Morning light slipped through the linen curtains, laying soft bands of gold across the nursery floor. The air felt hushed, as though the room itself was holding its breath. Luna lingered in the doorway, unmoving, caught in the quiet pull of watching their son sleep. His small chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, and the sight of it stirred something fierce and aching inside her, a love so full it burned behind her eyes.
She felt Theo before she heard him. His arms settled around her waist, warm and familiar, drawing her back against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder and breathed in slowly, like he was trying to anchor the moment inside himself. His lips brushed her neck in a kiss that carried more feeling than any sentence could manage.
They stayed like that, side by side, sharing the silence. Neither of them rushed it. Then, softly, Luna spoke.
"I think it's time for our first family adventure."
Theo shifted, lifting his head just enough to look at her, curiosity flickering across his face. He kept his voice low, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. "An adventure," he repeated. "Where to, my moon?"
She turned toward him, her eyes bright in the morning light, her hands settling against his chest. "There's a hidden village near the Black Lake," she said. Wonder threaded every word. "People say it feels untouched by time. Old spells linger there. Quiet magic. Creatures you only hear about in stories. No one speaks of it much anymore, but it's still there. Waiting."
Theo studied her, taking in the certainty in her voice, the familiar spark that always appeared when she spoke of forgotten places. His hands slid along her back, steady and grounding, like instinct guiding him home.
When he smiled, it held calm assurance. He leaned in, brushed his nose against hers, then kissed her with the weight of a promise. "Alright," he murmured. "A hidden village. Secrets and strange creatures. Just the three of us."
Her laughter was soft, warm, and it wrapped around him like light through morning mist. Luna had always been drawn to what lay beyond the known paths. Theo did not need directions. Wherever she chose to go, he would follow.
~~~~~~
A week later, they found themselves deep in the heart of Hargita Bai, surrounded by a forest so old it felt like stepping into a living memory. The trees rose high and close, thick with age, their branches woven together overhead to form a canopy that softened the sunlight into drifting gold. Light slipped through in scattered rays and moved slowly across the moss-covered ground, leaving patterns that shifted with every breath of wind. The air carried the scent of pine and damp earth, touched with something faintly sweet from flowers hidden out of sight. Even the quiet felt aware, as though the forest watched from beneath bark and leaf.
Lysander stirred in the enchanted wrap against Luna's chest, his breath warm at her throat. His fingers flexed and relaxed as he blinked up at the swaying branches above. He seemed absorbed by the filtered light and the hush between sounds. She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and adjusted her step to match his gentle weight, holding him with an ease that came from instinct rather than thought.
Theo walked beside them, wand secure at his hip, pack resting against his shoulder. His gaze stayed alert, tracking the path and the shadows beyond it. Beneath that focus, he felt the pull of the place itself. The magic here did not announce its presence. It rested in the soil and the roots, woven into the land. This journey had come from Luna, from fragments of stories her mother had once written down, and he had trusted her without hesitation. He always did.
"This place feels older than anything I know," Luna said softly, her voice folding into the quiet. "Do you feel it too? It doesn't behave like taught magic. It's patient. It listens."
Theo brushed his fingers along the bark of a nearby tree as they passed. "It feels steady," he said. "Like it has been waiting a long time."
She smiled, her hand trailing over a root furred with moss. "My mother called it a sanctuary. She believed the old creatures still come here. The ones most people forgot. She wrote that the veil thins in places like this, as if the forest remembers another world and lets us see a piece of it."
Theo looked down at Lysander, who had gone quiet again, eyes wide and calm, his body loose against Luna's chest. There was something striking about how settled he became among the trees, as if he listened in his own way.
"You really think we'll find it?" Theo asked.
"I do," Luna said, light catching in her eyes. "We do not need a map. We just need to follow where the forest leads. It leaves signs for those who pay attention."
They moved on, Luna a step ahead, her pace unhurried. The forest shifted as they walked. Wildflowers appeared between roots, their colors changing gently with the light. The air carried a low sound that felt almost like a lullaby, slow and distant, without a clear source. It followed them through the trees.
Theo stayed close, his attention fixed on her and the path opening before them. Whatever waited deeper within the forest, whatever lived in the quiet and the shadow, they would meet it together.
Time loosened its hold as they walked. The trail narrowed and twisted, roots crossing it like veins beneath skin. Then, without warning, the trees fell away into a wide clearing.
