Extremely Important invitations

They slipped into a romantic routine that, at first, felt foreign to her but soon became the highlight of her days. After confessing their love for each other, their relationship blossomed in ways neither had fully anticipated. She had never been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, but for him, she was willing to try. Love had softened her edges, and though vulnerability didn't come naturally, she wanted him to know just how much he meant to her.

For Pansy, showing her emotions was an effort, a conscious decision each day to lower the barriers she had built over the years. She found herself working on it in small, deliberate ways—whether it was reaching for his hand in the quiet moments or letting her gaze linger on him just a little longer, her eyes filled with unspoken affection. She was used to sarcasm and wit as her shields, but with him, she was learning that tenderness was its own form of strength.

He, for his part, was more romantic than ever. Now that they had confessed their love, it was as though a dam had broken within him. He wasn't afraid to show her just how deeply he cared for her, and he did so through small but meaningful gestures that made her heart swell. Each morning, he would leave a freshly picked flower from the garden by her bedside, its delicate petals a stark contrast to the stoic exterior she had so long maintained. And though she would often tease him about it, calling it "cheesy" or "unnecessary," she secretly adored the gesture, finding comfort in his thoughtfulness.

Their evenings became something she looked forward to—quiet moments where the world around them seemed to fade away. They would spend hours in their cozy sitting room, curled up together by the fire, reading or simply talking. He loved listening to her stories, to the way her voice would get animated when she recounted tales of their time at Hogwarts or mused about the future. And she, who had once feared being vulnerable, found herself sharing more and more with him, trusting him with parts of herself she had kept hidden from the world.

One evening, as they sat together in the garden under the fading light of the sunset, she found herself studying him in a way she never had before. His face was softened by the golden hue of the setting sun, his eyes filled with a kind of warmth that made her heart race. It was in moments like these, when everything was quiet and still, that she realized just how deeply she had fallen for him. The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Nevie," she said softly, her voice almost tentative as if she were testing the waters of her own emotions. He turned to her, smiling that easy, sincere smile that had first disarmed her.

"Yes, love?"

For a moment, she hesitated. Showing her emotions still felt foreign, like wearing a new pair of shoes that hadn't quite been broken in. But when she looked into his eyes, she found the courage she needed. "I'm not very good at this... at showing how I feel. But I hope you know how much I love you." The words came out in a rush, surprising even her with their sincerity.

His smile widened, and he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "I know, Sassy. And you're doing just fine. You don't have to change who you are for me. I love you just as you are."

His words, spoken so simply and earnestly, made her chest tighten. She wasn't used to this—being loved for exactly who she was, without conditions or expectations. It was liberating and terrifying all at once. But with him, she felt safe enough to let herself feel it all.

In return, his gestures grew even more romantic, as though her efforts to show her emotions had only deepened his own desire to make her feel loved. He would surprise her in the middle of the day with little notes left in random places around the manor—inside her book, tucked under her pillow, or even slipped into the pocket of her robe. Each note was different, but all of them carried the same message: how much she meant to him. Some were playful, teasing her about her habits or quirks, while others were more heartfelt, expressing his gratitude for her presence in his life.

It became a game between them, with she pretending to act indifferent each time she found one, but inwardly cherishing every word. She had even started writing him notes in return, though hers were a bit more sarcastic in tone. She would write things like, "If you keep leaving flowers by my bed, the garden will be bare in a week," or "I still think you're crazy for loving me, but don't stop." Despite the teasing, he could see right through her. He knew she loved him just as fiercely, even if she wasn't quite ready to say it in a dozen different ways.

Their routine was built on this quiet dance of affection—small touches, lingering glances, and moments of tenderness that made everything else seem insignificant. Each morning, he would wake her with a soft kiss, whispering sweet words against her skin as she groggily came to life. And each night, they would fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of their day melting away in the warmth of their shared bed.

