Becoming friends with Luna had been an unexpected twist in Pansy's life, one she never would have predicted even on her most unhinged, wine-fueled nights.
At first, she regarded Luna with deep suspicion. The woman was far too calm for Pansy's liking. How could anyone walk through the world with such softness and still remain intact?
People who were that gentle usually shattered at the first sign of trouble. Yet Luna had survived far more than most of them, and she carried that history the way other people wore jewelry, quiet and luminous.
Pansy had spent years curating her armor, building herself into someone the world could not touch. Every smirk and cutting remark had been a brick in her fortress.
Luna seemed to have done the opposite. She lived with her heart wide open, not because she was foolish, but because she refused to let hurt define her. It made Pansy uneasy at first, watching someone who belonged so completely to herself.
The Luna she found now was not the strange, drifting girl she had known in school. That Luna had always seemed half tethered to earth, as though her thoughts were pulled by tides only she could feel.
The woman standing before her now still carried that dreamlike quality, but it was steadier, grounded by a confidence Pansy had never noticed before.
Their early interactions were a strategic standoff in Pansy's mind. She waited for Luna to stumble, to misunderstand, to misstep. Except Luna never did. She met every sarcastic remark with a serene smile, every pointed comment with a gentle observation that somehow left Pansy both disarmed and slightly annoyed. It was impossible to rattle her. The more Pansy pushed, the more Luna seemed to understand her.
Weeks bled into months, and Pansy found herself drifting toward Luna without even realizing she was doing it. Afternoons that would have once been spent pacing through the Manor or losing herself in gossip columns were now filled with Luna's presence. They would share mugs of tea while sunlight moved across the floor, or wander slowly through the gardens while Luna pointed out the smallest details, things Pansy had never bothered to notice before.
Luna never judged her sharpness or scolded her dramatics. She never flinched at the darker parts of her past. She simply listened, nodding through the rougher edges of Pansy's story, responding with that quiet certainty that made her feel strangely safe.
For the first time in her life, Pansy felt seen without feeling exposed.
Luna allowed her to be angry. She allowed her to be petty. She allowed her to be tender in the rare moments when tenderness slipped through the cracks. And in return, Pansy found herself sharing pieces of her life she had never trusted anyone with. Little moments. Hidden thoughts. Fears she barely admitted to herself. Luna held all of it with care.
The truth settled slowly over time. She trusted Luna. Completely.
Late at night, long after their conversations had ended, Pansy would sit alone in her room and replay their moments together. Luna's soft laughter. The way she listened without interruption. The ease with which she brought calm to even Pansy's most chaotic moods.
It unsettled her at first. Friendship had never come naturally to her, not the real kind. She was good at alliances and social maneuvers, but this was different. Luna did not want anything from her. She simply wanted her company.
And Pansy found herself wanting Luna's in return.
It became clear in small moments. When she realized she looked forward to Luna's visits more than she cared to admit. When she caught herself buying tea she knew Luna liked. When she found herself whispering stories in the manor gardens that she had never spoken aloud before.
Luna had become her anchor without ever trying.
A steady, quiet presence in a life that often felt like it was being held together with charmwork and stubbornness. Luna reminded her that she did not always need to fight. That it was allowed to rest. That chaos did not have to be her only language.
Sitting in the warm glow of her bedroom, Pansy thought of Luna's unhurried voice, their laughter drifting into the late afternoon, and felt a quiet ache of gratitude.
She would not trade their friendship for anything.
Because in Luna, she had found something she never knew she needed. A friend who understood her. A confidante who never recoiled. A sister in a world that had always demanded she stand alone.
And maybe she deserved someone who brought light when she had grown so used to shadows.
~~~~~~
Neville stepped into the room, his eyes immediately drawn to Pansy, who was meticulously organizing Lady's ever-growing wardrobe, tiny outfits, matching accessories, even a selection of miniature shoes. The absurdity of it should have been ridiculous, but instead, it made him smile.
"Hello, darling," he greeted, his voice warm and laced with quiet affection.
She glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips as she folded a satin-lined cape with great care. "Hello, sweetie. How was work?"
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a look that made her feel far too seen, far too soft. "I missed you," he admitted, his tone quiet but certain.
Pansy let out a light chuckle, glancing at Lady, who was lounging lazily on her plush dog bed. "Oh, so did we," she teased, her affection evident despite the playful tone.
Neville arched an eyebrow, stepping forward. "We?" he echoed, curiosity dancing in his voice.
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she continued her task. "Well, it's not just Lady who enjoys your company."
His smile widened, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm. "I'd hope not."
She turned toward him, her sharp wit momentarily failing her as their eyes met. She knew that look—the one that made her stomach flutter, made her feel unsteady in the best way.
Without another word, he cupped her face, his touch gentle yet firm, and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.
The kiss was slow, lingering, the kind that sent warmth rippling through her body. She sighed against him, her hands sliding up to rest on his broad chest, gripping the fabric of his robes as if to steady herself.
His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them.
"Were you a good girl today?" he murmured against her lips, his voice a teasing whisper.
Pansy felt a rush of heat bloom across her skin, a rare blush creeping up her neck. "I hope I was," she answered, her voice softer than she intended.
He chuckled, his fingers brushing over the curve of her hip, his touch lazy and unhurried. "Did you have fun with Luna?"
Her expression brightened slightly. "Oh, she's pregnant."
His eyes widened, genuine happiness flickering across his features. "That's amazing, darling. I'm so happy for them."
She nodded, then rolled her eyes dramatically. "Theo, however, is an absolute maniac. So possessive, it's insane."
He smirked, sliding his hand up her spine in a slow, reassuring motion. "That sounds about right. But as long as they're happy, that's what matters."
Without thinking, he gently pulled her down onto his lap, his arms wrapping securely around her. The sudden closeness stole her breath, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders for balance.
His hands skimmed along her thighs, holding her steady as he gazed up at her. "This feels better, doesn't it?" His voice was warm, his eyes brimming with something unmistakable.
Pansy nodded, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms. It was… grounding.
Leaning in, she rested her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his. "Much better."
He smiled, then, in one swift motion, lifted her onto the table.
She barely had time to react before his lips found her neck, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along her skin. His hands traveled downward, fingers slipping beneath the silk of her dress, finding bare skin and making her shiver.
A quiet gasp escaped her as his mouth moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin along her collarbone. His hands roamed, slow but possessive, his fingers brushing over her thighs, her waist—learning every inch of her.
When his fingers slipped between her legs, pressing lightly, she let out a soft moan, arching into his touch.
He smirked against her skin, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles. "Be a good girl for me and tell me about your day," he murmured.
She hesitated, her mind spinning. "Not… nothing special," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
He didn't stop, his movements steady but coaxing. "Tell me more."
She shifted, her breath hitching. "My love, I… I just want to—"
Then, suddenly, he stopped.
Pulled back. Stood up.
The shift was abrupt, jarring, and left her feeling cold.
His face had gone unreadable.
Then, in an unexpectedly sharp tone, he pointed at her. "Don't ever say that without meaning it."
And before she could process what had just happened, before she could piece together the confusion twisting inside her, he turned and walked briskly out of the room.
Leaving her stunned, breathless, and utterly bewildered.
For a long moment, she just sat there, staring at the space where he had stood.
Her body still buzzed with the ghost of his touch, but now, an entirely different heat burned in her chest—one of frustration, of confusion, of something she couldn't name.
"What did I do?" she muttered to herself, hands gripping the edge of the table. "I didn't do anything wrong. I was just being a good girl."
And yet, for the first time in a long time, she felt completely and utterly lost.
~~~~~~
His mind would not quiet.
He tried sitting. That failed. He tried lying down. Worse. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, heard the words slip from her lips in that soft, breathless murmur.
My love.
The phrase had struck him clean through, as if someone had reached into his chest and rewired something essential. He kept pacing, movements restless, each step sharpening the confusion twisting inside him. Maybe she had not meant it. Maybe it had been the heat of the moment. A thoughtless phrase spoken without care.
