Life with a newborn reshaped everything. Time lost its edges, days slipping into nights marked only by Lysander's cries and quiet footsteps pacing the nursery. Conversations became whispers. Meals were abandoned halfway through. Sleep arrived in pieces that never fully settled.
And still, there was wonder in it. In the way a tiny yawn could soften an entire room. In the weight of a baby's head resting beneath a chin. In Luna's voice, low and steady, filling the dark with song.
Theo woke at every sound, instinct sharp and unforgiving. His hand reached for his wand before thought followed, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Lysander's chest. Sleep never held him for long.
Luna moved through the nights with quiet grace. Even when exhaustion pulled at her shoulders, her calm never faltered. She held their son like the world could end and she would still rock him through it. Theo often paused in the doorway just to watch her, his chest tight with something too big to name.
The house adapted around them. Bottles warmed themselves. Lamps dimmed. Even the floors seemed to learn how to tread softly.
Friends came when they could. Pansy arrived loud and glittering. Neville brought tea and steady kindness. Their presence helped, even when it stayed brief.
Theo would not have traded any of it. He watched his son breathe and felt anchored by it. And always, it came back to Luna. In the low light of the nursery, arms full of their child, she felt like the center of everything.
He never said it aloud. But he thought it every time he looked at her.
Thank you. For him. For this. For staying.
There were moments when the weight of it all crept up on him, slow and quiet, like fog gathering at the edges of his thoughts. It came most often at night, in the hush between feedings, when the world beyond their windows had gone dark and the nursery was lit only by the low glow of a floating lamp.
He would sit beside Luna without speaking, elbows braced on his knees, fingers threaded through his hair, and simply watch her.
She sat in the rocking chair, arms curved around their son, humming something soft and wordless as she swayed. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. Her nightdress was wrinkled, her eyelids heavy with sleep she never seemed to reach.
Even then, her hands stayed steady. Her voice never faltered. She held Lysander with a care that felt reverent, and the way she looked at him made Theo feel like he was witnessing something no spell could ever touch.
"Are we doing this right?" he murmured once, the words barely audible. He had not planned to say it. They slipped free under the quiet pressure of fear he had been holding too tightly.
She looked up at him, calm and unshaken. Her smile was small and gentle, the kind that said she understood exactly what he meant.
"We love him," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Lysander's crown. "That's enough."
Theo did not answer. His throat closed around the feeling rising there, too full to shape into words. Instead, he reached for her hand and rested his palm over hers, grounding himself in her warmth and in the steady presence of the child between them.
In that moment, surrounded by exhaustion and uncertainty, clarity settled in his chest. They were a family. Imperfect, learning as they went, held together by effort and devotion. They would keep moving forward, even when the path felt unsteady, even when the nights stretched long.
They were together. And love, soft as it was, had proven itself strong enough to carry them.
~~~~~~
The nursery glowed softly, the enchanted night lantern casting a warm, steady light across the pale blue walls. Shadows moved slowly, almost lazily, along the corners of the room. Everything felt suspended, wrapped in a careful stillness. The manor was too quiet without Luna. There were no gentle footsteps drifting down the corridor, no absent humming from another room. Just the rustle of trees outside, the low hum of the wards, and the hiccupping coos of their baby.
Luna was out with Pansy and Ginny. Theo had insisted. She deserved an evening without milk on her clothes, without pacing the floor until her legs ached, without forgetting to eat until she felt faint. She had kissed his cheek before leaving and told him he would be fine. That Lysander already adored him. That he only needed to breathe.
He was now deeply reconsidering every choice he had ever made.
Lysander lay on the changing table, gurgling happily, his legs kicking in steady rhythm like he was powering himself. Theo stood over him with the focus of a man about to defuse a bomb. His sleeves were rolled up. His wand was tucked behind his ear. A neat stack of supplies sat at his side, arranged with military precision.
"Alright, my little love," he said, mostly to himself, "let's try to survive the evening."
He unbuttoned the onesie and opened the diaper.
"Oh. Sweet Circe."
He recoiled, hand flying to his mouth. "What in the absolute hell have you been eating? You live on milk. Explain this to me."
Lysander answered with a delighted squeal and a sharp kick to Theo's stomach.
