Sunset Conversations, Moonlit Promises  PART 1

Sorry, it's too long, so I need post in 2 parts.

There was nothing in this world—nothing—that could have prepared Nott Manor for the sheer, unapologetic spectacle that was Seline Nott's baby shower. A baby girl. A daughter. A little queen born into a kingdom where she would never, not for a single second, doubt that she was worshiped. The entire manor had been transformed, and Theo had spared no expense, no effort, no boundary of sanity in ensuring that the world understood exactly what this day meant.

Because how could Theo not? A girl. A miracle. A sovereign before she could even lift her own head. The very moment he had saw that Luna carried their daughter, something inside him had shifted. He was a man obsessed, a man undone, a man who had already promised the stars and the moon to a tiny life that had yet to draw her first breath. And so, he had set forth on a mission, a grand declaration: Seline Nott's first celebration would be nothing short of legendary.

God forbid anyone had the audacity to suggest it was too much—there was no such thing. "Too much" did not exist in the Nott vocabulary when it came to Luna, to Lysander, and certainly not to the precious girl who would soon grace this world with her presence.

The summer sun bathed Nott Manor in a golden glow, its warmth spilling over the sprawling estate like a celestial blessing. The usual air of quiet, aristocratic dignity had been cast aside in favor of something grander, something more magnificent, something fit for a child destined to be worshiped. From the moment guests arrived, they were met with a spectacle so breathtaking, so utterly unapologetic in its decadence, that even the most seasoned of high society stood in stunned silence.

The cobblestone path leading to the manor had been transformed into a floral promenade, lined with towering archways woven from enchanted wisteria and trailing ivy. Roses in every shade of pink imaginable climbed the entrance columns, their petals shimmering under enchantments that made them bloom in elegant slow motion, as if bowing to those who passed beneath them. Gold-trimmed parasols floated lazily in the air, providing soft, dappled shade over seating areas where the finest silk cushions had been arranged for guests to lounge in absolute comfort.

The gardens—already legendary in their beauty—had been utterly reborn. Theo had ensured that nature itself bent to his will for this day, and it had obeyed spectacularly. The usually pristine hedges were now adorned with cascades of pastel-colored orchids and peonies, their fragrance thick in the warm air. Trees bore delicate fairy lanterns that bobbed playfully between the leaves, their glow reminiscent of fireflies trapped in an eternal midsummer's dream. The fountains had been charmed to bubble with pink-tinted water, the scent of fresh strawberries rising with the mist. Even the breeze seemed to dance differently here, carrying the scent of vanilla and honey, mingling with the golden champagne being poured into crystal goblets as if the very wind itself wished to partake in the celebration.

And then there was the pavilion—the heart of the spectacle, the crown jewel of the afternoon.

A grand, open-air structure had been erected at the center of the estate, draped in silks so soft they billowed like clouds with every passing breeze. Chandeliers of intertwined vines and enchanted crystal hung above the extravagant dining tables, which were adorned with gold-rimmed china and delicate lace runners, each embroidered with Seline's name. The chairs—hand-carved and dusted with the faintest shimmer of magic—were each tied with silk bows, a soft nod to the femininity Theo had so ruthlessly embraced for his daughter.

The food was a banquet of the gods. Delicate tea sandwiches filled with the finest cucumber and lavender cream, scones with rose-infused butter, honey-drizzled pastries shaped like blooming flowers, fresh summer berries topped with spun sugar, and an endless cascade of desserts designed with such precision that they looked like miniature pieces of edible art. Towers of éclairs, macarons in every pastel shade imaginable, cakes so intricately designed they belonged in a gallery rather than on a plate. And at the center of it all, the pièce de résistance—a towering cake adorned with handcrafted sugar roses, its layers infused with flavors that tasted like summer itself.

No, this was not a simple baby shower. This was a coronation. This was Theo Nott, staking his claim to the universe on behalf of the most precious thing he had ever been given. This was a father telling the world that his daughter, his Seline, was a force to be reckoned with before she had even drawn her first breath.

The transformation of the manor was nothing short of a spectacle, an opulent dream brought to life with an extravagance that bordered on divine. What had once been a sanctuary of dark woods, rich velvets, and centuries-old grandeur had been utterly reinvented, softened by an overwhelming cascade of pastels that bathed every inch of space in an ethereal glow. The walls, typically adorned with heavy tapestries and brooding oil paintings, were now draped in gossamer silks that fluttered with the faintest movement of air, shimmering like the inside of a pearl. The towering ceilings, usually a statement of quiet power, were transformed into a sky of floating enchantments—silken streamers of blush and ivory cascaded down like ribbons of light, intertwined with delicate crystal charms that caught the glow of the enchanted chandeliers and fractured it into soft rainbows that danced across the walls and floors.

The scent of fresh blooms infused the very air, a heady mixture of peonies, roses, and baby's breath, carefully arranged in golden vases that lined every surface. Yet it wasn't just the florals that carried the fragrance of celebration—notes of lavender, vanilla, and sugared citrus mingled with the air, woven together with the decadent aroma of honey-drizzled pastries and caramelized confections, a sweet perfume of indulgence that could make even the most reserved guest feel light-headed with pleasure.

The grand foyer, a space that once knew only the echo of deliberate footsteps and the hush of whispered conversations, had been utterly transformed into something alive, something breathing . The usual quiet dignity had been replaced with warmth, laughter, and an air of giddy anticipation. The long, polished floors now shimmered beneath an intricate charm that reflected the soft hues of the floating décor, creating an illusion as if guests were walking on a bed of mist-kissed petals.

