Darkness Released, Hope Arrives

She had been visiting as often as possible ever since he had given her the all-clear, but no matter how many times she sat beside her best friend, the weight of what had happened gnawed at her, relentless and unshakable. The Hermione she had always known—the sharp, brilliant, always-in-control witch—had been pushed past her limits, to the point where she had tried to end her own life. And no matter how many times she replayed it in her mind, no matter how many conversations they had since, she still couldn't make sense of it.

It tore her apart inside.

How could someone so strong, someone who had survived war, betrayal, and unimaginable loss, reach a breaking point so absolute? The question haunted her, sinking deep into her bones. She had always believed Hermione was indestructible, unshakable, the kind of person who carried the world on her shoulders and still managed to stand tall. But now, all she could see was the fragile reality of it all—that even the strongest people could shatter.

They were having lunch at the cottage today, a quiet afternoon filled with the gentle clink of cutlery against plates and the distant crackling of the fireplace. Sunlight streamed through the windows, warm and golden, casting a soft glow over the table. Crookshanks was curled up by the hearth, his tail flicking lazily, watching them both with the lazy indifference only a cat could manage.

But beneath the illusion of normalcy, something was wrong. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the silence stretching unbearably. It was suffocating, pressing against her like a weight she couldn't shake. She couldn't take it anymore.

She set her fork down carefully, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table before she looked up, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Love," she said, her voice quiet but firm, "I need to know what happened. I can't keep pretending everything's fine when it isn't."

Across the table, Hermione froze. Her fork hovered midair for a moment before she slowly set it down, her movements deliberate, almost fragile. She didn't look up right away. Instead, her hands curled into her lap, fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the table, as if searching for the right words—or the strength to say them at all.

For a long, suffocating moment, it seemed like she wouldn't say anything at all.

She whispered her name, the sound barely making it past her lips, fragile and hesitant. The silence that followed was agonizing, stretching between them like a chasm, filled with all the things she didn't know how to say. How could she tell her the truth? How could she put into words the weight of what she had done—something so dark, so irreversible, that even she couldn't fully understand it herself?

Her stomach twisted violently, guilt coiling inside her like a serpent. But there was no escaping it now. No running, no pretending, no hiding.

"Something terrible happened," she finally said, her voice shaking but resolute.

Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, a deep, unrelenting fear clawing at her insides. "With Draco?" she asked instantly, her mind leaping to the worst. If something had happened to him, it would explain everything. That kind of loss would destroy Hermione completely.

But she shook her head, almost frantically. "No. Gods, no. He's perfect. He's been nothing but amazing. This isn't about him."

Her brow furrowed, confusion swirling through her like a storm. If it wasn't Draco, then what could have possibly pushed her to the brink?

"Please, love," she murmured, her voice raw with desperation. "You can trust me. Whatever it is, I swear to you, I'll be here."

Hermione's breath hitched, and for the first time, she lifted her gaze, meeting hers with an expression that sent a chill down her spine. There was fear in her eyes, but there was something else too—something darker, something that made the air feel too thick, too heavy.

"I need you to make a vow," she said, her voice low and urgent, vibrating with an intensity that made her breath catch. "An Unbreakable Vow. You can't tell anyone. Not a soul. Except… maybe Blaise. But even then… I think he already knows."

A vow. Her stomach twisted painfully. What could be so devastating that Hermione needed to bind her to secrecy with magic that could cost her life?

"Is it that bad?" she whispered, the weight of her own fear pressing down on her like a vice.

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, but she nodded, her throat visibly constricting as she swallowed hard. "Gin, I… I did something unforgivable."

The words were like a fist closing around her heart. Her mind raced, spinning wildly in search of an answer, an explanation. This was Hermione—their Hermione. She didn't do things that were unforgivable. She didn't hurt people. She didn't break the rules like this. And yet… the terror in her eyes said otherwise.

She exhaled shakily, her resolve solidifying. "I'll do it," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "I'd do anything for you, love. You know that."

Hermione's hands trembled as she pushed back from the table, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. She reached for her wand with a deliberate slowness, as if every movement carried the weight of finality.

"Come here," she said softly, not looking at her.

Her legs felt unsteady as she stood, moving toward Hermione as if walking through water. She had never taken an Unbreakable Vow before, but she knew what it meant. There was no turning back. Whatever Hermione was about to reveal, it would change everything.

The air between them crackled with silent magic as they raised their wands. The space between their hands felt electric, charged with the weight of something irreversible.