There were times when she would catch herself marveling at how far they had come. From a marriage that had started as a mere obligation.

~~~~~~

She sat curled up on the couch beside him, the firelight casting a warm glow around the room. She was playing absentmindedly with the edge of her robe when a thought occurred to her—a thought she hadn't quite dared to voice until now .

"Darling?" she began softly, her voice a little more tentative than usual.

He turned his head to look at her, his expression as open and kind as ever. "Yes, love?"

She hesitated, her fingers nervously twisting a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap. The question that had been swirling in her mind for weeks hovered on the tip of her tongue, and she bit her lower lip, trying to find the right words. It wasn't that she didn't know how to ask him—it was the weight of the question itself that made her pause. Their life together had settled into a comfortable rhythm, a quiet, shared understanding that grew with every passing day. But this...this felt different.

Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, she took a deep breath and blurted out, "So... would you like to have a real wedding?"

The words lingered in the air between them, soft yet heavy with meaning. For a heartbeat, maybe two, he didn't respond. His brow furrowed slightly as the surprise registered in his eyes. They had been married for some time now, their life shaped by the Ministry's decree, by the ceremony that had bound them together in the most formal, impersonal way. The forced marriage had been a whirlwind, dictated by law, a bureaucratic necessity more than a celebration of love. It was something they had endured, something they had accepted as part of their new reality. But a real wedding? A wedding that was theirs and theirs alone? That was something else entirely.

She held her breath, watching him closely, unsure of how he'd react. Maybe he was content with the life they had now, with the quiet routines and the unspoken promises they'd built together. Maybe this was enough for him. Maybe...

But then, as if the question had unlocked something in him, his expression softened, and a slow, tender smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that always made her feel like the world had just gotten a little bit brighter, like the weight of all her worries had been lifted, even if just for a moment. He leaned forward, gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from her cheek, his touch as familiar as it was comforting.

"Of course I would, Parky," he said softly, his voice warm and full of affection. "I'd love that more than anything."

The relief hit her all at once, washing over her like a wave that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding back. Her chest felt lighter, and her eyes sparkled with a new kind of excitement, one she hadn't allowed herself to feel until now. She hadn't realized how much this meant to her, how much she wanted this—wanted them to have this. A real wedding. A wedding where she could walk down the aisle, where their friends and family could celebrate with them, not out of obligation but out of joy. A wedding where she could look him in the eye and vow to love him not because she had to, but because she chose to.

"Well, then," she said, her voice taking on a familiar sharpness, though it was tinged with excitement now. "We'll need to start planning immediately. There's so much to do, and if we're going to do this properly, we're going to need time. Venues, dresses, flowers, invitations—"

He chuckled, cutting her off with a playful kiss on the nose. "Slow down, love," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "We've got all the time in the world."

But she was already in planning mode, her mind whirling with possibilities. "No, we don't," she countered, her hands gesturing animatedly. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to book a decent venue? And don't even get me started on caterers. If we don't start now, we'll be stuck with Aunt Mildred's dusty backyard and a potluck dinner. Absolutely not happening."

He laughed again, that deep, rich sound that always seemed to ground her, to pull her out of her own head and remind her of what truly mattered. "Alright, alright," he conceded, still grinning. "But let's start with the most important part first."

She raised an eyebrow, momentarily thrown off track. "Which is...?"

"Us," he said simply, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "This wedding isn't about the venue, or the dress, or the flowers. It's about us. It's about making a promise to each other, a real promise. So as long as I'm standing at the end of that aisle, waiting for you, and as long as you're walking toward me, nothing else matters."

Her heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, she was speechless. It was so like him to cut through all the noise, all the details that she so often got caught up in, and remind her of the heart of the matter. This wedding—their wedding—wasn't about the grand gestures or the perfect setting. It was about them, about the love they'd found in the most unlikely of circumstances, about the life they'd built together, despite everything.

She smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at him. "You're right," she said quietly, squeezing his hand back. "It's about us. And I want it to be perfect. For us."

" And it will be," he promised, his voice steady and sure. "Because it'll be ours."

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of their decision settling over them in the best possible way. She felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of anticipation that bubbled just beneath the surface. This was really happening. They were going to have a real wedding. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to. Because they loved each other.

"So," he said after a while, a mischievous glint in his eye, "any ideas for a theme? I was thinking maybe 'Herbology Chic'?"

Pansy groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. "If you think I'm walking down the aisle surrounded by potted mandrakes, you've lost your mind."

He laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. No plants. How about something a little more... elegant? A moonlit garden, perhaps? With fairy lights and... I don't know, some kind of fancy magical creature involved?"

She considered it for a moment, her mind already spinning with ideas. "Hmm, a moonlit garden could work," she mused. "With silver accents, maybe? And enchanted candles that float above the tables..."

" Now you're talking," he said, his smile widening. "See? We're already halfway there."

"Halfway?" she scoffed. "Darling, we haven't even started."

"Well," he said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. "We've got plenty of time to figure it out. And in the meantime... we can practice."

"Practice?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

His grin was positively wicked. "Practicing being madly in love. It's going to be the easiest part of the whole thing."

She couldn't help but laugh, a soft, genuine sound that felt like the release of all the tension she'd been holding onto. "Oh, I think we've got that down," she replied, her voice light but filled with meaning.

And as they sat there, hands entwined, their future spread out before them like an open book, she knew that whatever came next—whether it was planning the wedding of their dreams or simply continuing to build the life they'd already started together—they were ready. Because they had each other. And that was more than enough .

He chuckled softly, loving how quickly she switched into action mode. "Yes, my love, let's do that." He paused for a moment, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Would you like to inform our friends first?"

She tapped her fingers against her knee, her mind already racing through the logistics. "Hmm, let's start with Draco."

He raised an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised. "Draco? Not Luna? I thought she was your bestie."

She smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. "Of course Luna's my bestie. But Draco is pragmatic, and he'll be able to handle all the logistical details that I can't be bothered with. Besides, he and Hermione can help us keep things... elegant." She paused, thinking it over. "And Granger will love organizing this kind of thing. She'll make sure nothing goes wrong."

He couldn't help but laugh at the thought. Her sharp, no-nonsense attitude paired with Hermione's meticulous planning was a recipe for an unforgettable event. "Alright, we'll start with Draco and Hermione, then."

She nodded, clearly satisfied with the plan, but there was a softness in her expression that hadn't been there before. "We'll tell Luna after. She'll understand," she added, her voice a little quieter. "Besides, she'll probably want to weave moonbeams into my hair or something."

He smiled at the thought of Luna's whimsical touches. "That sounds about right."

For a few moments, they sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them like a blanket. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers tracing small patterns on his arm.

" I want it to be special," she said after a while, her voice almost a whisper. "Not like the ceremony we had at the Ministry. Something real. Something that feels like us."

His heart swelled at her words. He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It will be, Parky. I promise. We'll make it exactly how we want."

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze with an intensity that always took his breath away. "Good," she said firmly. "Because I won't settle for anything less than perfect."

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

The next few days flew by in a whirlwind of discussions, decisions, and excitement. She was in her element, throwing herself into every detail of their upcoming wedding. She made lists, checked them twice, and ensured every decision aligned with her vision of the perfect day. He was happy to let her take the lead, chiming in only when needed.