The crowd that gathered was composed of familiar faces, a collection of those whose histories were deeply intertwined—friends, allies, and those who had fought, bled, and rebuilt together. Yet, here, in this moment, there were no battles to fight, no scars to tend to. Just celebration. Their usual sharp wit and carefully measured words melted into easy conversation and laughter that filled the space like music.

House-elves, dressed in immaculate robes of the softest ivory and adorned with tiny enchanted gold brooches in the shape of delicate crowns—a tribute to the true guest of honor—moved soundlessly through the throng. They carried silver trays that seemed to float just above their fingertips, laden with exquisitely crafted hors d'oeuvres, each a tiny masterpiece of flavor and design. Chilled goblets of honeyed wine and summer fruit nectars sparkled under the light, their surfaces kissed with tiny golden flecks that shimmered like trapped sunlight.

Beyond the foyer, the banquet hall had been turned into a wonderland of its own, every table draped in silk and laden with the finest delicacies. Towering centerpieces of enchanted roses bloomed and unfurled in time with the lilting melodies played by the quartet stationed near the fountain. Soft strings hummed through the room, their melody blending seamlessly with the laughter and clinking of crystal. A grand ice sculpture, shaped into the delicate form of a sleeping infant wrapped in the embrace of an intricately carved crescent moon, sat at the heart of the feast, a breathtaking tribute to the unborn princess who had already captured the hearts of those in attendance.

Everything about the manor, from the flickering candlelight casting golden halos onto every polished surface to the meticulously arranged gifts wrapped in ribbons of ivory and rose, spoke of one thing— love . A love so fierce and all-consuming that it bled into every detail, every whispered toast, every glance exchanged between the man who had orchestrated it all and the woman who sat at the very heart of his universe.

Because this wasn't just a baby shower. This was an oath, a declaration, a kingdom being built at the feet of the tiny girl who had yet to take her first breath but had already ruled over the heart of her father.

Blaise and Ginny were the first to arrive, making their entrance with an effortless elegance that suggested they were accustomed to grand affairs such as this. But today, they did not come alone. Nestled in Ginny's arms, swaddled in the softest fabric money could buy, was little Valerius, looking every bit the heir to an empire. 

Dressed in a miniature silk ensemble of deep sapphire and embroidered gold—a piece no doubt selected by Blaise himself—the infant exuded an almost regal presence. His tiny hands curled into fists as he blinked sleepily at the dazzling transformation of the manor, his dark curls catching the sunlight streaming in through the high-arched windows. He was oblivious to the spectacle around him, blissfully unaware that he was wrapped in layers of delicate charmwork designed to keep him comfortable, safe, and entirely untouched by the overwhelming excitement buzzing through the grand estate.

Ginny, her red hair catching the light in a halo of fiery brilliance, was the picture of maternal grace and quiet amusement as she adjusted the golden trim on her son's tiny robes, smoothing out invisible creases while Blaise stood beside her, his usual air of self-assurance tinged with something softer. He was inordinately proud, that much was clear—the way his arm lingered protectively around Ginny's waist, the way he smoothed his fingers over the small curve of Valerius's head, as if the very idea of fatherhood was still something too precious to fully comprehend. But there was no mistaking the way his dark eyes gleamed as he surveyed the room, taking in the extravagant display with silent approval.

The two of them moved through the transformed space like royalty, and in a way, they were. Not in the traditional sense, but in something much older, much deeper. They were power wrapped in silk, bloodlines woven together with love and history, a family forged in the fire of war and rebuilt in the quiet peace that followed.

The arrival of Pansy and Neville, fashionably late as always, was marked by the kind of effortless presence only Pansy Parkinson could command. She did not simply walk into a room—she arrived, with a flair that turned heads and demanded attention without so much as a single word.

Pansy had never been the kind of woman to let something as trivial as baby showers dull her shine. If anything, it had only enhanced her, made her even more commanding. Draped in a flowing emerald gown that clung in all the right places and flared at the hem with an effortless grace, she looked less like a woman more like a goddess descending from Olympus, ready to preside over whatever mortals dared to bask in her presence.

Neville, ever the doting husband, remained close at her side, his quiet strength complementing her dazzling confidence in a way that felt perfectly balanced. His hand rested on the small of her back, grounding her even as she swept into the room like a force of nature, her dark eyes scanning the opulent décor with a smirk that suggested she had been expecting nothing less.

She surveyed the space, the intricate details Theo had so meticulously arranged, the sheer magnitude of pink and gold draped over every surface, and let out a dramatic sigh. "Merlin's tits, Nott really did lose his mind over this, didn't he?" she drawled, one perfectly manicured hand settling over her belly as if to emphasize the absurdity of it all. "I mean, we knew he was obsessed, but this is a different level of insanity."

Neville chuckled beside her, though his eyes flicked between Pansy and Luna with a quiet concern only he would have. "You say that like you wouldn't demand the exact same thing for our son," he murmured, and Pansy shot him a glare that was entirely ruined by the amused glint in her eyes.

Ginny, still cradling Valerius, let out a soft laugh. "If you think this is extreme, just wait until her first birthday party. Theo might actually commission an entire orchestra."

Blaise smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored robes. "You underestimate him, love. He's probably already done it."