He tried to force himself to believe that, but the idea would not settle.
Because what if she had meant it?
What if the woman who teased him without mercy, who hid behind sarcasm and sharp little smiles, had let something slip because it had been too heavy to hold in?
The possibility terrified him. It thrilled him too, in a way that made him feel a little sick.
Could Pansy really love him?
The same Pansy who lived behind iron doors and fortified walls, who never revealed more than she chose, who treated vulnerability like a foreign language she refused to learn. If she felt that for him, why hide it? Why swallow it like nothing had happened? Why throw the words back into the dark as if they carried no weight?
He rubbed his palms over his face, trying to breathe through the questions piling up on top of each other. His thoughts ricocheted wildly, too loud, too close, too fast.
He needed answers. He needed them now.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed out of his room and strode through the manor, his footsteps echoing down the marble corridor. The walls towered around him, old portraits watching with stony faces, but he barely saw them. Everything inside him was a knot pulled too tight.
When he reached her door, he did not knock.
The door swung open, and she turned sharply, eyes widening at the sight of him.
"Neville? What on earth—"
"Is it true?" he asked.
His voice came out rough, not nearly as steady as he hoped.
She stared at him, thrown off balance. "Is what true?"
"Do you love me?"
The words left him before he could swallow them. The room seemed to tilt. She stood frozen, her eyes searching his face as if trying to understand what he meant, why he looked like the floor had dropped out beneath him.
"What?" she whispered.
"I asked you something, princess."
His voice lowered, strained and unguarded. He stepped closer, the tension rolling off him in waves.
"Do you love me?"
She parted her lips, but no sound followed. Her eyes flickered with something he could not name.
"I need to hear you say it," he whispered. "Because you are playing with my heart."
His confession cracked something open in the room. Her breath caught. Her pulse raced. She stared at him like he had spoken a truth she had not been ready to face.
He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening as he steadied himself.
"So I will ask again."
He stood in front of her, inching closer, his gaze searching her face as if trying to read the words she refused to say.
"Do you love me?"
The silence stretched, thin and fragile, as if the entire world had paused to watch her answer.
She froze. Her whole body locked. She felt cornered in a way she had never experienced, emotion pressing at her from all sides. She was not used to this. She was not used to being seen so clearly.
Neville watched the hesitation flicker through her, watched fear rise behind her eyes, and his hope faltered.
The moment stretched too long.
He stepped back.
His shoulders lowered, barely perceptible, but enough to make her stomach twist with unexpected guilt. She watched the hurt flicker through him before he forced it away.
"Find me when you have a proper answer."
His voice was calm, quiet, and heartbreakingly distant.
Then he turned and walked out.
For a heartbeat, the world stayed still. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, and something sharp twisted deep in her chest. She gripped the edge of the nearest table as if the room had shifted beneath her.
"What just happened?" she whispered to the empty air.
Her face flushed with a strange mix of anger and panic.
"He is mental," she muttered, though her voice sounded thin, nothing like her usual confidence.
The ache in her chest deepened.
Before she could talk herself into or out of anything, she spun on the spot and Apparated straight into Luna's living room, her breath still unsteady, her heart still racing.
~~~~~~
"Lunaaaaa, I need your help."
Pansy appeared in the middle of the room like a storm, frustration crackling around her. Her chest rose and fell far too fast, her eyes wild with a mix of anger and panic that she refused to acknowledge. She looked very much like a woman who had just run away from something terrifying and important.
Luna, entirely unbothered, drifted into the room with the serenity of a goddess descending from a cloud.
Completely naked.
Pansy blinked once, then again, her eyes sweeping over Luna's calm posture, the soft glow of her skin, the utterly unapologetic way she walked. A slow smirk tugged at her mouth.
"Well. All that for me? What a lovely welcome," she drawled.
Luna giggled, cheerful and airy, as if being nude in front of company was as normal as serving tea. "Oh, Pans. I am planning to fuck my husband. But how can I help you?"
