Ginny traced the outline of her growing belly, fingers gliding across the gentle curve as if trying to memorise each inch of this new, strange life unfolding within her. The sunset bathed her in a warm glow, but its beauty only seemed to sharpen the ache in her heart. For months, she had hidden in the quiet of Romania, cloaked in secrets, trying to keep her world from splintering further. Yet, no matter how far she ran, the weight of her past followed, pressing down with a relentless ache.
Lost in thought, she didn't hear Charlie approach until he settled beside her, his familiar presence both grounding and bittersweet. He'd been her rock since she'd arrived, steadfast and unwavering, but he couldn't erase the shadows haunting her. Gently, he reached over, his large, calloused hand finding hers, a silent gesture of solidarity. "You're looking awfully thoughtful," he murmured, his voice a comforting rumble against the quiet evening air.
She gave him a weak smile, but it quickly faltered. "Just…thinking about everything," she said, her words falling heavy between them. It was a simple statement, yet it held a world of untold stories, of wounds that hadn't yet healed.
He squeezed her hand, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on her knuckles. "I know it's a lot, Gin. But you're not alone. We'll figure this out together."
His words were meant to soothe, yet they twisted like a knife in her chest. Figure it out? How could they possibly figure out the tangled mess she'd left behind, the shattered pieces of her life with him? The child growing inside her was the only remnant of what they had once shared—a love that had started with passion, but ended with betrayal and pain. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "I just… I just want to be a good mum. That's all I know for certain."
Charlie's hand stayed steady in hers, his presence unwavering even as she drifted into her fears. "You will be, Ginny," he said with quiet conviction. "But you can't hide forever. You have to face this, and you have people who want to help you."
Her heart clenched. Face this. How could she return to a family who might never understand the darkness she'd walked through? How could she stand before them, knowing she'd broken every promise to herself, to them, and to the man she once loved? "I know, Charlie," she whispered, her voice so quiet it barely escaped her lips. "But I can't face Mum yet. Not after…everything."
He sighed, his grip firm but gentle, a silent reminder of his love and loyalty. He knew more than she'd told him; she could sense it. He didn't pry, didn't push, but he understood the pain that lingered beneath her silence. "Blaise is frantic, Gin. He's been searching for you, anywhere and everywhere he can think of."
Her face hardened, a wall of anger and bitterness rising in her eyes. "Frantic?" she repeated, a bitter edge to her voice. "Worried about his image, maybe. Not about me. He doesn't worry about people—he worries about possessions. And he thinks I'm one of them." Her voice shook, the words brimming with anger and betrayal.
He didn't argue. He knew better than to try to change her mind when she was like this, her emotions a raw wound barely concealed beneath her stoic exterior. She was trapped, caged by memories that tore at her, and he could do little but watch, hoping she would find her way out in time.
"I know, Gin," he said softly, his hand resting on her shoulder, offering strength. "But this won't go away. You'll have to face it, for you and for…" He glanced down at her belly, at the life stirring within her, the innocent piece of all this that had yet to see the light of day.
Her gaze drifted to the horizon, where the last streaks of sunlight were fading into the evening. She felt as though she were looking at her own life, once bright and clear, now shrouded in shadows. She'd never imagined herself in this place—lost, pregnant, alone, burdened by a heart torn between anger and longing.
"Charlie," she whispered, her voice fragile, as if the wind might carry it away before it reached him. "Is our family…normal? Are we…okay?"
Her words took him by surprise, and he felt a pang of sorrow as he looked at her. How could he lie and tell her things were simple, when life had fractured their family so many times? "Of course we're normal," he replied after a moment, though even he could feel the uncertainty in his voice. "We've been through hell and back, but we're still here, Gin. We're strong because of it."
A bitter, hollow laugh escaped her lips. "Stronger? Or just broken in ways we can't even see?" She shook her head, eyes distant as she recalled memories of their family, the laughter and warmth that had once filled their home. "I loved our life…when it was just us, you know? With Ron, Fred… it felt whole, like nothing could break us. Now, it's like a puzzle with missing pieces, and I…I don't know who I am anymore."
