Senza Perdono

Her introduction to hell came in the form of Pansy Parkinson's absolute, unwavering, borderline-manic obsession with Valerius.

At first, Ginny had found it endearing. Sweet, even. A little ridiculous, perhaps, but ultimately harmless. After all, wasn't it a good thing that her son was so adored? That he had people in his life who loved him unconditionally, who showered him with attention? But what had started as a casual, affectionate interest soon spiraled into something far more… unmanageable.

Pansy had been coming over every single day for two months straight—without fail, without invitation, without the slightest regard for Ginny's mounting irritation. And each time, without exception, she brought gifts.

Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

It wasn't just the occasional stuffed animal or cute little jumper. No, Pansy was treating Valerius like he was the crowned prince of the wizarding world, and she, his devoted royal benefactor. The sheer volume of gifts was insane. 

There were enchanted plush dragons that actually breathed fire (safely, of course, but still terrifying), tiny, custom-tailored wizarding robes made from fabrics so luxurious Ginny was afraid to let Val drool on them, intricately crafted miniature broomsticks charmed to hover at exactly three inches above the ground, personalized storybooks that read themselves aloud in different voices depending on Val's mood. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

One morning, Ginny had come downstairs to find a life-sized, animated rocking horse modeled after a goddamn Thestral in her living room. It had blinked at her. Blinking. As if it were an actual creature in need of attention. Pansy had smiled, sipped her imported Italian espresso, and said, "I simply had to. He's my little prince."

Ginny had stared at the monstrosity in her living room for a full ten seconds before turning on her heel and walking right back upstairs, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream into a pillow.

It got worse.

By the end of the second month, there was nowhere left to put anything.

Ginny had tried. Merlin, she had tried. She had designated a room just for Val's "special gifts." Then, when that had filled up, she converted an entire section of their attic. When that had overflowed? She started cramming things into closets, into spare cabinets, under beds, anywhere they would fit. But the gifts just kept coming, piling up faster than she could find places to stash them.

And then… then came the final straw.

The day Ginny had officially lost her mind.

She had woken up, groggy and half-conscious, to the distinct sound of something mechanical whirring to life. A soft, delicate hum of gears turning.

Confused, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, only to find that there was an actual, life-sized, enchanted fucking toy train circling her bed.

A train.

With real tracks.

And not just any train—a fucking Hogwarts Express replica, charmed to blow actual steam as it chugged along, looping around her bed with alarming speed.

Ginny had lost it.

She had barely managed to roll out of bed without tripping over the damn thing before storming downstairs, barefoot, hair wild, halfway to hexing Pansy into oblivion before she even saw her.

Because of course she was already in the kitchen.

Sitting there like she owned the place, sipping tea like she hadn't just turned Ginny's entire house into a high-end wizarding toy emporium.

She slammed both palms down onto the table, making the teacups rattle. Pansy didn't even flinch.

"ENOUGH."

Pansy blinked up at her, all innocence and expensive perfume. "Darling," she said smoothly, tilting her head, "you look—" she gestured vaguely, "—tired."

Ginny saw red.

"Tired? TIRED?! Pansy, I was just chased out of my own bed by a fucking Hogwarts Express!" she snapped, her voice rising. "A train, Pansy. In my bedroom. Do you see the problem?!"

Pansy waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that," she said airily. "It's just a simple enchantment. It's designed to circle the room and deliver little sweets—there's a compartment, did you see? It's filled with homemade chocolates."

Ginny actually stared at her. Speechless.

"Oh, and it's self-cleaning," Pansy added helpfully, as if that was the main concern.

Ginny growled. Physically growled.

"I cannot keep doing this," she declared, throwing her hands up. "We're drowning in gifts! I had to convert an entire attic, Pansy! I have a storage unit in the garden that is literally just Valerius' overflow toys! Do you hear me?! An entire. Room."

Pansy sipped her tea, completely unfazed. "Mmhmm."