Pansy opened her mouth, closed it, then let out a defeated sigh. She had no time to unpack whatever deeply enviable magic Luna and Theo had going on. Somewhere in this house, Theo was probably pacing in anticipation like a man ready to worship the ground his wife walked on.
Lucky bitch.
She collapsed into the nearest armchair, her elegant robe fluttering as she dragged both hands through her hair. "I think Neville is going to drive me completely insane," she admitted, her voice riding the edge of a groan. "More insane than I already am, which is saying something."
Luna hummed, serene as she slipped into a silk robe, tying it loosely at her waist before curling into the opposite chair. She tucked her legs beneath her, all softness and quiet poise.
"What happened now?" she asked gently, as though Neville had merely misplaced something rather than detonated a bomb in the middle of Pansy Parkinson's emotional landscape.
Pansy fidgeted with her sleeve, which she hated. She was above nervous ticks, but right now, she felt like her entire world was tilting.
"He barged into my room," she began, her voice tightening, "and he asked me if I loved him. No, he demanded to know."
The admission echoed between them, heavier than she expected. It made her swallow hard.
"And?" Luna asked, her head tilting just slightly, blue eyes soft and clear.
Pansy scoffed, except it came out shaky. "And I froze. I had no idea what to say. He looked at me like he could see straight through me. And when I didn't answer, he walked away. He thinks I don't care at all, and I swear I do not know how to fix this."
Her voice cracked on the last word, humiliatingly fragile. She stared at her knees, blinking hard.
Luna watched her for a moment, something compassionate and knowing settling in her features.
"Well," she said softly, "do you love him?"
The question landed like a stone in Pansy's stomach.
Her instinct was to laugh, to sneer, to deflect. But nothing came out.
Instead, she let her head fall back against the chair as she exhaled. "I don't know. Maybe." Her voice was quiet, trembling at the edges. "What does that even feel like? Shouldn't I just know?"
Luna smiled, calm and warm, as if she had expected this answer all along. She moved forward and gently took Pansy's hands within her own.
"For me, it felt like a warm breeze," Luna said. "Something soft. Something steady. I looked at Theo one day, and everything inside me settled. I didn't have to name it. I just knew."
Pansy stared at her as though Luna had spoken in ancient runes.
"A warm breeze?" she repeated, her tone completely flat. "Luna, please. How is a weather report supposed to help me sort out my emotional crisis?"
Luna laughed softly, not mocked, simply amused by her dramatics. "You are thinking too hard. Love is not always fireworks and sweeping revelations. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it is patience. Sometimes it is the way someone makes you feel safe without even trying."
Her fingers squeezed gently. "Does Neville make you feel that way?"
Pansy opened her mouth to deny it. To say something sharp. But her mind betrayed her.
His shy grin.
His steady hands.
The way he touched her like she mattered.
The way he looked at her like she was something precious.
The way she felt anchored when he held her.
Her throat tightened on a breath she could not release.
"I do not know," she whispered, though the answer trembled behind her ribs. "Maybe I do. I think I do."
Luna smiled, soft and radiant. "You do not have to say it perfectly. You only have to mean it. If he is in your heart already, it is no use pretending he is not. He will wait if you are honest."
Pansy's lips parted, a fragile truth flickering behind her eyes.
"I just… I do not want him to break my heart," she murmured.
Luna's expression softened even further. "Then tell him that. Tell him you are scared. Tell him you are trying. Let him meet you where you are."
Pansy let out a small laugh, thin and shaky. "Never thought you and I would be friends. You, of all people."
Luna's smile warmed the whole room. "I am glad we are. The universe enjoys a good surprise."
Pansy squeezed her hands once, grateful despite herself. "Thank you, Luna."
Luna leaned back, rolling her shoulders with complete ease. "Anytime, babe."
Then her tone shifted, playful and blunt. "Now kindly fuck off. I am planning to jump my husband, and you do not give off voyeurism energy. Off you go."
A startled laugh broke out of Pansy, bright and real. She stood, wiping beneath her eyes as if there were something to hide.
"You are a menace, Lovegood."
Luna winked. "A well-loved menace."