Her voice trembled, and the weight of her confession felt like an open wound. Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued, unable to stop the flood of emotions she'd held back for so long. "I loved Blaise, I really did. But there's a part of me that's always felt…unsafe. Like he's not just a man, but a storm, and I'm always bracing for the next wave." She paused, trying to steady her breathing, but the words kept spilling out. "He understands the darkness, the loss, but he's also the one who hurt me, the one who let me down. And I don't know how to forgive that."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he rested his chin atop her head. "Ginny, families aren't about perfection. We're a patchwork quilt of laughter, tears, and love. We're messy and flawed, but we don't abandon each other." His voice was a warm balm against her fears, a reminder that she was not alone. "And love…it's never simple. It hurts, but it also heals. If you're scared, we'll face that fear together. Whatever it takes."
She clung to him, her body trembling as her emotions broke free. His warmth, his strength—they were the anchors she'd been reaching for in her darkest hours. Finally, her sobs began to subside, the storm within her quieting into something softer, a gentle ache rather than an unbearable pain.
After a long silence, she whispered, "I'm scared. Scared of losing everything I thought I had. Of bringing a child into this mess, of…facing him again."
He pulled back slightly, meeting her tear-filled gaze with a solemn understanding. "Gin, no one expects you to be fearless. It's okay to be scared. But remember—you're stronger than you think. You're not alone in this. You've got me, and you've got our family. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together."
As the stars began to pepper the night sky, She felt a glimmer of something she hadn't felt in a long time—hope. It was fragile, a tiny spark amid the darkness, but it was there, a reminder that even in her pain, she still had a family that loved her. And perhaps, just perhaps, a future worth fighting for.
But as her hand drifted down to her belly once more, the shadow of doubt crept back, whispering fears of what lay ahead. The path was murky, and the thought of facing him, of confronting the past, felt like a mountain too high to climb. Still, with him beside her, she thought, maybe—just maybe—she could find the strength to take that first step forward.
His voice softened as he broke the quiet with a gentle question, "Is there any update about the investigation?"
Her face fell, and her shoulders sagged, as if the weight of his question pressed even more heavily on her spirit. "They found no trace of foul play," she said, her voice thick with frustration and bitterness, each word echoing her disbelief. "But I can't shake this feeling, Charlie. It's like… there's a missing piece to a puzzle, and I'm the only one who can see it."
The weariness in her words struck him deeply. He watched her, knowing all too well the pain that lay hidden beneath her anger. To Ginny, this wasn't just a simple case; it was her brother, a part of her heart, her family, and the uncertainty gnawed at her every moment. A wave of sympathy washed over him, and he reached out, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"I know, Gin," he murmured, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "I know how much this hurts, how deeply you care. Ron… he meant everything to you. But we can't let it consume us. We have to trust Harry to do his job. He's been through this, too, and he'll do right by Ron."
Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and he was taken aback by the storm of emotions swirling within them—doubt, fear, anger, and a pain so raw it made his heart ache. "What if he can't, Charlie?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What if he's too close to it, and they're all just… covering something up?" Her words came out in a rush, her suspicions slipping free like water through a broken dam.
Charlie held her gaze, then took her hands in his, grounding her. "Gin," he said firmly, "we'll find out. Whatever the truth is, we'll find it together. But you have to trust that Harry is doing everything he can. He's lost a brother, too, and he won't stop until he has answers."
The spark of desperation in her eyes dimmed slightly, and she nodded, but the worry remained etched into her features. "I just need to know, Charlie," she whispered, her voice a soft, pleading echo. "I need to know what really happened. I need the truth."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of her fears and grief settling between them. The world outside seemed to move on, unaware of the agony and longing tearing at her heart, as if it were just another ordinary day. But for her, every moment without answers was another thread unravelling her peace, another shadow lurking at the edge of her thoughts.
He watched her, feeling the helplessness creep in. He had always been her protector, her big brother, the one she could lean on. And now, as she sat beside him, eyes wide and haunted, he felt the ache of his own powerlessness. How he wished he could simply sweep away the shadows, give her the peace she so desperately craved. But this wasn't something he could fix with a reassuring word or a comforting embrace. This was something only the truth could heal.
"Gin," he said softly, drawing her attention back to him, "I know this feels impossible. But you're not alone in this. Whatever we find, however long it takes… you'll have me. We'll get through it together, even if we have to turn every stone ourselves."
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she looked down, her voice barely a whisper. "It's just… I'm scared, Charlie. Scared that whatever I find out will make everything worse, that I won't be able to handle it."
Charlie's hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing away her tear. "Gin, you're one of the strongest people I know. Whatever the truth is, you'll face it, and you'll survive it. Because that's who you are."