She swallowed hard, voice barely steady as she hesitated. "Are you sure?" she whispered, though she already knew the answer.

Hermione nodded, her jaw tight with determination. "I have to be."

She took a deep breath, reaching out, her fingers brushing Hermione's palm. The instant they touched, the magic surged to life, burning bright like liquid silver, coiling around them in shimmering strands.

"I, Ginevra Molly Weasley-Zabini, vow that—" Hermione started, her voice trembling but steady, "I will not tell a soul about what I'm about to reveal. Repeat it."

The magic wound tighter, binding them in a spell more permanent than words. Her breath felt caught in her throat as she spoke the words that sealed her fate.

"I, Ginevra Molly Weasley-Zabini, vow that I will not tell a soul about what you are about to reveal." The vow left her lips like a confession, and in that moment, the finality of it settled deep into her bones.

The silver tendrils glowed brighter, tightening, pulsing between them like a shared heartbeat. The light flared once—blinding, hot—before fading into a slow, rhythmic pulse.

Hermione's next words came like a whispered curse. "And if you break it, the consequences will be fatal."

She forced herself to nod, despite the tightness in her chest. She had known the risk the moment she agreed, and yet hearing it spoken aloud sent a chill down her spine.

The magic settled, the spell sealed. It was done.

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. The weight of the vow clung to her like a second skin, the air around them heavy with finality. Her hands fell to her sides as she stared at Hermione, whose face was carved with both relief and something else—something much more sorrowful.

Hermione's breath came in shallow gasps. She turned away, her gaze fixed on the window as though searching for an escape in the distant garden. But she knew—there was no escape from this.

"I killed Lucius Malfoy," she whispered, the words barely there, yet they rang louder than any sound in the room. "I killed him, Gin."

Everything inside her stilled.

The world tilted violently on its axis, the breath stolen straight from her lungs. Killed him? The words didn't make sense, didn't fit with the person standing in front of her. Lucius Malfoy. Dead. By Hermione's hand.

Her body went cold.

She gripped the table, fingers curling tightly against the wood, struggling to keep herself grounded as her mind reeled. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest she could barely hear anything else.

Her voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. "H-Hermione…" The name tasted foreign, like she no longer recognized the woman before her. "What—how?"

Hermione didn't meet her eyes. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her posture rigid with the weight of her confession. "We visited him in Azkaban," she admitted, voice void of emotion, as though detaching herself from the words might make them easier to say. "I poisoned him."

The room spun. Her breath hitched. The heaviness of Hermione's words settled like iron in her chest.

For a moment, she didn't know how to react. She should be horrified. She should be appalled. But instead—something unexpected slipped from her lips, surprising even herself.

"Good girl."

Hermione's head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. "What?"

Her mind was still spinning, but clarity struck with an almost terrifying certainty. "Did you have a good reason?" she asked, her voice unnervingly steady.

Hermione's expression crumbled for a second before reforming, guilt flickering behind her eyes. "He abused Draco," she admitted, barely more than a whisper. "For years. Broke him down, crushed him beneath his thumb. There was no saving Draco from him until Lucius was gone." Her voice was thick with emotion, yet edged with an anger so raw it burned. "I had to end it."

Something settled inside her, something that should have unsettled her but didn't. She understood.

She understood more than she wanted to.

"I actually understand," she said, the words leaving her lips with startling ease.

Hermione blinked, her whole body going stiff. "You… you do?" she asked, voice trembling, as though bracing herself for judgment.

She met her gaze, unwavering. "Are you not mad?" Hermione asked, hesitant, fragile, afraid.

She tilted her head slightly, lips curling into something almost like a smirk.

"Love," she said, her voice steady, calm, and completely, utterly certain. "If it were Blaise, I would have done the same thing."

She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to wade through the chaos of emotions crashing over her like a storm at sea. There was shock, sadness, maybe even the faintest whisper of fear—but anger? No. There was no room for anger here. Not after what she had just learned.

"Honestly, Hermione…" she began, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her. "I feel a lot of things right now." She exhaled slowly, tightening her grip on the table's edge as if grounding herself. "But anger isn't one of them."

The words landed between them, heavy and unshakable. The silence that followed stretched thick and fragile, teetering on the edge of breaking. Hermione's lips trembled, her carefully held composure slipping away. And then, like a dam finally giving way, the tears came, silent but relentless, streaking down her face as if she had been waiting—desperate—for this moment of absolution.