"I—what—WHY?" Ginny sputtered, beyond frustrated. "Why do you keep bringing more? He has enough! More than enough! The boy is one year old, Pansy, and he owns more expensive tailored robes than most adult wizards will in their lifetime! I am running out of space. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?!"

Pansy finally set her teacup down, folding her hands over her lap, and regarded Ginny with an expression that was both smug and deeply unrepentant.

"He is my little prince," she said simply. "And my godson deserves only the finest."

Ginny's eye twitched.

Pansy reached into her purse.

Ginny lunged across the table to stop her. "DO NOT—"

But it was too late.

Pansy pulled out a tiny, silver-embroidered toddler-sized cloak, lined with velvet and charmed to never wrinkle.

Ginny screamed into her hands, a sound of pure, unfiltered frustration, muffled only by her own palms. She was on the verge of madness, teetering at the very edge of her already fragile sanity.

And Pansy?

Pansy just smiled. That infuriating, self-satisfied, insufferable smile, like she had already won whatever twisted game she was playing.

Ginny ripped her hands from her face, inhaled sharply through her nose, and glared daggers at her.

"He is not your godson!" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through solid steel.

Pansy sighed dramatically, setting her cup down with perfect grace, before giving Ginny a deeply wounded look, as if she had just been slapped across the face.

"Oh," she said, blinking at her, batting her eyelashes in mock offense. "So you decided that you wanted to hurt my feelings this morning. That's fine. Completely fine." She flicked a nonchalant hand toward the air, reaching for another sip of her tea, but her voice remained pointedly cool, measured, dangerous. "I'll just… talk to Blaise then."

Ginny's eye twitched so violently she thought it might detach from her skull.

"It's not what I meant, and you know it," she growled, her patience dangling by a thread thinner than a spider's silk.

Pansy, however, was already shaking her head, clicking her tongue in exaggerated disappointment.

"No, no, Red," she said, lifting a perfectly manicured finger as if to silence her before she even tried to argue. "Because, if you really meant it, I wouldn't be here, now would I? Let's think about this for a second, shall we?"

Ginny gritted her teeth so hard she thought she might chip a molar.

"Who, exactly, are his godparents, hmm?" Pansy tapped a thoughtful finger against her temple, her expression the picture of feigned curiosity. "Oh, wait. That's right. No one. Because you've been so busy pretending Hermione doesn't exist, you never got around to choosing any. Which means, by default, that role falls to me. Congratulations to me, really, it's such an honor."

Ginny saw red.

"DO NOT START."

"Oh, why would I?" Pansy said, smiling wider now, her expression dripping with smug amusement. "Why would I possibly start something when I'm completely right? Talk to your best friend, maybe."

Ginny's fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She had been prepared for Pansy's usual antics this morning. She had been braced for the mountains of unnecessary gifts, for the passive-aggressive commentary, for the entire performance that she insisted on putting on every time she showed up uninvited.

But this?

This was war.

"Oh, fuck off, Pansy," she snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You didn't come over here to check on Val. You didn't come over here just to piss me off with your insane spending habits. Your ulterior motive was getting me to talk to Hermione. Admit it!"

Pansy's smirk was lethal. "I won't admit anything, actually."

"I will not talk to her," she ground out, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the effort it took to keep her rage from boiling over.

Pansy just… sighed again, shaking her head, a smug smile still firmly in place.

"Your stubbornness is going to give me wrinkles, Weasley," she muttered, as if she wasn't purposely poking the fire. "And I don't do wrinkles."

Ginny let out a furious growl, turning around to pace before she threw something across the room.

She should have known. Of course this was Pansy's plan all along. The presents, the incessant visits, the feigned helplessness when Ginny tried to tell her to stop—it had all been leading up to this conversation. Pansy wasn't even pretending to care about Val right now—no, no, no. She was playing the long game, working her way into Ginny's home and head, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And here it was.

Pansy had already decided that she was going to force Ginny into talking about Hermione, whether she liked it or not.