A faint, weary smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned into his embrace, feeling, if only for a moment, the quiet strength of his love and support wrapping around her. And as the evening shadows lengthened, she allowed herself to believe that, with Charlie by her side, she could find the courage to confront whatever lay ahead.
If you only look for the truths that everyone else is seeking, you might uncover things you wish you'd never found.
"Aren't you alone? I mean, come on, Charlie, let me find you a nice bloke," she teased, a mischievous sparkle lighting her eyes as she nudged him playfully.
He groaned, rolling his eyes with the exaggerated drama only a seasoned big brother could pull off. "Ginerva," he sighed, using her full name with a mock-serious tone. "Not this again. I'm perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much."
But despite his lighthearted tone, a flicker of something—regret, maybe even loneliness—passed across his face. He quickly masked it with a grin, but she had always been good at seeing past his defences.
"Oh, come on, Charlie," she pressed, undeterred. "You know you deserve someone special. Maybe he has a cousin or something."
He let out a snort of laughter. "Oh sure, Ginny. I'll just stroll over and ask if his cousin's free for a date right after I finish wrangling dragons. I can just see how that conversation would go."
She laughed, the sound rich and warm against the evening air. "Hey, you never know! Maybe a dragon tamer and a Zabini millionaire would be the perfect match." She flashed him a cheeky grin. "I mean, imagine the Christmas dinners. You'd fit right in."
"Or be a disaster waiting to happen," Charlie countered, shaking his head with a grin of his own. "I think I'll stick to dragons, thanks. They're a lot less complicated than your love life."
"Oh, come on," she said, swatting his arm. "My love life's not that complicated."
He raised an eyebrow, giving her a look that said otherwise, and she couldn't help but laugh. She knew her relationship with him was anything but simple, but there was comfort in these small moments of humour.
"Tell you what," Charlie said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "If you go back home to your husband, you can ask if he's got a single cousin hiding somewhere. Maybe one that doesn't come with a list of scandalous rumours attached to their name."
"Oh, really? So now you're trying to set me up to set you up?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow in mock accusation.
"Exactly," he replied, chuckling. "Fair trade, don't you think?"
She pretended to consider it, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Fine, fine. But if his cousin turns out to be anything like him, you're on your own. I'm not about to play matchmaker and get you mixed up in my chaotic world."
He winked at her. "Deal. But something tells me I can handle it. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
They both laughed, but there was a genuine warmth beneath the teasing. His presence had always been a safe haven for Ginny—a reminder of home, of family, of love that didn't come with strings or conditions.
After a beat, Charlie's gaze softened, and his teasing faded into something more earnest. "You know, Gin," he began, choosing his words carefully, "I might joke about it, but… I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about it sometimes. About settling down, I mean. Having someone to come home to, a family."
Her smile softened. She knew this side of him was rarely shared, kept buried beneath his adventurous spirit and the rugged independence that had defined him for so long. "You'd be a wonderful husband, Charlie," she said quietly. "You've got so much love to give. And I think… I think you deserve that."
He looked down, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe. One day. If I find someone who doesn't mind all the singed eyebrows and the constant smell of dragon scales."
She laughed, her eyes bright. "Are you kidding? That's half the charm!"
They both fell into a comfortable silence, each of them gazing out over the horizon, watching as the colours of dusk bled into the sky. She felt a pang in her chest, a bittersweet ache, realising that moments like these with him were fleeting. He was always moving, always on to the next adventure, and she worried that someday he'd find himself too far from home, too far from the family that loved him.
"Promise me you'll come around more often, Charlie," she said softly, almost to herself.
He turned to her, the warmth in his eyes mirroring her own. "I promise, Gin. And if I find that elusive 'nice bloke,' you'll be the first to know."
She chuckled, squeezing his hand. "I'll hold you to that. And maybe one day, when the dragons take a break, you'll find someone who's as wild-hearted and brave as you are."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She barely caught her breath as she landed back at home. The familiar surroundings of their living room, normally a place of warmth and comfort, felt suffocating now. She had only seconds to gather herself before he apparated in front of her, his face a mixture of longing and worry. His dark eyes met hers, pleading.
"Mia cara," he began, his voice soft and tentative, as if he feared she might vanish at any moment.
She cut him off sharply, her gaze icy. "Don't talk to me, Zabini."
Her words sliced through the air like a blade. He flinched, a flash of pain crossing his face, but he held his ground, his eyes never leaving hers. He took a careful step forward, his hands open, palms up, as if surrendering.