Theo stopped. His breath caught.
Ancient oaks stood in a ring, their trunks immense, their roots threading together beneath their feet. At the center rose a tall stone monolith, smooth and pale, etched with curling runes that glimmered faintly in the broken light. No sound broke the stillness. Only a gentle hum filled the air, rising from the ground itself, welcoming and watchful.
Luna stepped closer and took his hand, her fingers trembling just a little. "The grove," she whispered. Her voice carried awe, softened and changed, as though her mother's words had risen from old pages and taken shape around them.
Theo moved toward the stone, drawn by something he did not question. When his fingers brushed its surface, a gentle tremor rolled through the clearing. It carried no threat. It felt like a welcome.
The forest answered.
From the shadows at the edge of the grove, movement stirred. Tiny sprites slipped into the air, wings translucent and glowing, their hum light and chiming. Fairies followed, hovering above the flowers, their eyes reflecting the light like glass. Magic thickened, settling into the space with a quiet certainty. Then, stepping between the trees with calm, measured grace, came the unicorns.
Their coats shimmered pale and bright. Their hooves barely touched the grass. They were taller than he had imagined, older than stories could capture, their presence steady and knowing. One lifted its head and met Theo's gaze, and something passed between them that needed no name.
Luna drew Lysander closer to her chest.
Theo stayed where he was.
Time stretched within the grove. Breath slowed. The world beyond the forest slipped away. Only the hush of wind, the rhythm of magic, and the ancient trees remained.
Together, they stood at the heart of it.
A family.
Still. Whole.
Lysander shifted, sensing the change, his tiny hand lifting toward the shimmer around them, fingers reaching for something unseen and vast.
Luna's smile trembled with joy as she whispered, "Look, my love. This is the world we wanted to show you. A world full of wonder."
Theo swallowed, his grip tightening around her hand. The moment settled deep in his chest, solid and sure. This was why they had come. To share something untouched, something that could not be explained, only felt.
"We're going to make so many memories here," he said quietly.
She turned toward him, warmth shining in her eyes. "Yes. And Lysander will grow up knowing magic lives everywhere. Not only in spells. It waits to be noticed."
Theo leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, slow and lingering. Standing there among creatures older than legend, wrapped in the quiet pulse of something eternal, he understood that this was more than a journey.
It was the beginning of a future shaped by love, by wonder, and by the steady magic of belonging.
~~~~~~
He returned from the forest carrying its peace like mist clinging to his skin. The memory of filtered light and Luna's laughter followed him through the corridors of the manor. For a moment, it stayed with him.
Then he stepped into his office.
The shift was immediate.
The room was immaculate, every object in its place. Shelves rose to the ceiling, filled with worn tomes etched with age and sigils. Wards hummed softly, layered and precise. His desk lay covered in maps, photographs, and parchment marked by careful hands. The space thrummed with focus and intent.
Theo moved through it with ease. Papers passed beneath his fingers. His eyes tracked patterns others missed. Movement. Timelines. Gaps. This was not routine. This was pursuit.
His newest target lingered at the center of the work. Elusive. Dangerous. A name that slipped through records and resurfaced in whispers. Theo had hunted monsters before. He had survived traps and bloodshed and long nights that ended in silence.
This one carried history.
The deeper he read, the heavier the air grew, the calm of the forest giving way to something colder and sharper. The peace he had brought back with him did not fade. It hardened.
And Theo leaned into it, already preparing for what came next.
He leaned over the desk, eyes narrowed, his thoughts moving with careful precision. Every detail mattered. Every word, every symbol, every faint shadow on a map carried meaning. The old brass clock ticked steadily behind him, marking time he refused to acknowledge. He had learned early that haste led to mistakes, and mistakes cost lives. He would not make one here.
He read everything twice. Surveillance reports. Scraps of intercepted messages. Half-formed rumors dragged out of places where truth rarely survived intact. He memorized routes and patterns, tested scenarios in his head, followed each thread to its most likely end. He imagined where they would hide, how they would run, what they would abandon to save themselves.
Through it all, he stayed composed.
He leaned back at last, fingers pressing briefly to his temple. Something heavy passed through him, quick and unspoken. The cost was always there, waiting. He had never pretended otherwise.
This was not routine.
This was the sort of work that reshaped a man from the inside out.
