THE TOWER AND THE STAR - Pansy Neville (HP)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, love?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Practice?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione and Draco arrived at Parkinson Manor, their playful bickering replaced by a moment of quiet awe as they took in the sprawling grandeur of the estate. Hand in hand, they ascended the wide marble steps, the imposing oak doors swinging open effortlessly as if the house itself anticipated their arrival. The cool evening air carried a subtle hum of magic, giving the mansion an air of mystery and power.

He greeted them at the entrance, his face lighting up with a wide, welcoming grin. He seemed right at home in this elegant setting, his warmth contrasting the formality of their surroundings. "Hermione!" he called out, his voice booming with genuine affection as he quickly pulled her into a friendly hug. "It's so good to see you."

Hermione returned the embrace with a smile, her eyes sparkling with the comfort of seeing an old friend. "Neville, it's been too long."

He released her, turning to Draco with a nod. "Draco," he said, his tone as polite as ever, though there was an ease between them that hadn't always been there. "Good to have you here as well."

Draco, ever the composed pureblood, met his gaze with a subtle lift of his eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Longbottom," he replied smoothly, offering a firm handshake. "Always a pleasure."

He chuckled lightly, knowing the formality of Draco's greeting was his way of acknowledging their growing friendship without fully shedding his Slytherin aloofness. He ushered them further inside, where the grand entryway opened up into an elegantly furnished living room. The rich scent of something delicious wafted through the air, hinting at the dinner that awaited them.

"Come in, come in," he urged, his enthusiasm infectious. "Pansy's just putting the finishing touches on dinner. She'll be thrilled to see you both."

As they stepped deeper into the manor, Draco glanced around, clearly impressed despite himself. "It seems Pansy's done well for herself," he mused, his eyes taking in the high ceilings, the exquisite décor, and the quiet hum of old magic that filled the space.

Hermione shot him a knowing look, suppressing a smile. "You mean she's done well for both of them."

A wry smile touched Hermione's lips. "Lovely," she replied, stepping over the threshold.

As they entered the dining room, she materialized from the kitchen, a flourish in her movements as she placed a steaming platter on the table. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of them.

"Oh, so you've graced us with your presence," Pansy drawled, her tone laced with a familiar coldness. Her gaze landed on Hermione, a sardonic glint in her icy blue eyes. "Granger, you look... different. Finally decided to embrace some femininity, have we?"

A flicker of amusement flitted across Hermione's face. "Good evening, Pansy," she replied, her voice calm and collected. "And thank you, I rather like this dress."

She scoffed, turning her attention to Draco. "Draco darling," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, "you look as smug as ever." 

A curious glint lit up Hermione's eyes. "So, tell us all about it then," she pressed gently, her tone light but laced with genuine curiosity. "How are things going with the newly married life?"

They exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them in the blink of an eye. A blush crept up her neck, a welcome change from her usual icy demeanor.

"Amazing," they both answered in unison, their voices filled with a newfound warmth that sent a surprised smile across Hermione's face. It seemed she and Neville had a story to tell, and Hermione, for one, was eager to hear it.

Her smirk widened, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Who knew a Ministry-enforced marriage could turn out so well?" she drawled, her voice laced with amusement. "Seems the Wizengamot stumbled onto some accidental talent at matchmaking."

He chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It's been... an interesting adjustment, to say the least," he admitted, squeezing her hand affectionately. "We even got a pug named Lady Lemongrass. But the biggest news is..."

He trailed off, his gaze flickering towards a fluffy pug nestled comfortably at her feet. The little creature, sporting a fancy pink collar with a silver name tag that read "Lady Lemongrass," looked up with a snuffle and a wag of her curly tail.

"We're expecting our first furbaby!" Pansy declared, her voice filled with pride as she reached down to scratch Lady Lemongrass behind the ears. "So, you see, Granger, there's more to marriage than meets the eye. Even Ministry-arranged ones can come with adorable surprises."

Hermione's lips curved into a warm smile. 

A Ministry-sanctioned marriage for a pug? It was certainly unconventional, but seeing the joy radiating from them as they doted on their furry companion, it was clear that their little family was thriving in its own unique way.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at their exchange. "Well, well," she drawled, her voice laced with amusement. "Looks like love is blooming even outside of Ministry mandates. So, tell us all about it, lovebirds. How's married life treating you?"

