Ginny let her palm settle over the curve of her belly, her fingers drifting in small, thoughtful paths across the warm rise. The evening light wrapped her in a soft gold that should have felt comforting, yet it only sharpened the unrest inside her. Romania had given her space, miles of quiet mountains and long stretches of sky, but none of it had been enough to silence the memories she carried. Running had eased her breath for a while, but the shadows had followed her here all the same.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed Charlie until he lowered himself beside her. His presence eased the air around her for a moment, steady and familiar. He had been steady since the day she arrived, offering a kind of safety she did not have to earn or navigate. He reached over, finding her hand as though he had done it a thousand times before, his thumb brushing slow circles across her knuckles.
"You're somewhere far away," he said gently, his voice warm against the quiet stretch of evening.
A small smile tugged at her lips, but it crumbled almost as soon as it formed. "Just thinking," she murmured. The words felt small compared to the weight behind them.
He squeezed her hand, grounding her. "It's a lot to hold, Gin. But you're not carrying it alone. I'm here. We'll figure it out."
She nodded, but the words landed strangely inside her. Figure it out. As if anything about her life could be untangled with a simple conversation. As if the man she had loved had not left cracks running through every part of her. As if the future growing beneath her hand was not tied to a past she wished she could sever without shattering.
"I just want to be a good mum," she whispered. "That's the only thing I'm sure about."
"You will be," Charlie said with quiet certainty. "But you can't keep hiding. You'll need to face this. And you've got people who want to help you."
Her breath faltered. Face it. Face them. Face him. She could barely face herself.
"I can't see Mum yet," she said, and the words felt like they scraped her throat raw on the way out. "Not after everything I've done. Not after what happened."
Charlie sighed, not with frustration but with understanding, his hand warm on her shoulder. He knew she was only giving him part of the truth, but he never pushed. He never pressed where she wasn't ready to open. "Blaise is looking for you," he said quietly. "Everywhere."
Her whole body went rigid. The bitterness rose so fast it tasted metallic.
"Let him look," she said, her voice sharp. "He isn't worried about me. He's worried about losing control. He only panics when something he thinks he owns slips out of reach."
Charlie stayed silent, watching her with a gentle patience that made her chest tighten. She knew what he was thinking even before he spoke. And she hated that he was right.
"This is not something you can outrun forever," he said. "Not with a baby on the way. You'll have to face him at some point."
Her gaze drifted toward the mountains, where the sun was slipping beneath the horizon. The last light clung to the sky for a moment before fading into something darker. She felt that darkness inside herself too, the uncertainty, the fear, the anger she had carried for so long.
"Charlie," she whispered, her voice fragile. "Is our family even normal anymore? Are we still… us?"
The question hit him hard. He let out a breath and took his time before answering. "We're as normal as any family that's lived through what we have," he said. "We've broken and rebuilt a hundred times, but we're still here."
Her laugh was thin and bleak. "Sometimes it feels like the cracks are all that's left."
He wanted to contradict her, but the look in her eyes stopped him. Instead, she kept talking, the words tumbling out like they had been waiting for the first crack to slip through.
"I miss how we used to be," she said. "Before everything went wrong. Before I started choosing people who hurt me because I thought that was what love looked like." Her voice shook. "I loved Blaise. I loved him in a way that terrified me. But being with him felt like living beneath a storm. I never knew when he would pull me close or when the world would break under his feet and take me with it."
Charlie pulled her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair. She leaned into him with a soft, exhausted sound, her body trembling with all the emotions she had swallowed for months.
"Families aren't meant to be perfect," he said softly. "We get messy. We fall apart. We hurt each other without meaning to. But we don't give up. And you don't have to give up, Gin. Not on yourself. Not on this baby." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a simple gesture full of love. "And not on the idea that love can be something safe. Something gentle."
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him steady her. Her breathing slowed, the worst of the storm calming. The ache was still there, but it felt lighter with someone holding her through it.