Fresh intel continued to arrive, enchanted ink glowing faintly as updates flowed in from his network. Codes demanded breaking. Names needed answers. Weak points revealed themselves to anyone patient enough to see them. Theo moved through it all without pause, his focus honed by years spent navigating danger with little margin for error.
As the sun sank behind the warded windows, the room dimmed. The soft glow of magical monitors lit his face in pale gold. His expression stayed sharp, unreadable, controlled to the core.
He looked unyielding.
Yet even there, surrounded by plans and weapons and quiet threats, his thoughts drifted home.
To Luna.
To Lysander.
They did not belong in this world of calculated violence, yet they lived in him all the same. Luna's calm gaze. The warmth of Lysander's fingers curled around his thumb. The memory of their laughter among the trees, untouched and free. That was what steadied him when the work threatened to hollow him out.
He would keep this world from them.
They would never carry its weight. Never see its blood.
Hargita had not been an escape. It had been a reminder. There, he had been a husband walking beside his wife, a father with his son sleeping against his chest. He had moved through the forest without suspicion, without fear. Luna had reached for him with absolute trust, and Lysander had rested, safe and unaware of anything darker than birdsong.
That was the reason.
The contrast between those moments and the work before him only sharpened his resolve. He knew what he was capable of, and he knew why he used those skills. The line between his two lives demanded care and discipline, and he walked it every day without hesitation.
A faint buzz from his notes pulled him back into the present. The plan was solid now, its shape clear and unyielding. There was no space left for doubt.
Theo allowed himself one final thought of his family, then set it aside with deliberate care.
The hunt had begun.
And he would see it through, no matter what it demanded, so that Luna and Lysander would never have to.
~~~~~~
Theo sat hunched over the spread of blueprints covering his desk, shoulders tight, attention fixed on the clean geometry of corridors and exits. The fire crackled low behind him, a steady, familiar sound, until green flames burst to life in the hearth without warning. He looked up instantly, muscles coiling on instinct.
Blaise Zabini's face appeared in the Floo, pale firelight cutting sharp lines across his features. He looked wrong. Too still. Too serious.
"Blaise," Theo said, his voice low, already braced.
"Theo," Blaise replied, clipped and restrained.
Theo pushed back from the desk and stood. "What do you want?"
Blaise did not waste time. "We have a problem."
Theo's jaw tightened. "Go on."
"A new target."
The room felt colder, as if the wards themselves had leaned in to listen. "Who?"
The pause stretched. The flames hissed softly.
"Ronald Weasley."
Theo swore viciously and dragged a hand through his hair as he turned away from the fire. "Fuck me, Blaise," he snapped. "What the hell are you saying?"
"I'm saying I've been hearing things," Blaise replied, voice smooth and deadly calm. "Things we cannot ignore. My sources are consistent. And they are ugly."
Theo turned back, eyes sharp. "Ugly how?"
Blaise's expression did not change, though something dark flickered behind his eyes. "Domestic. Violent. Repeated. Covered up by charmwork and silence. One of those situations that festers if no one ends it."
Theo's fingers curled slowly into fists. "You're asking me to help you kill your wife's brother."
"Yes."
The word landed clean and heavy.
Theo let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That's your solution?"
Blaise leaned closer to the flames, his face half-shadowed. "It has to end. Permanently."
Silence filled the study, thick and pressing. Theo could hear his own pulse, steady but loud. "Good luck explaining that to your soul mate," he said coldly.
Blaise's eyes darkened. "You think I haven't thought about that?"
Theo said nothing.
"I live with it," Blaise continued, voice low and controlled. "Every hour. Every night. Knowing what he's done. Knowing what he will keep doing if no one stops him."
"And you want me to be the one who does it," Theo said.
"I want your precision," Blaise answered. "Your discretion. Your ability to make it final without ripples."
Theo leaned back against the desk, wood creaking under his weight. "You understand what this is," he said quietly. "This is not just another name on a list. This is family."
Blaise's jaw tightened. "You think that makes it easier?"
Theo studied him in the flames. For the first time, he saw the fracture beneath Blaise's composure. The strain. The damage that no tailored suit or careful posture could hide.
"I can imagine," Theo said at last, his voice rough.
Blaise exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair, the motion sharp with frustration. His jaw tightened as if he were holding something back that threatened to spill if he loosened his grip even a fraction. "You need to understand this, Theo," he said quietly. "What Ronald has done violates everything we protect. Everything we stand for. There are lines in our world that cannot be crossed. Not ever."
