She had been visiting as often as she could ever since he had given Hermione the all clear, yet every time she sat beside her best friend, the weight of what had happened gnawed at her with a relentless kind of pressure she could not shake. The Hermione she had always known had been pushed past every limit, pushed so far that she had tried to end her life. Ginny replayed it over and over in her mind, replayed every moment since, and no matter how many times she went through it, she still could not make sense of any of it.
It tore her apart inside.
How could someone so strong, someone who had survived war and betrayal and the kind of loss most people never recovered from, reach a breaking point that absolute? The question haunted her, sinking deep into places she did not want to look at. Hermione had always been indestructible in her mind, a force of nature, the kind of woman who carried the weight of the world without ever letting her knees buckle. But now all Ginny could see was the truth she had ignored for too long, the fragile reality that even the strongest people could break.
They were having lunch at the cottage that afternoon. The only sounds were the soft clink of cutlery against plates and the distant, gentle crackle of the fireplace. Sunlight filtered through the windows in warm, golden streaks that made the small kitchen feel almost peaceful. Crookshanks lay by the hearth, his tail moving in slow, lazy sweeps, watching them both with a sleepy sort of curiosity.
On the surface, it looked like a quiet, ordinary lunch, but the illusion barely held. Something was wrong. The air between them was thick with everything unspoken, a silence that stretched too far and too long, settling over the table like a heavy blanket Ginny could not push off. She felt it pressing against her chest, sharp and suffocating, until she could not bear it another second.
She placed her fork down with care, steadying herself as her fingers curled around the edge of the table. When she finally lifted her gaze, there was no hesitation in it. "Love," she said, her voice low but steady, "I need to know what happened. I cannot pretend everything is fine when it isn't."
Hermione froze.
Her fork hung suspended in the air for a single breath before she lowered it to her plate, her movements slow and almost delicate. She did not look up. Her hands dropped into her lap, folding together tightly, and Ginny saw the faint tremble in her fingers. Hermione stared at a single point on the table, as if gathering her thoughts from a great distance, or searching for a strength she was no longer certain she had.
A long moment passed, heavy and breathless, and it seemed as though she might not answer at all.
Hermione whispered her name, the sound barely a breath, fragile and hesitant, as if even speaking felt dangerous. The silence that followed stretched thin and trembling, a space filled with everything she could not say, everything she was still fighting to swallow down. How could she explain the truth? How could she give words to something so dark that she barely understood it herself? The weight of it pressed into her chest, sharp and unyielding, as if each inhale cost her more than she had to give.
Her stomach twisted violently, guilt curling inside her like something alive. She knew she could not run from this any longer. There was no hiding, no shifting away from the moment. There was only the truth, waiting to be spoken.
"Something terrible happened," she said at last, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry.
Ginny's breath caught. Her heart thudded against her ribs, each beat sharp with fear. "With Draco?" she asked instantly, dread rising like bile. If something had happened to him, if he had been hurt, if she had lost him in some terrible way, it would explain everything. That kind of pain would tear Hermione apart.
But Hermione shook her head with sudden urgency. "No. No, not him. He's perfect. He's been everything." Her voice cracked on the last word. "This isn't about him."
Ginny's worry only deepened. If it wasn't Draco, then what in the world could have pushed Hermione to the edge? What could be worse than losing him?
She leaned forward, her voice soft but steady. "Please, love. You can trust me. Whatever it is, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Hermione's breath hitched, and she lifted her gaze at last. What Ginny saw there almost knocked the air from her lungs. Fear. Shame. Something darker still, something that sat heavy in the room and made the air feel too thick to breathe.
"I need you to make a vow," Hermione said, her voice low and urgent. "An Unbreakable Vow. You cannot tell anyone. Not one person. Except… maybe Blaise. But even then…" She shook her head, her expression twisting. "I think he already knows."
The words hit Ginny like cold water. An Unbreakable Vow. Her stomach tightened painfully, a knot of dread pulling tighter and tighter. What could possibly be so terrible that Hermione would ask her to bind her own life to silence?