"Per favore, non farmi questo, amore mio," he pleaded, his voice rough with raw emotion. "Mi sei mancata così tanto. Ti amo oltre le parole." His accent softened each syllable, pouring his heart out in the only way he knew how, but his words did nothing to soften the hard line of her mouth.
"I don't care!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she turned on her heel, storming past him and up the grand staircase. Her footsteps were loud and unrelenting as she climbed, each one punctuated by the bitterness simmering inside her. Without a second glance, she slammed the master bedroom door shut, the sound reverberating through the house, a barrier that she hoped would keep him—and the hurt—at bay.
On the other side of the door, his voice rose, muffled yet desperate. He was right outside, refusing to give up, refusing to let her retreat into silence. "Ginny, per favore, non puoi farmi questo," he called, his voice hoarse. "Non ti ho neanche vista con il pancione gonfio. Ho bisogno di toccarti e sentire il nostro bambino. Non puoi torturarmi così, amore mio."
Her resolve wavered at the edge of his plea, her heart twisting painfully. She leaned back against the door, feeling its solid, cool surface against her spine, a small comfort in the face of her inner turmoil. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound of his voice, but his words clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.
He continued, his voice softer now, almost broken. "You think I don't feel it?" he whispered. "The emptiness when you're not here. The way my heart stops every time I reach for you and realise you're gone." He pressed his hand against the door as if he could feel her on the other side. "Ginny, please… let me in."
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she clenched her fists, fighting to hold onto her anger, her hurt. She couldn't let him break her resolve now; she couldn't just let him sweep her into his arms and erase everything with sweet words and apologies. Not this time.
She took a shuddering breath and finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I needed you. I needed you to be here, to see this—this life we created. But you weren't."
He was silent for a moment, her words cutting him deeper than any curse. "I know," he said, his voice choked. "I know, and I'm sorry. I've been… lost in my own world, in things that I thought were important, but nothing is more important than you—than us. I know I failed you."
Her heart wavered, but she forced herself to remember the pain, the nights she spent alone, wondering if he even cared. She pushed herself off the door and opened it just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes still hard but laced with unshed tears.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to feel abandoned by the one person you thought would always be there?" she asked, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken pain.
His face softened as he looked at her, his own eyes glistening. "Ginny, I'm so sorry," he whispered, stepping closer. "I know I hurt you. But I swear, I'll make it right. I'll be here for every moment from now on."
She held his gaze, searching his face for any trace of deception, for any sign that this was another empty promise. But all she saw was sincerity, a desperation to make things right, to prove that he could be the man she needed.
"Words are easy," she whispered. "Promises are easy. But trust... trust takes more than words." Her hand instinctively drifted to her swollen belly, as if seeking reassurance for both herself and the life growing within her.
His gaze followed her hand, and something shifted in his expression—an ache, a longing. He reached out tentatively, his fingers hovering near her hand, and for a fleeting moment, she almost let him in, almost let him touch her. But she pulled her hand away, the barrier between them rising again.
"Mia cara," he murmured, his voice filled with anguish. "I love you. I know I don't deserve it right now, but please… let me try. Let me show you that I can be the man you need."
She swallowed, her throat tight. She wanted to believe him, wanted to melt into his embrace and let the past fade away, but the scars of his absence were still too fresh, too raw.
"Actions," she said softly. "If you want to prove it, then show me. Not in words, not in promises. Show me that you're here, that you're really here."
He nodded, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "I will, Ginny. I swear it. I'll be here. For you, for our child, for everything." He paused, his voice barely a whisper. "I just need a chance."
She held his gaze, her heart aching, torn between love and the fear of being hurt again. She wanted to let him in, to believe in the possibility of a fresh start, but she knew it wouldn't be easy. Not for him, and certainly not for her.
Slowly, she stepped back, leaving the door open, a silent invitation. His breath caught, and he stepped inside, closing the distance between them carefully, almost reverently. He reached for her hand, and this time, she didn't pull away.
They stood there, fingers entwined, both unsure of the future but willing to face it together. The silence between them was heavy but filled with a fragile hope. And as he placed his hand gently on her belly, feeling the faint flutter of life within, she felt a glimmer of warmth piercing through the walls she'd built.