The fire crackled, filling the silence between them. Theo's eyes flicked to the flames, the sound settling into his bones like a warning. The rules of their circle were clear. Old. Brutal. Unforgiving.
"Domestic abuse," Theo said softly. The words landed heavy, ugly, impossible to dress up. They sat there between them, undeniable.
Blaise nodded once. "In our world, a man who raises his hand against a woman is already dead. Especially his wife. You know that. The family laws are absolute. We do not shield someone like that. We do not pretend it can be fixed."
Theo's jaw clenched. Blaise was right, and that truth made his stomach turn. Ronald Weasley was not just a name on a report. He was someone they had fought beside. Someone woven into the past they could not rewrite.
"So what happens now?" Theo asked quietly. "You expect me to step in and finish it."
Blaise did not hesitate. "You know what's required," he said, his gaze cold and steady. "You do what you do best. I handle the rest. This ends here. Ronald crossed a line, and consequences follow."
Theo leaned back slightly, the weight of it settling deep in his chest. There was no way around it. This was the cost of the world they lived in. One violation, one unforgivable act, and the response was final.
"May Merlin have mercy on your soul," Theo said under his breath, the words tasting bitter.
Blaise's expression did not change. "There's no mercy left for me," he replied. "There hasn't been for a long time."
The green flames flickered, then dimmed, Blaise's image dissolving back into the hearth. The room fell silent again, heavy and still. Theo remained where he was, staring into the dying fire, the shape of what came next already forming in his mind whether he wanted it to or not.
~~~~~~
He stood before the mirror, studying the man looking back at him. There was nothing left of the warmth he had carried home from the forest with Luna and their son. Dressed in black, he looked sharp and controlled, every line of him pulled tight with purpose. Each piece of gear went on with care. Gloves fitted. Straps tightened. Buckles secured. Every quiet click settled something inside him, a familiar focus sliding into place.
The soft chime of his watch broke the stillness. Time.
His gaze shifted to the desk where the plans lay spread out, though he no longer needed to read them. He knew every route, every entry point, every contingency by heart. Weeks of preparation had carved the details into his mind, and he ran through them once more out of habit rather than doubt. Nothing had been missed. Nothing could be.
He understood better than anyone that plans could fracture the moment reality pushed back. That knowledge did not unsettle him. It sharpened him. Standing on the edge of action always did. This was where he was clearest. This was where he breathed easiest.
He stepped away from the desk, his expression settling into something hard and unreadable. The gentleness Luna drew from him belonged nowhere near what came next. That softness was protected by distance, locked safely away. What remained was precision, restraint, and a cold clarity earned over years in the dark.
He moved through the manor without sound, familiar corridors slipping past in shadow. Beyond the walls, the city hummed on, unaware of what moved beneath its skin. He slipped outside and the night took him in at once, his shape dissolving into darkness as though it had been waiting for him.
His steps were measured. His awareness stretched outward, every sense tuned and alert. He followed the path he had mapped a dozen times already, closing in on the last known location with the quiet confidence of someone who had done this before and survived it.
This was not bravado. It was certainty.
He was not chasing chaos for the sake of it. He was executing something that had already been decided.
What had begun as another name on a page had shifted into something heavier, something that reached back into a past he rarely allowed himself to revisit. Ronald Weasley was no longer an abstract target. The connection made this different, and he felt that weight settle into him as he moved forward.
The rumors had started small, the kind of whispers that barely registered at first. Talk of a man unraveling under pressure, of a marriage strained past its breaking point, of temper and excess and bad decisions made too late at night. Theo had heard that sort of thing before. It usually burned itself out. People stumbled. People fell apart. It was not his concern.
Then he kept digging.
The shape of it shifted as the details accumulated, losing any trace of pettiness or sympathy. This was not a man quietly imploding behind closed doors. Ronald Weasley had been moving through places where discretion was bought and sold, where loneliness was exploited for profit, where people were paid to listen and remember. Theo followed the pattern through names and locations, receipts and schedules, until it stopped looking accidental.
Weasley had been drinking too much. Talking too freely. Letting strangers stay close long after they should have been gone. And somewhere in that mess of late nights and poor judgment, he had started sharing things that did not belong to him. Information that carried weight. Information that could be traded.
That was when it stopped being a personal failure and became a liability.