~~~~~~

The Parkinson estate was as grand and ostentatious as ever, its towering columns and sprawling grounds practically dripping with old money. They ascended the marble steps, their earlier playful bickering momentarily set aside as the heavy oak doors swung open to reveal Neville Longbottom himself.

"Hermione!" he greeted her with his signature, golden-retriever enthusiasm, pulling her into a warm embrace. The sheer affection radiating off of him momentarily stunned Draco, who could only arch a brow at the exchange.

Neville pulled back, his grin unwavering as he turned to Draco. "Malfoy."

Draco tilted his head slightly, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. "Longbottom," he returned, his tone dry but not unkind, clasping Neville's hand in a firm shake. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

"Come in, come in," he ushered them inside, the grand foyer giving way to an opulently decorated sitting room. "Pansy's just finishing up dinner—she'll be delighted to see you both."

"Delighted?" Draco muttered under his breath. "Strong word."

Hermione shot him a warning glance before stepping into the dining room—where, right on cue, she swept in like a high-society specter, brandishing a steaming platter like a weapon.

"Oh, look at this," she drawled, setting down the dish with an unnecessary flourish. "Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Finally descending from Mount Perfection to grace us with their presence."

Her sharp gaze swept over Hermione, a calculating glint in her ice-blue eyes. "And my, my. Granger, you look... different. Finally decided to embrace some femininity, have we?"

Hermione didn't so much as blink. "Good evening, Pansy," she said smoothly, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. "And thank you. I quite like the dress myself."

Draco smirked, thoroughly enjoying the exchange.

She barely spared him a glance. "Draco, darling, you look as smug as ever. I assume that means married life is treating you well?"

Before Draco could deliver a delightfully sarcastic reply, Hermione pounced. "Speaking of marriage," she interjected, her tone light, but laced with genuine curiosity, "how's the newlywed life treating you two?"

At that, they exchanged a loaded glance—one of those married couple moments where entire conversations happened without a single word.

"Amazing," they both blurted in unison.

Hermione arched a brow, amused at Pansy's uncharacteristic blush creeping up her throat. "Well, that's unexpected," she mused. "Didn't peg you for the domestic type, Parkinson."

She smirked, reaching for her wine glass. "Neither did I, but here we are. Who knew a Ministry-enforced marriage could turn out so well?"

Neville chuckled, cheeks pink with something bordering on embarrassment—but not quite regret. "It's been an adjustment," he admitted, giving Pansy's hand a casual squeeze. "But we've made it work."