"Is it that bad?" she whispered, barely trusting her own voice.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She nodded, swallowing hard, the movement tight and strained. "Gin… I did something unforgivable."
The words slammed into her, heavy and suffocating. Hermione. Their Hermione. The girl who had always stood up for what was right, who had carried more than anyone should have to bear. Hermione never did things that were unforgivable. Hermione saved people. Hermione fixed things. Hermione was good. She was kind. She was steady. And yet, the look in her eyes told a terrifying truth.
Ginny reached across the space between them, her own voice soft and shaking. "I'll do it," she whispered. "Whatever it is. Whatever you need. I'm here. I'm not leaving you."
Hermione's breath shuddered out of her. With trembling hands, she pushed back from the table, her movements slow and careful, as if each step carried the weight of a confession she wished she could take back. She reached for her wand, fingers brushing against it with a hesitance Ginny had never seen before, a kind of dread that made the room feel colder.
"Come here," Hermione said quietly, staring at the floor rather than at her.
Ginny stood, though her legs felt weak, her pulse loud in her ears. She walked toward Hermione in a daze, each step steady but filled with a growing, suffocating fear. She had never made an Unbreakable Vow before. She knew the stakes. She knew the danger. Once spoken, there was no turning back. No escape.
The air between them seemed to hum, as if the very walls were waiting to witness what came next. Magic stirred in slow, restless currents around their raised wands, brushing against their skin with a warmth that felt nothing like comfort. It felt like a warning.
Her voice came out thin, barely steady. "Are you sure?" she whispered, even though she already knew. Hermione's eyes were too tired, too resigned for there to be any other answer.
Hermione nodded once, her jaw tight. "I have to be."
She reached out, her fingers trembling as they slid against Hermione's palm. The moment their hands met, the vow sparked to life, silver light shooting up their arms in twisting strands that wrapped around their wrists like living ribbon. The heat of it made her flinch, and yet she did not pull away.
Hermione began the vow, her voice shaking despite the steady lift of her wand. "I, Ginevra Molly Weasley-Zabini, vow that I will not tell a soul about what I'm about to reveal. Repeat it."
The words hung between them, heavy and unforgiving. She felt her heart lodge painfully in her throat, but she spoke anyway, her voice tight with something she could not name.
"I, Ginevra Molly Weasley-Zabini, vow that I will not tell a soul about what you are about to reveal."
The magic tightened instantly. Silver light pulsed between them, growing brighter, pressing against her skin like a new heartbeat. The vow settled into her bones, cooling into something permanent, something final.
Hermione swallowed hard. "And if you break it, the consequences will be fatal."
The last word trembled in the air like a ghost.
She nodded slowly, even as her chest constricted. She had known the risk from the moment she agreed. Hearing it said aloud carved it deeper.
The light flared once more, then dimmed, fading into the air like mist. The vow was complete.
A terrible stillness followed. Hermione let her hand fall to her side, her wand slipping down with it. Her face was pale, drawn, shadowed by something heavy enough to break her. She turned toward the window, staring out into the garden with a distant, hollow look.
When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper that seemed to drain all warmth from the room. "I killed Lucius Malfoy."
The words punched the air out of her lungs.
Hermione didn't raise her voice. She didn't cry. She didn't tremble. She simply said it, small and quiet, like she had been carrying the sentence inside her for so long that she no longer had the strength to soften it.
"I killed him, Gin."
The world tilted sharply. Her fingers dug into the edge of the table, the wood grounding her in a moment that felt surreal. Her heart stumbled, missing a beat before crashing into a frantic rhythm.
"H-Hermione…" The name cracked in her mouth, unfamiliar and sharp. "What do you mean? How?"
Hermione's stare fixed on her hands as though looking her in the eyes might shatter her completely. "Draco and I went to see him in Azkaban. I poisoned him."
Her breath hitched so fast she almost choked on it. Poison. Death. Lucius Malfoy lying cold in that bleak prison cell. Hermione standing there, capable, deliberate.
Hermione's shoulders curled inward, her voice barely more than a breath. "I watched him die." She closed her eyes, her knuckles white where they pressed against her knees. "And I have to live with it."
