless, his existence snuffed out in an instant. He had been a threat. Now, he was nothing.
The room erupted into chaos. Shadowy figures lunged at one another, spells colliding mid-air in dazzling bursts of energy, while gunfire cracked through the pandemonium, the scent of smoke and blood thickening the air. Light and darkness clashed in a brutal symphony—curses flew like streaks of lightning, bullets shattered the air like thunder. The walls bore scorch marks from spellfire, debris scattered underfoot as bodies dropped, groaning and gasping, or not rising at all.
Hermione moved with deadly precision, weaving between attacks with the agility of a seasoned warrior, her wand an extension of her fury. Every movement was controlled, every spell cast with unrelenting accuracy. She wasn't just fighting—she was dominating. Every flick of her wrist sent an opponent sprawling, every step forward carved a path through the carnage. She had fought in wars before, had carved her name into history with grit and resilience. And tonight, she would do it again.
At the center of it all, Draco remained bound, his vision swimming, his body barely holding onto consciousness. The fight blurred at the edges, the sound distorting as though he were submerged underwater. His pulse pounded sluggishly, his body battered and broken. He barely registered the hands clawing at his restraints, the violent tremors of the room as spells collided with walls.
Then—his bonds loosened.
A sudden, suffocating pull yanked him into oblivion. The pain, the noise, the blood—everything faded into nothingness. A cold void enveloped him, a weightless abyss that should have been terrifying but instead felt… almost peaceful. His body no longer ached. The wounds no longer burned. The war no longer mattered.
And then—her voice.
"I'm here, my love."
Soft. Steady. The anchor he had always clung to in the darkest of times.
It was impossibly soothing, that voice. It wrapped around him like warmth in the bitter cold, a tether to reality even as the darkness threatened to consume him. He wasn't sure if he was dying or simply dreaming, wasn't sure if this was heaven or some cruel trick of the mind. But he knew, without question, that it was her.
And in that moment, with her voice guiding him through the void, Draco Malfoy felt peace. This was afterlife
~~~~~~
Draco was in a coma.
For a year.
A full, merciless year where time crawled, each agonizing second stretching into eternity. The world moved on, seasons changed, wars were waged and won, but for those who loved him, life had frozen in place, caught in an unrelenting purgatory of waiting. It was a slow, cruel punishment, testing the limits of their endurance, their faith, their sanity.
And no one bore the brunt of that torment more than Hermione.
She withered before their eyes, a ghost of the woman she once was. Her body became frail, the sharp planes of her cheekbones standing in stark contrast to the hollows beneath her lifeless eyes. She was skeletal, barely eating, barely existing. The vibrancy that had once defined her—the fierce intellect, the boundless curiosity, the warmth—had all but vanished, replaced by something raw, something broken.
She quit her job without a word, walked away from everything she had built, because what was the point? How could she care about cases, about work, about anything, when the only thing that mattered lay motionless in the spare bedroom?
Every day, she sat beside him, her fingers laced through his, as if she could tether him to life through sheer will alone. She whispered to him endlessly—stories from their past, secrets she had never dared to say out loud, confessions of guilt and longing, of love so deep it threatened to consume her. Some days, she read to him in hushed tones; other days, she simply sat in silence, listening to the steady, torturous beeping of the machines that kept him breathing.
And every night, she refused to leave.
She curled into the chair beside him, exhaustion pulling her into restless, fractured sleep, only to wake in the dead of night with a start, pressing frantic kisses to his cold fingers, begging him—pleading—to wake up.
But Draco remained still.
And Hermione continued to unravel.
Luna came as often as she could, slipping into the sterile, suffocating quiet of the room with the gentleness of a whisper. She couldn't change the reality of Draco's condition, couldn't conjure miracles or rewrite fate—but she could be there. She could be a steady presence in the wreckage of Hermione's unraveling world.
When the sobs came, raw and uncontrollable, Luna was there to catch them, wrapping her arms around Hermione like a shield against the darkness. She pressed warm tea into shaking hands, smoothed damp curls from a grief-stricken face, and offered quiet reassurances that weren't promises, but comforts nonetheless. She stitched together the wounds that weren't visible, healing in ways no magic could.
Lysander visited often, his small presence a beacon of light in the dim, lifeless room. He would toddle in, his little hands clutching crumpled drawings—messy scrawls of stars and dragons and sunshine-colored shapes that made sense only to him. He placed them carefully beside Draco's bed, his tiny brow furrowed in concentration, as if the act alone could coax his uncle back to life.
"Uncle Dwayco wake up soon?" he would ask, wide-eyed with hope, untouched by the quiet devastation suffocating the adults around him. His innocence was a sharp contrast to the despair thick in the air, a cruel reminder of how much had been lost.
One night, without a word, he left his favorite stuffed dragon at Draco's bedside, tucking it against the unmoving figure as though it could stand guard in the moments when Hermione's prayers faltered, when her faith—if she had ever had any—began to wane.
Theo, on the other hand, ran.
Not physically—he was always somewhere close enough to be reached—but mentally, emotionally, he was gone. He buried himself in assignments, throwing himself into missions with reckless abandon, accepting jobs no sane man would take. Work became his escape, his punishment, his absolution. The blood on his hands wasn't just from enemies anymore; it was his own, from wounds he barely noticed, from fights he didn't always bother to win. He stopped coming home for days, sometimes weeks, until the scent of Luna's skin became a distant memory, until the weight of her touch felt foreign.
And when he did return, it was never truly him.
Luna saw him exactly 159 times that year. She counted.
Each time, he was a little colder, a little quieter. He carried new scars—some deep, some barely healed, all of them telling stories he refused to speak aloud. His hands trembled now, subtle but unmistakable, betraying the fractures in his carefully composed exterior. Their conversations became more like formalities—clipped words exchanged in shadowed hallways, over untouched plates of food, between the hollow spaces of exhaustion and duty.
She knew why he couldn't look her in the eyes.
She knew he blamed himself.
And worst of all, she knew he wasn't entirely wrong.
Their marriage was unraveling, thread by fragile thread, coming apart in ways so quiet, so insidious, that it almost didn't feel real—until it did. Until she found herself lying awake at night, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering when his absence had begun to feel permanent. Until their conversations became hollow echoes of what they used to be, words spoken out of necessity rather than intimacy. Until the warmth between them faded into something distant and unfamiliar, as if they were two strangers occupying the same space but never truly touching.
She could feel it slipping through her fingers, but how do you hold on to something that refuses to be held? How do you anchor yourself to someone who is determined to drift away?
How do you comfort a man who believes this is his fault? How do you reach someone who has convinced himself that suffering is the only thing he deserves? How do you love someone who refuses to let himself be loved?
Luna had no answers. She had only the suffocating weight of the silence between them, the ghost of the love they had once shared, and the gnawing fear that Theo—her sun, her heart, the man who once swore he would never leave her in the dark—was fading right before her eyes.
She had already lost Draco to the cruel hands of fate.
She wasn't sure she could survive losing Theo, too.