Luna, lounging gracefully on one of the plush settees, sipped her tea with a serene smile, looking entirely unbothered by the conversation unfolding around her. "You all act as if this is some sort of surprise," she mused, her voice lilting with amusement. "You do realize he would have burned the entire world down if I asked him to, right?"

Pansy shook her head, lips curling into a smirk as she settled beside Luna with the ease of someone who had long since accepted the madness of their lives. "Honestly? That's what makes this entire thing so fun to watch."

And with that, the celebration was in full swing, each arrival adding to the electric energy thrumming through the manor, each moment a reminder that this wasn't just a baby shower—it was the grand unveiling of a future queen, the first glimpse of a legacy that had already begun to rewrite history.

"Champagne?" A familiar voice chimed smoothly from behind them.

Blaise Zabini, ever the picture of refinement, appeared as if summoned from thin air, dressed impeccably in deep navy robes with gold embroidery, looking as though he had stepped straight out of an exclusive wizarding fashion magazine. In each hand, he balanced an elegant crystal flute of champagne, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or perhaps you'd prefer the rose-petal punch? I hear it's positively sinful."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, smirking as she shook her head. "None for me, but thank you, Blaise. Though I'd wager you've already had your fair share."

Blaise placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. "I am a guest, Granger. A picture of restraint." He smoothly passed a glass to Draco, his expression turning wicked. "Besides, you're going to need this. Theo's been waxing poetic for the better part of an hour about the 'transformative beauty of fatherhood.' You might want to fortify yourself."

Draco snorted, raising the glass in a mock toast. "To Theo's dramatic reinvention, then."

They moved deeper into the heart of the celebration, past elegantly set tables where enchanted floral arrangements hummed with soft magic, twirling lazily in the air. Everywhere they looked, there was a touch of something grand, something that spoke of endless devotion. The nursery was the centerpiece of it all, and the moment they stepped inside, the entire room seemed to exhale a sigh of serenity.

It was nothing short of a celestial dream—moonlight and stardust woven into the very fabric of the space. Delicate silver constellations adorned the pale lilac walls, shifting and twinkling as if they were part of the real sky. Soft fairy lights looped around sheer curtains, their glow mimicking the phases of the moon. A plush silver rug stretched beneath their feet, as weightless as a cloud, muffling their steps.

At the very center of the room stood the crib—a masterpiece carved from pale ashwood, its intricate designs inlaid with mother-of-pearl, depicting phoenixes rising among the stars. Within, nestled in a cocoon of blush-pink silk, was the heart of it all: Seline Nott.

The baby was breathtakingly delicate, her features so impossibly perfect they seemed crafted by magic itself. Wisps of silvery-blonde hair curled against her tiny forehead, her lashes dark against petal-soft skin as she slumbered, utterly oblivious to the adoration surrounding her. She was the very image of something ethereal, something dreamt into existence rather than simply born.

Hermione drew in a quiet breath, the sheer innocence of the moment washing over her. "She's perfect," she whispered, leaning slightly forward, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the magic that had settled over the space.

Draco tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the infant with an unreadable expression. "Perfect and aptly named," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "Seline—the goddess of the moon. Fitting, really." He smirked faintly. "Theo must be over the moon."

Luna, seated nearby with her ever-present air of tranquility, smiled with knowing warmth. "He's completely smitten," she admitted, her voice a gentle hum of amusement. "He's already planning her first stargazing trip. I told him she can't even hold her head up yet, but he insists it's never too early."

A sharp click of heels against polished wood announced the arrival of Pansy Parkinson, who swept into the nursery with a dramatic flair that was equal parts feigned exasperation and genuine affection. At five months pregnant herself, she still carried herself with the effortless poise of a queen, her emerald-green silk dress hugging her figure in a way that was both sophisticated and unmistakably deliberate.

"This little one is going to be spoiled beyond measure," Pansy declared, leaning over the crib, her dark eyes alight with something almost reverent. She extended a manicured finger, allowing Seline's impossibly small hand to curl around it. For a moment, her usual sharp wit faltered, replaced by something achingly tender. "She's magic," she murmured, almost to herself. "Truly magic."

Draco, standing just beside her, caught the flicker of longing in her gaze. He didn't say anything—he didn't have to. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over her forearm in a silent exchange of understanding.

Around them, the nursery filled with soft conversation and warm laughter. Blaise recounted Theo's tragic misadventures with changing nappies, dramatizing every detail to the point where even Luna had to wipe away a tear of mirth. Ginny teased about how the once-imposing wizard had become an utter sap, checking in on his daughter every five minutes, as if she might vanish into thin air if he wasn't watching.

The living room of Nott Manor was a world unto itself—a warm, golden cocoon where time stretched and softened, where the weight of the outside world dissipated into the flickering glow of firelight. Shadows waltzed along the polished wood floors, elongated by the soft candlelight that flickered atop the antique sconces. The walls, lined with shelves of well-worn books, seemed to hum with the quiet history of stories shared and memories made. 

The scent of mulled wine and cinnamon curled through the room, mingling with the honeyed sweetness of steeping chamomile and the faint trace of lavender from the bundles Luna had tied above the hearth. It was the scent of home, of safety, of the life they had built, rich with magic in ways both seen and unseen. House-elves moved gracefully through the space, ensuring every cup was full, every flickering candle remained alight, their presence barely noticeable but deeply felt.