For the first time in months, she let herself believe that maybe she was not broken beyond repair. Maybe she could face what waited for her. Maybe she could choose something different for herself and the child growing inside her.
She clung to Charlie, her tears soaking into his shirt as the last of the daylight slipped away, carrying with it a little of the fear she had been living with for far too long.
After a long stretch of quiet, she whispered, "I'm scared. Scared of losing everything I thought I had. Scared of bringing a child into this chaos. Scared of seeing him again." Her voice trembled the way a leaf trembles in a restless breeze. She didn't look at Charlie when she said it, as if the admission itself was too fragile to meet someone's eyes.
He shifted, pulling back just far enough to see her face, and the look he gave her was full of a painful kind of understanding. "No one expects you to be fearless," he said gently. "It's alright to be scared. You're human, Gin. But you're stronger than you believe. You're not carrying this on your own. You've got me. You've got all of us. No matter what happens next, we'll face it together."
Something in her chest eased, only slightly, but enough for her lungs to expand again. The stars began to blink awake above them, scattered like old wishes waiting to be claimed. In their soft glow, she felt a small flicker of hope rise inside her, thin and trembling but warm. It surprised her. Hope had been a stranger to her for so long. Yet here it was, curling gently beneath her ribs, reminding her that her family had not disappeared. That she still had something worth fighting toward.
But when her hand drifted over the curve of her stomach again, the doubt crept back in, quiet but insistent. What if this was all too much. What if she had no strength left. What if facing him broke her completely. The path ahead felt steep, almost impossible, and the thought of stepping onto it made her stomach twist. Still, Charlie was beside her. And with him here, maybe she could find the courage to try.
His voice was soft when it finally broke the silence. "Any update on the investigation?"
Her whole expression changed. The spark of hope dimmed, replaced by something heavier. Her shoulders slumped as if the question itself weighed her down. "They found nothing," she said, her voice tight with bitterness. "No signs of foul play. No leads. Nothing. And I can't stop thinking that they're missing something. Like there's a piece that slipped through the cracks and I'm the only one who feels it."
Charlie felt that ache slip into his own bones. Her grief had a depth to it that frightened him sometimes. This wasn't just an investigation for her. This was Ron. Her brother. A part of her childhood. A piece of her heart she would never get back. He reached out and touched her shoulder, steadying her.
"I know," he said softly. "I know what he meant to you. I know this hurts in a way no one else can understand. But you can't let it swallow you whole. We have to trust Harry to do his job. He loved Ron too. He's grieving in his own way."
Her eyes snapped up to his. The storm inside them nearly knocked the breath from his chest. "What if he can't do it," she whispered. "What if he's too close. What if everyone is hiding something."
The words rushed out of her like water spilling from a cracked vessel. Charlie took her hands, grounding her again. "Then we'll find out," he said firmly. "Whatever the truth is, we will find it together. And Harry is doing everything he can. He's not going to stop. Not for a moment."
Her breathing eased, though only slightly. The worry stayed, carved into the soft lines of her face. "I just need to know," she whispered. "I need to know what really happened. I need the truth."
They sat quietly for a moment, the weight of everything she carried tightening the air between them. The world around them felt painfully indifferent. Birds still called in the distance. The wind still moved across the grass. Life went on while hers felt paused in a place of grief and questions.
Charlie watched her, feeling the helplessness rise in his chest. He had spent his whole life being the brother who fixed things, who protected, who carried burdens so others didn't have to. But this was different. This was too large for his hands. Too heavy for his heart. If he could take all her pain, he would. If he could snap his fingers and give her peace, he would do it without hesitation. But he couldn't. All he could offer was his presence and the truth in his voice.
"Gin," he said, his own voice softening with emotion, "you're not alone. Not now. Not ever. Whatever we have to uncover, however long it takes, I'll be right here. We will go through all of it together."
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't bother wiping it away. "I'm scared of what I'll find," she admitted. "Scared it will break me. Scared I won't survive it."