And as Pansy turned on the spot and vanished, her heart thudding with new certainty, one truth settled quietly inside her.
~~~~~~
When Neville came home from work, the atmosphere in the manor felt different. Heavy. Close. It was the same silence that had followed them for days, stretching from room to room, lingering in doorways, pressing between them whenever their paths crossed.
Avoidance had become a second language.
She fled the moment he entered a room. He pretended not to notice.
Both of them exhausted themselves with it.
He lowered himself into his usual seat at the dining table, his body moving like every part of him was tired. He pushed the food around without purpose, the soft clink of silverware echoing across marble and high ceilings.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps. Soft ones. Hesitant.
He looked up.
Pansy was standing in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame like she needed it to keep herself upright. Her hair was flawless, her dress perfectly tailored, but her posture betrayed her. She looked almost shy.
She crossed the room and sat across from him, her eyes flickering away when he tried to meet them. Her fingers twisted the edge of the napkin until it wrinkled, an anxious habit he had never seen from her.
Neville eased back in his chair, folding his arms. His voice came out light, teasing, because it was easier than admitting how much he missed her. "Princess, gracing me with your presence? What did I do to earn such an appearance?"
Her jaw twitched, but she did not fire back. Instead she inhaled, steadying herself in a way that made him sit up straighter.
"Let's get married."
Neville's fork froze in mid-air. He stared at her, waiting for the punchline.
"…Pansy, we are married." He set the fork down carefully. "Did something fall on your head today?"
She shot to her feet with a theatrical sweep of her arm, her patience gone. "A real one," she declared. "Guests. Flowers. Friends. A proper wedding."
He blinked. Hard.
"So… you want to throw a party?" His tone was gentle, cautious, as though he was trying not to spook her.
Her lips tightened into a thin line of stubbornness. "Yes."
He sighed and rubbed his face. "Pansy, we can plan an event whenever you want. Truly. But we do not have to pretend."
The word pretend hit her like a slap.
She stiffened, shoulders rising, breath catching in her throat.
"We will not pretend."
He frowned slightly, nose scrunching as he tried to figure out where he had lost the thread. "I am not sure I follow the chaos of your mind, sweetheart."
She stared at him, something breaking through the surface of her frustration. Something raw. Something that had been simmering for far too long.
Her chair scraped violently across the floor as she shoved it aside and stood tall, fists clenched at her sides.
And then it happened.
"I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!"
Neville's entire world stopped.
She stood there, flushed from anger, from fear, from the sheer force of her own confession. Her dark eyes shone with something fierce and unmistakable.
"So it is a real wedding," she insisted, her voice wobbling even as her chin lifted in defiance. "Do not mock me, Neville. Do not dare."
She spun on her heel and stormed out, her footsteps echoing through the hall like thunder.
He sat in stunned silence, his breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.
Had she really said it?
Wait. No.
It could not be that simple.
But she had.
She had shouted I love you at him like she was leading a rebellion.
And then left the room before he could even breathe.
A slow laugh pushed out of him, disbelieving and warm.
This woman. This impossible, dramatic, extraordinary woman.
His heart felt too full, too tight, too alive.
He pushed back from the table and rose, determination already pulling him forward.
She was not leaving things like this.
Not when she had just given him the one thing he had been waiting for.
Not when she had finally said the words she had buried beneath so many layers of bravado and fear.
He walked toward the doorway she had stormed through, his pulse steady, his resolve clear.
He was going after her.
Neville followed her down the dim corridor, his steps quickening as he felt something tightening in his chest. When he reached her bedroom, he pushed the door open slowly, as if afraid it might shatter the moment.
The sound hit him first.
Soft, raw sobs. The kind she never let anyone hear.
She sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, face hidden in her hands. Her whole body trembled with every breath.
He had never seen her like this.
"Pansy," he whispered, moving toward her with careful steps.
He reached out, brushing his fingers against her arm, but the second he touched her, she jerked away like his hand had burned her.
"Don't touch me," she snapped. Her voice cracked, but there was still fire in it, still that sharpness she clung to when the world felt too big.