Hermione sat curled into one of the plush armchairs near the fire, a woolen throw draped across her legs, her fingers wrapped around a delicate china teacup. The warmth seeped into her palms as she let her gaze drift to the bassinet nestled in the corner of the room, where a tiny miracle lay swaddled in the softest blush-colored blankets. Seline, impossibly small and breathtakingly perfect, slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that felt almost sacred. Hermione found herself smiling, her heart swelling at the sight of her friends' child, a girl who already seemed woven from the stars themselves.

Across the room, on the velvet loveseat, Theo and Luna sat close, the picture of quiet devotion. Theo's arm rested along the back of the couch, his fingers absentmindedly tracing along Luna's shoulder, a touch that spoke of familiarity, of possession, of reverence. Luna leaned into him with effortless grace, her presence as ethereal as ever, her silvery hair spilling over his forearm like moonlight caught in motion. They looked like something out of an ancient painting—two figures perfectly in sync, orbiting each other as if the universe had designed them to fit.

"Seline and Lysander," Hermione said softly, the names rolling off her tongue like something sacred. "They sound like they belong in a story—something timeless, something that will be remembered long after we're gone."

Luna's dreamy expression brightened, her silver-blue eyes shimmering with something deep and boundless. She reached for Theo's hand without looking, her fingers slotting between his like they were meant to be there. "We wanted names that carried meaning," she murmured, her voice like the whisper of the tide. "Names that would remind them of who they are, of where they come from. Names that would tie them to the stars."

Theo's gaze softened, the firelight reflecting in his stormy grey eyes as he studied his wife. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in a slow, reverent caress. "Seline is our little moon goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, each syllable carefully measured. His eyes flickered to the bassinet for a moment, as though grounding himself in the overwhelming reality of their daughter, before shifting back to Luna as if she were the only thing that had ever truly mattered. "And Lysander… he's our bright, curious star, always reaching, always searching. They have brought more light into my life than I ever thought possible."

He paused, the weight of his words settling between them like something tangible, something rare. Then, in a voice barely above a breath, he added, "But Luna…" His fingers tightened around hers, pulling her attention back to him completely. "She remains my greatest treasure. My Moon."

Luna's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the firelight. It wasn't the kind of blush born of shyness—Luna had never been shy—but rather, a glow that came from love so deep it ran in her blood, in her bones. She tilted her head slightly, strands of her hair catching the light, making her look even more like the celestial being Theo so often compared her to. A knowing, affectionate smile played at her lips as she gazed at him, and in that moment, nothing else in the world existed for them but each other.

Theo, never one to let a moment pass without claiming it as his own, leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek—slow, lingering, a silent vow written in the way his lips moved against her skin. Luna turned into him just enough that their foreheads nearly brushed, her eyes shining with quiet joy, and for a moment, the entire world held its breath.

Hermione watched them, her own heart swelling at the sight of something so pure, so utterly unshaken. It was a love that had endured, that had been tested and strengthened by every storm they had weathered together. She sipped her tea, letting the moment settle into her, warm and reassuring, like the fire crackling at her side.

Then, from the bassinet, a tiny sound broke the spell—a soft, breathy sigh followed by the delicate stretching of limbs. The ancient cradle creaked faintly as Seline stirred, her impossibly tiny fingers unfurling from the folds of the blanket as if reaching for something unseen. Instinctively, Luna was already rising, her movements fluid, effortless, as if she had been doing this for a thousand lifetimes.

She crossed the room with that same unearthly grace, the silk of her gown whispering against the floor as she leaned over the crib, her hands feather-light as they brushed against her daughter's cheek. The way she looked at Seline was unlike anything Theo had ever seen—something reverent, something celestial.

"She's magic," Luna murmured, her voice barely more than a breath.

Theo joined her, his tall frame folding beside her, his arm wrapping around her waist as they gazed down at the tiny miracle they had created. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and hushed, but filled with something that could move mountains.

"She is," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Luna's head, his voice thick with love, with devotion, with something unbreakable.

"She's everything."

Across the room, perched gracefully on the armrest of a plush chair, Ginny arched a knowing brow, her voice slicing through the tender moment with the precision of a well-aimed hex—sharp, teasing, and laced with affection. "Well, isn't that sweet enough to put Honeydukes out of business?" she mused, arms crossing as she cast a mock-critical glance in Theo's direction. "Honestly, Theo, you're setting the bar so high I might have to start checking Blaise for memory charms, because he certainly doesn't remember to water the plants."

Blaise, sprawled in the chair beneath her, one arm draped lazily over the back while his other hand swirled a glass of rich, red wine, shot her a look of deep, theatrical offense. "I beg your pardon," he said smoothly, as though personally insulted. "That philodendron is thriving, thank you very much. And, more importantly, I never forget to water you—with gifts and compliments, of course."

Ginny let out an exasperated laugh, rolling her eyes before grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at his smug, infuriatingly handsome face. Blaise caught it effortlessly, because of course he did, his smirk widening. "You're absolutely impossible," she said, though the laughter in her voice betrayed her.

"And yet, you adore me," he countered with practiced ease, his smirk shifting into something devastatingly charming. "Face it, Weasley, I've grown on you. Like the aforementioned philodendron. Only more dashing."

She scoffed, but her lips twitched upward despite herself. "Keep talking, Zabini, and you'll be growing on the couch tonight."