Charlie's hand tightened around hers, steady and warm. "You will," he said with quiet certainty. "You're stronger than anything waiting for you out there. You have survived things most people never could. You'll survive this too. And I'll be here every step of the way."
She leaned into him then, her forehead pressing into his shoulder, her breath unsteady but no longer frantic. His arms wrapped around her, strong and warm, the kind of embrace that made the world feel softer for a moment. The night deepened around them, shadows stretching across the grounds, but she didn't feel as alone as she had earlier.
With Charlie beside her, she let herself believe that maybe the truth, whatever it was, would not destroy her.
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 lonely, Charlie? Honestly, let me find you a nice bloke," she teased, nudging him with a playful grin that softened the heaviness of the evening.
He groaned in that dramatic way only an older brother could manage, rolling his eyes until she laughed. "Ginevra," he said, using her full name like a weary schoolteacher. "Not this conversation again. I am perfectly fine on my own."
He tried to hide it behind a grin, but she caught the flicker anyway. A tiny crack in the armour. Something like regret. Something like longing. He covered it quickly, but she had grown up with him. She knew when he was pretending.
"Oh, come on," she said, leaning in with a stubborn glint in her eyes. "You deserve someone special. Maybe Blaise has a cousin tucked away somewhere."
Charlie snorted. "Brilliant idea, Ginny. I'll just ask about eligible bachelors over tea with your husband. What could possibly go wrong."
She burst out laughing, the sound warm in the quiet evening air. "You never know. Maybe a dragon tamer and a Zabini millionaire would be the perfect match. Imagine the Christmas dinners."
"Imagine the scandal," Charlie shot back, shaking his head with a grin. "I think dragons are less complicated than your love life, if I am honest."
She slapped his arm, her laughter bubbling again. "My love life is not that complicated."
He raised a single brow in the most judgmental big brother way possible. She groaned and pushed him lightly.
"Tell you what," he said, smirking. "If you go back home and talk to your husband, you can ask if he has any single cousins hiding in the family vaults."
"Oh. So I set you up so you can set me up," she said, pointing at him as if accusing him of treason.
"Exactly," he replied, smiling wide. "Seems fair."
She pretended to think it over, tapping her chin dramatically. "Fine. But if his cousin is anything like him, you are on your own. I am not dragging you into my disaster zone."
He winked. "I can handle myself. What is the worst that could happen."
They both laughed, but beneath the humour was something soft, something steady. Charlie had always been her safe place, the one piece of home that never shifted or broke. Being with him felt like breathing clean air.
He quieted first. His gaze moved to the horizon where the last stretch of sunlight melted into orange and violet. "You know, Gin," he said slowly, the teasing falling away, "I joke about it, but I do think about it sometimes. Settling down. Having someone to come home to."
Her smile gentled. This was the Charlie she rarely saw, the one who kept his heart tucked deep beneath dragon fire and wilderness. "You would be a wonderful husband," she said. "You have so much love in you. Whoever you choose will be lucky."
He dropped his eyes, a faint, shy smile tugging at his mouth. "Maybe. One day. If I find someone who is not put off by singed eyebrows and the smell of dragon hide."
She laughed softly. "That is part of the charm."
The quiet settled again, this time warm, this time full. The sky had turned deep blue, stars stretching wide above them like scattered silver. She felt a sharp ache in her chest, a mix of love and fear. Moments like this always reminded her how easy it would be to lose track of him. He chased danger and horizons without looking back. She worried that one day he would drift too far to reach.
"Promise me you will come home more often," she said quietly. "Even if it is just for a night."
His hand found hers, steady and warm. "I promise," he said. "And if I meet this mythical nice bloke, you will be the first to know."
She laughed under her breath and squeezed his fingers. "I am holding you to that. And who knows. Maybe one day, when the dragons behave, you will find someone as wild and brave as you."
Charlie leaned his head against hers, the gesture simple and full of love. The night wrapped around them, gentle and forgiving, as if giving them both permission to breathe again.
