Confessions of a drama queen

Becoming friends with Luna had been an unexpected twist in Pansy's life—one she never saw coming.

At first, she viewed Luna with deep suspicion. How could anyone be so untouched by the world's cruelty, so effortlessly at peace with herself? Pansy had spent years fortifying herself, every sharp remark and practiced sneer a layer of armor. But Luna moved through life with an ease that made Pansy uneasy—not out of naivety, but out of an unshakable self-assurance.

She had changed since Hogwarts. The spacey girl she once dismissed as Loony Lovegood was gone, replaced by a woman who carried herself with a quiet kind of certainty, the kind that came from knowing exactly who she was.

Their early interactions were a chess match in her mind—waiting, watching, testing. But Luna never played. She met Pansy's sarcasm with a knowing smirk, her odd musings no longer whimsical nonsense, but philosophical observations that made more sense the longer Pansy listened. She simply existed in a state of unwavering openness, and like water against stone, she wore Pansy's defenses down.

Weeks became months, and she found herself gravitating toward Luna without realizing it. Afternoons once spent alone—lost in thought—were now shared over cups of tea or long walks through the manor gardens. Luna was nothing like her, and yet, there was something unshakable between them.

Luna wasn't a person who judged, nor was she a person who pried. She just listened, offering quiet reassurances or a well-timed observation that cut through Pansy's bravado like a blade. It was disarming, how easily she could see through Pansy without ever making her feel exposed.

For the first time in her life, Pansy had someone she could truly confide in.

Luna never recoiled from her bluntness, nor did she flinch at the shadows in her past. She took Pansy as she was—flaws and all*and in return, she found herself offering pieces of herself she had never given to anyone else.

Late at night, after hours spent in Luna's company, she would sit alone in her room, reflecting on how much her life had changed. She had spent years cultivating an image—Pansy Parkinson, the sharp-tongued Slytherin, who let no one in. Yet somehow, Luna had slipped through the cracks, not by force, but simply by being herself.

And Pansy had let her.

With Luna, she felt free. There were no masks, no expectations, no roles to play. She didn't have to be on guard, waiting for the next attack. She could just be.

And for that, she was grateful in a way she could never put into words.

She had not just become her friend—she had become her anchor. The one steady thing in a life that always seemed to be spinning just out of her control.

Sitting in the dim glow of her bedroom, she thought about all the moments they had shared—Luna's voice filling the air with quiet musings, the sound of their laughter drifting through the gardens.

She smiled to herself, realizing something she never thought she would.

She wouldn't trade their friendship for anything.

Because in Luna, she had found something she didn't even know she had been missing.

A friend. A confidante. A sister in all but blood.