The tension between them was a knife's edge, and her words cut deep, sharper than any blade. Her voice was cold, biting, like ice cracking underfoot. "You rob me of solitude but offer no companionship. What else do you want from me?"
His face softened, but there was a sadness in his eyes that was hard to ignore. He tried to hold her gaze, though his shoulders slumped slightly, as though her words carried a weight he could scarcely bear. "Then why did you come back?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with a vulnerability she rarely saw.
She stood just beyond the reach of his outstretched hand, her face unreadable. She lingered by the door, her back turned to him. "Because I need some things," she said flatly, her tone indifferent, though her posture hinted at the tempest of emotions swirling inside her.
"Months, Ginny," he said, his voice cracking with the heaviness of the past few weeks. "You left for a month and took all your winter clothes. Did you plan on staying in Romania forever, snug in your winter coats, far away from me? Why are you really back, mia cara?"
His voice, usually so steady and composed, was laced with a sadness she hadn't anticipated. She stiffened, her fingers curling against the doorframe. The air between them grew thick, laden with the weight of everything unspoken.
Her eyes darkened, her expression unreadable. "Did you kill my brother, Zabini?" she asked, her tone disturbingly calm, almost neutral.
For a split second, his face was a blank slate, a fleeting flicker of emotion shadowing his eyes. He swallowed, the answer heavy in his throat. "I had some part in it, yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words hit her like a thunderclap.
The room erupted in a violent surge of raw magic, an explosion that shattered the calm facade she had maintained. Her power was a wildfire, an unstoppable force that consumed everything in its path. She stood at the heart of it, a storm unleashed, her magic a living, breathing entity that seemed to expand beyond the boundaries of her own body.
Glass shattered, splintering into countless shards that shot through the air like deadly shards of ice. Every piece of furniture in the room buckled, upending in a wild display of force as though some invisible hand had ripped it from the ground. Books flew off the shelves, pages tearing, fluttering through the air like the broken wings of birds caught in a hurricane. A lamp crashed to the floor, its light extinguished in an instant, the pieces skittering across the hardwood with a sharp, metallic sound.
He was thrown against the opposite wall, his body colliding with a sickening thud that echoed through the room. He slid to the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps, every intake of air sending a sharp pain through his ribs. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he could only make out the vague outlines of destruction around him, the remnants of what had once been their home, now reduced to chaos and ruin.
Through the haze, he could seeher, standing amidst the wreckage, her chest heaving, her eyes wild and aflame. The room pulsed with the aftermath of her fury, every corner vibrating with the residual energy of her wrath. The air itself seemed to crackle, thick and heavy, an electric charge lingering like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.
For a brief moment, there was only silence—an eerie, fragile silence that hung between them, broken only by the soft patter of debris settling on the floor. He raised his head, each movement sending a searing pain through his body, yet he kept his gaze locked on her, on the raw, unfiltered rage that radiated from her in waves.
I've dug two graves for us my dear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Theo lifted Luna onto his lap, positioning her gently as she wrapped herself around him. He entered her slowly, savouring every delicate moment as they moved in perfect rhythm, their breaths and heartbeats aligning in a shared universe all their own. Together, they were a perfect balance—the sun and moon in a seamless, radiant orbit.
In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present—a place where their love and trust shone brighter than anything outside their embrace.
Suddenly, Ginny came barreling through the fireplace, brandishing a knife, her eyes blazing with fury.
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the room.
Luna let out a startled scream, her hands flying to her mouth as he instantly cast a protective charm around her.
"Ginny, put down the knife," he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. But she lunged forward, fury evident in her every move.
"Theodore, I'm serious!" she hissed, chasing him around the room. He dodged her by flipping chairs and grabbing anything in reach to slow her down, from pillows to potted plants.
"Ginny, I'm not going to hurt you. DROP THE KNIFE!" he called out, his voice as calm as he could manage, but a hint of panic crept in.
Just then, he burst through the fireplace, his face a mixture of shock and exasperation. "Ginny, stop! It's not Theo's fault! Put the knife down!"
In her panic, Luna sent a Patronus streaking toward Hermione. "Come quickly, Mimi!" her message echoed. "Shes trying to kill Theo!"
They Apparated into the Nott mansion, their eyes widening at the sheer chaos in front of them.
The scene was pure mayhem. Ginny, her eyes blazing with rage, wielded a knife as she charged at Theo, her furious shouts reverberating through the air. Theo was ducking and weaving, narrowly dodging each attempt as shattered glass and broken furniture scattered beneath his feet. Blaise, hands outstretched, was desperately calling Ginny's name, trying to reason with her, while Luna, equally disoriented, was pulling a blanket around herself, clearly caught off guard.