A loud snuffle interrupted them, drawing Hermione's attention downward—where, nestled at Pansy's feet, sat a doggy, outrageously spoiled pug, donning a ridiculously pink collar. A tiny silver tag dangled from it, proudly proclaiming the creature as "Lady Lemongrass."

"We're expecting our first furbaby," she announced, completely deadpan, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Draco choked on his wine.

Hermione blinked, glancing between the glorified loaf of a dog and the deadly serious expressions on their faces.

"...I—excuse me?"

"Lady Lemongrass," he repeated solemnly, as if announcing the name of a royal heir. "She's... a bit of a handful."

Pansy beamed, reaching down to scratch behind the pug's tiny, suspiciously smug-looking ears. "Marriage is full of surprises, Granger," she said airily. "Even Ministry-arranged ones can come with adorable perks."

Hermione stared at them, then at the dog, then at them again.

"...You two got married and your first act as a couple was acquiring a designer pug?"

"Obviously," she said, tossing her hair.

He sighed but didn't disagree.

A slow, bewildered smile spread across Hermione's face.

A Ministry-mandated marriage leading to an aristocratic pug adoption?

Honestly, at this point, why was she even surprised?

Pansy arched a perfectly sculpted brow at their exchange. "Well, well," she drawled, her lips twitching with amusement. "Looks like love is in the air, even outside Ministry-enforced matrimony. Go on, lovebirds, tell us—how's wedded bliss treating you?"

Draco cleared his throat, suddenly uncharacteristically sheepish. The ever-composed Malfoy hesitating? Embarrassing. He stole a glance at Hermione, his gaze softer than usual, tinged with something dangerously close to sincerity.

"Better than I ever imagined," he admitted, voice low but steady.

Hermione, caught off guard by the unexpected honesty, felt warmth creep up her neck. A flutter, unwelcome but undeniable, stirred in her chest. "It's been… an adjustment," she conceded, meeting his eyes in a brief but telling exchange. "But," she continued, this time with more certainty, "I think we're finding our way—together."

Her sharp gaze flickered between them, her lips curving into a smirk. "Finding your way, huh? That sounds dangerously sentimental. Should we be expecting a renewal of vows announcement?"

Draco scoffed. "Don't be absurd, Pans. We haven't even consummated the bloody thing properly."

Neville choked on his drink.

Hermione, scandalized, kicked Draco under the table. "Merlin's sake, Draco."

He smirked, utterly unapologetic. "What? Just keeping the conversation lively."

Pansy, clearly entertained, leaned in. "Speaking of monumental announcements…" she began, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with him.

The Gryffindor-turned-herbology-extraordinaire grinned sheepishly. "We've decided we want a real wedding," he revealed. "Not the Ministry's version of one."

Draco quirked a brow. "Congratulations. And by 'real,' you mean?"

She exhaled dramatically, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Grand, but intimate."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "That sounds contradictory."

Neville beamed. "Only 435 guests!"

Draco and Hermione exchanged a knowing glance. Pureblood logic.

"And," she added, her gaze zeroing in on them with practiced precision, "we'd like you both to participate."

Draco's suspicion kicked in immediately. "Define 'participate,'" he said, wary.

He leaned forward, his grin widening. "Well, Malfoy… we've decided to do things a bit unconventionally. And who better to help us than a Malfoy and a Granger?"

Hermione, already sensing chaos, sighed. "If this involves a dueling ring, I'm out."

She smirked. "You think I'd let you off that easy, Granger?"

He patted his wife's hand. "Relax, love. They'll only be helping plan the madness, not participate in it."

Draco groaned. "Fantastic. So, glorified wedding planners? Just what I've always aspired to be."

Hermione, despite herself, found the idea… oddly endearing. "Well, Pansy," she said, giving her a knowing smile, "if you really want me to plan this, you should be prepared for at least one Muggle wedding tradition."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you say a garter toss, I'm leaving."

Hermione grinned. "Oh, I was thinking something even worse. A choreographed dance."