Draco cleared his throat, a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanor, a rare sight for the usually composed Malfoy. He stole a glance at Hermione, his eyes warm with affection.

"Better than I ever could have imagined," he admitted, his voice softer than usual. 

"Hermione," he continued, his gaze lingering on her, "has been... my guiding light."

Hermione's cheeks flushed a rosy pink at his unexpected compliment. A small smile played on her lips, betraying the flutter in her chest. "It's definitely been an adjustment," she conceded, her voice honest. "But..." she trailed off, her eyes meeting Draco's in a silent conversation. "But," she finished with a newfound confidence, "I think we're finding our way, together."

Her sharp gaze flickered between Hermione and Draco, her lips quivering with a hint of a smile. "Finding your way, huh?" she drawled, the amusement clear in her voice. "That sounds like there's a story there. Care to share a snippet, lovebirds?"

Hermione exchanged a hesitant glance with Draco. Sharing their unconventional journey wasn't something they did lightly. But perhaps, with them seemingly finding happiness in their own unexpected way, the time was right.

"Maybe another time," Draco said smoothly, deflecting Pansy's teasing with a charming smile. "Tonight, let's celebrate your news. To new beginnings!"

Neville, ever the peacekeeper, chimed in with a relieved smile. "Hear, hear! I'm just glad we're all here together," he said, raising his glass. "It's nice to have friends who understand, even when things get a little... unconventional."

A collective chuckle rose around the table, the tension easing. Draco and Hermione exchanged a secret smile, a silent understanding passing between them. Their journey together might be unconventional, but in this unexpected company, they found a sense of acceptance and a glimmer of hope for their own happily ever after.

"To friends, old and new," they all echoed, clinking their glasses together. The sound resonated through the grand dining room, a toast to the bonds that held them together, no matter how unconventional they may be.

The dinner proceeded with laughter and shared stories, the initial tension giving way to genuine camaraderie. As the night wore on, the four of them realized that, despite their pasts, they were carving out a new future—one where friendship and love could flourish, even in the most unexpected places.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You both seem rather chipper. What's the occasion?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from uncomfortable topics.

"We're just happy to see you both," Neville said with a smile.

She leaned in, her expression more serious. "Actually, we have something important to discuss with you," she said, her gaze shifting between Draco and Hermione.

Neville chuckled softly, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "Yes, we've decided that it's time we have a proper wedding, not the simple Ministry one that we were forced to attend. Something more special."

Draco nodded, offering his congratulations. "Congratulations. When are you planning to have the wedding?"

"We haven't set a date yet, but we wanted to share the news with you first," she explained, her smile widening. "We're hoping for a grand but intimate ceremony with just our closest friends and family, around 435 people."

"Of course, we'll be there," Hermione said warmly, her heart warmed by the idea of celebrating their friends' happiness. They clearly had a different opinion about what a small and intimate wedding meant.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "Your support means a lot to us."

"We were hoping you and Hermione might be able to attend. It wouldn't be the same without our friends there." He said, beaming.

Pansy, ever the pragmatist, cut in with a pointed look at Draco. "Not just attend," she said, emphasizing each word. "We were hoping you both might be interested in... participating."

Draco's surprise deepened. "Participating?" he repeated, his gaze darting between Pansy and Neville. "What exactly do you mean?"

A sly grin spread across Neville's face. 

"Well, Draco," he began, leaning forward conspiratorially, "we've decided we want our wedding to be a bit... unconventional. And who better to help us pull it off than a Malfoy and a Granger?"

Hermione smiled, feeling a surge of warmth at the request. "I'd love to help, Pans. It sounds like it will be a beautiful wedding."

As the conversation shifted to wedding plans and fond memories, Draco found himself feeling an unfamiliar sense of contentment. The war and the pain it caused seemed to be fading, replaced by these moments of genuine connection and happiness. He glanced at Hermione, her face lit up with excitement as she discussed flower arrangements with Pansy, and felt a swell of gratitude for the unexpected turns his life had taken.