~~~~~~
She barely caught her breath as she landed back at home. The familiar walls of their living room, once warm and safe, felt tight around her now. She had only a heartbeat to steady herself before he apparated in behind her, the crack of his arrival ringing through the room like a warning. When she turned, his face was twisted with longing and fear. His dark eyes found hers instantly, pleading, frantic.
"Mia cara," he whispered, stepping toward her like a man approaching a ghost he was terrified might disappear.
She cut him off, her voice icy. "Do not talk to me, Zabini."
He flinched. The sound of his name on her lips like that carved straight through him. It was the sharpest blade she had ever thrown, and it hit its mark. For a moment, pain flickered in his eyes, but he swallowed it down, rebuilding whatever mask he could manage.
Still, he did not leave. He would never leave.
He moved toward her in slow, cautious steps, until he stood barely a breath away. His hands lifted, trembling as they reached for her, but he stopped short, fingers hovering in the space between them as if he no longer had the right to touch her.
"Ti prego, Ginny, non farmi questo," he choked out, his voice shaking. "Non andartene così. Non lasciarmi, amore mio. Te lo chiedo in ginocchio se devo. Dimmi cosa devo fare. Dimmi che posso rimediare. Dimmi che c'è ancora una possibilità."
His words broke out of him in a frantic rush. His accent was thick, his breath uneven, his eyes shining with a fear that stripped him bare. He looked like a man coming apart, like someone who had built his entire life around a single person and now felt it cracking beneath his feet.
"Senza di te non sono niente," he whispered, and he finally found the courage to cup her face. His thumbs swept over her cheeks, trembling as they brushed away tears she refused to acknowledge. "Non posso vivere senza di te. Non voglio vivere senza di te."
"I do not care," she shouted, the sound ripping out of her before she could stop it.
She tore away from him and stormed up the staircase. Her steps were sharp and furious, the sound echoing through the house. She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate. She slammed the bedroom door with enough force to rattle the walls. For a moment, she pressed her back to it, breathing hard, trying to swallow the shaking in her hands.
On the other side, he was already there. She heard him lean close, heard the desperation in his breathing before his voice even reached her.
"Ginny, per favore. Non puoi farmi questo," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Non ti ho neanche vista con il pancione. Ho bisogno di toccarti e sentire il nostro bambino. Non farmi morire così. Non tenermi lontano."
Her knees weakened, but she forced herself upright, gripping the doorknob like an anchor.
"Ma io posso cambiare," he shouted suddenly, his voice cracking under the weight of it. "Posso farlo per te. Te lo giuro. Lascio tutto alle spalle. Lascio questa vita se è quello che vuoi. Ti seguo ovunque. Ma non mi lasciare. Ti scongiuro."
A tear slipped down her cheek, hot and unwanted. She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from sobbing. For a moment, she let her forehead rest against the door. She could feel his presence on the other side, his palms flat against the wood, his body leaning into it as if closeness through a barrier was better than nothing.
She forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to speak.
"I needed you," she said, her voice fragile. "I needed you to be here. I needed you to see what was happening to me. To see this life we created. But you were not. You chose something else."
Silence fell. Heavy, painful, full of all the things he had no way to undo.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "I know," he said. "I know, and I am sorry. I have been lost. Caught up in shadows and people who do not matter. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting us. But none of it means anything if I lose you. I know I failed you."
Her resolve trembled. A tiny crack in her armor. She pushed herself off the door and unlocked it, opening it just enough to see him.
His face was wrecked. His eyes were red and swollen, his breath uneven. He looked like a man fighting for air. He looked like someone who had finally realized the cost of everything he had done.
She met his gaze with tears still burning in her own.
"Do you have any idea what it's like?" she asked, her voice barely controlled, trembling with the weight of unspoken anguish. "To feel abandoned by the one person you thought would never leave? To beg for scraps of attention from someone who once swore they'd never let you feel alone?"
He exhaled sharply, his expression crumbling at her words. The torment in his eyes mirrored her own, but it wasn't enough. Not yet. Not when her heart was still raw from the wounds his absence had carved into it.