And maybe, just maybe, she deserved that kind of light.

~~~~~~

Neville stepped into the room, his eyes immediately drawn to Pansy, who was meticulously organizing Lady's ever-growing wardrobe—tiny outfits, matching accessories, even a selection of miniature shoes. The absurdity of it should have been ridiculous, but instead, it made him smile.

"Hello, darling," he greeted, his voice warm and laced with quiet affection.

She glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips as she folded a satin-lined cape with great care. "Hello, sweetie. How was work?"

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a look that made her feel far too seen, far too soft. "I missed you," he admitted, his tone quiet but certain.

Pansy let out a light chuckle, glancing at Lady, who was lounging lazily on her plush dog bed. "Oh, so did we," she teased, her affection evident despite the playful tone.

Neville arched an eyebrow, stepping forward. "We?" he echoed, curiosity dancing in his voice.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she continued her task. "Well, it's not just Lady who enjoys your company."

His smile widened, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm. "I'd hope not."

She turned toward him, her sharp wit momentarily failing her as their eyes met. She knew that look—the one that made her stomach flutter, made her feel unsteady in the best way.

Without another word, he cupped her face, his touch gentle yet firm, and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow, lingering, the kind that sent warmth rippling through her body. She sighed against him, her hands sliding up to rest on his broad chest, gripping the fabric of his robes as if to steady herself.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them.

"Were you a good girl today?" he murmured against her lips, his voice a teasing whisper.

Pansy felt a rush of heat bloom across her skin, a rare blush creeping up her neck. "I hope I was," she answered, her voice softer than she intended.

He chuckled, his fingers brushing over the curve of her hip, his touch lazy and unhurried. "Did you have fun with Luna?"

Her expression brightened slightly. "Oh, she's pregnant."

His eyes widened, genuine happiness flickering across his features. "That's amazing, darling. I'm so happy for them."

She nodded, then rolled her eyes dramatically. "Theo, however, is an absolute maniac. So possessive, it's insane."

He smirked, sliding his hand up her spine in a slow, reassuring motion. "That sounds about right. But as long as they're happy, that's what matters."

Without thinking, he gently pulled her down onto his lap, his arms wrapping securely around her. The sudden closeness stole her breath, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders for balance.

His hands skimmed along her thighs, holding her steady as he gazed up at her. "This feels better, doesn't it?" His voice was warm, his eyes brimming with something unmistakable.

Pansy nodded, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms. It was… grounding.

Leaning in, she rested her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his. "Much better."

He smiled, then, in one swift motion, lifted her onto the table.

She barely had time to react before his lips found her neck, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along her skin. His hands traveled downward, fingers slipping beneath the silk of her dress, finding bare skin and making her shiver.

A quiet gasp escaped her as his mouth moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin along her collarbone. His hands roamed, slow but possessive, his fingers brushing over her thighs, her waist—learning every inch of her.

When his fingers slipped between her legs, pressing lightly, she let out a soft moan, arching into his touch.

He smirked against her skin, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles. "Be a good girl for me and tell me about your day," he murmured.

She hesitated, her mind spinning. "Not… nothing special," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He didn't stop, his movements steady but coaxing. "Tell me more."

She shifted, her breath hitching. "My love, I… I just want to—"

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

Pulled back. Stood up.

The shift was abrupt, jarring, and left her feeling cold.

His face had gone unreadable.

Then, in an unexpectedly sharp tone, he pointed at her. "Don't ever say that without meaning it."

And before she could process what had just happened, before she could piece together the confusion twisting inside her, he turned and walked briskly out of the room.

Leaving her stunned, breathless, and utterly bewildered.

For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the space where he had stood.

Her body still buzzed with the ghost of his touch, but now, an entirely different heat burned in her chest—one of frustration, of confusion, of something she couldn't name.

"What did I do?" she muttered to herself, hands gripping the edge of the table. "I didn't do anything wrong. I was just being a good girl."

And yet, for the first time in a long time, she felt completely and utterly lost.

His mind was a battlefield of emotions, each thought colliding with the next as he tried to make sense of it all.

"My love."

The words had slipped from her lips so effortlessly, so casually, yet they had struck him like a bolt of lightning.

He couldn't shake it, couldn't stop hearing it, over and over, until it felt like it was engraved into his very bones.

He tried to rationalize it, pacing his room with an almost frantic energy.

Maybe it was a slip of the tongue.

An accident.

Nothing.

But what if it wasn't?

What if, beneath all the sharp wit, the smirks, the teasing glances, there was something real?

The idea both thrilled and terrified him.

Could Pansy really love him?

The same Pansy Parkinson who took pleasure in pushing his buttons, who kept her emotions locked up tighter than Gringotts, who had never—not once—allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him?

If she did… why hadn't she said it?

Why had she let it slip like it was nothing?

Was it nothing?

The uncertainty was eating him alive.

The room felt too small, too suffocating. His thoughts were a storm with no end. He needed answers.

Without another thought, he stormed through the manor, his footsteps echoing through the vast corridors. His heart pounded in his chest, his fists clenched at his sides.

He couldn't stand the silence, the way she had brushed it off, as if it hadn't shaken his entire world.

He didn't knock. He didn't hesitate.

"Is it true?"

His voice was firm, but not steady.

She turned, her brows furrowing at the sudden intrusion. "What?"

"Do you love me?"

The words hung between them, heavier than anything he had ever spoken before.

His voice had softened, but the intensity in his eyes burned through her.

Her mouth parted, but no words came.

She blinked at him, completely unprepared.

"I asked you something, princess."

His voice grew rougher, more desperate. He stepped closer, his tone dropping to something raw, something pleading.

"Do. You. Love. Me?"

A pause.

"You're playing with my heart."

The admission tore out of him, his voice no longer controlled, no longer restrained.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

Neville exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing as he shook his head.

"So I'll ask again."

Each word was slow, deliberate, breaking the silence between them like a hammer to glass.

"Do you love me?"

The air between them felt electric, charged with something unspoken, unresolved.

She froze, her entire body locked in place, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

She had never felt like this before—never been confronted like this. Cornered by emotion, stripped of control.

She couldn't move. Couldn't think.

And Neville saw it.

Saw the hesitation, the fear, the refusal to give him what he needed.

The moment stretched too long.

His shoulders slumped, disappointment flickering in his eyes before it was replaced with resignation.

"Find me when you have a proper answer."

His voice was quiet now, distant.

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

Her stomach twisted, and before she could process the gnawing sensation in her chest, frustration spiked through her veins like fire.

"He's mental," she muttered, her voice not nearly as confident as she wanted it to be.

And before she could think—before she could feel too much—she turned on the spot, Apparating straight into Luna's living room.