Theo felt the shift settle into him as the pieces aligned. The calm detachment he relied on sharpened into something colder. This was not about jealousy or resentment or some moral outrage dressed up as justice. This was about containment. Damage control. Protection.
He mapped Weasley's routine with clinical care. The bars. The private rooms. The people who rotated in and out of his orbit. Every detail added another strand to a web that was already tightening. Weasley had placed himself at the center of it without realizing how easily others could pull the strings.
The final report confirmed what Theo had already suspected. One woman in particular. Paid company. Clever. Attentive. Someone who knew how to ask questions without sounding curious. Weasley had mistaken her interest for comfort and spilled far more than he should have. Names. Schedules. Things spoken sloppily and left hanging in the air, waiting for the wrong ears.
That was the moment the decision locked into place.
Theo leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes unfocused as the room pressed in around him. The scent of leather and dust hung heavy in the air. The firelight flickered low, stretching shadows across the walls like something alive.
Across from him, Clementina waited.
She sat with easy composure, legs crossed, posture relaxed, though her eyes missed nothing. She had learned long ago not to interrupt when Theo reached this point. When his silence was not hesitation, only calculation.
At last, he looked up.
"This isn't salvageable," he said quietly.
Her lips curved, just slightly. Not pleased. Not surprised. Simply acknowledging what had already been decided.
"No," she agreed. "It isn't."
Theo's gaze drifted back to the file, to the name stamped across the top, to the trail that led unavoidably forward. Whatever Weasley had once been did not matter anymore. What mattered was what he had become, and the risk he now posed.
And risks like that were never allowed to linger.
He watched her for a moment before leaning forward, forearms resting on the table. His voice stayed low, controlled.
"I've got work for you, Clem. It's sensitive. I need someone who can get close without setting off alarms."
She snorted, leaning back in her chair, one eyebrow cocked. "You always say that, Nott. So what is it this time? This better be worth me time."
He slid a small sealed envelope across the table with two fingers. "Ronald Weasley. You get near him. Keep him drinking. Keep him relaxed. Let him talk. I want everything he gives away. It needs to look like a normal night out."
She picked up the envelope, turning it over slowly. "Weasley?" A short laugh slipped out. "That ginger bloke's a mess already. You sure you need me for this? He'll chat shit to anyone who buys him a pint."
Theo's gaze hardened. "I need it controlled. Quiet. I want him thinking he's lucky, not targeted."
She leaned forward now, elbows on the table, eyes sharp. "So you want me playin' nice. All smiles, bit of flirting, make him feel important." Her lips curved. "Yeah, I can do that. But don't get it twisted. That level of effort costs."
"You'll be paid," Theo said evenly. "I want no mess. No suspicion. And no loose ends."
She clicked her tongue. "Loose ends ain't my problem. Sloppy men are." She slipped the envelope into her jacket. "He won't remember half of what he says by morning. I will."
Theo nodded once. "That's why I came to you."
She stood, tugging her sleeves into place. "Just remember, yeah, I do things my way. You don't ask questions after."
"As long as I get what I need, I won't," he replied.
She grinned, all confidence and teeth. "Good. I'll have him spillin' secrets by last orders. I'll be in touch."
She sauntered out, boots echoing faintly down the corridor. Theo stayed where he was, hands clasped, mind already turning over the possibilities. Clementina was risky, loud in all the right ways, and perfect for a man who never knew when to shut his mouth.
~~~~~~~
His hands shook as he held the small vial of memories Clementina had pressed into his palm. He rarely let nerves show, but something about the exchange had unsettled him. She had not smirked. She had not joked. She had looked at him once, long and serious, and told him to be careful before walking away. That alone told him this was different.
He locked himself into his study and layered the wards until the air felt thick with magic. Curtains were drawn tight. The only light came from a single candle on his desk, its flame flickering low as if it sensed what was coming. Theo sat down slowly, the vial cold against his skin, and forced himself to breathe before uncorking it. Silver threads spilled into the Pensieve, curling and folding like living things.
The memories began quietly, then accelerated. A pub. Low light. Too much noise. Ron Weasley slumped over a table, flushed and glassy-eyed, laughing too loud and thinking far too little.
His words spilled freely, unguarded and sloppy, confessions tumbling out between gulps of firewhisky. Theo watched with growing unease as names surfaced. Locations. Patterns. Access points. Things no one outside their circle should have known.
This was not harmless drunken nonsense. This was damage.
