Tonight was the night. He had to tell Luna.
The knowledge sat heavy in his chest, heavier than any danger he had ever faced. Violence had never frightened him. Death had never made his hands shake. This did. Sitting in front of her, meeting her eyes, and speaking the truth felt like standing on the edge of something he could never climb back from.
He was a killer. An assassin. A man who had ended lives in silence, under orders that no longer held meaning. For years he had folded that part of himself away, hidden behind routines, tenderness, and a version of himself she could love.
When he came home, he became someone gentler. Someone safe. Now that separation was failing. The truth pressed against him, impossible to keep contained.
The same thought returned again and again. What if she leaves.
He could see it too clearly. The shift in her expression. The shock, followed by hurt once the reality settled in. Luna was calm when the world fell apart, steady when others unraveled, yet this was different. This reached into the center of who he was.
His stomach tightened as nausea rolled through him. She had married a man with shadows in his past, not a man who still lived inside them. How could she reconcile the husband who held her at night with the one who took lives without hesitation. How could she ever touch his hands the same way again.
What if she leaves.
He clenched his fists beneath the table, nails digging into his palms. He would not blame her. He could not. If she chose herself, chose safety, chose distance, he would understand. Who would willingly stay with a man capable of that kind of violence. Who would build a future with someone who disappeared into the night and came back carrying blood he could never fully wash away.
He thought of their home. Of her smile when she saw him. That quiet look that made him believe he could still be more than his worst acts. The idea of that smile fading hurt more than any wound he had ever taken.
Another fear followed close behind. What if she breaks.
Luna was strong, grounded, resilient, yet strength had limits. He had seen what truth could do when it arrived too suddenly. He had watched people fracture under the weight of knowledge they could not carry. The thought that he might be the one to dim her light made his chest constrict until breathing felt difficult.
And the truth was him.
There was no softening it. No separating the man she loved from the violence he carried. He could not undo what he had done. He could only confess it.
Then came the fear that cut deepest. What if she takes Lysander.
The thought lodged in his throat. His son. His small, bright miracle. What if Luna decided someone like him had no place in their child's life. What if she walked away with their boy, choosing safety over love, leaving Theo behind with nothing but memory.
He could almost see it. Luna pulling Lysander close, her body turning protective, her eyes filled with fear instead of love. The idea that she might see him as a danger made his hands begin to shake.
Once the truth was spoken, there would be no undoing it. No return to the life built on careful silence. Love had limits. Love could fracture.
If Luna left, he knew how it would happen. She would take Lysander with her. She would choose their child over a man she could no longer trust. And Theo knew he could never fault her for that.
The fear sat on his chest like a weight, heavy enough to steal the air from his lungs. He was losing control, and that frightened him more than any threat he had ever faced.
Control had always been his anchor. He planned. He decided. He moved with certainty.
This was different. This was his life, his family, and he could feel it slipping away while he stood helpless to stop it.
His thoughts spiraled, each one feeding the next. What if she could not forgive him. What if she looked at him and saw someone she did not recognize. What if this moment marked the end of everything they had built together.
He closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, to force the panic back into its familiar cage. It did not listen. The fear stayed, sharp and persistent, refusing to be quiet.
How could he expect her to understand when he barely understood himself. He had told himself the secrecy was protection, that keeping her away from the darkness was an act of love. Now he wondered if the lie had grown so large that telling the truth would tear straight through them both.
There was no avoiding it anymore. The truth was waiting, patient and cruel. He could no longer hide behind silence. And the cost of finally speaking it terrified him.
~~~~~~
In the evening, the Malfoy penthouse dining room glowed with soft, golden light, the kind that made the world feel briefly kind again. The last warmth of a long summer day spilled through the tall windows, catching on polished marble and turning the table into something almost luminous. Above them, the chandelier scattered light like a patient constellation, steady and unhurried. For once, the room felt safe. Calm settled into the space like a held breath finally released.
Hermione sat propped comfortably with pillows in a plush armchair at the head of the table, her body relaxed, her attention sharp. Across from her, a small miracle was unfolding. Lysander sat proudly in his highchair, the carved lion crest at his back, entirely absorbed in what he had clearly decided was art. His chubby hand clenched a spoonful of pumpkin purée with fierce concentration. Instead of aiming for his mouth, he flung it outward, sending a bright orange arc across the floor as though the room itself had invited his contribution.