He loved the idea. She looked betrayed. Draco just sipped his wine, watching the chaos unfold with smug amusement.

~~~~~~

As soon as Hermione and Neville were engrossed in conversation in the grand living room, Pansy shot Draco a look—sharp, knowing, and impossible to ignore. Without a word, he smoothly excused himself and followed her, weaving through the opulent corridors of Parkinson Manor until they reached the bay windows. The dim glow of the setting sun cast elongated shadows across the room, stretching between them like the ghosts of their past.

Pansy stood with her arms crossed, her expression calm but carrying an edge. Calculated. Watchful. "Everything's fine with the business?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Draco leaned against the windowsill, slipping effortlessly into his usual composure. The flicker of something unreadable—something dark—passed through his grey eyes, but his words were smooth as ever. Too smooth. "You know it is, Parkinson. Everything's running as expected."

Her gaze swept over him, unimpressed. She knew him too well. Knew what he was truly running. On paper, Draco Malfoy was the polished, respectable heir—the reformed businessman, the perfect blend of aristocratic charm and newfound social grace. But beneath that mask? The Sacred 28 was no longer a relic of pureblood ideals—it was Draco's empire now, a network that operated in shadows, filled with killers, smugglers, and the highly illegal distribution of enchanted elixirs that could alter reality itself. Powerful. Discreet. Untouchable. And yet, here he was, playing the doting husband like it was the only role he'd ever known.

She arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her voice laced with an almost mocking amusement. "Keeping your business to yourself, I see?"

"Obviously." Draco's response was immediate, clipped, borderline dangerous. His eyes flashed, though his stance remained relaxed. "Why? Are you in trouble?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You should know better than that. I can handle myself."

Draco narrowed his eyes slightly. His protective instincts sharpened, coiling beneath the surface like a viper waiting to strike. He didn't like this. "Then why ask?"

She uncrossed her arms, stepping closer. Just close enough to be clear, but not close enough to invite softness. "Just making sure you've got your house in order, that's all. I'm not prying into your affairs."

Draco studied her for a long moment, searching for any signs of doubt or hesitation. She was good at masking things. Almost as good as he was. But something about the way she was standing, the subtle weight in her voice, made him question if this was really just a casual inquiry.

"I always do, Parkinson," he murmured, his tone softer now, almost amused. "But you'd do well to keep your secrets, and I'll keep mine." Then, after a beat, he added, too casually, "Unless, of course, you're in over your head."

She let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. "Not yet, Malfoy. But thanks for the concern."

A pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken understanding. She knew the dangers of Draco's world—had lived beside it long enough to see its worst parts. But she didn't want any part of it anymore. Not with him. Not with Neville.

"Are you in love, then?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. His tone had shifted, quieter now, almost... sincere. His gaze flickered briefly toward the living room, where Neville stood, laughing at something Hermione had said.

She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. Certain. "More than ever."

Draco gave an approving nod. "Then definitely keep the family business a secret."

Her smirk softened into something almost fond. Almost. "You don't have to tell me that. I don't want him anywhere near what you do."

His lips twitched, a ghost of admiration flashing in his expression. "Good. Keep it that way. The less he knows, the better. For both your sakes."

For a moment, she let her gaze drift back toward Neville, watching him with something unguarded in her eyes. Then she turned back to Draco, her voice dropping into a quiet warning.

"Just remember, Malfoy," she murmured, all sharp edges again, "if you ever drag me into one of your messes, I'll bury you myself."

Draco let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and amused. "Wouldn't dream of it, Pans."

And just like that, the moment passed. The carefully laid masks slipped back into place. Draco straightened his robes, his expression smoothing back into its usual cool confidence. She adjusted an earring, flicking her hair over her shoulder like she hadn't just threatened to end him.

Together, they stepped back into the world of civility, slipping seamlessly into the roles they played best—Pansy, the devoted socialite, and Draco, the charming aristocrat with nothing to hide.

Only they knew better.

°°°°°°

When it was time to leave, they walked them to the door. "Thank you for coming," she said, hugging Hermione tightly. "And for agreeing to help with the wedding."

" Of course," Hermione replied, smiling. "I'm looking forward to it."

Draco shook Neville's she once more. "Goodnight, Longbottom. We'll see you soon."

"Goodnight, Malfoy," he responded, a genuine warmth in his voice. "Take care, both of you."

As Draco and Hermione walked back to their car, hand in hand, Hermione leaned her head on Draco's shoulder. "Tonight was nice," she said softly.

Draco nodded, squeezing her hand. "Yes, it was. And I think it's just the beginning."

~~~~~~

Pansy burst through Luna's fireplace with all the grace of a hurricane, trailing ash and bits of soot in her wake. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed as if she'd just run a marathon, and she barely paused to brush off her robes before barking orders.

"Sit down!" she commanded, pointing to the nearest armchair like a general commanding troops.

Luna, who had been peacefully sipping tea and arranging her collection of strangely shaped rocks, blinked in mild surprise. "Pans, you're in my house," she reminded her calmly, gesturing to the pastel-colored walls and various floating charms that gave her home its dreamlike quality.

" Whatever, details." she waved a dismissive hand. "I have something important to tell you."