~~~~~~

"Lunaaaaa, I need your help."

Pansy burst into the room, frustration still radiating off her like heat from a fire. Her heart was still racing from her confrontation with Neville, her mind tangled in emotions she didn't want to name.

Luna, ever unbothered, emerged from another room—completely naked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Pansy's brows shot up, but the shock was fleeting, quickly replaced by a smirk tugging at her lips. "All that for me? What a… lovely welcome." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Luna's serene smile softened its usual sharpness.

"Oh, Pans." Luna giggled, utterly unbothered. "I'm planning to fuck my husband. But, how can I help you?"

Pansy blinked, processing, then sighed. She had no time to unpack Luna's effortless confidence—or the fact that Theo Nott was somewhere in this house, about to have the best night of his life.

She slumped into an armchair, dragging her hands through her hair. "I think Neville's going to drive me mad," she admitted, exasperation dripping from every syllable. "I mean, more mad than I already am. I think I'm losing it."

Luna, still in zero rush to clothe herself, finally slipped into a silk robe and curled up in a chair across from her. She blinked, calm as ever, her blue eyes full of understanding.

"What's he done now?" she asked, as if Neville were a mischievous toddler rather than a grown man who had just stormed away, demanding answers Pansy wasn't ready to give.

Pansy crossed her arms, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve—something she never did. She was too proud for nervous ticks, but right now, she felt completely unmoored.

"He barged into my room and asked—no, demanded—if I loved him."

The words spilled out, and for the first time, saying them out loud made the moment more real.

"And?" Luna prompted, tilting her head.

Pansy swallowed, replaying the moment in her head. The way Neville had looked at her, the sheer intensity in his voice when he said, "Do. You. Love. Me?" The desperation. The way he had walked away when she couldn't answer.

"I didn't know what to say." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying her emotions more than she liked. "I froze. And now… now he thinks I don't care at all." She let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists. "And I'm just—what the hell do I even do with this?"

Luna didn't answer right away. Instead, she traced her fingers in the air, as if she could physically grasp Pansy's emotions and examine them.

And then, in a voice so soft yet piercingly direct, she asked:

"Well, do you love him?"

Pansy stilled.

Her instinct was to scoff, deflect, make a joke. But the words didn't come.

Instead, she leaned back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers. "I don't know. Maybe?" Her voice was unusually quiet. "I mean, what does that even feel like? Shouldn't I just… know?"

Luna smiled knowingly, as if she had seen this all before.

"Love's not always something you know immediately, Pans. Sometimes it's subtle. It's not fireworks or grand revelations. For me, it was like a warm breeze," she said, her voice lilting, poetic. "One day, I just looked at Theo, and it felt… right. I didn't question it. I simply knew."

Pansy stared at her, completely incredulous. "A warm breeze?" she repeated, her voice flat with disbelief. "You think I'm going to figure this out with a metaphor about the weather?"

Luna let out a small laugh, not mocking, just… knowing. She moved closer, kneeling in front of Pansy, her hands gently taking hers.

"You're overthinking it." Her voice was calm but firm. "Love isn't always some epic, heart-stopping moment. It's in the little things. It's in how safe someone makes you feel, how their presence just… fits. Do you feel that way with Neville?"

Pansy opened her mouth to deny it, but…

His nervous yet charming smile.

The way he always touched her like she might break.

The way he tried to make her laugh, even when she was determined to stay annoyed.

The way his eyes softened whenever he looked at her—like she was something precious.

Her throat tightened.

She looked away, blinking rapidly, her voice quieter now. "I don't know." A pause. Then, softer. "I… maybe I do."

Luna squeezed her hands, gentle but steady. "You don't have to have all the answers, Pans. Love isn't about having everything figured out. You just have to feel it. And I think, deep down, you already do."

Pansy's lip trembled, frustration cracking into something more raw. "I just… I don't want him to break my heart, Luna."

There. The real fear.

She let out a shaky breath, hating the way her voice wavered. "What if I say it, and then… I lose everything?"

Luna tilted her head, her eyes warm, understanding. "If anyone can love you without hurting you, it's Neville. But you have to let him. You have to let go of the fear and let him in."

Pansy swallowed hard. The thought of giving someone that power over her… it was terrifying. But the thought of never telling him, never knowing what it could be? That was terrifying too.