Hermione watched with quiet wonder, lips curved in something close to reverence. Life, messy and ridiculous and loud, was happening right in front of her.
Ginny sat beside her and reached out without thinking, tucking a loose strand of Hermione's hair behind her ear. The touch was gentle, familiar. Their eyes met, and no words were needed. Everything they had survived lived in that look. Battles. Loss. The long, grinding exhaustion of it all. What passed between them was relief, shared and unspoken, and gratitude for this small pocket of peace.
For a moment, nothing else mattered. The past stayed where it belonged. The future could wait. They were here, together, healing in uneven steps, laughing at flying pumpkin and sticky hands. And for now, that was enough.
Across from them, Draco and Pansy were locked in a performance that only loosely resembled an argument, their voices rising and falling in exaggerated outrage before breaking into laughter. Pansy waved a napkin like a weapon, declaring with theatrical severity that Lysander was a public health concern and required immediate intervention. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and Draco responded in kind, rolling his eyes and muttering something about dramatic overreach. The ease between them spoke louder than the words. Somewhere along the way, they had become a family. Chosen. Earned. Held together by shared history and stubborn affection rather than blood.
Luna sat nearby, unhurried and serene, tracing absent patterns in the margins of an old book. Her smile was small and genuine, the kind that came from feeling settled rather than entertained. Theo watched it all from his place at the table, his posture relaxed in a way few people ever saw. The usual guarded stillness had softened. There was amusement in his eyes, warmth there too, as he took in the sound of voices overlapping, laughter filling the room. He looked like a man who finally believed he was allowed to rest.
Lysander gurgled happily, his face streaked with pumpkin in what could only be described as intentional chaos. Hermione watched him and felt something bloom quietly in her chest. Gratitude, deep and steady. For this table. For these people. For the fact that she was here to witness it. The future remained uncertain, full of work and healing and days that would ask more than they wanted to give, yet this moment belonged to them. Imperfect. Lived in. Real.
As the evening stretched on, the room shifted almost imperceptibly. Candlelight flickered lower, shadows lengthening along the walls, their shapes slow and restless. The warmth remained, though something heavier began to settle beneath it. A sense of anticipation. Of truths waiting to surface. The peace they had carved out felt delicate, held together by breath and choice. Hermione felt it in the quiet between laughs, in the way conversations softened. Whatever came next would ask something of them.
Draco had been standing at the head of the table for most of the evening, a quiet presence that felt deliberate rather than casual. When he finally lifted his glass, the movement drew every eye without effort. His face had lost its usual polish. The sharp control people expected from him was worn thin, leaving behind a pallor that spoke of sleepless nights and thoughts he could no longer keep contained. The crystal goblet caught the candlelight, the liquid inside glowing faintly, almost unnaturally so. He held it as though it carried weight far beyond its contents.
"A toast," he said, his voice low, steady, and heavy enough to still the room.
The laughter faded. Chairs stopped shifting. Even the air seemed to tighten.
"To honesty," Draco continued. His gaze moved slowly across the table, pausing on Pansy, on Theo, on Blaise, each of them stiffening under the quiet scrutiny. When his eyes reached Hermione, he lingered there. She felt it settle on her skin, intimate and unsettling, filled with something raw she had rarely seen in him. Regret lived there. Fear too. And a resolve that made her pulse jump.
"To speaking what has been buried," he went on, his words measured, deliberate. "To the truths we have circled for too long. May what is said tonight draw us closer." His mouth tightened, just slightly. "Or show us exactly where the fractures already run."
Hermione's fingers closed around her glass. The cool crystal grounded her as heat bloomed in her chest. This was it. She had felt it all evening, the sense of something gathering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break through. The calm had never been permanent. It had been borrowed time.
She met his gaze and did not look away. His eyes were dark, storm-deep, stripped of pretense. There was fear there, open and unguarded, paired with a desperation that made her stomach twist. This was not a performance. This was a man standing at the edge of something he could not step back from.
Around the table, no one moved. Glasses hovered midair. Breath was held. Whatever followed this toast would change the shape of the night, and possibly everything that came after.