"Betrayal," Theo muttered. "I sacrifice my sleep, my dignity, and my spine for you, and this is how you repay me."
He reached for a wipe. Then another. Then decided to take the entire pack. There were limits to bravery. Carefully, he lifted Lysander's legs and tried to slide the clean nappy into place.
That was when his son twisted sideways with alarming strength, nearly launching himself off the table.
Theo lunged and caught him under one arm. "Absolutely not. Merlin's beard, how are you this strong? You weigh less than my wand holster."
Lysander shrieked with laughter, clearly thrilled.
With one hand occupied, Theo attempted to dispose of the soiled diaper. He misjudged the distance. It hit the floor with a sound that made him close his eyes in despair.
"I trained with curse breakers," he said faintly. "I have fought goblins with axes. And this is how I die."
He was sweating now. The clean diaper sat crooked. One sock had vanished across the room. The wipes clumped together in open rebellion. Something brown had found its way onto his sleeve, and he refused to investigate.
After another long minute, he managed to secure the diaper. He straightened with the confidence of a man who absolutely did not deserve it.
"There," he said, breathless. "Easy."
Lysander immediately spat up down the front of his shirt.
Theo stared at the warm trail soaking into the fabric. Then he looked at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"I am drinking an irresponsible amount of firewhisky when your mother gets home."
Lysander yawned.
Despite the mess, the panic, and the complete collapse of his composure, something quiet and enormous unfurled in Theo's chest. He lifted his son and held him close, rubbing gentle circles across his back. Lysander sighed against his neck, tiny fingers curling into the collar of Theo's ruined shirt.
The weight of him felt right. Perfect.
"You are my greatest victory," Theo whispered, kissing the soft crown of his head. "And I genuinely do not know how I lived before you."
By the time Theo managed to fasten the clean diaper and wrestle Lysander back into his onesie, he felt like he had survived a fight he had never trained for. It was the kind of duel fought with one hand occupied and the other desperately improvising, against an opponent who giggled through the entire thing and somehow still came out victorious.
He stepped back, arms hovering slightly away from his sides, chest rising as he caught his breath. The onesie sat a little crooked and one diaper tab looked mildly suspicious, but the baby was clean, dressed, and blissfully quiet. That felt like a win.
"There," he muttered, lifting Lysander into his arms with a mix of pride and exhaustion. "You, my tiny son, are a menace."
Lysander blinked up at him, perfectly content, and let out a gurgle that sounded dangerously close to laughter.
Theo carried him to the rocking chair and lowered himself carefully, muscles loosening the moment he sat. The nursery had settled again, warm lamplight smoothing over the chaos that had filled it minutes earlier. He held his son close, kissed the soft crown of his head, and began to rock.
Lysander curled against him like he belonged nowhere else, small and trusting and warm. Theo breathed in the scent of milk and powder and let the quiet sink into his bones, the strange and fragile magic of it all wrapping around him.
When Luna returned sometime after midnight, the house was hushed. She slipped inside, heels dangling from one hand, her silvery dress wrinkled and her hair softly undone. Theo noticed her the moment she stepped into the room.
He was standing barefoot in the living room, still in his shirt and trousers from earlier, sleeves rumpled and collar open. The sight of her loosened something deep in his chest.
"You're home," he said softly.
Luna smiled and crossed the room, then jumped into his arms without warning. He caught her on instinct, lifting her easily as she wrapped herself around him. She smelled like champagne and cool night air, laughter still lingering in her voice.
"It was perfect," she whispered against his neck. "We stayed out too long. Ginny made us dance. Pansy cried during dessert. I think she's going to be unbearably happy."
Theo smiled into her hair and held her tighter. "Good. You deserved a night like that."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands sliding up to cradle his face. Her thumbs brushed his cheeks, her eyes soft and searching.
"You alright?" she asked quietly. "How was it?"
Theo let out a short laugh. "We played, I changed a diaper. I'm fairly certain I aged a decade."
Luna laughed and leaned in to kiss him, slow and sweet, her lips tasting faintly of wine. "And Lysander?"
"Asleep," Theo murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "Eventually. After attempting to launch himself off the table, smearing half the contents of his nappy on my hand, and making me question every decision that led me here."