Draco, seeing the madness unfold, didn't waste a moment. With a quick motion and a flash of intent, he froze Ginny in place with a spell, her body suspended mid-stride, the knife still raised threateningly.
"What the fuck is happening?" Hermione yelled, taking in the destruction—the upturned couch, broken vases, and an oddly familiar chaos that was almost surreal.
Luna, pulling the blanket tightly around herself, hurried to Theo, her eyes filled with worry. They'd clearly been interrupted in their intimate moment, adding an odd layer of absurdity to the situation.
He looked around the destroyed living room, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "Blaise, what is this?" he demanded, gesturing at the wreckage.
Blaise's shoulders slumped as he gave a resigned sigh. "She knows," he muttered.
His brow furrowed as he rubbed his temples. "Know what, exactly?"
"Come on, babes, let's get you dressed," she said softly, guiding a visibly rattled Luna toward the hallway and away from the madness.
"Explain," he demanded, his voice low and deadly as he turned back to the men.
Theo pointed toward the couch indignantly. "This madwoman barged in while I was making love with Moon—"
"Not you, Nott," he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "Zabini, tell me why your pregnant wife just chased Nott around the room with a knife!"
Blaise's gaze dropped to the floor, looking every bit like a man who had been defeated. "She... she asked about things, and I thought I owed her honesty," he said, the words barely a whisper.
Draco let out a humourless laugh, rubbing his temples as he tried to grasp the absurdity of it all. "Explain to me, Zabini, how a woman with a pale ass and a temper like a hurricane has managed to utterly control every decision you make. After 25 years, did it not occur to you that maybe, just maybe, we're leaking sensitive information?"
Theo, still trying to process what had just happened, opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it when he caught his glare.
He shook his head in frustration. "For Merlin's sake, Nott, get dressed. I'm tired of looking at you strutting around like some sort of exhibitionist. We get it—you have a huge cock. So am I. Congratulations."
Theo glanced down at himself, still in the remnants of a dishevelled state, and turned to grab his clothes. As he dressed hastily, the tension in the room settled into an awkward silence.
Meanwhile, Hermione returned with Luna, both of them dressed, though Luna looked slightly flushed. She glanced at Theo, her eyes warm despite the chaos, and offered him a small smile.
Blaise finally looked back up, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Look, I was just trying to be honest with her—about everything. But it's…complicated."
He sighed, crossing his arms. "Complicated? Zabini, she nearly gutted your best friend like a fish. I'd say we've moved past complicated."
"What, you don't understand, Malfoy?" Blaise's voice rang out, thick with frustration and defiance. "I'm not going to lie to my wife the way you do."
His expression twisted, his voice low and cutting. "I don't lie to her, not anymore. So leave my wife out of this. I tell Hermione everything—every bloody detail of what I do, every dark piece of my work that most people couldn't stomach. She knows it all because she can know. She doesn't like it, but she understands. We have a bond that you and Red will never come close to experiencing in your lifetime." He paused, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. "Maybe if you stopped hiding your sins, maybe if she knew the worst of you, you'd understand what real honesty and trust look like."
Get your wife to kill your mother, you'd understand what real honesty and trust feels like," he said, his voice edged with a dark, cold snarl
Blaise looked stunned. "What the hell are you talking about?"
His gaze was unrelenting, fierce. "You heard me. Sometimes you have to confront the ugliest truths to move forward. Set Ginny free from whatever's haunting her, and maybe—maybe—you'll get close to what Hermione and I have."
He straightened, a look of sheer impatience crossing his face. "Now, for Merlin's sake, handle her. I'm done with this mess. I don't care if she's my second-favourite Weasley; she can't just tear through here with a knife like a lunatic."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Parkinson sunroom, a gilded cage of opulence and elegance, seemed to shrink under the weight of tension. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across the gleaming mahogany and marble surfaces. Pansy, perched on a velvet chaise, exuded an icy poise that only the closest of friends could see right through. Dressed in a fitted black cocktail dress, her heels tapped a soft rhythm against the floor as she surveyed the gathered crowd. The family. Her family—both by blood and by the bonds they'd chosen over the years. And tonight, those bonds were fraying.