She let out a chuckle, but it was thin, almost fragile. "Who would've thought we'd become friends?" She shook her head. "You, of all people."

Luna smiled, serene and knowing. "The universe works in mysterious ways."

Pansy sighed, finally accepting what she had been running from. Neville meant something to her. Something real.

"Thanks, Luna."

Luna's smile widened, eyes twinkling. "Anytime, babe."

Then, in true Luna fashion, she stretched her arms above her head and said, "Now, please fuck off. I'm planning to shag my husband, and you don't give voyeurism vibes, so off you go."

Pansy let out an actual laugh, shaking her head as she stood.

"You're a menace, Lovegood."

Luna winked. "A well-loved menace. Now go tell your husband you're in love with him before I hex you into realizing it yourself."

Pansy rolled her eyes, but as she Apparated away, she knew she had no choice but to face the truth.

~~~~~~

When Neville came home from work, the atmosphere in the manor felt heavy, thick with something unspoken, unresolved. The silence wasn't new—it had been there for days now, stretching between them like an invisible wall, built brick by brick through avoidance, through unsaid words, through the way Pansy vanished from a room the second he entered it.

It was exhausting.

He dropped into his usual seat at the grand dining table, movements slow, uncertain, as if the weight of the past few days had settled into his very bones. His appetite was nonexistent, but he forced himself to push the food around on his plate anyway, the rhythmic clinking of his fork against porcelain the only sound in the vast dining hall.

Then—soft footsteps.

Neville glanced up, startled, and there she was. Pansy.

She stood hesitant, lingering near the doorway, her expression guarded but determined. This was different. She wasn't storming in with a sharp remark, nor was she fleeing the second their eyes met. Slowly, almost cautiously, she made her way toward the table, sliding into the seat across from him.

He watched, his gaze drifting to the way her fingers twisted the edge of her napkin, an uncharacteristic nervous tell.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they were sharing a space—sharing a moment.

Neville leaned back, crossing his arms, his voice laced with mockery to mask the uncertainty curling in his chest. "Princess, gracing me with your presence? What have I done to deserve such an honor?"

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't snap back the way she normally would. Instead, she exhaled slowly, her eyes flickering with something unreadable before she spoke with quiet finality.

"Let's get married."

He froze, fork hovering mid-air, his brain scrambling to process what he'd just heard.

"...We are married, Parky." He set the fork down, leaning forward slightly. "Did you hit your head or something?"

Her nostrils flared.

She pushed back from the table, rising to her feet with a dramatic sweep of her hand. "A real one," she declared. "Guests. Flowers. Friends. A proper fucking wedding."

Neville blinked, still trying to catch up.

"So... you want to throw a party?" he asked cautiously, as if testing a dangerous potion.

She folded her arms, her lips pressing into a thin, stubborn line. "Yes."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Pansy, we can host a party anytime you want. You know that." His tone softened, searching her face. "But we don't have to pretend."

That hit a nerve.

Her body tensed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

"We won't pretend."

He frowned, brow furrowing. "I'm not sure I'm following your delusional mind, Sassy." A slight smirk tugged at his lips, a desperate attempt to diffuse whatever storm was brewing inside her.

But she had reached her breaking point.

With a sudden burst of movement, she shoved her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor with a sharp screech. Her chest heaved, her hands balled into fists, and before he could blink, she was practically shouting.

"I LOVE YOU!"

Neville's breath caught.

Her face was flushed, her dark eyes blazing with something fierce, something raw.

"SO IT'S A REAL WEDDING!" She threw her hands in the air as if she could physically shove the words at him. "DON'T YOU DARE MOCK ME!"

And just like that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floors.

Neville sat motionless, watching as she disappeared down the hall, the echo of her footsteps bouncing off the high ceilings.

His mind spun, his heart thundered, trying to catch up with what had just happened.

Had she just—

Had Pansy Parkinson just confessed her love to him in the middle of dinner like a Shakespearean monologue before dramatically exiting stage left?

A breath of laughter escaped him, almost disbelieving.

Merlin, she was unbelievable.

But all he could think about was the way her voice had cracked on the words.

The vulnerability she had never allowed herself before.

Neville let out a slow exhale, shaking his head as he pushed back from the table.

He wasn't about to let her run from this.

Not when everything he had been waiting for had just fallen into his lap—loud, dramatic, and so achingly real.

He followed her through the dimly lit corridor, his heart pounding like a war drum as he gently pushed open the bedroom door.

The sound of soft, broken sobs filled the air, each one twisting something deep inside him.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she cried hysterically.

Neville approached slowly, his movements careful, measured. He reached out, wanting to touch her, to comfort her, but the second his fingers barely grazed her arm, she jerked back violently.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, her voice shaky but still fierce, still Pansy.