Her fingers slipped into his hair, smiling. "You did it, though."
"I did," he said, his voice rough with something heavier now. "He's fine. And I didn't drop him. Or cry. Much."
"You're amazing," she said simply, like it was obvious.
Theo kissed her again, gentler this time, as if sealing something quiet and unspoken between them. He laughed softly against her lips and pulled her closer.
"I think I need a drink," he said. "Possibly several."
Her kisses grew deeper, unhurried and hungry, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him shiver. There was a looseness in her movements, a slight sway in her hips that spoke of the wine and laughter still humming in her bloodstream.
He could feel her melting into him, pressing closer like she was trying to become part of him. Her lips grazed his jaw, soft and insistent, and her voice, when it came, was a breath against his ear.
"My love," he murmured, threading his arms around her waist to steady them both, "you're drunk."
She didn't even pretend to argue. "So?" she whispered, nuzzling into the curve of his neck, her hands slipping under his shirt, warm and daring. "I still want you."
His body reacted before his mind did, a low, involuntary groan escaping him as she pressed herself fully against him. Her words curled around him like smoke, thick with want, and he had to shut his eyes for a second just to breathe through it.
He wanted her too. Always had. Always would. But he knew this softness in her voice, knew how wine made her bold and needy and just a little reckless. And he wanted her to feel safe, not just desired.
He tilted her chin gently, searching her eyes. They were wide and glazed with heat, but something in them was softer too, something vulnerable just beneath the surface.
"My moon," he said quietly, brushing his thumb over her cheek, "you've had a long night. Let me take care of you."
She pouted, the barest curl of her lower lip, and he nearly caved. Her hands moved again, slow and purposeful, gliding down his chest until her fingertips found the edge of his waistband. "Then take care of me," she whispered. "Let me feel your mouth and fingers. Let me come for you."
His breath hitched, a sharp exhale he couldn't hold back. The ache she stirred in him was immediate and deep, all-consuming. She knew what she was doing, and she knew exactly how to ask for it.
He growled low in his throat, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her hard against him. His restraint cracked, not in a burst, but in a quiet, inevitable surrender.
"Come here," he said roughly, his mouth already moving toward hers again. His voice was thick with heat, rough at the edges, heavy with everything he was no longer willing to hold back.
Luna grinned, stepping back just enough to let him undress her, his hands quick and eager as he slid her jeans down her legs. She stepped out of them, her bare skin illuminated by the dim firelight, utterly breathtaking.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she climbed onto the couch, straddling his face, her thighs bracketing his head. She threaded her fingers through his hair, tilting his face up to meet hers.
"Taste me, my love," she ordered, her voice breathless, heavy with need. "Lick me and make me cum."
Theo groaned, gripping her hips as he pulled her down onto his mouth, eager to devour her, to drown in the intoxicating sweetness of his wife.
He didn't need to be told twice. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers pressing into the soft curves of her body as he pulled her closer. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path through her wet heat, savoring the taste of her, drinking her in like a man starved. She was already dripping, her arousal slick against his lips, and he groaned, the vibrations sending a shiver through her body.
She gasped, her fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging him closer, wordlessly urging him on.
He loved this—loved the way she responded to him, the way her breath hitched at every flick of his tongue. He could feel the tension coiling inside her, the way her thighs trembled around his head, and it only drove him further, his desire to please her overriding everything else.
"Yes, just like that," she moaned, rolling her hips against his mouth, chasing the pleasure he was so desperate to give her.
Theo hummed against her, sliding two fingers inside her with ease, curling them just right, his tongue flicking against her clit in perfect rhythm. Her moans grew louder, her breathing ragged as he worked her toward the edge.
She was so sensitive, so responsive, and it made his chest tighten with pride. He was the only one who got to see her like this, to feel her like this, to know every secret her body had to offer.
"Theo—" she gasped, her voice breaking as she shattered beneath him, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. He didn't stop, his tongue still lapping at her, dragging out every last aftershock, prolonging her pleasure until she was left boneless, her body sinking into the couch.
When she finally looked down at him, her silvery eyes were dazed, heavy-lidded with satisfaction, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. And Merlin, if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"You're insatiable," she murmured, her voice thick with pleasure, her fingers brushing against his flushed cheek.