"Ginny, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking as he stepped closer, hesitant, as though afraid that one wrong move might shatter whatever was left between them. "I know I hurt you. And I hate myself for it. But I swear, I will make it right. I'll be here for every moment from now on. I won't leave again."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She wanted to believe him, to lose herself in the desperate sincerity on his face. But how many times had she done that before? How many times had she held onto the promise of a man who always seemed just out of reach?
"Words are easy," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "Promises are easy."
Her hand, as if moving of its own accord, drifted down to her belly, pressing against the gentle swell of life growing within her. She wasn't alone anymore. It wasn't just her heart at stake.
His gaze followed the movement, and something in him shifted. His whole body seemed to go still, his breath catching as if the sight of her—of them—physically hurt. Slowly, as if afraid she might bolt, he reached out, his fingers hovering near hers, so close but never touching.
For a fleeting moment, she almost let him. Almost let herself fall back into the comfort of his touch, the illusion of safety.
But then she pulled away.
The pain that flickered across his face was instant, a silent plea written in the tension of his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides as if he were physically holding himself back from begging.
"Mia cara," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Ti prego, non allontanarti da me. Non farmi questo. Io ti amo. Ti amo più di quanto le parole possano spiegare."
Her breath hitched, the tenderness in his voice scraping against the raw edges of her heart. She wanted to believe him. Gods, she wanted to believe him.
But trust… trust wasn't built on pretty words and shattered promises.
"Actions," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "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."
The air between them crackled with unspoken emotion, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she saw something shift in his eyes. Not just guilt. Not just desperation. But understanding.
He nodded, swallowing hard, his voice barely more than a breath. "I will, Ginny. I swear it. I'll be here. For you, for our child, for everything. Just… just give me a chance."
She searched his face, looking for even the slightest hint of deception, of the lies she had heard too many times before. But all she saw was a man stripped bare, a man willing to fight—to change.
Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped back, her fingers gripping the edge of the door. And then, after what felt like a lifetime, she let it swing open.
An invitation.
A test.
His breath caught, his whole body frozen as he realized what it meant. For a brief moment, he didn't move, as if afraid that stepping forward would make the fragile hope between them disappear like smoke.
Then, with careful, almost reverent steps, he crossed the threshold.
He reached for her hand again, and this time, she didn't pull away.
They stood together, their fingers entwined, bound by something far more complex than love alone—history, pain, a shared past that refused to loosen its grip. Neither knew what the future held, whether the wounds between them would ever fully heal, but for now, they were willing to try. The silence was heavy, thick with all the things they couldn't yet say, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn't entirely devoid of hope.
When his palm pressed gently against her belly, feeling the faint stir of life beneath her skin, she tensed for only a moment before exhaling, letting herself feel it—the warmth, the possibility, the undeniable truth that despite everything, this child tethered them together in a way nothing else ever could. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to take the first step toward something new.
But hope was a fragile thing, fleeting and uncertain, and just as quickly as it surfaced, the ice between them hardened again. Her voice sliced through the room, sharp and controlled, every word delivered with a quiet fury that left no room for softness. "You rob me of solitude but offer no companionship. What else do you want from me?"
He flinched. A small movement, barely there, but she saw it. The brief drop of his shoulders. The flicker of pain in his dark eyes before he forced the mask back over his expression. He held her gaze for as long as he could, searching for some sign of warmth in her, some remnant of the woman who had once reached for him in the dark. But she had shut every door inside herself.
His voice when he finally spoke was stripped bare. No arrogance. No charm. No armor. "Then why did you come back?"
She hated that question. Hated the way it cornered her, the way it tugged at something in her she wasn't ready to face. She stayed near the doorway, her back turned to him, her fingers digging into the wood as if the doorframe was the only thing keeping her upright.
"Because I need some things," she said. Her tone was controlled, cool, detached. It sounded rehearsed, even to her own ears. But the rigidity in her spine betrayed her. The slight hitch in her breathing gave her away.