Draco raised his glass a fraction higher.
"To truth," he said softly.
And the word landed like a warning.
Crystal rang against crystal, the sound sharp and unsettling as it echoed through the room. It cut through the remaining warmth like a blade, carrying a sense of finality that settled deep in Hermione's chest. Something had shifted. Whatever distance still existed between past and present had thinned to nothing.
Draco lowered his glass with care, his gaze moving slowly from face to face. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, steady, and impossible to ignore. "Tonight," he said, the word carrying the weight of a vow, "we say everything. No more lies. No more hiding. Whatever follows, we face it together."
The silence that followed felt dense, almost physical. Hermione's thoughts began to race, spiraling through every truth left unspoken, every secret carefully buried and left to fester. She wondered if they truly understood what they were inviting into the open. Some things changed shape once spoken aloud. Some things broke.
Candlelight flickered along the table, shadows stretching and twisting across the walls as if restless. The room felt smaller now, the air heavier. There would be no refuge after this, no place to retreat once the words were released. The truth waited, patient and unforgiving.
Love, trust, friendship. They had rebuilt their lives around these things, fragile and hard won. Hermione tightened her grip on her glass and wondered if they would survive what came next.
Soon after, the Slytherins guided their partners toward a guest room tucked away from the rest of the penthouse. The door closed with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have, sealing them inside. Silence filled the space, thick with everything left unsaid. Whatever had been held back was done waiting.
The reckoning had begun.
~~~~~~
The warmth of the evening had thinned, leaving behind a stillness that pressed close. Candlelight glowed low along the walls, shadows gathering in the corners of the room. Theo reached for Luna's hand. His fingers shook when they touched hers, a small, involuntary betrayal of the storm he had been holding back all night.
She felt it immediately. Her grip tightened in response, steady and anchoring, but her eyes lifted to his face with quiet focus. Worry flickered there, faint but unmistakable, dimming her usual calm.
"My moonbeam," he said, the name heavy with everything he had never allowed himself to say out loud.
She turned fully toward him. "My sun," she replied gently. Warmth lived in her voice, but concern threaded through it now. "What weighs on you?"
He drew in a breath and held it too long. The silence thickened around them, the room seeming to shrink. His gaze drifted down the corridor to the closed door at the end of the hall. Lysander asleep. Innocence sealed safely away. His jaw tightened.
"Draco said something earlier," he began. The words came slowly, carefully measured. "About honesty."
The rest of it lodged in his throat, sharp and restless. The truth pressed against him from the inside, heavy and volatile. He had lived with it for years, shaped his life around it, but the idea of giving it form in front of her made his stomach twist until it hurt. He did not know how to let her see him clearly without losing her.
Theo leaned closer, his voice dropping. "There's trouble coming, my love. Something big. Draco thinks you should see it clearly. He thinks I can't keep you sheltered anymore."
She did not pull away. Her free hand lifted and rested against his cheek, warm and sure, grounding him where he sat.
"You've been carrying this alone," she said. Her voice was low, steady. "You don't have to do that anymore. Whatever storm is coming, I will face it with you."
His eyes closed as he leaned into her touch. The tightness in his chest loosened just enough to breathe. Candlelight flickered softly around them, and beyond the walls the future waited, uncertain and heavy. Still, with her hand on his face and her certainty holding him upright, hope took root.
When he opened his eyes again, Luna was watching him without wavering. There was nothing distant or gentle in her expression now. She was present, rooted, unmovable.
"Theo," she said, her voice calm and firm, "we have walked into uncertainty before. We did not stumble. We chose it." A brief, knowing smile touched her lips. "You followed me into forests that whispered lies. I followed you into rooms that smelled of danger. We did not survive those moments by guessing at each other."
She stepped closer. There was no hesitation in her movement, no softness meant to soothe him into silence. Her certainty filled the space between them.
"I am not afraid of darkness," she continued. "I am afraid of being kept outside the truth."
His breath caught. She lifted her hand and rested it against his chest, directly over his heart.
"You keep talking as if this is something I might shatter under," she said quietly. "As if my strength depends on ignorance. It does not." Her fingers pressed in, grounding and deliberate. "I need to know who you are in full. Not the parts you think are safe. All of it."