Blaise feigned consideration, tilting his head slightly. "If that means more space and no dogs stealing my pillows, I might take you up on that offer."

Draco, observing from across the room, exhaled long-sufferingly. "It's like this every single time," he muttered under his breath, lifting his glass to his lips.

Luna, ever composed, ever ethereal, turned her luminous gaze toward them, her voice drifting through the room like a soft breeze. "Ginny and Blaise's banter is merely their way of expressing devotion," she noted, as if remarking on the alignment of the stars. "Some constellations shine with quiet brilliance, while others burn with the intensity of a dying sun."

Blaise turned his head toward her, brow lifting slightly, caught between amusement and curiosity. Before he could retort with something cuttingly charming, Luna's expression took on the serene seriousness only she could pull off. "That being said," she continued lightly, tilting her head ever so slightly, "you really should water your plants more often. They're living beings, Blaise. They feel things."

For a moment, Blaise simply stared at her, as if debating whether she was being serious or whether she had just bested him in a game he didn't even know he was playing. Then, much to his own surprise, he threw his head back and laughed, rich and warm. "Well, Luna, if you insist," he conceded, raising his glass in her direction. "I'll add 'plant caretaker' to my long and impressive list of talents."

Ginny nudged him with her elbow, grinning. "See? She's always right," she declared, ever the victor.

Luna only smiled serenely and lifted her teacup in quiet triumph. "To new beginnings," she said, her voice carrying the weight of something more—something that felt like a blessing, like a promise, like a spell cast upon the air itself.

"To magic, family, and the moments that remind us what really matters," Hermione added softly, her gaze flickering between them all, eyes shimmering with something warm and unspoken.

The others echoed the toast, raising their glasses, their voices blending in quiet celebration. And as laughter hummed in the air and firelight flickered against familiar faces, the room seemed to take a deep, collective breath—a moment of pure, undisturbed contentment.

Theo, who had remained unusually quiet throughout the exchange, let his eyes drift across the room, landing on the bassinet where his daughter lay swaddled, a tiny piece of his heart sleeping soundly in the soft glow of the firelight. He exhaled slowly, then turned to Luna, pulling her closer, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "Can you believe we made her?" he murmured, his breath ghosting over her temple. "She's everything good in this world."

Luna leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, her fingers tracing slow circles over the back of his hand. "I can," she answered simply, her voice a whisper of stardust. "Because she's part of us."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Ginny leaned toward Blaise, lowering her voice into something conspiratorial. "You know," she murmured, eyes twinkling with mischief, "Seline's got Theo wrapped around her tiny, perfect little finger already. I give it a year before he's sitting at a tea party in full wizarding robes."

Blaise took a slow sip of his wine, entirely unbothered, before shooting her a knowing smirk. "Oh, no doubt," he agreed, setting his glass down with a satisfied hum. "And I'd be willing to wager a hundred galleons that I can get photographic evidence of it."

Ginny's brows lifted, impressed. "A hundred galleons? Confident, aren't you?"

He extended a hand toward her, all smooth arrogance. "You in, Weasley?"

Her grin turned positively wicked. "You're on, Zabini."

Little Lysander wobbled across the room with the kind of joyful determination that only a toddler possessed, his chubby legs carrying him forward in an unpredictable dance between confidence and impending disaster. Each step was half a charge, half a stumble, his small arms swinging wildly at his sides as if sheer enthusiasm alone could keep him upright. His tiny fingers stretched wide, grasping at the air for balance, his round cheeks flushed with exertion. Every movement radiated pure delight, his unsteady gait making him appear like a tiny, determined explorer conquering uncharted lands—one wobbly step at a time.

When he finally reached Hermione, he flung his hands against her knee with a triumphant squeal, gripping onto the fabric of her dress as if she were the safest harbor he could ever find. His wide, bright eyes locked onto hers, glimmering with mischief and adoration, his mouth stretching into the most exuberant toothy grin. He bounced excitedly on his heels, his body vibrating with joy, and then, as if the anticipation was too much to bear, he burst out in a delighted chirp.

"Mimi!" he announced, his voice a high-pitched, uncontainable burst of excitement, his tongue still wrapping around the syllables with the effort of someone who had only recently discovered the magic of words. Before she could respond, he launched himself upward with the unshakable confidence of a child who knew he belonged wherever he wished to be, clambering onto her lap in a series of uncoordinated but determined movements.

Hermione barely had time to react before he was wedged firmly against her, his tiny fingers patting at her arm in what was unmistakably his version of a loving greeting. His soft, warm weight settled into her, his small limbs curling naturally into the curves of her body as though she had been made to hold him. He let out a contented sigh, his breath tickling against the crook of her neck, the simple pleasure of closeness making him melt against her.

"Hello, my love," she murmured, her voice infused with warmth as she cradled him closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. The familiar, soothing scent of him filled her senses—the faint trace of lavender lingering from his bath, the lingering sweetness of honey from whatever treat he had undoubtedly stolen before bounding over to her. She smoothed her fingers through the soft, golden curls that always seemed to glow in the firelight, reveling in the quiet magic of holding something so small, so perfect, so utterly full of love.

For a moment, Lysander was perfectly still, utterly content to bask in the comfort of being doted on. But then, as if struck by divine inspiration, his little body tensed, his spine straightening with urgency. He pulled back abruptly, his entire expression lighting up with sudden revelation, his blue eyes wide with uncontained excitement.