She reached out, her fingers finding Hermione's and squeezing gently. "You did what you thought you had to do," she said softly, the weight of the truth pressing into every syllable. "You protected Draco. You saved him."

Hermione's tear-brimmed eyes met hers, a tangled mix of gratitude and regret swimming in their depths. "I didn't know what else to do," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her own words. "I couldn't let him keep haunting Draco—not just from prison, but in his mind. Lucius was still there, controlling him, making him doubt himself. Every time Draco looked in the mirror, he saw the man who made him feel like he was nothing. I had to stop it. I had to."

Her heart clenched painfully at the rawness in Hermione's voice, the sheer desperation that had driven her to do the unthinkable. She couldn't begin to fathom what it must have been like, to hold a vial of poison in her hand, to look a man in the eye and decide that he didn't deserve to draw another breath. But she understood the love behind it. The need to save the person who meant everything to her. The willingness to destroy yourself if it meant saving them.

"You did it for love," she murmured, her voice almost reverent. "And I get that."

Hermione let out a shuddering breath, wiping at her tear-streaked face with trembling fingers. "I thought you'd hate me," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "After what I did, I thought… I thought everyone would."

She squeezed her hand tighter, grounding her. "I could never hate you, love," she said, firmer now, the certainty in her voice like an anchor. "You're my best friend. And after everything we've been through, there's nothing—nothing—that could make me turn my back on you."

Hermione let out a small, broken sound that might have been a laugh if it weren't so soaked in relief. "Thank you, Gin," she whispered, her voice raw, but lighter, as if something inside her had finally loosened its grip.

She nodded, feeling the shared weight of their secret settle over them like an invisible shroud. "We'll get through this," she promised. "Together."

The cottage seemed to exhale around them, the tension that had suffocated the air shifting into something softer, something almost bearable. But even as she held Hermione's shaking hands in her own, she knew—things would never be the same. Not after this.

She took a slow, steadying breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "You did what you had to do to protect him." Her fingers curled tighter around Hermione's, anchoring her in place. "And yourself."

That was all it took. Hermione's face crumpled as a choked sob tore from her throat, and before she could even think, she was there, catching her as she collapsed into her arms. She held her fiercely, letting Hermione grip onto her as though she were the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. Her own emotions surged, tangled and raw—disbelief, sorrow, fierce, unwavering love.

But beneath it all, something darker stirred inside her. A realization she hadn't been ready to face.

Because as much as she should have been horrified, as much as she should have questioned the morality of it all, she wasn't. She wasn't disgusted. She wasn't repulsed.

She felt… nothing.

No, that wasn't true. She felt understanding.

Hermione had confessed to murder, and instead of condemnation, she felt an eerie sense of clarity. Hermione had done what she needed to do. She had taken action. She had ended the monster that had tormented Draco for decades.

And when she looked deep inside herself, truly searched her own soul, she realized with startling certainty—if Blaise had a demon like that, someone who had haunted him, preyed on him, broken him the way Lucius had broken Draco—she wouldn't hesitate either.

She would kill for him. Without question. Without remorse.

The thought should have terrified her. It should have rattled her to her core.

But it didn't.

It felt… natural.

Love, she realized, wasn't just warm and bright, full of grand gestures and whispered promises. Love was also violent. It was ruthless. It was a force that could drive a person to the very edges of their morality and demand sacrifice without hesitation. It wasn't just about devotion—it was about survival. About making sure the person who mattered most was safe, no matter what it cost.

And maybe that's why she felt no guilt. No shame.