He tried to speak. Nothing came.
"I trust Draco because he does not circle truth," she went on. "And I trust you enough to demand honesty." Her eyes searched his face, unflinching. "What you carry has weight. I have felt it for a long time. I have seen it in your silences, in the way your body tightens when danger is close, in the nights you come home and hold us as if you are counting breaths."
A tear slid down her cheek. She did not wipe it away.
"You do not bring blood into this house by accident," she said. "Hermione was attacked. Our world cracked. I watched you change shape around it. I am not blind, Theo. And I will not be protected by lies."
The words landed hard. Honest. Final.
He swallowed, hands shaking now, the truth pressing against his ribs until it hurt to keep it inside. Her gaze did not soften. It steadied him.
"You deserve the whole story," she said. "I am asking for it. I am strong enough to hear it. And I will decide what it means with you, not in ignorance."
Something inside him gave way. The last barrier, worn thin by fear and love, collapsed.
"You are right," he said hoarsely. "It is my family. It always has been." His hand lifted to the silver locket at his chest, fingers curling tight around it as if it might keep him upright. "It is a legacy built on violence. Power taught through fear. Work done quietly so no one ever had to look at it for too long. I grew up inside it. I learned how to survive by becoming sharp enough to endure."
For a long moment, he could not look at her. Shame bowed his head, heavy and familiar. Then Luna reached for him. Her fingers brushed the deep lines carved into his brow, slow and deliberate. The touch steadied him in a way nothing else ever had.
"You are not afraid?" he asked, the question breaking out of him, raw and disbelieving.
She smiled. It was soft, luminous, and completely certain. "Afraid?" she echoed quietly. Her fingers kept moving, tracing calm into his skin. "No, Theo. Never of you. I know the man who holds our son while the house sleeps. I know the man who carries weight so the rest of us do not have to. Darkness has brushed against you, yes. It has not taken you. And it will not, as long as you stop trying to face it alone."
He pulled her into his arms, sudden and desperate, clinging as if she were the last solid thing left in the world. His breath hitched, voice muffled against her hair. "I do not deserve you."
Her smile did not fade. Her eyes stayed sharp, clear, unwavering. "You are right," she said softly. "You do not."
His body went still. The weight of it drove him down, knees hitting the floor without resistance. His hands clutched hers, trembling, tears spilling freely now from eyes that had learned restraint too early.
She watched him for a moment, unreadable. Then she spoke, her voice calm and fierce, steady as a tide that knows exactly where it is going.
"Then let us stop pretending," she said. "Stop pretending I am something delicate you have been shielding. I have known for a long time. Since I was pregnant."
His head dropped further. He did not interrupt.
"I went into your office," she continued. "I found the hidden door. I saw what you buried behind it." Her voice faltered for a breath, then steadied again. "The weapons. The files. The things you told yourself I did not need to see."
His hands tightened, knuckles whitening, yet he stayed silent.
"I stood there for hours," she said. "Trying to understand the life you carved away from me. The life you decided I could not be trusted with." Her gaze did not leave him. "And it was never only the room."
She stepped closer.
"I saw you," she went on. "Coming home in the dark. Blood on your clothes. Injuries you tried to hide. The way you cleaned yourself up like pain was a debt you owed privately."
Her hands shook. She folded them together, grounding herself.
"You think I live untouched by the world," she said quietly. "As if wonder makes me unaware. It does not. I see more than you think. I always have."
He turned his face away. She did not allow the distance.
"I waited because I trusted you," she said. "I waited because I believed you would choose honesty when you were ready. I am done waiting now."
The silence that followed was absolute. Luna stood firm, unyielding, her certainty filling the room. Theo knelt before her, undone, with nowhere left to hide.
For the first time, the truth stood between them fully visible. No longer a threat. No longer a shadow. Something they would have to face together.
He tried to speak. He tried to explain, to justify, to beg. Nothing came. His throat closed, sound failing him completely. All he could do was cling to her hands, fingers tightening until his knuckles ached, his forehead pressing into the cool skin of her fingers. The contact kept him upright even as quiet, broken sobs tore from his chest.