He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. A bitter sound escaped him, a humorless laugh that carried no real amusement. "Months, Ginny." His voice cracked as he slowly stepped closer. "You left for a month and took all your winter clothes. Did you plan on staying in Romania forever? Wrapped up in dragon scales and mountain wind, pretending none of this ever happened?"
His voice softened, sinking lower, carrying something raw and aching. "Why are you really back, mia cara?"
She closed her eyes, forcing her breath steady. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. It felt as if even the walls had leaned in to listen. And then she spoke.
Her voice was calm. Too calm. A frightening calm. "Did you kill my brother, Zabini?"
The question hit the room like a crack of thunder. The air shifted. The floor tilted beneath them.
For a moment, he did not move. His face was unreadable, polished into the perfect stillness of a man who knew how to hide every truth for survival. If she had not known him so intimately, she might have missed it. The smallest shadow that passed behind his eyes. A flicker of something dark. Something ancient. Something guilty.
His throat tightened. He swallowed once. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet, so low it barely existed at all.
"I had some part in it, yes."
The words fell between them like a final breath.
A final blow. A final truth.
And the silence that followed was not silence at all, but the sound of something dying.
The moment the truth left his lips, something inside her snapped. The room erupted in a surge of magic so violent it felt alive, a force that tore through the walls of her restraint and set the world ablaze. Her power burst outward like a wildfire, a raw and feral thing that refused to be contained. It moved with purpose, with fury, with a depth of grief no language could ever hold.
Glass cracked first, then shattered in a deafening chorus. Shards flew through the air, catching the fading light and turning it into a thousand streaks of silver that sliced through the space like ice-cold blades. Furniture groaned under the weight of her power before it buckled and lifted, hurled aside as though some invisible giant had ripped it free. The shelves shook. Books tore from their bindings. Pages spun through the air, twisting and fluttering like broken wings caught in a violent updraft.
A lamp struck the ground and burst, scattering its pieces across the floor. Shadows danced wildly over the walls, frantic and warped, as if the house itself was recoiling from her.
He had no time to shield himself.
Her magic struck him like a physical blow, hurling him across the room. His body hit the far wall with a force that knocked the breath from him, a dull, sickening sound echoing in the chaos. He slid to the floor, vision swimming, lungs burning for air. Each breath was a jagged tear through his chest. Pain spiked along his ribs, bright and sharp, but he forced his head up.
Through the haze, he found her.
She stood at the center of the ruin she had made, shoulders heaving with every frantic breath. Her hair clung to her cheeks, wild and unbound, illuminated by the flickering remnants of magic still crackling along her skin. Her eyes were incandescent, almost fever-bright, and the raw hurt in them struck deeper than any curse.
The air hummed around her. The floorboards trembled beneath her feet. Power still pulsed from her in slow waves, clinging to the walls, rattling through the broken pieces of their life. It was as if the room itself had not yet decided whether it was safe to stop shaking.
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of settling debris. Bits of plaster drifted down like soft, cruel snow. Torn pages whispered against the floor. His breath came in shallow pulls, each one edged with pain.
He lifted his head fully then, even though it hurt to do it. He kept his gaze locked on her. He had seen her angry before, seen her fierce, seen her hurt, but this was different. This was the raw core of her, stripped of every mask. This was the fury of a woman who had been betrayed in the deepest way a heart can be betrayed.
Her eyes met his. Fire met agony.
And the most terrifying part was the silence.
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!"
Draco and Hermione 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.
"For the love of Merlin, Nott, put some trousers on," Draco snapped. "I am tired of you swanning around like an exhibitionist. We get it. It is large. I am also large. Congratulations to us both."
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 clapped his hands once as if done with the entire situation. "Now sort her out. I am finished with this disaster. I do not care if she is my second favourite Weasley. She cannot come in here with a knife like some unhinged banshee."
Ginny, still frozen mid-lunge, glared at him with the full force of a woman who would murder again the moment she thawed.
And honestly, Draco fully expected she would.
~~~~~~
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.