The relentless ticking of the grandfather clock punctuated the silence, each second a countdown toward an inevitable confrontation. Pansy's gaze flicked around the room, landing on familiar faces—Draco, stoic yet simmering with barely-contained frustration; Hermione, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, eyes serious; Blaise, whose usual smirk was absent, replaced by a rare vulnerability; and Ginny, with her jaw set in defiance, eyes a fiery blend of resentment and hurt. Luna, ever serene, stood at the center, a gentle calm to Pansy's storm.
"Well," Pansy finally broke the silence, her voice a brittle whisper. "Let's get this over with." Her eyes narrowed, sweeping the room with a look as cold as steel. "Care to explain why everyone's gathered in my home for this… intervention?" The words dripped from her lips like venom, daring anyone to respond.
Luna took a breath, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Pansy, then the others, her calmness a soothing balm to the tension. "There's a rift in this family. It's tearing us all apart, even if some of us refuse to admit it." She took a deep breath, her eyes sweeping over each face. "I invited everyone here to neutral territory so that we can have a civilized conversation. It's time to confront everything we've buried."
Pansy's jaw clenched, her fingers curling around the edge of the chaise as she forced herself to remain seated. She cast a quick glance at Neville, who stood behind her, his eyes filled with quiet support. His hand brushed her shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, she felt grounded.
"Go on," Neville encouraged Luna, his voice gentle but firm, though he looked just as tense as the rest. He'd always been the peacekeeper, the steady rock in their turbulent circle, and tonight was no exception.
Luna took a deep breath, steeling herself as she surveyed the room. Her usually gentle demeanor was now resolute, her gaze steady as it traveled from face to face. "We're here to address the escalating tension that's tearing us all apart," she began, her tone leaving no room for evasion. "Ginny, I need you to explain your actions toward Theo. Blaise, we need clarity on why you confided in her so completely. And Draco…" Her voice hardened as she fixed her gaze on him. "I expect a justification for why you involved everyone in this turmoil."
A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken grievances and wounded pride. Ginny shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her hand instinctively moving to her swollen belly as if to shield herself. Her eyes flicked to Blaise before she spoke, her voice wavering with a mix of frustration and pain. "I needed to know the truth," she said, her tone laced with an edge of desperation. "I couldn't go on pretending everything was fine, surrounded by lies. I felt like I was suffocating, and no one seemed to care."
Blaise's expression softened, but a deep sigh escaped his lips, as if he bore the weight of the room's tension alone. "I told her the truth because I felt she deserved to know, not just as my wife but as part of this… family." His voice grew quieter, tinged with regret. "But I hadn't anticipated how much it would unravel her. I thought knowing would bring her peace, but it only added fuel to the fire."
Draco's face remained a cold mask of frustration, arms crossed as he leaned back, seemingly unaffected by the storm around him. "I owe no explanations to anyone," he said, his tone defiant, though a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—passed over his eyes as they locked with Hermione's for the briefest of moments.
The silence shattered as Ginny's voice rose, raw and trembling. "How can you possibly deny killing my brother?" Her words echoed through the room, a blade cutting through the collective pretenses they'd all tried to maintain. Her eyes blazed with a desperate plea, a fury that masked the deep hurt beneath. "You all talk about family, about loyalty. But you're all complicit in hiding the truth—each one of you!"
Hermione, who had been silent until now, flinched as Ginny's words struck a nerve. She held little Lysander in her lap, who slept peacefully, oblivious to the storm raging around him. Her hand moved to stroke his downy hair, her eyes a mask of tense restraint as she looked away, her composure cracking but barely held together.
Blaise took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he looked at his wife. "Baby girl, listen to me," he began, his voice gentle but firm. "I know Ron was your brother. I know you loved him, and you saw the best in him. But sometimes… sometimes the people we love aren't who we think they are."
Ginny's face twisted in a mix of disbelief and anger, a storm of emotions she was barely containing. "You're telling me my brother was a monster, just like that? Without giving me a reason to believe any of this?" Her voice was edged with defiance, but Blaise could see the hurt beneath.
Theo, who had been silently observing from the corner of the room, crossed his arms and let out a quiet sigh. "Ask Saint Potter, why he hadn't spoken to Ron in years," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Ask him what Ron did to sever that bond. You might think we're biased, but ask him and see if you still think Ron was perfect."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her fingers nervously twining in her lap. She looked at Ginny, her expression one of sorrow rather than accusation. "Ginny… he was your brother, but he wasn't a saint. He was... complicated." Her voice wavered as she chose her words carefully, not wanting to wound Ginny but knowing she couldn't hide the truth anymore. "Ron… wasn't always the best partner. Not for me, not for anyone."