"Kitty!" he gasped, twisting dramatically in her lap, his chubby fingers gripping her sleeve with newfound purpose. His whole body seemed to vibrate with anticipation, as if the mere mention of the feline in question had unlocked a primal need within him.

Hermione bit back a chuckle, thoroughly amused by his sheer enthusiasm. "Crooks isn't here right now, little love," she told him gently, her fingers trailing soothingly along his back. "But you'll come visit tomorrow, and then you can see the kitty. How does that sound?"

Lysander blinked at her, clearly weighing this information with all the seriousness of an international peace treaty negotiation. His lips pursed in deep thought, his tiny brows furrowing as though the logistics of this arrangement required careful calculation.

Then, after a long and dramatic pause, he gave a firm, decisive nod.

"Tomorrow," he declared with the conviction of someone who believed he alone had conceived the plan, his voice resolute, as if he had just solved an incredibly complex issue all by himself.

Satisfied with this arrangement, he let out another deep, exaggerated sigh—the kind only small children were capable of, a sound of absolute resolution, as if all the troubles of the world had been neatly packaged into an easy solution. He curled back into her, nestling his face into her shoulder, his tiny arms wrapping clumsily but devotedly around her in the most wonderfully unguarded embrace.

Instinctively, Hermione began to sway, her hands moving in slow, rhythmic circles along his back, soothing him in a way that was just as much for herself as it was for him. His breathing, quick and excited just moments before, slowed into something soft and steady, his small body gradually going lax against her, each warm exhale brushing against her skin like a whisper.

Theo watched Luna with a deepening sense of dread, his eyes filled with the kind of worry most men reserved for impending war, not for domestic discussions about household pets. His arms were crossed over his chest in a stance of firm resistance, but it was a losing battle, and he knew it. The moment she got that determined glint in her silver-blue eyes, he might as well start preparing for his inevitable surrender.

"Love," he began, voice steady, measured, a man trying to reason with a force of nature. "We are not getting a cat."

Luna, who had been lounging on their velvet chaise in the most ethereal and deceptively innocent manner, tilted her head slightly, fixing him with a look that made his stomach sink. "Well, we are," she said airily, as though the decision had already been made and his input was merely a formality.

Theo exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if bracing for a migraine. "No," he said with finality, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

Luna, undeterred and looking as though she had anticipated this very response, sat up with fluid grace, her loose waves tumbling over her shoulders. "Yes," she countered smoothly, her tone so sure, so confident, that Theo nearly doubted himself for a moment. "A Maine Coon, specifically. I've already decided."

At that, Theo groaned, rubbing his hands down his face as if physically trying to rid himself of this conversation. "Luna…" he warned, voice low, half pleading, half exasperated.

She lifted her chin defiantly, her arms crossing to mirror his own stance, a vision of quiet rebellion. "Theodore," she returned, her voice sweet yet firm, the way one might address a particularly stubborn child.

There was a long pause, an unbearable stretch of silence, where they simply stared at each other, locked in the kind of marital standoff that only ended one way—with Luna winning.

The evening slowly wound down, the once lively atmosphere settling into a quiet, comfortable stillness. The soft hum of conversation and laughter that had filled the manor for hours faded as one by one, their friends took their leave, offering lingering hugs, whispered goodbyes, and final words of congratulations before stepping into the night.

By the time the last guest had departed, the house had transformed from a whirlwind of celebration into a peaceful sanctuary once more. Every single child had succumbed to the weight of exhaustion—Lysander curled up on the chaise with his pugs nestled protectively beside him, Valerius fast asleep with his tiny hand clutching Blaise's forgotten pocket square, and even Pansy, in what could only be described as divine retribution for her usual energy, had dozed off in one of the oversized armchairs, her hand resting lightly over her belly.

With a shared look, Theo and Luna wordlessly moved to gather blankets, tucking each of them in with gentle hands before retreating to the heart of their home. Now, at last, it was just the two of them, standing in the quiet glow of the flickering candles, the warmth of the evening still lingering like a memory in the air.

Luna stretched her arms above her head, letting out a soft sigh as she leaned into Theo's side. Her voice, when she spoke, was filled with something tender, almost awed. "Why is Lysander not jealous?" she asked, tilting her head up to him, silver-blue eyes reflecting the firelight.

Theo's lips curled into the faintest smile, his expression both amused and touched. "Because he's an angel," he said simply, as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before continuing, his voice dipping into something softer, more reverent. "And I saw him earlier—he put his stuffed dragon into Seline's crib. Just to protect her." He let out a small breath, shaking his head with quiet admiration. "He's a gentleman, Moon. He's already looking out for her."

Luna's breath hitched just slightly, her heart swelling at the image of their son, already stepping into the role of a protective older brother with a care and tenderness beyond his years. Her fingers tightened around Theo's hand, and she exhaled a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. "My beautiful angel children," she murmured, more to herself than anything, as if the sheer love she felt for them was almost too much to put into words.