Ginny whirled around, furious, breathless, unhinged.

"I don't owe her anything," she spat, her hands shaking. "I don't owe her forgiveness. I don't owe her a conversation. I don't owe her a single fucking thing after what she did."

Pansy didn't react immediately.

She just watched her, silently, letting the words settle in the air, letting Ginny's anger burn through the room like a forest fire.

And then, in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the rush of blood in Ginny's ears, she asked:

"Then why do you still sound like you do?"

Ginny stilled.

Pansy tilted her head.

"Why do you still sound like you're waiting?" she asked softly, deadly serious now, her usual teasing lilt completely gone. "Why do you still sound like you want her to fight for you? Like you want her to come crawling back and prove she deserves you?"

Ginny hated her for this.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Because that was the ugliest, messiest, most painful part of all of this.

She still wanted Hermione to suffer for her forgiveness.

She still wanted Hermione to bleed for her love.

Ginny turned away, chest heaving, throat tight, her hands digging into her own arms.

Pansy just sighed, leaning back in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other.

"Whenever you're ready to stop lying to yourself," she said airily, flicking imaginary lint from her robe, "let me know. We'll start from there."

Ginny refused to look at her. Her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides, her nails pressing painfully into her palms as she fought to steady her breathing. She was still too busy pretending she wasn't shaking. Every nerve in her body was on fire, every ounce of her self-control teetering on the edge of snapping entirely.

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep her voice level. Calm. Cold. Dangerous.

"What are the things you kept from me?" Her words came out clipped, each syllable laced with barely concealed fury.

Pansy smirked. The kind of smirk that could send a sane person straight into madness. The kind that said she knew everything and enjoyed watching Ginny squirm.

"Everything."

Ginny saw red. Her vision blurred with rage so violent, so consuming, that she felt it in her bones. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out all rational thought.

"I think I'm going to kill you right now."

The words were not a threat. They were a promise.

Pansy tilted her head, looking vaguely amused, as if she were watching a kitten try to claw at a lion.

"Hmm... you can try, love." She inspected her nails, the very picture of ease. "But don't forget—Blaise and I were taught by Bellatrix, raised by families who perfected the art of killing without breaking a sweat. So unless you'd like to have a very short and embarrassing attempt at murder, I'd advise you to choose your next move very, very carefully."

Ginny let out a slow breath through gritted teeth. So, Pansy was a killer too. Wonderful. Another delightful family trait.

"So you're a murderer as well. Lovely. Tell me, is there anyone in this fucking family who isn't dripping in blood?"

Pansy grinned, slow and sharp like a blade sliding into flesh.

"Nevie. Though he did accidentally killed a caterpillar once. That doesn't count, I hope?"

She barely resisted the urge to throw something—preferably something heavy—at her infuriating, smug little face.

"What about your dear friend?"

Pansy's entire demeanor shifted. The amusement in her expression disappeared like a candle snuffed out in the dark. Her jaw tensed. Her posture stiffened. Her black eyes narrowed into something lethal.

Ginny had touched a nerve.

"Do not mention her." Her voice was low, quiet, but it carried the weight of a warning.

Ginny tilted her chin up, unafraid, reckless. She wasn't backing down. Not now.

"Oh, so what did the anger herself do? Holy Mary, Mother to every magical creature? What terrible, unspeakable thing has Saint Luna done?"

Pansy's wand was in her hand in an instant.

Ginny barely had time to react before she was slammed against the wall, the breath knocked out of her lungs as Pansy pressed the tip of her wand to her throat.

The smirk was gone. The teasing lilt in her voice had vanished.

"Keep. My. Luna's name out of your filthy mouth, Red."

Ginny grinned. A slow, defiant grin. Because finally, finally she had cracked her.

She could taste blood on her tongue, feel the sting of the impact on her back, but she didn't care. She laughed—a low, dark, mocking sound.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

Pansy's grip tightened, her nails digging into Ginny's shoulder. Livid. She looked like she was one second away from actually killing her.