Theo felt it settle in his chest as the truth took shape. Ron had not meant to betray anyone. That almost made it worse. Carelessness could be just as lethal as intent. The information Ron had given away had already begun to ripple outward, touching old alliances, weakening long-standing protections, setting dangerous people into motion.
By the time the last memory faded, Theo was very still.
He sat back, fingers curled against the edge of the desk, his jaw tight. This was no longer about gossip or personal failure. This was structural. Strategic. One loose mouth had endangered people who would never even know his name.
There was no undoing it now.
Theo extinguished the candle with a sharp motion and stood, the decision already made. Whatever came next would be handled quietly. Precisely. He would close the breach, contain the fallout, and protect his family from ever feeling the tremor of it.
He gathered parchment and ink and began to write.
There was no room for mercy here. Only control.
~~~~~~
He crouched by the hearth and let the Floo powder fall from his fingers. The flames surged at once, burning green and loud, heat washing over his face. A heartbeat later, Blaise's face formed in the fire, sharp and watchful, already braced for trouble.
"Theo," Blaise said quietly. "What's happened."
Theo leaned closer, forearms braced on his knees, voice kept low as if the walls themselves could listen. "I went through everything from last night. Every thread we pulled. Blaise, it's worse than we thought."
Blaise's expression tightened, his eyes darkening. "How bad."
"Deep," Theo said. The word landed flat and heavy. "This isn't careless damage. It's layered. Interlocking half-truths, omissions, lies stacked on top of each other. What's coming out of those memories points to something that reaches far past one man's stupidity."
The fire crackled softly between them.
"So we're past containment," Blaise said.
Theo nodded once. "If we misstep, this doesn't just scorch the edges. It burns through the structure. Alliances, protections, people who never consented to being part of it."
Blaise went silent, jaw working as he processed it. "And our next move."
"We slow down," Theo replied. "We verify everything. We trace the spread before we touch the source. No sudden corrections, no visible pressure. If anyone realizes we're watching, this explodes."
"I'll lock things down on my end," Blaise said after a moment. His voice was steady, controlled. "No leaks. No noise."
"Good," Theo said. "Stay ready. This has teeth, and it's already moving."
Blaise's gaze held his through the flames. "You won't be handling this alone."
"I know," Theo answered.
The fire guttered, then dimmed, and Blaise's face vanished. Theo straightened slowly, the heat fading as the hearth returned to its usual glow. The room felt colder now, the silence pressing in around him.
There was no doubt left in his mind. Whatever they had stepped into was older, sharper, and far less forgiving than they had anticipated.
And there would be no easy way out.
~~~~~~
The morning air felt heavy, charged with things neither of them had said yet. He stood in front of the mirror, bare-chested, hands gripping the edge of the dresser as he studied his reflection. His eyes were sharp, searching, as if he were trying to find proof of something he could not name. Early sunlight spilled across the room, warm and golden, but it slid past him without reaching whatever storm had taken root in his chest.
Behind him, the bed shifted softly. Fabric whispered as she stirred, a quiet hum slipping from her throat before her eyes opened. Sleep still clung to her, but the moment she focused on him, something changed. She felt it immediately.
"What's wrong, love?" she asked gently, her voice warm with concern.
He did not answer at once. His breath left him slowly, controlled, his fingers pressing against his temples as though holding his thoughts in place. His jaw tightened, throat working as he swallowed. "Have you ever…" The words fell apart before they finished forming. He tried again, steadier this time. "Have you ever been hurt, Luna. In the past. By someone you trusted."
She frowned, fully awake now. She pushed herself upright, the covers pooling around her waist as she watched him closely. "Hurt?" she repeated, brows drawing together. "No. Not like that."
He turned to face her at last. His expression was carefully blank, yet something dark flickered beneath it. It was not fear. It was not anger. It was something heavier, something set deep and immovable.
Her chest tightened. "Theo," she said softly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet touched the cool floor as she stood and reached for him, her fingers light against his forearm. "Why are you asking me this."
His shoulders sagged, just a little, as if her words had struck somewhere tender. He closed his eyes briefly, then let out a short, humorless breath. "No reason," he said, though the lie sat awkwardly between them.
Luna did not step back. She never did when he pulled away. She knew his habits too well, the twitch of his fingers, the way his throat tightened when he was holding something down. Right now, every one of those signs was there.
She moved closer, her hands sliding along his arms, warm against his skin. "Something's wrong," she said quietly. "I can feel it."