He could not ask for forgiveness. He knew better. This was not about absolution. Luna was not offering him release. She was offering him truth shared in the open, and that frightened him more than any punishment ever could.
Her voice softened. The sharpness drained away, leaving something heavier beneath it. Pain that belonged to her.
"That's why I left," she said quietly, grounding the memory between them. "I was not running from your darkness. I was running from the realization that I carry my own." Her voice caught, just barely, and she brushed her thumb across his cheek, wiping away tears that kept falling despite his effort to stop them. "We have both done things that cannot be undone. Some of yours are written in blood. Some of mine are buried deep. And unfortunately for me," she added, a sad, crooked smile touching her mouth, "I am completely and hopelessly in love with you. Enough to terrify myself. Enough to know it will not change."
Theo stared at her, stunned into stillness.
"I killed my grandfather," Luna said calmly. "He abused my grandmother. I ended it. See how easy truth can be when it is spoken plainly." Her eyes held his without wavering. "Now it is your turn."
His breath broke. His hands shook harder.
"I kill people for a living," he said. The words came stripped bare, raw and flat. His grip tightened around her hands as if he were drowning. "Can you forgive me?"
She knelt in front of him then, the movement deliberate and controlled. Her fingers lifted his chin until he was forced to meet her gaze. There was no softness there. No comforting illusion. Only clarity.
"Forgive you?" she repeated quietly. "That is not mine to give. Not for what you have done to others. Not for what you have done to yourself. That is a reckoning you must face alone. You will have to learn how to forgive the man you see in the mirror."
Her eyes shifted toward the closed door down the hall. Lysander sleeping. Safe. Unaware.
When she looked back at Theo, her voice sharpened into something lethal.
"Understand this," she said. "If the darkness you carry ever reaches our child, if it brushes him in any way, there will be no conversation. I will not hesitate. I will not mourn. I will end you."
Then her hand returned to his cheek, steady and sure.
"That is the truth," she said. "And this is me staying."
Theo broke completely, because for the first time in his life, love was offered without illusion. It arrived with clear eyes and steady hands.
Her words lingered between them, binding and final. His breath caught, his shoulders caving inward as if the weight of it might crush him where he knelt. For a moment he looked close to splintering apart.
Then he nodded.
"I swear," he said hoarsely. His voice scraped raw from somewhere deep in his chest. "I swear to you, Luna, on everything I am. If anything ever threatens Lysander, you will never have to move. I will end it myself, even if I am the cost."
Her gaze softened, though the steel beneath it remained. She reached for him slowly, her palm settling against his cheek. Her thumb brushed away the tracks of his tears with a tenderness that felt almost painful.
"Then remember that," she said quietly. "Hold onto what matters. Lysander. Me. Without us, there is nothing waiting for you. No future. No saving grace. Only darkness."
His eyes closed as he leaned into her touch, the warmth of her hand anchoring him when everything else felt unmoored. She held him steady, her presence the thin line keeping him from coming apart entirely.
"You and Lysander," he whispered, his arms tightening around her waist. "You are my whole world. Without you, there is nothing left of me."
Her fingers rested against his face, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. He felt it then, the moment she had been waiting for.
"Tell me," she said softly. "What do you do when you leave in the middle of the night."
His stomach twisted hard, nausea blooming sharp and sudden. He looked away, shame burning hot under his skin. "Luna," he murmured. "You are too pure for that."
Her hand fell from his face.
The loss of her warmth hit him like a blow.
"Do not insult me," she said.
The words were quiet. They were final.
His pulse thundered in his ears. This was the line. The last chance to speak plainly. His hands shook as he reached for her again, and she did not lean into him this time.
"Please," he said. "Forgive me."
"Theodore," she said. Her voice cut clean. "Tell me. Now."
A broken sound tore from his chest. Two years of silence. Two years of lies shaped like protection. Illusions he had clung to until there was nothing left to hide behind.
He lifted his head and met her eyes.
"I kill people," he said. His voice was flat, wrecked. "I do it for a living. I take contracts. I decide who lives and who doesn't, and I don't hesitate." He swallowed hard. "I run the drug trade. I make it, I move it, I profit from it. People disappear because of me."