The heaviness of the confession pressed through the room, settling into every corner, every breath, every beat of her pounding heart. Ginny could only stare, trying to make sense of the impossible, trying to reconcile the woman she loved with the truth now sitting between them like a shadow with a pulse.
For a moment, she could not speak. She should have felt horror. She should have recoiled. But instead, something else rose in her chest, something dark and startlingly sure.
"Good girl."
Hermione's head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. "What?"
She surprised herself with how steady her voice was when she asked, "Did you have a good reason?"
Hermione's composure broke for a heartbeat before she gathered herself again. Guilt flickered behind her eyes, but there was something fiercer beneath it. "He abused Draco," she whispered. "For years. He tore him apart piece by piece. There was no saving Draco until Lucius was gone." She swallowed hard. "I had to end it."
Something inside her settled. Something that should have frightened her, but didn't. She understood too well.
"I actually understand," she said, the truth easing out of her like an exhale.
Hermione blinked rapidly, her entire body going stiff. "You… you do?" she asked, her voice trembling as if she feared the answer as much as she needed it.
"Are you not mad?" Hermione added in a fragile murmur.
She met her eyes, steady and unflinching, and tilted her head just slightly, a slow curl lifting the corner of her mouth.
"Love," she said, without hesitation, "if it were Blaise, I would have done the same thing."
Hermione's breath hitched.
She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to sit in the chaos swirling inside her. Shock, sadness, the whisper of fear, but no anger. Never anger. Not after knowing everything she knew about Draco's past. Not after everything Hermione had endured to keep him safe.
"Honestly, Hermione," she said, tightening her grip on the edge of the table as she steadied herself. "I feel a lot of things right now. But anger isn't one of them."
The words dropped into the space between them with quiet force. Hermione's lips trembled, her mask breaking apart. Tears slipped down her cheeks as if she had been waiting for someone, anyone, to tell her she wasn't a monster.
She reached out, her fingers sliding over Hermione's and giving the smallest, firmest squeeze. "You did what you thought you had to do," she whispered. "You protected Draco. You saved him."
Hermione's gaze met hers, glassy and devastated. "I didn't know what else to do," she whispered. "He was still hurting Draco, even from Azkaban. He still had a hold on him. Every time Draco looked at himself, he saw what Lucius made him into. I couldn't let it continue. I couldn't."
Her heart twisted, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. Hermione had not killed out of hatred. She had killed out of a love that had no limits. A love willing to destroy anything that tried to break the man she adored.
"You did it for love," she murmured, her voice thick. "And I get that."
Hermione wiped at her wet cheeks with shaky fingers. "I thought you'd hate me. I thought everyone would."
She squeezed her hand again, firmer this time. "I could never hate you, love. Not after everything we've survived together. Not after knowing your heart."
Hermione let out a broken sound, half laugh and half sob, the relief pouring out of her in tremors.
"We'll get through this," she said softly. "Together."
The cottage seemed to breathe again, the suffocating tension easing just enough to let them both exist in the same space without drowning. But she knew the truth. This secret would change everything. There was no going back.
She took Hermione's trembling hands in both of hers. "You did what you had to do to protect him," she whispered. "And yourself."
That was all it took.
Hermione shattered. A sob tore free, raw and helpless, and she collapsed forward. She caught her instantly, arms wrapping around her, holding her tight as if she could anchor Hermione back to the earth.
Hermione shook violently against her, clutching her like she might fall apart completely if she let go. She held her through every tremor, every broken sound, every desperate breath.
And as she pressed her cheek to Hermione's hair, her own eyes burned, her throat tight.
Because she finally understood the truth sitting heavy between them.
Hermione had done the unthinkable for love.
And she would have too.
But beneath it all, something darker moved inside her, slow and deliberate, like a truth rising from the bottom of a deep pool. She had not expected it. She had not prepared for it. Yet the moment Hermione's words sank into her skin, the realization slid into place with an almost frightening ease.
Because as much as she should have been horrified, as much as she should have recoiled, as much as she should have questioned the enormity of what Hermione had done, she felt none of it.
She felt still.
No, not still. She felt understanding.