"You know nothing about her. Nothing."

Ginny licked her lips, feeling the raw power vibrating between them, thick and volatile.

"I know she kept secrets from me. And I know she let you do the same."

Pansy's wand dug deeper into her skin, her breathing ragged, her pupils blown wide with rage.

"Say one more word, and I swear to all the gods above and below, I will make sure your pretty little mouth never speaks again."

Ginny just smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had the upper hand.

For years, she had been surrounded by people who knew more than her, who spoke in riddles and half-truths, who kept her in the dark while making decisions that affected her life, her family, her future.

But now? Now, she had cracked something open.

Pansy stood before her, wand still drawn, expression still sharp with irritation, but there was something else there now—a flicker of amusement, begrudging respect.

A slow, lazy smirk spread across her lips as she tilted her head.

"You know, I really like you." Pansy exhaled, tucking her wand back into her robes, as if she had merely pulled it out as a casual reminder rather than a deadly warning. "Though, honestly, being a redhead should be a crime." She cocked her head, smirking. "But if I ever hear you mention her like that again, we're going to have a problem. She is a good person."

Ginny narrowed her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. "No one said she wasn't." She took a step closer, her voice lower, her words sharper. "Most importantly, what did you do?"

There it was again. That flicker of something behind Pansy's gaze—something unshaken, something unapologetic. She didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. Instead, she held Ginny's gaze, as if daring her to break eye contact first.

"Tortured people." A pause. "Killed people." Another pause. "Nowadays, I just make poison."

Ginny should have been horrified. Should have staggered back, should have gasped, should have thrown up, should have done something.

But she didn't.

Because deep down, she had known. Maybe not the full details, maybe not the horrific intricacies of it, but she had always known that Pansy's hands were not clean. None of theirs were.

Her throat felt dry, but she pushed past the lump forming there.

"Why are you admitting this so easily?"

Pansy let out a soft chuckle, a slow, knowing sound, as if she were speaking to a particularly dense child.

"Do you need more lies in your life, Red?"

That hit harder than she expected.

She had spent years being fed lies. Being kept in the dark. Being told only what was necessary and nothing more. It was exhausting. Infuriating.

Her jaw clenched. Her fingers curled into fists. "…No."

Pansy smirked. "Then be happy with the outcome." She rolled her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the conversation, then added, almost casually, "If you ever decide you want to kill Blaise, just give me a call."

Ginny jerked back. "I don't!"

Pansy merely raised a brow, unconvinced. "Why not?"

Ginny's heart slammed against her ribs. She didn't hesitate. Didn't need to. "Because I love him."

It was the simplest truth in the world. It felt raw, visceral. Like something fundamental had been pulled from her chest and laid bare between them.

Pansy studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then, she nodded, as if finally accepting something.

"Very well." She turned on her heel, striding towards the door with effortless grace, as if they had just discussed the weather. With a lazy wave of her fingers, she added, "See you tomorrow, Red."

Ginny exhaled heavily, rubbing her temples. "Do not bring any gifts!"