His jaw tightened as he forced the rest out. "When people whisper, when they shut doors and lower their voices, that's me they're afraid of. Me, and the people who stand with me. It's called the Raven Order. Draco, Blaise, Titus and me. People don't need our name said out loud. Everyone already knows what we'll do to them."
The silence that followed felt endless. His entire world balanced on her next breath.
Then her hands rose, gentle and sure, cradling his face. Her thumbs wiped away tears he had not felt fall. There was no disgust in her gaze.
"It took you almost two years to say this," she murmured. "Why."
His forehead dropped against hers, his body trembling as the truth finally stood between them without disguise. "Because I was terrified," he admitted. "Terrified you would leave. Terrified I would lose the only good thing I have ever known."
She exhaled softly. When she spoke again, her voice barely rose above a whisper.
"You will never be unloved by me."
His breath broke.
"You are too well tangled in my soul," she said, her fingers sliding into his hair, grounding him, claiming him.
And in that moment, he knew it with absolute certainty. No matter how dark the road ahead became, no matter how heavy the shadows pressed in, he would not walk it alone. With Luna beside him, there would always be a way forward.
Selective transparency is not honesty.
And may the fire of who you are burn you alive until you are capable of standing in the fucking truth of it.
~~~~~~
The peace broke without warning.
A crash tore through the manor, heavy footsteps pounding down the staircase, voices raised and sharp with panic. The sound carried through the halls and into the drawing room, snapping everyone's attention toward it at once. Chairs scraped. Someone swore under their breath. The warmth of the evening collapsed into something brittle and charged, as if the house itself had drawn tight around its occupants.
They reached the landing together, hands no longer touching. Whatever softness had existed between them moments earlier was gone. Shock had wiped it clean. Their eyes dropped to the room below, meeting Neville and Pansy's stunned stares with the same disbelief. No one spoke. No one moved. The moment had teeth.
Ginny lay on the rug at the center of the room, sprawled hard on her side, breath coming fast and uneven. Her red hair was everywhere, wild against the faded fabric. Her hands twitched like she was still mid strike, fury trapped inside a body that refused to move. Tears streamed unchecked down her face, bright and furious, her eyes locked on Hermione with a look that was half rage, half heartbreak.
Hermione stood rigid beside Draco, her wand still raised, shaking slightly in her grip. The red light of her spell had faded, though it felt as if the room still remembered it. The silence stretched until it hurt.
"She was going to kill him," Hermione said quietly.
The words landed hard. Her voice shook, thin but precise, cutting through the tension like a blade. Draco stood next to her, pale and motionless, his eyes fixed on Ginny as if he was seeing her for the first time.
No one contradicted her.
Draco's jaw tightened. He took a slow breath, then another, as if measuring himself. When he spoke, his voice was calm in a way that made it worse.
"Well," he said, glancing around the room, "that escalated quickly."
No one laughed.
His hand closed around Hermione's, grip firm, grounding, possessive. She felt the anger in him then, contained and dangerous, vibrating under his skin. He stepped forward, just enough to draw every eye back to him.
"Listen carefully," he said.
The room stilled.
"This ends tonight."
Something shifted in the air. Draco's gaze hardened, settling into something colder than anger. Purpose. He spoke without raising his voice.
"Jelena Karkaroff laid hands on my wife."
Hermione flinched at the word, though she did not pull away.
"That makes this simple," he continued. "We do not negotiate. We do not wait. We do not forgive."
No one argued.
"Her husband is in Romania," Draco said. "Hiding. Thinking distance makes him safe."
A pause.
"It doesn't."
Thunder rolled somewhere far off, low and distant, like a warning that arrived too late.
"We find Igor Karkaroff," Draco said. "We will kill him tonight."
He looked at them then, really looked, one by one. Theo. Blaise. Pansy. Neville. Luna. Each of them already understood what was being asked. What was being ordered.
"Form groups," he said. "Move fast. No mistakes."
The finality in his voice closed the door on any other outcome.
The room exploded into motion.
Pansy was already moving, crossing to the sideboard where she kept her supplies. Vials appeared in her hands, small and lethal, her movements steady and practiced. Her face held no hesitation, only focus.
Luna stood very still, eyes distant, already somewhere else. Her fingers brushed together as if counting, sorting, planning. Whatever lived in the dark answered her call easily.