Hermione had admitted to murder, and instead of flinching, instead of searching for moral high ground, she found herself wrapped in a cold, sharp clarity. Hermione had not acted out of cruelty. She had not acted out of madness. She had acted out of love. She had ended the monster who had broken Draco's childhood and haunted his adulthood. She had freed him.
And when she looked inside herself, truly looked, she knew with a jolt of certainty that she would have done the same.
She would kill for Blaise.
And she would not hesitate.
She would not lose sleep over it either. The truth settled in her chest with the quiet weight of inevitability. It should have terrified her. It should have split her wide open with fear and doubt.
But it didn't.
It felt natural.
Love, she realized, was not just the gentle touch of a hand or whispered confessions in the dark. Love was not only soft blankets and warm kitchens and steady arms around you when the world grew too loud. Love was also brutal. It was sharp. It was a force that carved through right and wrong and left nothing behind but the instinct to protect what mattered most.
Love could be tender.
But love could also be violent.
It could drown out logic, swallow morality, and turn a heart into a weapon without a moment's hesitation. It could push a person to the cliff's edge and whisper jump, and they would, because the person they love is on the other side.
And that was why she felt no shame.
No guilt.
Hermione had done it for love.
And somewhere deep inside, she knew she would have too.
~~~~~~
The news felt like a rush of clean air after weeks of heaviness. Luna had given birth. The moment she heard it, her whole body seemed to light up, every bit of worry she had carried melting away until all that remained was pure, unfiltered joy. She kept repeating the words in her mind, letting them settle into her bones.
Lysander Nott.
The name felt like it had been waiting for him, like the stars had held it close until the moment he arrived. She could picture Luna already, cradling her little boy with that soft, dreamy glow she carried so effortlessly. And Theo, who always moved through the world like he was prepared for battle, now a father. The thought alone made her eyes sting with emotion. They had all been waiting for this, all holding their breath as the due date drew closer, and now there was a new life in their circle. A tiny heartbeat that changed everything.
But her happiness was nothing compared to his.
Blaise moved through the Manor like someone had set a fire under him.
Godfather.
He kept saying it, tasting the word like it was something sacred. Every time he said it, it came out with a new kind of reverence, his eyes bright, his voice soft in a way that made her chest warm. It was something he had wanted without ever daring to ask for it. Now that it was real, it filled him with a restless energy she had never seen before.
He could not sit still for more than a heartbeat. One moment he was pacing. The next he was listing plans. The next he was grabbing his wand and muttering to himself about gifts and tradition and how he absolutely needed to find a miniature broom, even though the child was only hours old.
"I am telling you now, baby, the boy is destined to be obsessed with unicorns. It runs in the Nott family. I lived through it when we were kids," he announced, striding across the room with a dramatic wave of his hand.
She opened her mouth to tease him, but before she could get a word out, he had already conjured an extravagant floral creation and sent it straight to Luna's bedside. It was a full unicorn sculpted entirely from enchanted blooms, petals shifting in colour with soft, glowing ripples that reminded her of moonlight on water. Of all the gifts arriving at the Notts' estate that evening, she knew Blaise's would be the one Luna stared at in quiet wonder.
She leaned against the doorway, watching him move, watching the excitement twine through him until he looked almost weightless. It was rare to see him like this, fully unguarded, free of his usual composure. Joy suited him. It softened him. It revealed the boy he had once been and the man he was now, steady and devoted, with a heart she was only beginning to understand.
This was their family. Not simply through blood or name, but through every choice they had made to stay, to hold on, to rebuild a world that had tried to break them apart. They had grown together in ways that defied neat labels. They had loved and lost and fought and rebuilt. Their bond had been forged through battles both seen and unseen, moments that had shattered them, and moments that had stitched them back together again. Lysander's birth was more than a single joyful event. It was a reminder that after everything they had endured, life could still bloom in the cracks.
Still, even as she basked in the warmth of it all, the memory of Hermione's confession never drifted far. It lingered beneath the surface like a bruise she kept brushing by accident. Life and death lived side by side now. A baby's first breath and a man's last heartbeat. A bright beginning for one family and a dark, irreversible ending for another. The contrast settled deep in her chest, sharp and strange.