He smirked, licking his lips before crawling up her body, his weight pressing against her in a way that made her shiver. "Only for you, my love."
She hummed, but her hands were already moving, fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He let her undress him, her touch soft but purposeful, her nails lightly scraping against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"My moon," he started, but the words caught in his throat as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, palming him through the fabric, her touch making his breath hitch.
She pushed him back against the couch, straddling him, her body still warm and soft from her release. "Now," she murmured, her lips tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Let me take care of you."
His head fell back as she slid lower, her fingers wrapping around his thick length, stroking him slowly, teasingly. He was already hard, aching for her, and she knew it. She always knew.
Luna pressed soft kisses to his stomach, working her way lower, her touch both reverent and maddening. His breath stuttered when she finally licked a long stripe up his cock, her tongue warm and wet and so, so perfect.
"Luna—" he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as she took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head before sucking him deep.
His fingers found her hair, threading through the silky strands, his grip tightening as she set a slow, torturous pace.
She was deliberate, taking her time, her mouth a hot, wet heaven around him. Every flick of her tongue, every hollowing of her cheeks sent sparks of pleasure racing through his body.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he panted, his head falling back against the cushions. She hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to his spine.
He was already close, the coil in his stomach winding impossibly tight, but he didn't want it to end. He wanted to savor this, to bask in the way she worshipped him with her mouth, the way she took him deeper, her throat tightening around him.
But she wasn't letting up. If anything, she was relentless, her hands gripping his thighs as she took him as deep as she could, swallowing around him in a way that made him curse under his breath.
"Luna, I'm going to—"
She didn't stop. She wanted this, wanted all of him, and that realization alone sent him over the edge. His entire body tensed as his orgasm tore through him, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he spilled into her waiting mouth.
She swallowed every drop, her tongue still swirling around him as he shuddered beneath her. When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction.
Theo was still catching his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears as she climbed back up his body, her bare skin pressing against his. She kissed him, slow and deep, letting him taste himself on her tongue.
"You are trouble," he murmured against her lips, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along her back.
She smirked, resting her head against his chest. "And you love it."
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hair, his arms tightening around her. "I do."
They stayed like that for a while, tangled together on the couch, the world outside forgotten. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting golden shadows across their bodies, the warmth of the night settling between them.
Luna shifted, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before nuzzling into his neck. "I think I love you even more when you're like this," she murmured, her fingers lazily stroking his chest.
"Like what?" he asked, amusement tugging at his lips.
"Soft. Content. Completely undone."
He let out a hum of agreement, his hand smoothing up and down her spine in slow, lazy strokes. "That's what you do to me," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "Every single time."
She smiled against his skin, her breathing evening out as sleep began to pull at her. "Then I suppose I'll just have to keep doing it," she whispered sleepily.
Theo chuckled, holding her closer. "My love, you're going to be the death of me."
She hummed in amusement, already half-asleep in his arms. "A good way to go."
He pressed another kiss to her hair, his heart full, his mind at peace. And as they drifted off together, tangled in each other's warmth, he knew that no matter what the world threw at them, they would always have this—this love, this closeness, this undeniable bond that nothing could ever break.
~~~~~~
Fatherhood, Theo learned, did not announce itself with milestones or triumphs.
It lived in the quiet. In the early hours when the house still slept and his son's breath warmed his chest, steady and trusting. In the way tiny fingers curled around his own without doubt, offering a love he had not earned yet would spend his life protecting.
There was nothing dramatic about it. No praise. No proof. Only the repetition of care. Pacing the nursery at night while murmuring half-forgotten songs. Holding Lysander closer when the world felt sharp. Learning the small differences in his cries, the ones that asked for food, for comfort, for nothing more than arms.
Lysander changed everything. He softened the edges of Theo's carefully ordered life and shifted what mattered most. Some nights, Theo would look down at his son and feel something so vast it left him breathless, a love that rewrote him from the inside out.
He had prepared for schedules and supplies. He had read and planned and organized. Nothing had warned him about this, about how a single glance from those wide, trusting eyes could undo him so completely.