Neville went for the weapons without a word. The sword he chose caught the light as he lifted it, his grip sure. There was no trace of the boy he had once been.
Theo and Blaise disappeared toward the armory, metal ringing softly as they prepared. They moved together, efficient, silent, the ease of men who had done this before.
In the center of it all, Draco and Hermione remained close, foreheads almost touching for a brief second that belonged only to them. No words passed between them. None were needed.
~~~~~~
Pansy remained by Luna and Hermione's side, intent on addressing the escalating situation with Ginny. The weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the urgency that propelled them into action.
After Draco and the others vanished through the portkey to Transylvania, the girls wasted no time in working together to help Ginny regain consciousness.
Hermione, her expression resolute amid the chaos swirling around them, knelt beside Ginny, determination etched into her features. "Ginny, wake up," she urged, her voice a soothing blend of gentleness and authority. Each word was a lifeline, pulling Ginny back from the depths of her unconsciousness.
Luna, her usual ethereal calm replaced by an intensity rarely seen, waved her wand over Ginny with a fluid grace, murmuring a soft incantation. "She'll come around soon," she said, her voice steady and unwavering, radiating a quiet confidence that calmed Pansy's racing heart.
Pansy stood nearby, her demeanor uncharacteristically serious as she crossed her arms, tension coiling within her. "When she does, we need to make sure she understands everything," Pansy said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "We can't afford any more misunderstandings." The gravity of the situation loomed over them, and she knew that clarity was paramount if they were to navigate the storm brewing around them.
As they waited in the dim light, the girls formed a protective circle around Ginny, their bond fortified by shared purpose and silent determination. They were not merely friends; they were allies prepared to face the unknown together, ready to unravel the web of confusion that had ensnared Ginny and threatened to pull them all under.
Ginny stirred, a low moan escaping her lips as she gradually regained consciousness. The world around her was a haze, harsh light piercing through her eyelids, prompting her to blink against the brightness. Slowly, the shapes and colors began to solidify, and she caught sight of Hermione's worried face hovering above her. "Hermione?" she whispered, confusion clouding her gaze, each word a fragile thread pulling her from the depths of unconsciousness.
Hermione, who had been anxiously awaiting this moment, squeezed Ginny's hand reassuringly, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of emotions. "It's okay, Ginny. You're safe," she said, her voice steady but tinged with concern.
Ginny's eyes flickered with recognition, but the moment was short-lived; an avalanche of anger replaced any semblance of relief. "Safe? You call this safe?" she spat, her voice thick with disbelief as she struggled to sit up, the effort pulling at the wounds of her heart. "My life is falling apart because of you! Everything is your fault, Hermione! Ever since the day I met you in school, everything is your fault!"
"Ginny, please," Hermione pleaded, her voice trembling as she tried to bridge the chasm opening between them.
"NO!" Ginny shouted, the raw intensity of her emotions breaking through, her voice quaking with fury. "Every bad thing that happened to Harry and Ron is your fault. Everything that happened during the war, and my Fred's death—it's all in your hands!" The accusation hung in the air like a thundercloud, charged and dangerous.
Hermione flinched, confusion clouding her brow. "It started with me?" she echoed, genuinely bewildered. "Ginny, I don't understand."
"Don't you dare play dumb!" Ginny spat, her rage bubbling over. "Remember first year? You waltzed into Hogwarts with your bushy hair and know-it-all attitude, stealing the attention like a siren. Suddenly, Harry's only interested in what Hermione Granger has to say, not Ginny Weasley!" Her voice cracked slightly, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the fortress of anger.
"That's not true," Hermione countered gently, desperation threading her words. "We were all just kids then, learning the ropes. Harry valued your friendship too."
Ginny scoffed, disbelief etched across her face. "Maybe. But then came the Triwizard Tournament. You were all for Harry entering that death trap! Didn't you care about the danger? What if he hadn't come back? What if I'd lost him too?" A choked sob escaped her lips, tears of frustration mingling with the memories of that harrowing year.