Yet standing here, thinking of Luna's soft smile and Theo's wide, terrified, impossibly proud eyes, she felt something shift. The world had a way of tilting back into balance, even if unevenly. Even if imperfectly. This felt like that. A quiet correction.
The days slipped by, and every one drew them closer to the baby shower. She found herself counting the hours, craving the chance to hold Lysander, to breathe in that powdery sweetness unique to newborns, to remind herself that not everything was shadowed. There were still bright corners in the world, still places untouched by grief.
Meanwhile, Blaise leaned harder into his new godfather title in a way that made her alternately fond and exasperated. He had always had a flair for theatrics, but this was a new level entirely.
"I have already picked out his first broomstick," he announced one evening with the solemnity of a man declaring war.
She turned where she stood, leaning her hip against the counter, one brow raised so high it nearly touched her hairline. "Blaise, he cannot even support his own head. You cannot be serious."
He looked deeply offended. "Precisely. This is the perfect time to plan. Do you understand that Theo is going to let him be a Hufflepuff? A Hufflepuff, Ginny. If I do not intervene early, the boy is doomed."
She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying and failing to hide her smile. "Blaise Zabini, you love Theo. And you love Hufflepuffs. The only thing doomed here is your pride."
He gasped softly, clutching his chest in mock outrage. "That is a vile accusation, and I will not forget it. But for the sake of the child, I suppose I can allow him some paternal influence. Some. Not all."
She crossed her arms, amusement tugging at her lips. "You are ridiculous."
He lifted his chin with a dramatic sniff. "I prefer devoted. And mark my words, Ginny Weasley-Zabini, if Lysander ever shows even a whisper of interest in Quidditch, I will train him myself. None of this sentimental nonsense about house loyalty. The boy will be great."
She laughed outright, shaking her head at him. "Merlin help us all."
His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Merlin will thank me when Lysander wins the Cup."
She groaned, but warmth bloomed in her chest as she watched him. For the first time in a long time, the future did not feel frightening.
But as he rambled about Quidditch strategies for a toddler who had barely taken his first breath, she found herself watching him, really watching him.
This was the man she had married. The one who could be so composed, so untouchable to the rest of the world, and yet here he was—completely unraveling over the idea of a child who wasn't even his own. He had so much love in him, so much protectiveness, so much unwavering devotion to the people he cared about.
Her heart softened.
She reached for his hand, pulling him close. He paused mid-rant, his dark eyes flickering with curiosity as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Blaise," she murmured, pressing her forehead to his. "You're going to be the best godfather."
The teasing, dramatic mask melted away for just a moment, replaced by something real, something raw. He exhaled softly, his arms tightening around her, his lips brushing against her temple.
"I'll make sure of it," he whispered. "I swear."
And in that moment, she knew that Lysander Nott was about to have one hell of a godfather.
~~~~~~
The Nott estate, nestled among the rolling green hills of the English countryside, had never looked more inviting. The manor's grey stone facade stood elegantly against the vibrant splashes of color from the blooming roses that climbed along the walls, their sweet fragrance carried on the cool autumn breeze. It was a place of old-world beauty, but today it seemed to glow with a renewed sense of life—a warmth that cut through the crisp air.
She couldn't help but smile as they approached the front entrance, Blaise by her side. The air was still, peaceful, as if the world itself had paused to honor this special day. Every step forward filled her with a blend of excitement and nostalgia. The grounds were familiar—how many times had they gathered here for moments both joyful and somber? And yet, this time, it felt different.
A new life was waiting for them inside. Lysander Nott had arrived, and it was hard to believe how much had changed in such a short time. It seemed only yesterday that Luna had shared the news of her pregnancy, and now, here they were, ready to celebrate the birth of the little boy who had already brought so much joy into their lives.
As they walked, dhe found her mind drifting back over the months that had led to this moment. The turbulence of their lives, all of it seemed to fade, at least for today. Here, at the Nott estate, surrounded by beauty and serenity, they were afforded a rare opportunity to celebrate something pure and hopeful. Today wasn't about what had been lost or the challenges they had faced—it was about welcoming the newest member of their makeshift family.