Luna tilted her head slightly, her expression as serene as ever, though a faint glimmer of curiosity flickered in her large, misty eyes. She waited, sipping her tea with an air of patience that only Luna could possess. Pansy, in all her frantic glory, could do little more than pace around the living room like a caged lion.

"Well, are you going to spit it out, or should I start reading tea leaves?" Luna asked after a moment, her tone so innocently airy that she almost missed the gentle teasing behind it.

She stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around to face her friend with a flourish. "We're having a wedding!" she declared dramatically, as if the word itself was a groundbreaking revelation. "A real one this time, with flowers and guests and—ugh, probably some embarrassing speeches, but that's beside the point. And you," she jabbed a finger toward Luna, her voice gaining more urgency, "are going to be my maid of honor. End of discussion!"

Luna, unbothered by her intensity, set down her tea and folded her hands neatly in her lap. "You're quite forceful, you know. It's something we should probably work on," she said thoughtfully, her tone as light as a summer breeze. "But yes, I would be more than happy to be part of your big day, Pans."

Pansy blinked, momentarily thrown off by Luna's characteristic calm. "Work on it?" she echoed, incredulity lacing her voice. "This is not the time for… for self-improvement, Luna! I'm getting married! To Neville! In front of people! In a dress!" She flailed her arms for emphasis, as though the concept of wearing a wedding gown was some Herculean task.

Luna's lips quirked into a soft smile. "Yes, and I'm sure you'll look lovely," she said, her voice drifting with that whimsical quality that always managed to calm even the most frantic souls. "But I think we should embrace this as a moment for growth. Being less forceful could help you enjoy the wedding planning process more. Maybe you could try letting go of a little control?"

She let out a dramatic sigh, flopping onto Luna's couch as if she had suddenly lost all her strength. "If I let go of control, it'll be a disaster. You've met Neville. He'd probably suggest something horrifyingly wholesome like sunflowers for the bouquets. Sunflowers, Luna!"

Luna's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Sunflowers are lovely. They represent happiness, you know."

She sat up sharply, pointing an accusing finger at her. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! This," she gestured at Luna, "this calm, zen… Luna-ness that's going to drive me insane! I need to panic about things! You can't just wave it away with happiness and flowers!"

Luna leaned forward, her smile widening just a bit. "But wouldn't it be nice if you could enjoy this, Pansy? Imagine a wedding day where you're not running around like a Blast-Ended Skrewt with its tail on fire."

She groaned, but there was a flicker of something softer in her expression—acknowledgment, maybe. "I hate that you're always right."

Luna simply shrugged, a serene expression on her face. "I'm rarely right. But when it comes to you, I usually have a good feeling."

For a moment, she fell silent, her mind racing through the million things she had to do for the wedding, the guest lists, the decorations, the vows. But then, amidst all the chaos in her head, Luna's calm presence settled like a soothing balm.

She huffed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Fine. I'll try to be less… forceful."

Luna clapped her hands together, a small, delighted sound escaping her. "Wonderful! Now, let's talk about the color scheme. I was thinking something along the lines of periwinkle and moonstone—"

She shot her a look. "No."

Luna just smiled, sipping her tea again. "See? You're already working on it."

Pansy couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. This was why Luna was her maid of honor—her best friend, really. Somehow, in Luna's world of serenity and odd wisdom, everything always seemed just a little less overwhelming, and for once, she was willing to let herself relax. Well, at least try to relax.