He would not change it. This quiet devotion, this constant tenderness, became the rhythm of his days. He carried it like a vow, never spoken, held deep and steady, something that would last as long as he did.
One quiet afternoon, when Lysander was three months old, Theo settled him into the sling they had started using for their walks. The day was slow and warm, the kind that pressed stillness into the air. The garden hummed softly beyond the manor walls, alive in a way that asked for silence rather than attention. These walks had become theirs. Luna slept. Theo moved through the grounds with his son tucked close, like a secret carried forward.
Lysander's head rested beneath Theo's chin, his breathing warm and even against his chest. One hand stayed firm at the baby's back, thumb brushing the soft fabric of his onesie as they followed the familiar stone path. Light filtered through the branches in broken gold, and Theo did not hurry. There was something about this time that felt set apart, something he understood without needing words.
"Alright, little one," he murmured, unsure whether Lysander was awake. "We're nearly at your mum's favorite place."
He stopped by the wildflower patch Luna had tended weeks earlier. The moonflowers were tall now, pale blooms waiting for evening. Theo bent slightly, angling them into view as if his son might be watching.
"She made me plant these," he said quietly. "Moonflowers. She said they bloom when everything else goes quiet. Said they reminded her of you."
Lysander answered with a soft sound, a small twitch of his hand against Theo's chest. It was enough. Theo smiled, his breath catching on a feeling he could not quite name, and straightened as they continued on.
"You're going to grow up surrounded by love," he said, voice low. "Not the kind that asks for something back. Just love. Steady and yours."
The words settled heavier than he expected. His fingers adjusted instinctively, supporting the small weight pressed against his heart.
"I don't care what name you carry," he went on. "You won't live in anyone's shadow. Not mine. You'll never have to wonder if you're enough. You already are."
The leaves stirred above them. A breeze passed through the garden, gentle and unhurried. Standing there with his son's heartbeat against his own, Theo felt something inside him finally settle.
He was no longer only the man who had survived his past. He was a father. Luna's partner. And quietly, without ceremony, that changed everything.
It had become second nature by now. Even the simplest errands turned into a stage for Theo Nott's favorite role: husband, father, and unapologetic bragger. He could be choosing lemons or waiting at the apothecary counter, and within minutes the conversation would drift toward Lysander's latest discovery or Luna's quiet brilliance.
He was never subtle about it.
"Have I told you about my son?" he would ask brightly, his grin open and infectious, the sort that made people feel like they had already missed half the story.
The shopkeeper, usually someone who had only asked if he wanted a paper bag, would blink. "Er… no, sir."
Theo took that as encouragement.
"He's incredible. Three months old and already reaching for books. Real books. He's got a singing toy phoenix, but no, he goes straight for the leather-bound Transfiguration primer every time. Clearly a Ravenclaw in the making."
He would shift the basket in his arm, warming to the topic like a man recounting a great quest.
"And Luna," he added, his voice softening, "she's extraordinary. You should see her with him. It's like she was always meant to be his mother. She sings to him and he listens like he understands every word. I watch them together and I still can't work out how I got this lucky."
The weight of the thought would catch him for a moment. Then he would smile again, almost sheepish. "Sorry. You were probably just trying to sell me carrots."
By then, Luna would have drifted to the next stall, pretending to inspect fruit while throwing him a sideways look. She no longer tried to stop him. She knew this was who he was now. A man undone by his family, proud of it, and unwilling to pretend otherwise.
When she returned with a bunch of grapes, she raised an eyebrow. "If I ever go missing, I won't need a tracking spell," she said lightly. "I'll just follow the sound of you telling strangers how brilliant we are."
Theo turned to her, completely unbothered, and brushed a kiss to her temple. "Good," he said. "Then you'll never be far from home."
Then, as if he had not just poured his entire heart out to a grocer, he turned back and added cheerfully, "He's got my eyes, you know. Same shape. It's a little alarming. He's already devastatingly handsome."
The vendor said nothing. He simply handed over the change with the calm resignation of someone who had stumbled into something unstoppable and quietly sacred.
Luna watched them, her smile deepening into something soft and private. She never said it aloud, but she thought it every time she saw him like this, glowing, hopelessly in love, full to the edges with devotion.