Pansy merely laughed as she disappeared through the door, leaving Ginny alone with the exhausting weight of their conversation.

~~~~~~

Ginny sat curled up on the couch, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she waited. The silence of the house pressed in on her, thick with the weight of her thoughts. The fire flickered lazily in the hearth, casting warm golden light across the walls, but she felt cold.

She had spent the entire afternoon thinking, replaying her conversation with Pansy over and over again in her mind. It left her feeling raw, unmoored. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more—the things Pansy had said or the fact that she hadn't been surprised by any of it.

A quiet crack of Apparition sounded in the entryway, and then, finally, Blaise stepped into the room. His sharp eyes swept the space immediately, assessing. He was always assessing. It was something she had grown used to.

"Amore." His gaze landed on the faint remnants of Pansy's presence—an abandoned teacup on the table, a faint trace of her signature perfume still lingering in the air. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Pansy was here, I see."

She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "Blaise." She gestured vaguely around the room, exasperation leaking into her tone. "Is every single person in our circle a killer?"

He raised a brow, unbothered. "Except Longbottom."

She snorted, but there was no humor behind it. "Fantastic. That's one person." She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, with frustration. "Why is everyone taking this so… nonchalantly? Like it's just—normal?"

He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers. He knew her well enough to wait—to let her untangle the thoughts before speaking. But when he did, his voice was calm, measured. "Because it is normal."

She sucked in a sharp breath. Of course it was. She knew that. She had always known that.

But now it was hitting her differently.

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I need to know what Luna did."

He immediately exhaled, his expression tightening just slightly, but enough for her to catch it. "Ask her."

She scoffed, leaning back against the couch, shaking her head. "Fuck no. I need you to answer me."

He sighed, rubbing his jaw, choosing his words carefully. He always did.

"She won't appreciate her business being dragged into the open."

That wasn't an answer. That was a deflection.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Did she kill?"

A pause. A long pause.

And then, "One person."

She felt something heavy settle in her chest. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself before asking the next question, the important question.

"Was this person a bad person?"

His jaw clenched slightly, but his voice remained steady. "An abuser." He flicked his gaze up to hers, searching, waiting. "I think that theme might ring a bell."

Her heart stuttered. A slow, burning rage curled in her stomach. She clenched her hands into fists, pressing them into her thighs. "Might."

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "She didn't know anything about Ronald." His voice hardened. "She killed a different abuser in her life." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His dark gaze was unwavering. "And that answer should be enough for you."

Ginny swallowed, blinking rapidly.

He wasn't asking her to understand. He was telling her to.

"Matter of fact," he continued, his tone sharp, firm, unmovable, "that was enough for me."

She stared at him, her breath slow and even, her mind turning over his words again and again.

She had spent years thinking of Luna as something delicate, something soft and light—a strange, ethereal presence that floated through life untouched by the darkness that swallowed them all.

But that was never the truth, was it?

Luna had seen monsters. And she had fought them.

And suddenly, Ginny felt like she had never really known her at all.

~~~~~~

Ginevra had never been the kind of person to ignore her curiosity—especially when it gnawed at her like an insatiable hunger. She needed answers, needed to understand what the hell was going on. And the only person who would give them to her straight was Luna.

Which was exactly why she found herself standing outside Luna's door, fist raised, hesitating.

Because Luna always knew.

She sighed and knocked. Once. Twice.

The door swung open within seconds, revealing a slightly disheveled Luna, still shrugging off her cloak like she had just Apparated home.

"Oh, hello." Her voice was light, airy—but Ginny saw the way her eyes flickered over her too quickly, the way she always read her too well.

Ginny forced a smile and leaned in, pressing a familiar kiss to each of Luna's cheeks before stepping inside.

"Hello, darling."

Luna hummed, leading her deeper into the house. The air smelled like chamomile tea and old parchment, a comforting mix that settled in Ginny's chest like a lull.

"Lysander's in the garden if you want to join us," Luna offered over her shoulder, her tone casual.

Ginny shook her head. "No, I see that you were busy."

Luna didn't argue. She simply smiled—that knowing, infuriatingly serene smile—before turning to hang her cloak by the door.

"I just got home from visiting Mimi."

The words made Ginny freeze for half a second, her stomach twisting with something sharp and ugly.

"Oh."

Luna met her gaze, unblinking. "She's with her parents now."

A beat of silence. Then, slowly, she tilted her head, studying her like she was waiting.

"I believe you know the address," she added softly.

Ginny clenched her jaw. She should've known. Of course Luna would pull this.

"Why is everyone doing this to me?" she hissed, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm not going to apologize!"

Luna simply shrugged. "You're not going there to bare your soul, Gin. You're going just for tea."

Ginny let out a sharp, bitter laugh, pacing toward the window. "Please… don't do this to me. Not you."