Hermione had done it for love. And she knew—without a shadow of a doubt—she would have done the same.

~~~~~~

The news came like a burst of fresh air, sweeping away the lingering shadows of the past few weeks—Luna had given birth. She could hardly contain her excitement, the words replaying in her head over and over like the sweetest melody. Lysander Nott. A beautiful baby boy, a name that felt like magic itself, one that seemed to shimmer with destiny, as though the stars had whispered it long before he was born.

She beamed, her heart swelling with joy as she imagined Luna cradling him, her ethereal glow even more radiant now that she was a mother. And Theo—a father. The thought made her chest tighten with emotion. They had all been waiting for this moment, holding their breath in anticipation, and now, here it was—a new life, a new beginning, the kind of magic that no spell could replicate.

But if she was overwhelmed with joy, it was nothing compared to him.

Blaise was beside himself. Godfather. The title had barely left his lips before he repeated it again, and again, his voice filled with something reverent, something childlike, something utterly unguarded. It was a role he had secretly longed for, a silent wish he had never spoken aloud, and now that it was real, it had ignited something in him she had rarely seen.

He couldn't sit still. He moved through the house like a man possessed, his mind spinning with plans, his body thrumming with restless excitement. He talked about everything he would do for Lysander—how he would make sure he had the finest broomstick when he was old enough to fly, how he would teach him the intricacies of wizarding culture, how he would spoil the hell out of him just to see Theo roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Unicorns, Gin! The boy is destined to be obsessed with them, just like Theo was when we were kids," he declared dramatically, pacing the room as though he was preparing for the most important mission of his life.

She had barely opened her mouth to respond before he had already summoned his wand, sending off a truly obnoxious yet undeniably magnificent floral arrangement to Luna—an intricate, spell-crafted unicorn made entirely of enchanted blooms, its petals shifting and glowing softly with an otherworldly shimmer. It stood among the dozens of gifts that had already begun arriving at the Notts' estate, but she knew instantly that Blaise's was the most ridiculous. And, if she had to admit, the most beautiful.

She watched him with quiet amusement, shaking her head as he continued pacing, his mind clearly still racing with ideas. It was rare to see him this unguarded, this openly joyful—a man who had always held his emotions close to the vest, now practically vibrating with excitement.

Something about it warmed her to the core.

This was their family. Not just by blood, but by choice. A tangled web of loyalty, love, and unshakable bonds forged through years of triumph and tragedy. Lysander's birth wasn't just a moment for Luna and Theo—it was a moment for all of them, a beacon of something pure after the storm they had weathered.

But even in the midst of the joy, her thoughts flickered back to Hermione, to the weight of the secret she now carried. The stark contrast between life and death, between the arrival of something new and the destruction of something old, sent a shiver down her spine.

Yet, here in this moment, with him, with their friends, it felt as though the world was finding its balance again. As if life had quietly, unknowingly, pulled them full circle.

Days passed, and with each one, the anticipation of the baby shower built like static in the air. She found herself looking forward to it more than she had expected, yearning to see Luna, to hold Lysander, to remind herself that light still existed, that there were still moments of untainted joy to be found.

Meanwhile, he was already settling into his godfather role with a level of dramatic flair that could only be described as Blaise Zabini nonsense.

"I've already picked out his first broomstick, you know," he said one evening, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to do for a newborn.

She turned to him, arching a brow as she leaned against the counter. "Blaise, he literally cannot hold up his own head yet, and you're already planning his Quidditch career?"

He looked affronted. "Exactly! We must prepare him! You do realize that Theo is going to let him be a Hufflepuff, right? A Hufflepuff, Ginny. If I don't interfere, the boy is doomed."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "Blaise Zabini, you adore Theo, and you know it. And—heaven forbid—you also have a soft spot for Hufflepuffs."

He scoffed dramatically, crossing his arms. "That is slander. But fine. Fine. I suppose I will allow the child to have some influence from his father. But mark my words—if Lysander ever so much as hints at playing Quidditch, I will ensure he is properly trained. None of that ridiculous 'house loyalty' nonsense. He will be great."

She laughed, shaking her head. Merlin help them all.

But as he rambled about Quidditch strategies for a toddler who had barely taken his first breath, she found herself watching him, really watching him.

This was the man she had married. The one who could be so composed, so untouchable to the rest of the world, and yet here he was—completely unraveling over the idea of a child who wasn't even his own. He had so much love in him, so much protectiveness, so much unwavering devotion to the people he cared about.

Her heart softened.

She reached for his hand, pulling him close. He paused mid-rant, his dark eyes flickering with curiosity as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Blaise," she murmured, pressing her forehead to his. "You're going to be the best godfather."

The teasing, dramatic mask melted away for just a moment, replaced by something real, something raw. He exhaled softly, his arms tightening around her, his lips brushing against her temple.

"I'll make sure of it," he whispered. "I swear."

And in that moment, she knew—without a doubt—that Lysander Nott was about to have one hell of a godfather.

~~~~~~

The Nott estate, nestled among the rolling green hills of the English countryside, had never looked more inviting. The manor's grey stone facade stood elegantly against the vibrant splashes of color from the blooming roses that climbed along the walls, their sweet fragrance carried on the cool autumn breeze. It was a place of old-world beauty, but today it seemed to glow with a renewed sense of life—a warmth that cut through the crisp air.