Besides, she had a wedding to plan.

~~~~~~

Her next target was Blaise, who was in the middle of a strategy meeting with Theo in his office when she stormed in, her expression a mix of determination and annoyance. Without preamble, she looked around the room with a disdainful curl of her lip.

" Merlin, this place looks like someone died in here," she said, her voice slicing through the tense atmosphere. She gestured to the papers scattered across the table and the drab curtains that Theo had clearly not bothered to change since he inherited the manor. "Honestly, do neither of you have taste?"

Blaise glanced up from the tactical map in front of him, his brow arching in mild curiosity. "What do you want, Parkinson?" he asked lazily, leaning back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world, despite the fact that Pansy had just barged in unannounced.

Theo, meanwhile, looked less amused. He had been in the middle of explaining a delicate maneuver for an upcoming mission, and now she was glaring at his entire life choices, apparently.

"You two," she declared, pointing dramatically between them, "are going to attend my real wedding, and you will both look your absolute best. I'm talking no half-assed robes, Blaise. And Theo, if I see even one piece of lint on you, I swear to Merlin, I'll hex you into next week."

Blaise blinked, utterly unfazed. "Your… real wedding?" he asked, his tone skeptical as if she had just informed him she was moving to the moon.

"Yes, Zabini, a real wedding," she said, crossing her arms. "You know, flowers, vows, love—actual emotion, not whatever this is." She waved at the table covered in blueprints and darkened scrolls with disdain.

They both stared at her, silent and dumbfounded.

She narrowed her eyes. "I expect you to be on time and dressed properly. No excuses."

Blaise exchanged a glance with Theo, who raised an eyebrow. They were assassins, strategists, and criminal masterminds—and here was Pansy, commanding them as if they were schoolboys being told to dress for Sunday brunch.

"And while I'm here," she continued, turning her attention to the parchment in front of them, "this strategy looks like absolute garbage." She poked at the map Theo had been meticulously drawing for the last hour. "You're coming in from the wrong angle. You'll get yourself killed if you try this. Start over."

Theo's mouth dropped open, an indignant protest forming, but before he could argue, she waved them off.

"Anyway, that's all I needed to say. You both have your orders. Oh, and get a decorator. This office is depressing. Bye, losers." With that, she gave them a final smirk, twirled on her heel, and Apparated out of the room with a soft pop, leaving behind a cloud of scented smoke and their stunned expressions.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with the echoes of her whirlwind entrance and exit, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air like a lingering storm.

Finally, Theo let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "She has some serious issues," he muttered, staring at the space where Pansy had just disappeared.

Blaise, still lounging in his chair, smirked. "More than one," he agreed, turning his attention back to the now-ruined strategy map. "But, you have to admire the audacity."

Theo shook his head, muttering under his breath. "We just got outsmarted by a wedding planner."

Blaise chuckled, the low sound filling the room. "She does have a point about the strategy, though."

Theo shot him a glare. "Don't encourage her."

~~~~~~

Lady waddled around Parkinson Manor with the kind of confidence reserved for royalty. Pansy had always loved her squashed face and crooked tail, insisting that Lady Lemongrass was "aesthetic in a non-traditional sense." The pregnancy, however, had thrown her into a whole new level of frantic obsession.

It started with the realization that Lady was, in fact, carrying not one but two puppies. When the healer confirmed it, Pansy nearly fainted with joy. Her precious pug—soon to be a mother! Naturally, this required an immediate overhaul of her entire schedule.

" Do you have any idea how important this is?" She had exclaimed to him one evening. She'd stormed into the sitting room, brandishing a list of canine-friendly potions, her eyes wild with urgency.

He smiled kindly, lowering his Herbology book. "Parky, she's a dog. I think she'll manage without the birthing robes and lavender-infused water."

She had gasped in horror, clutching Lady Lemongrass to her chest as though he had just insulted the family matriarch. "She is not just any dog! She is carrying the future generation of pugs! You know nothing about the weight of this responsibility!"

Thus began the months of preparation. She threw herself into her new role as "dog mom" with an intensity that rivaled even her early years as a Slytherin prefect. There were endless consultations with magical veterinarians, detailed birthing plans that would put human mothers to shame, and a custom-made pug birthing suite set up in the drawing room. He had raised an eyebrow when the chandelier was replaced with enchanted floating candles to create a "calming atmosphere" for the birth.

As the due date approached, her anxiety levels skyrocketed. She refused to leave the Manor, convinced Lady could go into labor at any moment.

One morning, just as she was frantically sorting through a box of tiny knitted booties ("Just in case their paws are cold!" she'd argued), it finally happened. Lady waddled over to her bed and, with a dramatic grunt, lay down.

Her reaction was immediate and chaotic.

"NEVILLE!" she shrieked, bolting upright and nearly knocking over a vase. "IT'S TIME!"

He rushed in, looking alarmed, wand in hand. "Pansy, what—"

"She's going into labor! Get the midwives! Get the towels! The lavender-infused water! EVERYTHING!" she was in full crisis mode, her hands shaking as she flitted around the room.

Neville, always the calm to her storm, placed a steady hand on her shoulder. "Breathe, Parky. She's a dog. This is a natural process. Let's not turn this into a full-blown operation."

But she was having none of it. "Natural process? Nevie, this is Lady Lemongrass. She deserves a royal birth!"

Despite her dramatics, Lady seemed entirely unbothered by the commotion around her. Within a few hours, the Manor was filled with the soft whimpers of not one but two squirming, wrinkly, equally-ugly-but-adorable pug puppies.

Her heart melted at the sight, her hands shaking as she carefully cradled the tiny creatures. "Look at them, Neville. Aren't they perfect?"

He chuckled, crouching down beside her. "They're certainly… unique."

"Unique and magnificent," she corrected, her eyes brimming with tears of pride. "Lady has created masterpieces."