That was the problem with Luna. She was quiet. She was gentle. But she could wield words like blades, cutting into people's very cores without ever raising her voice.

She turned around just in time to catch the sad smile on Luna's lips, the slight tilt of her head that made her feel like she was under a microscope.

"What you're not changing, you're choosing." Luna's voice was too soft, too final. "Don't set yourself on fire just to keep others warm."

Ginny inhaled sharply. That phrase… she hated it. Because it was true.

She hated that Luna saw right through her.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Thank you."

Luna nodded, like she had known Ginny would say that. Then, in the same breath, she shifted gears completely—because that was just what Luna did.

"How are you doing, love?" she asked, eyes steady. "Answer without lying."

Ginny opened her mouth, ready to brush it off like she always did, but Luna wasn't Blaise, or Pansy, or Theo. She wouldn't let her get away with it.

So she told the truth.

"Overwhelmed," she admitted, running a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. "With emotions. With Valerius. With Blaise. With… myself."

Luna just nodded, like she had expected nothing less. Then, after a moment, she tilted her head, a small, almost mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Do you want to smoke?"

Ginny snorted, the tension that had been coiling in her shoulders finally beginning to unwind.

"Fuck yes."

That was all she needed to say. Luna, always perceptive, always one step ahead, simply grinned and stood, gesturing for her to follow.

They made their way to the gazebo, a secluded little sanctuary at the far end of the garden. The wooden structure was draped in vines, lanterns flickering low, casting golden light against the cool night. The distant hum of insects filled the silence, along with the occasional, unsettling chittering from one of Luna's many bizarre pets.

Ginny dropped onto the cushioned bench, rolling her shoulders back, finally relaxing. Her gaze flickered to the strange creatures lurking in the shadows. Some scuttled along the beams. Others just sat there, watching, their glowing eyes far too intelligent for her liking.

"Why do you have so many of them?" she asked, eyeing one with too many legs as it blinked lazily in her direction.

Luna simply sighed dreamily, producing a spliff from her pocket and lighting it with a casual flick of her wand. She inhaled deeply before exhaling a slow curl of smoke into the crisp air.

"They are uniquely beautiful," she said, like that explained everything.

Ginny raised a brow, lips twitching. "They look weird."

She just hummed, tilting her head. "Theodore gifted them to me."

Ginny perked up immediately, smirking. "Oh, did he now? And what was the occasion?"

Luna's soft smile was knowing, teasing. "All of his sins and penance."

Ginny let out a low chuckle, accepting the spliff as Luna passed it to her. "You are not the only one with a rocky marriage," Luna added after a moment, her voice gentle but laced with something heavier.

Ginny took a slow drag, letting the warmth settle in her chest before exhaling. "Would you like to share something?"

Luna gave her a small, secretive smile, something unreadable flickering in her misty blue gaze. She exhaled through her nose, tapping her fingers against her knee.

"Our love is beyond this universe," she murmured. "But a few times, we got near a black hole that almost swallowed us."

Ginny paused, taking another slow pull from the spliff, processing those words. Love as vast as the universe. A black hole threatening to consume them.

It felt too familiar.

Her mind immediately drifted to Blaise. To the gravitational pull between them, the way they collided, burned, devoured, destroyed, rebuilt.

"Why did you stay?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Luna turned her gaze to her then, her expression unwavering, steady as the stars above them.

"He has a huge cock," she said simply.

Ginny choked, coughing violently as laughter burst out of her.

Luna just sighed wistfully, taking the spliff back as Ginny wheezed, trying to catch her breath.

"Fucking hell, girl," she gasped.

Luna shrugged, taking another drag. "It's the truth."

Ginny shook her head, still grinning. "Aside from his cock, obviously."

Luna's gaze turned soft, thoughtful, as if she were gazing into the very fabric of time itself. She took a slow pull before answering.

"He's the only person I've ever felt truly understood me."

She fell silent, watching as Luna exhaled, her serene expression unreadable.