Ginny's face contorted in rage and disbelief, her voice rising to a scream that shattered the tense silence. "So that's your excuse? That's why you had him killed?"
The accusation hung in the air like poison, and for a moment, no one moved or spoke. But then Hermione's gaze sharpened, and a fire ignited in her eyes. "No one 'had him killed,' Ginny. He was abusive. Abusive, not only to me, but to every woman he ever claimed to care about. You can sit there and cling to this idealized memory of him, but that doesn't change what he did." Her voice grew raw, each word cutting through Ginny's defenses like a knife. "How can you not see that? How can you be pregnant, ready to bring life into this world, and still look at all of us—the people who have done nothing but support you—with so much contempt?"
Ginny's face fell, the fury draining from her expression as the reality of Hermione's words took root. For a moment, she looked like a lost child, and when she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "What… what did he do?"
Draco, who had been watching the exchange with barely contained frustration, softened as he saw the hurt and confusion in Ginny's eyes. Without a word, he scooted closer to her, his hand reaching out to grasp hers in silent support.
Hermione took a shaky breath, her voice dropping as she began to reveal the painful truth she had kept hidden for so long. "He… he was cruel, Ginny. Manipulative. It wasn't just me, but all the women he was with. He controlled us, belittled us. And when we tried to stand up for ourselves, he'd… make us pay for it. Have you never noticed Lavender's bruises? The excuses she made for her 'clumsiness'? How she pulled away from everyone who tried to get close?" Hermione's voice cracked, her pain visible as she relived the trauma. "I can't count the times I covered up my own bruises. Made excuses to myself and to others. And I kept thinking, 'This is my fault. Maybe I'm just too difficult, maybe I just don't understand him.' But it wasn't my fault, Ginny. It wasn't any of ours."
The weight of Hermione's confession hung heavy in the room, and Ginny staggered, the ground beneath her feeling as though it had been ripped away. Her hands trembled, her vision blurring with tears, and with a strangled sob, she turned and stumbled toward the door. The room was silent as they heard the heavy slam, the sound of her footsteps echoing as she fled from the truth.
In the stillness that followed, Hermione slumped back, her face a mask of pain and exhaustion. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I wondered for a long time what my life could have been if I'd healed, instead of just coping with things that were never my fault."
Her voice was barely audible, her words tumbling out like a confession. "And then… I found Draco. The true Draco. The one who saw me, not the broken pieces, but the person I was beneath all that pain."
Draco's face softened, and without hesitation, he reached out, taking Hermione's hand in his own. "Darling, you don't have to wonder anymore," he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "None of this was ever your fault. You are brave, Hermione. Stronger than anyone in this room." He squeezed her hand, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as he offered her the comfort and support she had so long been denied.
Theo, who had been silent, let out a quiet sigh as he looked around the room. "We all carry our own scars," he said, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "Some of us bear them on the inside, some on the outside. But they're all a part of us, part of this… family we've chosen. And right now, Ginny's carrying more than she can bear alone. She'll need time, but she'll come back to us. We just have to be ready when she does."
Blaise nodded, his expression grave. "Ginny's world just shattered, and it's going to take her time to rebuild. But she's not alone. We're here for her, whether she realizes it yet or not."
Lady Lemongrass stirred from her spot by Hermione's feet, snuffling softly and resting her head on Hermione's lap, as if sensing the pain in the room. Hermione smiled faintly, stroking the dog's soft fur as she took a deep breath, letting the comfort of her friends wash over her.
"I think that's the point," Hermione whispered. "Found family. People who stay, even when it's hard. Even when everything feels impossible."
Pansy, who had been silent until now, looked around at each of them, her gaze fierce yet compassionate. "We all have our sins, our regrets. But it doesn't make us unworthy of love. We've all made mistakes, and we'll probably make a thousand more. But this family… we chose each other. And that means something."
The room fell into a contemplative silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, their own wounds. But in that quiet, something shifted—a bond that, though bruised and tested, held firm. For the first time, it felt like they could heal. Together.
And somewhere beyond the closed door, Ginny walked, her thoughts swirling like a tempest, but her heart still bound to the family waiting inside, ready to catch her when she fell.