She couldn't help but smile as they approached the front entrance, Blaise by her side. The air was still, peaceful, as if the world itself had paused to honor this special day. Every step forward filled her with a blend of excitement and nostalgia. The grounds were familiar—how many times had they gathered here for moments both joyful and somber? And yet, this time, it felt different.

A new life was waiting for them inside. Lysander Nott—beautiful, perfect Lysander—had arrived, and it was hard to believe how much had changed in such a short time. It seemed only yesterday that Luna had shared the news of her pregnancy, and now, here they were, ready to celebrate the birth of the little boy who had already brought so much joy into their lives.

As they walked, dhe found her mind drifting back over the months that had led to this moment. The turbulence of their lives—Hermione's struggles, the whispered secrets, the tensions that had frayed the bonds between friends—all of it seemed to fade, at least for today. Here, at the Nott estate, surrounded by beauty and serenity, they were afforded a rare opportunity to celebrate something pure and hopeful. Today wasn't about what had been lost or the challenges they had faced—it was about welcoming the newest member of their makeshift family.

Blaise, too, had a renewed energy about him. He had been buzzing with excitement since they first heard the news of Lysander's birth. She had watched him pour over gifts and meticulously plan for the baby shower, the thought of being a godfather filling him with pride. His face lit up as they reached the grand doors of the manor.

"You're smiling," she noted, nudging him playfully.

"I'm just happy," he admitted, his eyes gleaming. "Lysander's going to have the best godfather ever."

She laughed softly, her heart warmed by his sincerity. "He's lucky to have you."

"And lucky to have all of us," Blaise added, his voice growing thoughtful. "We've been through a lot, Gin. But today... it feels like a fresh start, doesn't it?"

She nodded. It truly did. There was something almost poetic about this moment—a day to honor life, renewal, and the bonds that had kept them all together through the darkest of times. It reminded her of what truly mattered: family, both born and chosen.

As they approached the door, her heart swelled with joy. Today was about Luna and Theo, about Lysander and the future they were building. But it was also about the unshakable ties between them all—ties forged in both love and hardship. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. And for now, that was enough.

As they stepped inside the manor, the warmth enveloped them, and Luna greeted them with a warm smile, Lysander nestled comfortably in her arms. His tiny face peeked out from the soft blankets, his little fingers curling instinctively. "Ginny, Blaise, so good to see you again. Come in, come in," she said, her voice a soothing melody that resonated with happiness.

They were the last to arrive, slipping in quietly as the gentle hum of conversation filled the room. The scene before them was one of serene happiness—a stark contrast to the emotional rollercoaster they'd all been riding for so long.

Pansy and Neville were standing near the crib, gazing down at Lysander with the quiet awe of new godparents. Luna had just laid her newborn son down, and the soft glow of love in the room was palpable. Pansy, who could often be sharp and witty, now looked unusually tender, her eyes soft as she reached down to brush her fingers over the baby's tiny hand. Neville stood beside her, a quiet smile playing on his lips, his arm resting protectively around her waist. It was clear that they were already completely in love with their godson.

Nearby, Hermione and Draco stood together, their usual air of composed strength replaced by something softer, almost reverent. Draco's typically guarded expression had melted into one of pure wonder, his silver eyes fixed on the tiny bundle of life before him. Hermione, leaning gently against him, looked equally mesmerized. They both stared down at Lysander as if he were the most magical thing they had ever seen—a symbol of hope and light after everything they had endured.

She felt a lump rise in her throat. This moment, this quiet shared joy, was exactly what they all needed. After the months of turmoil, secrets, and struggles, Lysander's birth felt like a fresh beginning. He was a reminder that life could be beautiful, even amidst the chaos.

Blaise squeezed her hand gently, pulling her attention to him. His smile was radiant, pride and love shining in his eyes as he looked at the tiny baby who had already stolen everyone's heart.

"Look at them," he whispered, nodding toward their friends. "It's like he's healed something in all of us."

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. Lysander wasn't just Luna and Theo's son—he belonged to all of them, a beacon of hope for their found family.

Ginny bubbled with enthusiasm, her cheeks flushed with joy as she stepped into the room, her heart racing at the sight of the warm, glowing faces around her. In her hands, she cradled a wicker basket overflowing with homemade cookies, their tantalizing aroma wafting through the air, mingling with the soft scent of baby powder. Nestled among the treats was a selection of adorable baby clothes, each piece meticulously crafted and infused with magic. "I couldn't resist bringing these!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They're all enchanted to grow with him, of course!"