Blaise, too, had a renewed energy about him. He had been buzzing with excitement since they first heard the news of Lysander's birth. She had watched him pour over gifts and meticulously plan for the baby shower, the thought of being a godfather filling him with pride. His face lit up as they reached the grand doors of the manor.
"You're smiling," she noted, nudging him playfully.
"I'm just happy," he admitted, his eyes gleaming. "Lysander's going to have the best godfather ever."
She laughed softly, her heart warmed by his sincerity. "He's lucky to have you."
"And lucky to have all of us," Blaise added, his voice growing thoughtful. "We've been through a lot, Gin. But today... it feels like a fresh start, doesn't it?"
She nodded. It truly did. There was something almost poetic about this moment—a day to honor life, renewal, and the bonds that had kept them all together through the darkest of times. It reminded her of what truly mattered: family, both born and chosen.
As they approached the door, her heart swelled with joy. Today was about Luna and Theo, about Lysander and the future they were building. But it was also about the unshakable ties between them all—ties forged in both love and hardship. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. And for now, that was enough.
As they stepped inside the manor, the warmth enveloped them, and Luna greeted them with a warm smile, Lysander nestled comfortably in her arms. His tiny face peeked out from the soft blankets, his little fingers curling instinctively. "Ginny, Blaise, so good to see you again. Come in, come in," she said, her voice a soothing melody that resonated with happiness.
They were the last to arrive, slipping in quietly as the gentle hum of conversation filled the room. The scene before them was one of serene happiness—a stark contrast to the emotional rollercoaster they'd all been riding for so long.
Pansy and Neville were standing near the crib, gazing down at Lysander with the quiet awe of new godparents.
Luna had just laid her newborn son down, and the soft glow of love in the room was palpable.
Pansy, who could often be sharp and witty, now looked unusually tender, her eyes soft as she reached down to brush her fingers over the baby's tiny hand.
Neville stood beside her, a quiet smile playing on his lips, his arm resting protectively around her waist. It was clear that they were already completely in love with their godson.
Nearby, Hermione and Draco stood together, their usual air of composed strength replaced by something softer, almost reverent. Draco's typically guarded expression had melted into one of pure wonder, his silver eyes fixed on the tiny bundle of life before him.
Hermione, leaning gently against him, looked equally mesmerized. They both stared down at Lysander as if he were the most magical thing they had ever seen—a symbol of hope and light after everything they had endured.
She felt a lump rise in her throat. This moment, this quiet shared joy, was exactly what they all needed. After the months of turmoil, secrets, and struggles, Lysander's birth felt like a fresh beginning. He was a reminder that life could be beautiful, even amidst the chaos.
Blaise squeezed her hand gently, pulling her attention to him. His smile was radiant, pride and love shining in his eyes as he looked at the tiny baby who had already stolen everyone's heart.
"Look at them," he whispered, nodding toward their friends. "It's like he's healed something in all of us."
She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Lysander wasn't just Luna and Theo's son—he belonged to all of them, a beacon of hope for their found family.
Ginny bubbled with enthusiasm, her cheeks flushed with joy as she stepped into the room, her heart racing at the sight of the warm, glowing faces around her. In her hands, she cradled a wicker basket overflowing with homemade cookies, their tantalizing aroma wafting through the air, mingling with the soft scent of baby powder. Nestled among the treats was a selection of adorable baby clothes, each piece meticulously crafted and infused with magic. "I couldn't resist bringing these!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They're all enchanted to grow with him, of course!"
The atmosphere around her was electric with pure delight, a vibrant celebration of new beginnings and cherished friendships. Laughter and soft coos filled the air as everyone gathered around the crib, drawn to the sweet bundle of joy that was Lysander. The sight of him, so small and perfect, melted her heart, a reminder of the beauty that could emerge from the chaos they had all faced.
In that moment, she allowed herself to dream. She envisioned a future filled with laughter and love, where joy blossomed like the flowers in the garden outside. She smiled to herself, knowing that every day was a new opportunity to nurture the love she was building with Blaise, each moment a stepping stone toward the life she yearned for. She could almost see it—a home filled with laughter, love, and the pitter-patter of little feet.