Over the next few weeks, she went full pug-mom mode. She cooed over the puppies like they were royalty, had portraits commissioned (yes, of pugs), and even insisted on holding a "Pug-naming Ceremony" for the newborns. Invitations were sent out to their closest friends, much to his amusement.

On the day of the ceremony, Luna arrived first, smiling serenely as she gazed at the chaos unfolding in the drawing room. Pansy, dressed in a silk robe with pug embroidery, was directing house-elves to set up the pug thrones.

"Pansy," Luna said dreamily, "you've really outdone yourself."

Pansy, who was holding one of the squirming puppies, grinned. "This is just the beginning, Luna. These puppies are going to be famous. Just wait until you see their matching collars."

By the time Theo and Blaise arrived, the puppies had been given names as grand as their mother's. SHe proudly introduced them as "Sir Wrinkles of House Pug" and "Duchess Snuffles of Barkington."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "You named them… Sir Wrinkles?"

She huffed. "Of course! They deserve titles."

Blaise, clearly trying not to laugh, patted her shoulder. "You've truly gone mad, Parkinson."

But she didn't care. For the first time in ages, she felt a sense of fulfillment—though it might have been slightly over-the-top, her little pug family brought her immense joy.

As the evening drew to a close, she stood with him, cradling Lady Lemongrass and gazing lovingly at the two tiny pugs curled up in their bed.

"We make quite the family, don't we?" she said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her. "We really do."

~~~~~~

Their first night together as dog parents were a symphony of passion. His hands explored her body, tracing the contours of her curves. He nibbled on her earlobe, his tongue flicking against her skin. She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. "You taste divine," he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck.

In the bedroom, she undressed slowly, her eyes never leaving his. He watched her, his breath hitching as she revealed her naked body. He reached out, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her nipples. She gasped, her back arching. "You're a tease," she breathed, her hands going to his belt.

He smiled, his hands moving to her ass, squeezing gently. "And you love it," he replied, his cock straining against his pants. She chuckled, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

Their kiss was a clash of lips and tongues, a heated battle of desire. His hands roamed her body, his touch leaving a trail of fire. He knelt before her, his mouth capturing one of her nipples. She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Fuck," she gasped, her hips thrusting against his face.

His hands slid down her body, his fingers finding her pussy. He rubbed her clit, his fingers slipping inside her. Her whimpered, her body trembling. "You're so wet," he murmured, his fingers moving in and out of her.

She grabbed his wrist, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Enough teasing," she said, her voice a husky command. He smiled, standing up and leading her to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, the steam filling the room. She stepped in, her body glistening under the water. He joined her, his cock hard and ready.

He pressed her against the cold tile, his mouth capturing hers. She moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist. He slid his cock inside her, her warmth enveloping him. He thrust into her, his hips slamming against hers. Her moans filled the room, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Harder," she gasped, her body shaking with each thrust.

He obliged, his hips pounding into her. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, their moans a symphony of pleasure. Her orgasm hit her suddenly, her body convulsing. "Fuck," she screamed, her cunt squirting with each pulse.

He pulled out of her, his cock glistening with her juices. He turned her around, his hands on her hips. She braced herself against the wall, her ass pushed out. His cock found her ass, his tip pressing against her tight hole. He pushed in slowly, giving her time to adjust. She moaned, her fingers gripping the tile.

He thrust into her, his cock stretching her bum. She moaned, her body trembling. "Nevie," she gasped, "You feel so good." He grunted, his hips moving faster. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit. She moaned, her body shaking with each thrust.

Their bodies slapped together, the sound of their fucking filling the room. His cock in her bum felt incredible, the sensation of being filled sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her moans turned into screams, her body convulsing as another orgasm hit her.

He groaned, his cock throbbing. He pulled out of her, his cock spurting cum onto her back. She turned around, her eyes filled with desire. "I want to taste you," she said, her voice a husky command.

Cock still hard, she dropped to her knees, her mouth capturing his cock. She sucked him, her tongue swirling around his shaft. He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair. "Parky," he gasped, his cock throbbing in her mouth.

She took him deep, her throat constricting around his cock. His hips thrust forward, his cock sliding in and out of her mouth. She moaned, her fingers gripping his ass. His orgasm hit him suddenly, his cock spurting cum into her mouth. She swallowed, her eyes locked on his.

They collapsed onto the bathroom floor, their bodies entwined. He kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth. "You're incredible," he murmured, his fingers tracing her body. She smiled, her fingers playing with his hair. "We're just getting started," she replied, her eyes filled with promise.