After dinner, they moved to the sitting room for dessert and tea. Neville, ever the gracious host, served everyone a slice of treacle tart while Pansy poured the tea.

"So, how are things at work?" He asked, looking at Hermione.

"Busy as ever," Hermione replied with a chuckle. "But rewarding. We're making significant strides in magical creature rights."

"And you, Draco?" She inquired, her tone more familiar and less formal.

Draco shrugged slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "The family business is keeping me occupied. We're exploring some new ventures, trying to distance ourselves from the old ways. I'm just glad I'm working from home."

She nodded approvingly. "That's good to hear. It's important for you to keep moving forward."

As the evening drew to a close, the atmosphere was filled with a sense of camaraderie and new beginnings. The scars of the past were still

there, but they were beginning to heal, replaced by the promise of a brighter future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Hermione and Neville were occupied chatting in the grand living room, she subtly gestured to Draco, her eyes flashing with a knowing look. Draco, catching the hint, smoothly excused himself from the conversation and followed her into one of the more private corners of the Parkinson Manor. They stood by the large bay windows, the dim light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the room.

Pansy crossed her arms, her expression sharp but calm, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything's fine with the business?"

Draco leaned against the windowsill, his demeanor cool and composed. The flicker of something darker passed behind his grey eyes, but his response was as smooth as ever. "You know it is, Parkinson. Everything's as smooth as always."

She gave him a once-over, her gaze critical yet familiar. She knew Draco better than most—knew the empire he was quietly building behind the veil of his respectable public image. The Sacred 28, once a crumbling relic of pureblood ideology, had become Draco's network, a web of underground dealings involving killers, assassins, and the distribution of illegal potions and elixirs. But outwardly, to everyone else, he was simply the polished, successful head of the Malfoy family, reformed and respected.

"Keeping your business to yourself, I see?" She arched a brow, her voice almost playful, though the weight of the conversation was anything but light.

"Obviously." Draco's response was immediate, his tone clipped. "Why would you even ask? Are you in trouble?"

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

Draco's eyes narrowed slightly, his protective instincts on high alert despite his nonchalant exterior. "Then why the sudden interest? You've never pried before."

She uncrossed her arms, stepping closer, her tone lowering further. "Just making sure you've got your house in order, that's all. I'm not prying into your affairs."

Draco tilted his head, studying her for a beat longer, searching her face for any signs of weakness or concern. "I always do, Parkinson," he said, his voice softening only slightly. "But you'd do well to keep your secrets, and I'll keep mine. What's really going on? Are you sure you're not in over your head?"

Her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. "I'm fine, Draco. I've got my own life handled." Her tone shifted, more genuine now. "I just wanted to make sure you're being careful."

A pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken understanding. The dangers of his world were no secret to her, but it wasn't a life she wanted to mix with hers—not now, not with how things had changed for her.

"Are you in love, then?" Draco asked, his voice softening just enough to show that he was serious. His gaze flicked briefly toward where Neville stood talking to Hermione in the other room.

She hesitated for only a moment before her face softened, the walls she always kept up lowering just a fraction. "More than ever."

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

She let out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh. "You don't have to tell me that. I don't want him anywhere near what you do."

Draco's eyes gleamed with a hint of admiration. "Good. Keep it that way. The less he knows, the better. For both your sakes."

With that, she glanced back toward Neville, watching him for a moment, a strange warmth blooming in her chest. She turned to Draco, her expression softening. "Just remember, Malfoy," she said, her voice carrying a quiet warning. "If you drag me into any of your messes, I'll bury you myself."

Draco chuckled softly, a dark, amused glint in his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it, Pansy."

With that, their brief moment of secrecy passed, and Draco straightened his robes, falling back into his usual, composed self. Together, they returned to the others, Draco slipping seamlessly back into the role of the charming aristocrat, while she took her place beside him, feeling more certain than ever that keeping these two worlds apart was the only way to preserve the fragile balance of her new life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

Draco nodded, squeezing her hand. "Yes, it was. And

I think it's just the beginning."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shot her a look. "No."

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

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

Besides, shehad a wedding to plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both stared at her, silent and dumbfounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pansy's reaction was immediate and chaotic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neville smiled, wrappingan arm around her. "We really do."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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