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, he looked undone, raw in a way she rarely saw. Then the mask settled back into place, smooth and practiced. "You don't need to worry," he said softly. "Not about me."
The words did nothing to ease her.
"Theo," she said again, firmer now. "Are you in danger."
His mouth curved into something that almost passed for a smile. It never reached his eyes. "No."
It was close enough to the truth to pass. The danger was not aimed at him. That did not make it lighter.
She felt his heart racing beneath her hands, fast and relentless. Whatever he was carrying had followed him into the morning, into their room, into this quiet moment meant for rest.
"Should I be worried for us?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
There was a pause. Then he answered, certain this time. "Never."
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, as if his body alone could keep every shadow at bay. She let herself rest against him, let him hide his face in her hair, let him breathe her in like an anchor.
After a moment, she tilted her head, her lips brushing his collarbone as she murmured, "Then protect us from whatever storm you're fighting, my Sun."
His breath hitched. She always saw too much.
His fingers threaded through her hair, his kiss settling against the crown of her head. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, shaped like a vow.
"I will always protect you," he whispered.
He did not know if the promise was meant to soothe her or steel himself.
Perhaps it was both.
Because the choice had already been made.
And when the cost came due, he would carry it alone, so Luna would never have to know what he had done to keep their world intact.
~~~~~~
They landed with a soft crack, the world settling around them as the familiar pull of Apparition faded. Before them stood a quaint, unassuming cottage, tucked away at the very edge of a dense forest. The stone walls were weathered, partially hidden beneath creeping ivy, and the wooden shutters had the kind of aged charm that suggested this place had existed undisturbed for years. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the scent of damp earth and pine lingered in the crisp air.
To an outsider, it looked like nothing more than a peaceful countryside retreat—forgotten by time, untouched by the chaos of the world beyond. But to her, something about it felt…off.
Luna's gaze flickered around the clearing, her senses attuned to the quiet. No birds sang, no wind whispered through the trees. It was too still. She turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Where are we?"
He exhaled, his hands resting loosely in his pockets. "A safe house."
Her brow furrowed slightly, her curiosity deepening. "Why do we need a safe house?"
There was a deliberate pause, one she immediately picked up on. He was choosing his words carefully, holding something back. "For more than a few reasons," he finally said, his eyes locked onto the cottage door as if willing it to reveal something he wasn't ready to say.
She stepped closer, studying his face, the tension lurking beneath his carefully controlled expression. "And are you going to tell me these reasons?"
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk threatening to break through his otherwise unreadable demeanor. "Nope. Not right now."
She sighed, tilting her head in that way she always did when she was trying to decide whether to push or let him have his secrets. After a moment, she settled on the latter, though her mind continued weaving through the possibilities. "Fine," she relented. "But I will figure it out."
He chuckled, reaching for the door and pushing it open. "I have no doubt."
As soon as she crossed the threshold, Luna felt it—an undercurrent of something more than what met the eye. The cottage was larger inside than it had any right to be, a labyrinth of rooms stretching beyond the humble exterior. The main area was warm and inviting, with wooden beams lining the ceiling and a roaring fire in the hearth.
But as her eyes traveled beyond the cozy first impression, she saw what truly lay beneath the surface.
A long hallway branched off from the living space, lined with several bedrooms—functional but thoughtfully decorated, as though prepared for long stays rather than mere visits. Further down, a stark contrast presented itself: a fully equipped medical room, cabinets filled with potions, sterile bandages, and supplies that suggested someone had prepared for the worst. A surgical suite sat adjacent, clinical and efficient, the gleaming instruments meticulously arranged as if waiting for their inevitable use.
And then, the library.
Luna's breath caught as she stepped inside. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, filled with tomes she had never seen before. Many bore no titles on their spines, their worn covers betraying their age. The air smelled of parchment and ink, and the atmosphere felt charged. She ran her fingers along the nearest shelf, feeling the hum of old magic beneath her touch.
She turned back to him, her expression a mixture of awe and wariness. "What is all this?"
He leaned against the doorway, watching her take it all in. "A place for us to retreat to," he said simply. "For any situation that may arise."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing him. "This is more than an emergency shelter," she murmured. "This is a stronghold. A sanctuary. This was built to last."
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth in her words.
Her mind raced through the implications. The sheer level of preparation, the secrecy surrounding it—it all pointed to something more than just caution. "And you're still not going to tell me why we need it?"