Theo pulled her closer, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of her head, his arms wrapping securely around her. In the stillness of the night, surrounded by the remnants of celebration, they stood there together, holding onto the quiet, the love, and the extraordinary family they had built.

~~~~~~

Pansy had always maintained that she trusted no one but herself and her husband. It was a rule carved into her bones, an unyielding truth she had lived by for as long as recently. But, like all rules, there was an exception—Luna.

Their friendship was an enigma to most, an unlikely bond between two women who couldn't have been more different if they tried. And yet, despite—or perhaps because of—their differences, they had woven themselves into each other's lives in a way that defied logic, defied explanation. The kind of friendship that didn't need words, that simply existed, solid and unbreakable.

And if there was one person in the world who deserved to be the first to hear this revelation, it was her.

So, in true Pansy fashion, she arrived at Nott Manor with no warning whatsoever—just reckless determination and a flair for unnecessary theatrics.

Her heels clacked violently against the polished marble floors, her movement a blur of dark silk and sheer urgency. The startled house-elves barely had time to scurry out of her way, their wide eyes following her as she charged past. A passing maid dropped a stack of freshly folded linens, watching in horror as Pansy barreled through the manor like she owned the place.

She had three targets.

Luna. Lysander. And the newest, most important little creature in her life—Seline.

And absolutely nothing was going to stop her from reaching them.

Pansy careened into the drawing room with all the grace of an elegant catastrophe, breathless, wild-eyed, and still clutching her unwilling pugs. The scene she stumbled upon was halfway serene—Lysander sprawled on the floor, diligently scribbling something incomprehensible onto parchment, while Luna sat nestled on a plush sofa, humming a soft lullaby to a dosing infant, little Seline cradled in her arms.

The moment Pansy appeared, however, all hell broke loose.

Lysander squealed, immediately abandoning his very serious drawing to launch himself at her, his small arms reaching out excitedly. "Auntie Pansy!" he shrieked, his enthusiasm enough to shake the very foundation of the room.

Pansy, ever the dramatic one, feigned a deep, wounded gasp, pressing a hand to her chest as she set the pugs down. "My little love! How I've missed you!" she declared, scooping him up with practiced ease, spinning him in circles until he dissolved into bright, delighted giggles.

The pugs bounced around Lysander's feet, their curly tails wagging furiously as they tried to get in on the excitement.

Luna, now wide-eyed and bracing Seline a bit tighter, sighed as she took in the spectacle. "Pansy," she began, exasperation laced with amusement, "are you ever capable of entering my home like a normal person?"

"Absolutely not," Pansy replied without hesitation, plopping Lysander onto her hip like he was the lightest thing in the world. "And frankly, I'm offended you'd even ask."

Luna huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but there was fondness in her gaze as she studied her best friend.

Pansy's attention flicked to Seline, who was nestled against Luna's chest, tiny and warm, her little fingers curled into soft fists. Something inside Pansy softened instantly. She reached out, brushing a careful hand over the baby's fine curls.

"How's my darling little princess?" she murmured, voice quieter now, more reverent.

Seline blinked up at her, those impossibly blue Nott eyes gleaming with something curious, something knowing. She gurgled, reaching up toward Pansy's necklace, her tiny fingers wrapping around the gold charm she always wore.

Pansy's heart clenched.

Luna saw the shift in her expression instantly.

"Do you want to hold her?" she asked, already offering the baby forward.

Pansy barely hesitated, carefully transferring Lysander to the floor before settling onto the sofa beside Luna. She took Seline into her arms with all the care in the world, adjusting her position just right, making sure her head was cradled properly. The second the baby nestled against her, something in her chest unraveled.

Luna watched her closely, a knowing gleam in her gaze.

"You look good like that," she remarked.

Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes even as she traced a delicate finger down Seline's soft cheek. "Oh, don't start with that," she grumbled, though there was no bite in it.

Luna just smiled, her amusement barely contained as she leaned back against the couch, twirling a loose curl around her finger.

And then—because she could always tell when something monumental was brewing in Pansy's mind—she asked, "So, what brings you crashing into my home at full speed today?"

Pansy hesitated.

For the first time since she arrived, a flicker of nervousness crossed her features. She glanced down at Seline, at the way the baby curled so trustingly against her, and took a slow, measured breath.

"I have something to tell you," she said finally, voice quieter now.

Luna's brows lifted. "Oh?"

Pansy swallowed, her fingers still tracing soft patterns on Seline's back.

Luna's gaze darted to the seriousness in Pansy's eyes. That, more than her breathless arrival, conveyed something monumental. "Oh no, are you about to drop another bombshell on me?"

Luna, sensing the weight in Pansy's voice, lit up a slender, hand-rolled spliff—her "relaxation" measure of choice for the past few years. She took a quick puff, then offered it to Pansy. "Want some?" she teased, eyebrows raised.

Pansy shook her head with a secretive smile, one hand protectively over the baby's head. "We might need to skip our hobby for oh… ten months, give or take," she said in a half-laugh, half-sigh of anticipation.

Luna's gaze sharpened. She inhaled, the question forming in her mind before she even voiced it. "Are you—"

"I'm pregnant," Pansy said, her voice wavering just a touch, as though the reality were still sinking in for her too.

Luna's reaction was instantaneous. The spliff fell from her fingers, extinguished harmlessly on the thick carpet, and she let out a joyous shriek that startled both Lysander and Seline into wide-eyed wonder. Without warning, she threw her arms around Pansy, inadvertently squishing Seline between them, though the baby merely giggled and squirmed.