The atmosphere around her was electric with pure delight, a vibrant celebration of new beginnings and cherished friendships. Laughter and soft coos filled the air as everyone gathered around the crib, drawn to the sweet bundle of joy that was Lysander. The sight of him, so small and perfect, melted her heart, a reminder of the beauty that could emerge from the chaos they had all faced.

In that moment, she allowed herself to dream. She envisioned a future filled with laughter and love, where joy blossomed like the flowers in the garden outside. She smiled to herself, knowing that every day was a new opportunity to nurture the love she was building with Blaise, each moment a stepping stone toward the life she yearned for. She could almost see it—a home filled with laughter, love, and the pitter-patter of little feet.

With a renewed sense of hope, she looked around at her friends, each one a vital part of this beautiful tapestry they were weaving together. Today was a reminder that they could create a life marked by happiness, even amidst the trials they had faced. As she handed over the basket to Luna, she felt a warmth swell within her—a promise of what was to come, a future bright with possibility.

~~~~~~

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and purple, she and Blaise made their way back home from the Nott estate, their hearts buoyed by the joyous occasion they had just shared. The air was crisp, filled with the sweet scent of blooming roses from the garden they had left behind, but all she could focus on was the warmth radiating between them.

"Can you believe how tiny he is?" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm as they walked hand in hand down the stone path leading to their front door. "I mean, I thought all babies were a bit squishy, but Lysander is just so perfect!"

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "He really is, isn't he? I can't wait to see him grow up. It feels like just yesterday we were all worried about Theo and Luna navigating parenthood. Now look at them!"

She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips as she recalled the way Theo had held Lysander with such tenderness, a stark contrast to the often aloof persona he projected. "It's amazing how love can change a person. He looked so… vulnerable. It's a side of him I didn't know existed."

As they reached their front door, he paused, turning to face her. "It's the same with you, you know. I see how much joy you bring to our lives. You're incredible, Ginny."

She felt her cheeks flush at his compliment, warmth flooding through her. "You're not so bad yourself, darling. I mean, you're going to be the best godfather ever. Look at how thoughtful you are!"

He grinned, his eyes glimmering with mischief. "Well, I have to keep up my reputation. I can't let Lysander grow up thinking his godfather is anything less than amazing."

She laughed, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. They both stepped inside their home, the familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon enveloping them like a warm embrace. The cozy ambiance was a stark contrast to the excitement they had just left behind, but it felt just as welcoming.

Blaise poured two glasses of champagne, his movements fluid and graceful as he worked. "Just think—this time next year, we could be hosting a party for our own little one," he mused, glancing over his shoulder at her with a hopeful smile.

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and she felt her cheeks warm again. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless. "That we'd be ready for that?"

"Why not?" he replied, leaning against the counter, his expression earnest. "We've talked about it before, and seeing Draco and Hermione with Lysander made me realize that we could do this. We'd be amazing parents, Ginny. Just look at how we already support our friends."

She smiled softly, her heart fluttering at the possibilities. "You're right. I mean, I want that too. Just—" She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to voice her feelings. "Just with everything that's happened, it feels like a big step."

He nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "It is a big step. But we're in this together. We've faced so much already. Whatever comes next, we'll handle it as a team. Just think of the love we could bring into this world."

She felt a surge of emotion as she looked at him, realizing how truly lucky she was to have him by her side. "You're so right. I want that— A family with you would be everything I've ever dreamed of."

He stepped closer, taking her hands in his, the warmth of his skin grounding her in that moment. "One day at a time. We will get there."

The air between them was charged, filled with an unspoken promise, and she knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, hand in hand.

They shared a sweet, lingering kiss, and as they pulled apart, Ginny could see the excitement reflected in his eyes. "Now, let's enjoy this celebration of life," he said, gesturing to the bubbling champagne. 

She laughed, a lightness filling her heart as they settled at the dining table, the warmth of their home wrapping around them. With each bite of their delicious dinner and sip of beverage, they exchanged stories, laughter, and dreams, the future unfolding before them like a beautiful tapestry woven with love.

In that cozy moment, she couldn't help but think that happiness was not just a fleeting feeling but a state of being, nurtured by the connections they shared. The joy of the day lingered in the air, and as they continued to talk and dream together, she knew that this was just the beginning of their own beautiful journey—a journey filled with love, laughter, and the promise of family.

Finally sickeningly in love.