He hesitated for just a moment, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. "Not just yet." His fingers found hers, lacing them together in a way that was both grounding and protective. "But trust me, my love—it's all for our safety."
She held his gaze, searching for the truth beneath his assurances. And though she still had questions she could see the weight he carried, the silent promise in his eyes. He was doing this for her. For them.
For now, she chose trust.
But the cottage held secrets. And sooner or later, they would demand to be uncovered.
~~~~~~
Her intuition had always spoken softly, a gentle nudge at the edge of her thoughts. Tonight it did not whisper. It pulled at her with urgency, sharp and insistent, settling deep in her chest until it became impossible to ignore. Since returning from the safe house, something had been wrong. Not fragile or fleeting. Wrong in a way that lodged itself in her bones.
She moved through the house with quiet purpose, bare feet soundless against the floor. The corridors felt darker than usual, the silence pressing in close, thick enough to feel. Her thoughts kept circling back to one place. His office. She had always known there were things Theo did not share with her. Not lies, exactly. More like doors he kept firmly shut. Until now, she had respected that. Tonight, she could not.
A memory tugged at her as she walked. A half-seen corner. A wall that never quite felt solid. She could not place when she had noticed it first, only that the awareness had lingered somewhere beneath everything else. Her pulse quickened as she reached his door.
It opened with a soft creak.
The office was pristine, every surface ordered with the kind of precision Theo lived by. Books aligned perfectly. Papers stacked with care. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. Then she saw it. A slight interruption in the symmetry of the wall. Almost nothing at all. Enough.
She crossed the room slowly and ran her fingers along the stone. When she felt the faint outline of the latch, her breath caught. She paused, one hand pressed flat against the wall, heart racing. Then she pressed.
The panel shifted silently.
The space beyond was dim and cold. Shelves lined the walls, filled with objects that made her stomach drop. Dark artifacts. Portkeys. And weapons. Muggle weapons. Guns, clean and meticulously maintained, resting in neat rows like they were meant to be there.
Her breath left her in a broken rush.
This was not preparation for defense. This was an arsenal.
She stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her. The air felt different here, heavier, charged with intent. Her mind struggled to keep pace with what she was seeing. She had known Theo's work carried danger. She had accepted that. This was something else entirely.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out and touched one of the guns. The metal was cold, unforgiving. It sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the temperature. This did not belong to the life she thought they shared. This did not belong to lullabies and moonflowers and quiet mornings.
Her thoughts spiraled.
What kind of man needed this. What kind of work demanded it.
"So what are you," she whispered, the sound barely there. "What do you really do."
The answer pressed in around her, inescapable.
"Not a businessman," she murmured, her voice cracking.
Tears blurred her vision as the truth began to take shape, jagged and impossible to soften. She had trusted him without reservation. She had built a life with him. She had given him a child. And all this time, there had been a world she was never allowed to see.
Her chest tightened until it hurt. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as her breath came faster. Betrayal and fear twisted together until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
She sank to the floor, her back against the cold stone, arms wrapped around herself like she could hold the pieces together through sheer force. Her thoughts raced, turning over every moment she had ever shared with him, searching for signs she had missed. Every gentle touch. Every promise. Every quiet smile. All of it felt suddenly fragile.
"How could I not know," she whispered, tears spilling freely now.
Her gaze drifted back to the weapons, each one a silent testament to violence she had never imagined belonging to the man she loved.
"A killer," she breathed, the word foreign and bitter. "I have a child with a killer."
The thought tore through her, sharp and merciless. She had imagined secrets. Dark magic. Dangerous alliances. Never this. Never something so stark and final.
Her hands pressed to her chest as her heart pounded wildly, panic threatening to swallow her whole. What kind of future had she stepped into. What kind of danger surrounded their son. How could she protect Lysander when the threat was woven into the very fabric of their home.
She cried openly now, shoulders shaking as the weight of it crushed down on her. The life she believed in felt like it had been built on a fault line, and everything was breaking apart beneath her.
When she finally pushed herself up, her legs felt weak, unsteady. She cast one last look around the hidden room, every shadow burned into her memory. The door closed behind her without a sound.
Whatever came next would change everything.
The world she had known, the life she had cherished, had been built on lies. And now, she was left to pick up the pieces, unsure of where to begin, or how to move forward in the face of such an unbearable truth.