"OH MY GOOOOOD!" Luna crowed, practically bouncing in place. Her voice rang with sheer elation, a musical note of absolute delight. She drew back and gazed at Pansy, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I'm so, so happy for you!"

Luna's eyes brimmed with affectionate tears. "Oh my love, you wonderful, wonderful woman. This is the best news!" She turned to rummage for her wand and quickly cast a small cooling charm in the air to calm the baby and Lysander, who peeked up over the arm of the sofa, intrigued by all the fuss.

Finally, Luna settled back, her laughter fading into a warm smile as she watched Pansy cuddle Seline. "I'm absolutely bursting with happiness for you. And you're right, no more smoking for you. And you'll have to eat properly, and rest, and—" She stopped, realized her motherly instincts were going into overdrive, and gave a sheepish grin.

Pansy grinned back, a fleeting expression that revealed just how excited—yet anxious—she was. "Trust me, it's a bit daunting, but I'm ready. Well, as ready as I'll ever be," she admitted, letting out a shaky breath. "I just can't stop thinking about the future. The baby will change everything."

Luna placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Yes, but in the best possible ways. You'll see."

From across the room, Lysander edged closer, curious about the conversation. Princess and Lady watched from their vantage point near the foot of the sofa, tails wagging gently in an almost celebratory manner, as if they too sensed something momentous had happened. The entire room seemed charged with happiness and possibilities, a stark contrast to the occasional gloom of Nott Manor.

Pansy cast her gaze downward to Seline, who was now tugging experimentally at her bracelet. "In a few months, I'll be holding one of my own," she murmured, her voice awed by the enormity of it. She glanced at Luna. "I can't wait for them to meet, to grow up alongside all of your children."

Luna's eyes sparkled. "They'll be best friends—just like us. And don't worry, we'll be right here every step of the way."

Pansy released a long, relieved breath she hadn't even realized she was holding, as though the very act of speaking her truth had loosened something that had been wound too tight for too long. 

The weight of her emotions—pride, fear, excitement, wonder—swirled inside her, too big for her body, too vast to contain, yet in this moment, with Luna beaming at her, with Lysander inching closer to peek at Seline still cradled in her arms, with the familiar, comforting presence of the dogs sprawled lazily across the rug, she felt as if she could handle it. As if, for the first time, she wasn't facing something alone.

Luna caught the soft quiver in Lysander's exhale, the way she clutched Seline just a little closer, and, with a voice as soothing as ever, she murmured, "It's okay, love, you can kiss her."

Lysander, small and ever-observant, hesitated only a moment before nodding solemnly. He took a careful, tip-toed step forward, as though approaching something sacred, before leaning in and pressing the gentlest of kisses to his baby sister's forehead, his tiny lips barely grazing the fine baby hair. The moment felt suspended in time, tender and pure, a silent promise of sibling devotion sealed with that innocent touch.

Pansy gasped, placing a hand over her heart in exaggerated devastation. "And I? I don't get a kiss? Have you truly outgrown me so soon? How cruel, how utterly heartless—"

Lysander, no stranger to his aunt's flair for theatrics, knew better than to let this drag on. With a huff of exasperation that rivaled Theo's, he darted forward, pressed a quick, hurried kiss to Pansy's cheek, and just as swiftly dashed away before he could be further entangled in any emotional displays.

Luna shook her head, watching the exchange with clear amusement as she adjusted Seline in her arms. "I swear, this child is more possessive than his father. Guards her crib like a tiny soldier, watches every little thing she does. Theo isn't even allowed to kiss Seline unless Lysander is in the room to oversee the whole operation. It's getting ridiculous."

Pansy smirked, smoothing out the front of her robes as she stretched her arms, reveling in the warmth of the moment. "Must be in his DNA. It's exhausting, being an offspring of a Nott." She cast a knowing glance at Luna, who could only sigh in resigned agreement.

With a careful movement, she handed Seline back to her mother, reluctant but steady, as though she were passing along something infinitely precious. Luna took her with practiced ease, the familiar, natural grace of a mother whose arms would never tire of holding her children. But as Pansy made to step away, Luna's hand shot out, clasping her fingers tightly. Their eyes met, and in that instant, the depth of Luna's joy for her was undeniable.

"I'm truly over the moon for you," Luna whispered, her voice thick, her ever-expressive blue eyes shimmering once more with unshed tears.

The words struck something deep in Pansy, something that made her throat tighten, made her own emotions rise dangerously close to the surface. "Thank you," she managed, squeezing Luna's hand in return, her own grasp just as fierce. "I'll need you now more than ever, you know. To show me how to do this whole motherhood thing, to remind me how to breathe when I inevitably start freaking out."

Luna's smile softened into something solid, something that promised she would always, always be there. "You can count on me," she vowed, with the kind of certainty that left no room for doubt. She gave Pansy's hand one final squeeze before nodding toward her stomach. "And so can that little one, whenever they decide to arrive."

For the first time since the realization of her pregnancy, something inside Pansy truly settled. A warmth spread through her chest, not just anticipation, not just nervous excitement, but something deeper—hope. It bloomed there, slow and certain, something she hadn't let herself fully acknowledge before this moment.

She exhaled, feeling lighter, and as she bent down to stroke Lady and Princess, she murmured, "Guess we'll be adding another pup to the pack—though at least this one won't have a tail."

Luna let out a peal of laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained, echoing through the room like a melody of pure joy. Lady and Princess, as if sensing the shift in energy, barked in response, their tails wagging furiously. Lysander, ever one for excitement, clapped his hands gleefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and even little Seline let out a happy, gurgling coo, as though adding her own voice to the celebration.