"He is obsessed with me," she continued, her voice low, certain. "Which I quite like."

Ginny smirked, bringing the spliff back to her lips, inhaling deeply as the smoke curled between them, thick and slow in the crisp night air. The warmth of it settled in her chest, weaving a temporary sense of calm into the tangled mess of her mind. She exhaled in a long, steady stream, watching it dissipate into the darkness, before tilting her head back against the weathered wood of the gazebo.

"Good for you, darling," she murmured, the edges of her voice languid, softened by the haze. Letting herself sink into the quiet hum of the moment.

Luna took the spliff from her fingers, inhaling effortlessly, her face cast in ethereal shadows beneath the dim lantern light. She looked timeless like this, otherworldly, as though she existed in a realm only she could see.

"When Draco got kidnapped," Luna began, her voice steady but far away, "Theo was barely home. I only saw him once a week. For a whole year."

Ginny blinked, the words pulling her from her relaxed daze, her gaze sharpening as she turned to fully face Luna.

"A year?" she echoed, frowning.

Luna nodded, passing the joint back. "He couldn't bear the guilt. And he couldn't bear the guilt that he was neglecting me. But he kept doing it anyway. Running himself into the ground. Drinking too much. Working too much. Sleeping too little. Drowning in his own shame. But I—" she paused, taking a slow, measured breath, "I'm in love with him."

Ginny exhaled slowly, watching Luna's fingers trace absent-minded patterns against the fabric of her skirt, as though she were piecing the past back together, thread by thread.

"So when he came back," Luna continued, her lips curving into something dreamy, almost amused, "I threatened him with a knife. And he fell to his knees."

Ginny choked on her inhale, coughing, eyes widening. "That's… certainly a unique way to ask for forgiveness from your wife."

Luna shrugged lazily, the ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. "I like the thrill," she admitted. "And I like him."

She snorted, shaking her head, passing the spliff back.

"Speaking of knives," she mused, her voice lower now, more deliberate, "I'd like to apologize for when I barged into the living room, trying to kill Theo."

Luna paused, the smoke curling from her lips, her gaze calm, unwavering.

Ginny sighed, running a hand through her hair, suddenly restless. "I didn't mean to scare you."

A small silence stretched between them. The lantern light flickered. The night air was cool, but heavy, thick with something unspoken.

"I wasn't scared," Luna said at last, her voice light, yet weighted. "I knew you wanted to kill him. And I knew you'd never harm me."

Ginny looked down at her hands, the faint scent of ash and earth clinging to her fingertips, the remnants of old blood ghosting in her memory.

"I'll never forgive him," she said finally, the words falling like stones into the quiet.

Luna tilted her head, watching her closely, those impossibly blue eyes seeing more than they should.

"Did you forgive your own husband?" she asked, voice deceptively soft.

Ginny's breath caught for just a moment, but she recovered quickly, her jaw tightening, her nails pressing into the fabric of her cloak.

"He knows I never will."

She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to.

Luna just nodded, as if she already understood. As if she had always understood.

The night stretched on, the air thick with the scent of burnt embers, night-blooming flowers, and something unspoken lingering between them. The world outside the gazebo felt distant, as though they had carved out a space separate from reality—where time did not matter, where past sins and future fears did not exist. Just the two of them, a spliff shared between hands, and the occasional flicker of fireflies in the garden.

Ginny exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the darkness, dissipating into the heavens like whispered confessions. Beside her, Luna sat serene, her fingers grazing the hem of her dress, the fabric bunching between them in slow, absentminded movements. She always had an otherworldly stillness about her, as if she were moving at a different frequency than everyone else.

For a moment, there was only silence, save for the gentle rustling of the trees, the hum of crickets in the distance, and the faint, rhythmic breathing of two women who had seen too much, felt too much, but somehow still found solace in one another.