~~~~~~
Theo practically exploded into Draco's study, the door flying open hard enough that it nearly rebounded off the wall. Lysander was cradled in his arms like a priceless relic, and Theo's face was lit with the kind of awe usually reserved for world-altering discoveries.
"Draco, look," he announced, breathless with triumph. "One tiny tooth. Right there."
He leaned forward, pointing enthusiastically at Lysander's drooly mouth, his expression hovering somewhere between reverence and complete disbelief.
Draco, who had been peacefully reviewing documents behind his desk, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am looking, Theodore," he said dryly. "And yet I remain unmoved."
Theo waved him off. "You're not actually looking. You need to commit to the moment. Here, angle matters." He shifted Lysander slightly, then suddenly barked toward the hallway, "Granger. Get in here. I need an educated witness."
Draco's head snapped up. "Do not summon my wife like a house-elf."
Hermione appeared anyway, drawn by the noise, her arms crossed and a knowing smile already forming. "What catastrophe have you caused now?"
Theo turned to her with the intensity of a prophet. "He's teething. Look. Tiny tooth. Historical event."
Hermione leaned in, and her face softened instantly. "Oh my goodness," she said, delighted. "You're right. That is a tooth." She brushed a finger gently through Lysander's hair. "Well done, you."
Theo practically vibrated with pride.
Draco sighed and reached out, lifting Lysander from Theo's arms with practiced ease. The baby grabbed at his collar and blinked up at him, content and curious.
Draco glanced down, then muttered, "He's growing too fast," even as his thumb traced an absent-minded circle along Lysander's cheek.
Theo clasped his hands together. "Isn't he incredible? I give it months before he's doing advanced magic."
Hermione snorted. "Yes. I'm sure he'll be dueling before his first birthday."
Draco handed the baby back with a faint smirk. "With you as his father, he's going to need supervision."
Theo grinned without a trace of shame. "That's why he's got Luna."
And just like that, he cuddled Lysander closer, utterly convinced the world should stop and admire him.
~~~~~~
Theo had developed a truly unfortunate habit of barging into people's homes without warning, a habit that had only worsened since acquiring a child he now treated as both emergency prop and sacred relic. Today he arrived like a natural disaster. No knock. No pause. Just the door flung open and frantic footsteps echoing through the room.
"Ginevra," he cried, voice already tipping toward hysteria. "Emergency."
Ginny, curled on the sofa beneath a blanket with a book in hand, barely lifted her eyes. She glanced at Theo standing in the center of the room, Lysander clutched to his chest like a fallen hero.
"What now," she asked calmly, setting her book aside.
Theo stepped forward, eyes wide with horror. "He's hurt," he said gravely, angling the baby toward her. "Look at his knee."
Ginny leaned in, squinting with deliberate patience. "That's a scratch."
"A scrape," Theo corrected, tightening his hold. "There was blood. Actual blood. From my son."
Blaise, lounging nearby with a glass of wine, did not even look up. "He crawls now, doesn't he. Crawlers meet floors. Floors usually win."
Theo stared at him, offended to his core. "It's his first injury."
"That you noticed," Blaise replied lazily. "Luna's probably dealt with worse while you were out dramatizing lemon purchases."
Ginny stood and placed a steady hand on Theo's shoulder. "You're being dramatic."
"He bled," Theo insisted. "I saw the red mark."
Lysander, utterly determined to sabotage the narrative, squealed happily and grabbed at Blaise's shirt buttons.
Blaise finally looked down, amused. "See. Brave little knight. Wounded in battle and still flirting."
Theo looked between them, aghast. "You're both monsters."
Ginny gently took Lysander and bounced him once. "He's fine. Please stop acting like he lost a limb."
"I never said limb," Theo replied stiffly. "But this is how it starts. A scrape becomes a bruise, becomes a fall, becomes—"
"Finish that sentence and I hex you," Ginny warned.
Theo sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "You're all desensitized."
Blaise raised his glass. "We just know a paper cut when we see one."
Ginny kissed Lysander's head and handed him back. "You're a good dad. Completely overprotective, but good."
Theo hugged his son to his chest. "Someone has to care."
Blaise smirked. "When the apocalypse arrives via scraped knee, we'll apologize."