Neville steadied himself. "I am going to kiss you now," he said quietly, as if giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.
She lifted her face, tear-streaked and furious, her lips trembling out of anger or fear or both. "Do you love me, Longbottom?" Her voice shook, edged with disbelief. "Is that why you keep playing whatever ridiculous game you think this is?"
He went still for a breath, then lowered himself to his knees right in front of her.
Slowly, he reached for her chin and lifted her gaze to his.
"I do."
Barely spoken, but undeniable.
Her breath caught. Another tear slid down her cheek, but she did not look away.
"Why?" she demanded, almost shouting the word. She looked furious with herself for asking, furious with him for making her feel anything at all.
Neville leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, grounding her with his quiet steadiness. His hands held hers, his touch warm and gentle.
"Because you are you," he murmured. "A storm in silk. Stronger than you want anyone to see. Sharp, yes, but you care. More than you admit. You make me feel alive in a way I cannot explain."
Her eyes squeezed shut, but he continued, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
"I love your sass. I love that you challenge every thought I have ever had. I love the way you laugh when you think no one can hear you. I love how you pretend not to care, but still leave a blanket out when you know I will fall asleep on the sofa."
His voice dipped lower, filled with truth she was not ready for yet.
"Every time you kiss me, it feels like something inside me is healing. I cannot explain it better than that. You are not hard to love, Pansy. You are the easiest thing I have ever chosen."
Her mouth trembled. She swallowed hard, gripping his hands like she needed them to stay afloat.
Neville lifted his forehead from hers, just enough to look directly into her eyes.
"I am not playing games. I am not going anywhere. But I need to hear you say it, princess. Do you truly love me?"
The question hovered between them, electric and fragile.
She parted her lips, but the words faltered. Fear flickered through her expression, the raw kind she never let anyone witness. He saw it. He almost felt it.
"Yes," she whispered. It came out small, almost uncertain. "Yes."
Something inside Neville loosened, something that had been wound tight for days. His smile was soft, but he needed more.
"Can you tell me why?"
Before she could form an answer, a little snort cut through the air.
Both of them turned.
Lady Lemongrass waddled into the room with all the dignity of a royal piglet, her little tail wiggling as she threw herself between them and planted her round bottom on Pansy's lap.
Pansy stared down at the dog, then pointed dramatically. "That is why."
Neville blinked. "Lady is why you love me?"
"Yes," Pansy insisted, scooping the pug into her arms. "You brought this ugly, snorting creature into my life because you knew. You knew I was lonely. You gave her to me so I would not feel so alone."
Neville laughed softly, watching the way Lady curled against her chest like she belonged there. Pansy held her carefully, stroking her tiny head.
"You were the first man who ever offered me real love," Pansy whispered, her voice trembling again. "You see all of me. All the ugly parts. And you still… stay." She swallowed hard, blinking fresh tears. "You made me believe I am worth being loved. That is why I love you."
Neville leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering there for a long, quiet moment.
"I knew it."
She looked up sharply. "How could you possibly know?"
"Because you show me every day," he murmured. "You send me lunch when I forget. You pretend your little notes mean nothing, but you still write them. You check on me when you think I am tired. You glare at anyone who annoys me. You try so hard to hide your heart, but it is impossible. You have been loving me bit by bit since the day we met."
His thumb brushed across her cheek, tender and patient.
"You do not have to be perfect. You just have to try. Let me in, little by little. I will never hurt you. Not your heart. Not ever."
Her breath shook, her fingers tightening around his own.
"Bit by bit," she whispered. "I will try."
Neville's chest warmed. He cupped her face, his voice dropping to something soft and reverent.
"Can I kiss you now?"
She nodded, breath tangled somewhere in her throat.
He leaned in slowly, giving her the chance to pull away.
She did not.
Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss, dissolving the last barriers left between them. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, his arms encircling her waist, and Lady Lemongrass snorted indignantly as she was squished between them.
But neither of them cared.
This time, when Pansy kissed him, there was no fear holding her back. Only truth, only softness, only the warmth she had been terrified to name.