Neville's stomach clenched, but his eyes didn't waver. "I'm going to kiss you now," he said quietly, his voice determined, unwavering.

She looked up at him, her tear-streaked face glowing in the dim light, her lips trembling with anger and something deeper—fear.

"Do you love me, Longbottom?" she spat, her voice laced with disbelief, with pain, with defiance. "Is that why you're playing your idiotic mind games?"

He sank to his knees in front of her, lifting her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I do."

It was barely a whisper, but it was steady, unshakable.

Her chest heaved, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she shook her head.

"Why?" she demanded, her voice breaking apart like shattered glass.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath warm, steady—anchoring.

"Because you're you, Parky," he murmured. "Flawed, dramatic, sharp-tongued, maddening. But you make everything feel... alive. You make me feel alive. How could I not love you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out his words, trying to shield herself, but the truth was seeping in anyway.

His hand found hers, his fingers twining with her own, his grip gentle but unrelenting.

"I love your sass, the way you challenge me at every turn. You're smart—brilliant, actually—and you make me see the world differently every single day. You make me laugh, even when you're driving me absolutely insane. And yeah, you're dramatic, but I love that about you too."

Her lips quivered, but she didn't look away.

"You know what else?" His voice dropped, low and intimate. "Every time you kiss me, it feels like you're healing me a little more. Every time. I don't even know if you realize it, but you do. I've never felt so…alive, so aware of everything around me, until you barged into my life with all your fire and your demands."

His thumbs brushed over her knuckles, his warmth seeping into her skin.

"You think you're hard to love, but you're not. You're the most real person I've ever met. And I love every single part of you—the messy, the fierce, the fragile, the beautiful. I love you, Pansy. Every bit of you."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in a long while, she was speechless.

He pressed his forehead against hers again, his voice steady but vulnerable.

"I'm not playing mind games. I'm not going anywhere. I just need you to believe it."

He searched her face, his gaze pleading, waiting, hoping.

"So, I'm going to ask you the same question." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "Do you truly love me?"

The air between them felt electric, charged with something unspoken, something inevitable.

Her lips parted, but hesitation clouded her features.

Then, finally—

"…Yes."

His chest tightened, his pulse roaring in his ears.

He smiled softly, but pressed further, needing more, needing her truth. "Can you tell me why?"

Before she could answer, a soft snorting noise broke the silence.

Lady waddled into the room like she owned the place, her little piggy grunts announcing her arrival. She took one look at her humans, sharing their tender moment, and—in true Lady Lemongrass fashion—decided she needed to be part of it.

With an ungainly hop, she wedged herself between them, plopping down with a satisfied huff.

Pansy, caught between exasperation and affection, pointed dramatically at the dog.

"That's why!" she declared. "You brought this ugly, snorting little creature into my life because you knew. You knew I was lonely, and you gave me her to keep me company."

Neville chuckled softly, watching as Lady shamelessly claimed Pansy's lap, her big round eyes staring up adoringly.

Pansy's voice softened, her fingers gently scratching behind the pug's ears.

"You're the only man who's ever shown me real, genuine love. You see me—all of me—and you love me anyway. You didn't just bring a dog into my life, Nevie. You brought love, you brought companionship… you brought yourself. No one's ever done that for me before."

Her eyes glistened again, but this time, the tears weren't from pain.

She looked down at Lady, then back at him, her voice cracking with quiet emotion.

"You made me believe that I'm worth something more than just being someone's wife. That's why I love you."

Neville, his heart full, his eyes shining, leaned in and gently kissed her forehead.

"I knew it all along."

She looked up at him, her voice trembling. "How could you possibly know?"

He smiled, stepping closer, their hands still intertwined.

"Because you show me every day, in your own way. You send me lunch when I forget, leave little notes even when you pretend they don't mean anything. You notice when I'm not okay, when I'm struggling, and you do something about it—even when you act like you don't care."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles again, slow and reassuring.

"You're not great at showing your emotions, but you try. And that's what matters. Will you try a little more? Show me what you're feeling? I promise you, Pansy, I'll never hurt your heart. Not ever."

Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around his.

She whispered, "Bit by bit… I'll try."

His gaze softened even more, his voice a quiet plea.

"Can I kiss you now?"

She nodded, her heart pounding, and as soon as their lips met, the tension dissolved into a deep, consuming kiss—one that spoke of all the unsaid emotions finally finding their way to the surface.

And this time, Pansy didn't pull away.