Theo paused. "I brought biscuits."
Blaise perked up slightly.
"But I'm not sharing."
Blaise reclined again. "Tragic."
Theo narrowed his eyes. "Next time I'm lecturing you on baby-proofing."
Ginny dropped back onto the sofa. "Please sit down and be normal for five minutes."
Theo considered, then sat carefully, still cradling Lysander like priceless porcelain. "Five minutes. If he bumps into anything, we're leaving."
"You'll be back tomorrow," Blaise said.
He was right.
~~~~~~
Pansy was going to lose her fucking mind if Theo did not stop hovering over that baby like some unhinged mother dragon wrapped in designer robes.
Every single visit, every carefully scheduled weekly catch-up that was meant to include wine, gossip, and at least one delicious scandal, Theo managed to hijack the entire afternoon with a brand new, deeply unwell concern about Lysander's health, sleep, digestion, or some imagined catastrophic ailment that apparently required immediate emotional devastation.
Today was no exception.
She had been in the middle of a perfectly executed rant about the logistical nightmare of her upcoming dinner party, complete with hand gestures and a dramatic recounting of seating arrangements, when Theo gasped like a man who had just seen death itself. He shot to his feet, clutched Lysander to his chest, and stared into the middle distance like the child had seconds left to live.
Pansy stopped mid-sentence.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head. One brow lifted. She pressed her fingers to her temples, inhaled deeply, and reminded herself that murder was frowned upon, even in moments of extreme provocation.
"Theodore," she said flatly, her voice calm in the way only truly dangerous people manage. "If you interrupt me again with another ridiculous Lysander emergency, I will strangle you. And if you die, I will raise him myself. Badly. Out of spite."
Theo barely blinked. Completely unfazed by the threat of death and hostile godparenting, he turned to her with wide, frantic eyes.
"But Pansy," he whispered, horrified, "his tummy aches."
She blinked once.
Then again.
Theo adjusted his grip, rocking Lysander gently like the child might shatter if he stopped moving for even a second. "It's bad. He's been fussy all day. What if something's wrong. What if it's the start of some rare magical condition. What if—"
"He's fine," Luna said calmly, not even looking up from her book. Her voice carried the serenity of someone who had repeated this exact sentence more times than she could count. "Babies get fussy. That is literally their whole personality."
Theo continued bouncing anyway. "But what if this is different. What if it's not normal fussiness. What if it's the beginning of something worse."
That was it.
Pansy snapped.
She shot to her feet, arms flinging wide, her expression teetering between violent rage and the desperate need for stronger wine.
"For Merlin's sake, Theodore, get a fucking grip." She pointed at Luna, then jabbed a finger at him. "Your wife, who carried him inside her actual body, says he's fine. I, who do not like most children, say he's fine. The only person having a crisis is you."
Luna laughed softly and finally looked up, her eyes warm with affection. "You do spiral a bit," she said gently.
Theo hesitated, visibly torn between catastrophic panic and the growing realization that his son was, in fact, very much alive. He glanced down at Lysander, who was fast asleep against his chest, utterly unbothered by the emotional warzone surrounding him.
"You really think he's alright," Theo asked quietly. He sounded like a man who had just delivered a heartfelt eulogy to someone who was now checking their watch.
Pansy gave him a long, exhausted look. "No, Theo. I don't think. I know. Now sit down and shut up so I can finish telling Luna how I accidentally uninvited Daphne Greengrass and then pretended it was intentional."
Theo sighed dramatically and perched on the arm of Luna's chair, still holding Lysander like a sacred artifact.
"Fine," he said with wounded dignity. "But if his tummy aches again, I am going straight to St. Mungo's."
Luna reached up and squeezed his hand, her voice soft and warm. "You're a wonderful father. But he's okay, my love. You can breathe."
Pansy collapsed back into her seat, victorious. She reclaimed her wine, flipped her hair, and rolled her eyes.
"Thank Salazar," she muttered. "Now. The Ministry scandal. You are not ready. There was a centaur, a cursed quill, and three different kinds of magical contraceptives involved."
Theo blinked. "Do I even want to know."
"No," Pansy replied sweetly. "But you're going to hear it anyway."