"We were worried sick about Harry," Hermione admitted, her voice softening as she remembered their collective fears. "But we never thought…"
"Then came the fight between Ron and Harry," Ginny interrupted, her voice gaining momentum as she spoke. "Fourth year, the Yule Ball, all that mess. You were supposed to be their friend, Hermione, but you let everything explode. Didn't you ever think about how it affected the rest of us?"
Hermione flinched again, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. "Of course I did! But sometimes friendships go through rough patches. We all make mistakes."
"Maybe," Ginny conceded, the bitterness in her voice lingering. "But it always felt like there was this inner circle— you, Ron, and Harry. Planning, strategizing, keeping secrets. While the rest of us, me included, just… existed on the periphery." Her words dripped with resentment, a painful truth that cut deeper than any spell.
"That's not fair, Ginny," Hermione pleaded, desperation creeping into her tone. "We included you whenever we could. Remember the Chamber of Secrets? You were a target, possessed by that awful diary. If it wasn't for Harry…"
"Don't you see?" Ginny cut her off with a sharp shake of her head, her emotions spiraling. "All this danger, this war… it stole my childhood, Hermione. Stole Fred! Maybe if you hadn't been so focused on fighting the good fight, on following Dumbledore blindly, things would have been different!" Her voice rose, filled with anguish as memories of loss flashed before her.
Tears streamed down Ginny's face now, a raw torrent of long-suppressed emotions finally breaking free. "And now you! You dragged me into this mess with Malfoy, and look where it landed me. Blaise has changed, Hermione. There's darkness in him, a darkness you seem content to ignore because it fits your narrative."
Hermione stood there, tears silently sliding down her cheeks, unable to respond. The torrent of Ginny's anger and grief washed over her, leaving her feeling small and helpless. The weight of Ginny's accusations, a culmination of years of unspoken hurt, felt like a crushing blow, leaving her breathless and shaken.
Suddenly, Luna, who had been quietly absorbing the tumult, found her voice. It was a sound both soft and fierce, surprising them both. "That's enough, Ginny," she said, her eyes flashing with a newfound intensity. "We've all lost people we love. Blaming Hermione won't bring them back. It won't bring Fred and Ron back." Her words hung in the air, a counterbalance to Ginny's rage.
Ginny recoiled slightly at the mention of her brother, a flicker of pain momentarily eclipsing the fury in her eyes. But the anger quickly reignited, the fire burning hotter than before. "No, Luna!" she shouted, her voice rising with renewed fury. "My husband and all the men are gone, just to save Hermione's golden cunt! What's so fucking special about you, huh? Why does everyone bend over backwards for the brightest witch of our age?"
The venom in her voice hung heavy in the air, a bitter echo of her pain. Hermione's eyes widened, her face pale and stricken, unable to respond to the onslaught of accusations.
Before anyone could react, Ginny spun on her heel and apparated away, the crack of her departure leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. The room seemed to hold its breath, the absence of her presence amplifying the tension that lingered like a fog.
Luna sighed, a tear tracing a path down her cheek. "She's hurting," she whispered, her voice thick with empathy. "We all are."
Pansy, uncharacteristically subdued, crossed her arms tightly against her chest. "That doesn't excuse the outburst," she muttered, her gaze flickering to Hermione, who stood frozen, a tapestry of emotions swirling across her face.
Guilt gnawed at Hermione's insides, each of Ginny's words echoing in her mind, relentless and unforgiving. "Maybe it is too much," she choked out, a tear escaping her eye. "Maybe I am the reason they're all in danger."
"No, love," she shook her head firmly, her voice steady and unyielding. "They're doing it because they care about you. Because you're part of the family."
Pansy nodded, her voice softer now, laced with understanding. "We need to stay strong, for them and for ourselves. Ginny will come around. She just needs time."
Hermione nodded, wiping away her tears as she drew a shaky breath. "We have to keep going. For all of us." Her voice was tinged with determination, the fire of her resolve flickering back to life.
As they stood together, the strength of their bond became their anchor, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos swirling around them.
In that moment of shared vulnerability, the trio forged an unbreakable alliance, ready to face the trials ahead, their hearts intertwined in a tapestry of love, loss, and resilience.
They were warriors in a battle not just against external foes but also the internal demons that threatened to tear them apart. The world outside may have been dark and perilous, but together, they could weather any storm that came their way.