Then, Luna tilted her head, her gaze shifting to the stars as though seeking permission before speaking. Her voice, always so dreamlike, so light, carried something deeper now—something that made Ginny pause before taking her next inhale.

"I have something important to tell you," Luna murmured, her fingers pressing gently against her stomach, her touch absent but reverent.

Ginny turned her head sharply, her hazy mind clearing in an instant, as if the weight in Luna's tone had sobered her on the spot. Something about the way she said it, about the way she held herself, made Ginny's pulse quicken.

"Please," she breathed, leaning in, brows furrowed, already bracing herself for something catastrophic.

Luna smiled—soft, secretive, and utterly unreadable. And then, in the most calm, steady voice, she said it.

"I'm pregnant."

For a split second, there was nothing. No sound. No movement. The whole world stilled, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

And then—

"OH MY GOD!" Ginny shrieked, launching forward, her voice breaking through the quiet like a firework. She grabbed Luna's hands, squeezing them tightly, her eyes wide with shock, joy, disbelief, everything all at once. "YEEEES!"

Luna let out a small, breathless laugh, her usual ethereal composure cracking for just a moment as Ginny practically tackled her, arms wrapping around her shoulders in an unrestrained, giddy embrace.

"Merlin's saggy balls, Luna!" She half-sobbed, half-laughed, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, her grip still firm as if she feared Luna would vanish. "You're serious? You're really—?!"

"Really," Luna confirmed, her voice soft, warm, full of something ancient and knowing.

Ginny blinked, her chest tightening with emotions she hadn't even begun to name. She cupped Luna's face, brushing away the stray wisps of silver-blonde hair that had fallen over her cheek, as if seeing her for the very first time.

"You're going to be a mum again," she whispered, her voice cracking, as though saying it aloud made it real.

"I know," Luna murmured, her eyes glimmering with something infinite, her hands instinctively cradling the barely-there curve of her stomach.

Ginny let out a choked laugh, pressing her forehead against Luna's for just a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all. This—this was something pure, something untouched by war and grief, something that felt like hope.

She pulled away just enough to meet Luna's gaze again, sniffing sharply before shaking her head in disbelief. "Theo is going to bloody explode."

Luna smiled, her expression a mixture of serenity and amusement. "He already has," she admitted. "He cried for fifteen minutes, swore on every celestial body in existence that he would spend the rest of his life worshiping me, and then promptly fainted."

She barked out a laugh, shaking her head, absolutely delighted.

"That sounds about right," she grinned, wiping at her eyes before grabbing Luna's hands again. "Holy fuck. I can't believe this. You're actually going to be a mum again. I need to sit down."

"You are sitting down," she pointed out, her tone so completely Luna that Ginny dissolved into laughter again.

"I need to sit down harder!" she insisted, dragging in a deep breath, barely containing her joy.

Then, after a beat, her eyes narrowed playfully, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Wait a second…" she mused, her tone turning mischievous, "does this mean you and Theo have been shagging like Kneazles in heat?!"

Luna didn't even blink. "It was a planetary alignment," she said simply.

Ginny stared at her for a long moment before cackling so hard she nearly fell off the bench.

"Luna, you are absolutely unhinged, and I love you so much."

"I know," she replied, her eyes twinkling, before taking another slow inhale of the spliff.

Ginny sighed, happiness radiating through every inch of her body, before gently placing her hand over Luna's, over the small, barely-there swell of her stomach.

"He or she is going to be so bloody lucky to have you," she whispered, her voice filled with something raw and reverent.

Luna tilted her head, resting her free hand over Ginny's. "And they'll be lucky to have you, too."

Ginny sniffed, blinking rapidly, before snatching the spliff back and taking the longest drag of her life.

"Merlin help me, I need another smoke before I start crying again," she muttered.

Luna just smiled—calm, knowing, endless.

And as they sat there beneath the vast, watchful sky, surrounded by the hum of the garden, the weight of war and regret seemed, for once, a little lighter.

Notes:

yeah, yeah I know, smoking while pregnant just ignore it.