With a renewed sense of hope, she looked around at her friends, each one a vital part of this beautiful tapestry they were weaving together. Today was a reminder that they could create a life marked by happiness, even amidst the trials they had faced. As she handed over the basket to Luna, she felt a warmth swell within her—a promise of what was to come, a future bright with possibility.
~~~~~~
As the sun dipped below the horizon and brushed the sky in shades of orange and violet, she and Blaise walked home from the Nott estate with the soft glow of the evening wrapping around them. The garden they had just left behind was still heavy with the scent of roses, sweet and warm in the cool air, but she barely noticed anything except the way her fingers were laced through his. Their hands fit so naturally together that she wondered how she had ever lived without the feeling.
"Can you believe how tiny he is?" she said suddenly, her voice bright with excitement as they made their way down the stone path toward their front door. "I knew babies were small, but Lysander is just perfect. He looks like a dream."
Blaise laughed, a low, rich sound that warmed her chest. "He does. I swear, Ginny, it feels like five minutes ago we were convinced Theo and Luna would fall apart the moment he arrived. And now look at them."
She nodded, thinking of the way Theo had held his son earlier, his hands so careful, his expression soft in a way that surprised her. "It is incredible how much love can change someone. He looked like he had been cracked open. He was so gentle with him."
When they reached their front door, Blaise paused and turned to her. The last of the sunset caught the side of his face, softening every sharp line. "It is the same with you," he said quietly. "I see the joy in you, the way you carry it. You are remarkable, Ginny."
Her breath snagged for a moment, and heat rose in her cheeks. "You are not so bad yourself," she said with a small smile. "And you are going to be an incredible godfather. The amount of thought you put into everything is insane."
He grinned in that smug, charming way he had perfected years ago. "I have a reputation to protect. Lysander must grow up knowing his godfather is extraordinary."
She laughed softly and nudged him as they stepped inside. The familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon greeted them, comforting and warm, a gentle reminder that this was theirs. Their safe place. Blaise headed to the kitchen and poured two glasses of champagne with a practiced ease, the light catching on the bubbles as he set them down.
"Just imagine," he said, looking back at her with a hopeful spark in his eyes. "Next year, we might be celebrating our own little one."
Her breath caught at the idea, something warm and fragile blooming in her chest. "You really think we could be ready?" she asked, her voice softer now, touched with something both nervous and hopeful.
"Why not?" he answered, leaning against the counter as if he had all the time in the world. "We have talked about it. Watching Draco and Hermione today made me realize how possible it actually feels. We would be good at this. We already take care of everyone else."
Her heart fluttered, and she felt a quiet truth settle over her. "I want that too," she said. "I really do. It just feels like such a huge step after everything that has happened."
"It is a big step," he agreed gently. "But we will take it together. We always do. Think about the kind of love we could give a child. Look at what we are already building."
The look he gave her made her chest ache. She reached for him, letting her fingers brush against his cheek before sliding down to take his hands. "A family with you would be everything," she said, the words falling out before she could stop them.
He kissed her knuckles and squeezed her hands gently. "One day at a time. We will get there."
The air shifted between them, warm and full of promise. She rose on her toes, and they shared a slow kiss that tasted like champagne and a future she suddenly wanted with every part of herself. When they pulled apart, Blaise handed her one of the glasses.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's celebrate tonight."
She followed him to the dining table, settling beside him with a smile she could not contain. The two of them shared dinner with that sweet, easy warmth that came only from people who trusted each other completely. They laughed about Theo's panicked face when Lysander cried. They talked about names they secretly loved. They planned things that might never happen, but dreaming together felt like its own kind of magic.
In that cozy moment, with candlelight flickering gently and Blaise reaching across the table to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, she realized something simple and absolute.
Happiness did not have to be a fleeting thing. It grew in the small moments they shared. It lived in the way he looked at her, in the rhythm they had built, in the quiet dreams they were brave enough to speak out loud.
She was finally, hopelessly, beautifully in love.