THE TOWER AND THE STAR - Pansy Neville (HP)

Hermione gets kidnapped and brutally attacked. Scene is not written in this fanfiction.

I'm so sorry. Nothing nice is going to happen for a while.

Neville is the husband of the century.

Pansy and Crookshanks bestie moment.

The past few days had been nothing short of idyllic, filled with quiet moments of joy and contentment for them. Everything in their lives seemed to be perfectly aligned, and she relished the calm, a rare gift amidst the usual chaos that often surrounded them. Their marriage had settled into a rhythm of playful banter, deep conversations, and stolen glances that made her heart flutter. It was as though the universe had finally decided to give them the peace they deserved, and she intended to savor every moment of it.

At that very moment, she was deeply engrossed in designing an elaborate new wardrobe for her beloved pug. The little dog, with her squashed face and snuffling breaths, was wriggling in protest as she attempted to measure her for what would surely be a ridiculous, yet fabulous, ensemble. Just as Pansy was mentally debating between silk or velvet for the next outfit, a sudden flash of silver light illuminated the room.

Luna's graceful unicorn Patronus materialized before her, its presence filling the air with a quiet urgency that immediately set Pansy on edge.

"MALFOY PENTHOUSE. NOW. URGENT!"

The words echoed in her ears, a sharp contrast to the peaceful atmosphere of the moment. Her heart dropped into her stomach, panic tightening in her chest. Without even pausing to think, she let go of Lady Lemongrass, the tape measure slipping from her hands, and in one swift motion, she apparated directly to Draco and Hermione's penthouse, her mind racing with every possible dreadful scenario that could be unfolding.

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

The Malfoy Penthouse was a grand and luxurious space, but tonight it was filled with a frantic energy as Draco, Theo, Blaise, Pansy and Ginny scattered in every direction, their urgency palpable.

Draco's heart pounded in his chest as he turned the corner of the living room. The mess in the room told a story of struggle—a toppled vase, broken glass, and scattered books. The sight only fueled his growing panic. 

"My love!" he called out, his voice echoing off the marble floors and high ceilings. "Hermione, where are you?"

Blaise was already in the kitchen, opening drawers and rifling through the cabinets. "She could have left a note or something!" he shouted back, though it was clear that nothing of the sort had been left behind.

Ginny raced into the study, her eyes darting over the desk and bookshelves. "She has to have left something behind!" Her voice trembled as she picked up a half-empty cup of tea, hoping for some clue, but finding only the cold dregs of the drink.

Theo, meanwhile, had moved to the hallway, his eyes scanning for any sign of Hermione's presence. He checked every room, from the guest bedrooms to the library, but the penthouse remained eerily silent.

Draco!" Ginny's voice rang out from the living room. "Come here!

Draco rushed into the room, his eyes catching the sight of a small, silver ribbon caught on the edge of a coffee table. He knelt down, his fingers gently brushing against it. "This must be from the gift she received earlier."

Theo joined them, his face grim. "A portkey. She was taken somewhere."

Blaise came in from the kitchen, his face reflecting the same worry. "If she was taken against her will, Dobbiamo trovarla!"

Draco's eyes were fierce as he looked around the room. "We need to search for any trace of where the portkey might have taken her."

"Look for anything unusual," Theo said, moving to inspect the area where Hermione's things were scattered. "Anything that could give us a clue."

Ginny bent down, her fingers brushing over the edge of the broken vase. "There's something in the rubble here." She carefully extracted a small piece of parchment from beneath the shards of ceramic.

Draco took the parchment from her, his hands trembling slightly as he unfolded it. The delicate paper rustled softly in the tense silence of the room. 

As he read the cryptic message aloud, his brow furrowed in concentration. "For the diamond in the world of gold." Draco's voice was low and troubled, the weight of the words hanging in the air.

Blaise's eyes narrowed as he thought furiously. "What the fuck does that mean?" he muttered, frustration evident in his tone.

Ginny's eyes widened as realization dawned on her. "It's Hermione—the Golden Girl!" Her voice trembled with a mix of hope and fear.

Theo's gaze was intense, his mind racing to connect the dots. "Draco, think quickly! What diamond? Who's diamond?" he demanded, his urgency clear.

"That fucking bitch!" Draco yelled, his rage palpable as he slammed his fist against the wall. "Karkaroff's whore! The last time we saw her, she was dripping in diamonds, like she's turning trash into treasure!"

He took a deep breath, his anger only partly abated. "Of course! It was all an act to make herself look more valuable, more important than she really is."

"Ginny looked at him with a mix of fear and curiosity. "What are you saying, Draco?

"Draco's eyes flashed with grim realization. "Karkaroff's wife is the key. She flaunted those diamonds as though they were her badge of honor, her way of claiming a false superiority. If the message refers to a diamond, then it must be her connection to the diamonds she showed off."

His face was set in a hard line as he continued, "Diamonds and drugs, they're both symbols of black market trade, of contraband and corruption."

His eyes burned with frustration. "Karkaroff was accusing us of selling low-quality drugs last time we met. But it wasn't the truth—it was a trap designed to mislead us."

Ginny's eyes widened, a mix of horror and disbelief crossing her face. "Drugs? Ferret, what are you talking about? 

Blaise's shoulders slumped, a deep sorrow in his eyes. "Mia cara, I'm afraid the world we live in is far darker than you ever imagined. I'm so sorry you had to learn it like this."

Her eyes widened in shock, her body frozen in place. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with a sickening clarity. The luxury they enjoyed had come at a steep price, and the strange hours, the bloodstained clothes—everything she had ignored—now made a brutal, horrifying sense."Blaise!" Ginny's voice was sharp, filled with indignation. "We will deal with this later. For now, Draco, you need to use the soul bond to locate Hermione!"

Draco's jaw tightened with determination. He whispered, "Uruz." A beautiful rune appeared in the room like a holographic projection, its light casting an ethereal glow.

"Uruz, the mother of manifestation, please show me where Hermione Granger-Malfoy is," Draco commanded, his voice ringing with urgency.

The rune glowed a soft pink, swirling and shifting until it displayed a vision of a dark dungeon. Hermione's terrified face filled the projection, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Draco's heart clenched at the sight. "Hold on, Hermione," he whispered fiercely. "I'm coming."

"Ginerva!" Draco barked at Ginny. "Get Potter here and get us a portkey."

"There is no need for that," Theo interjected.

Before anyone could react, Theo gathered them into a tight circle. With a swift, practiced motion, he apparated them directly to the Nott Manor basement. 

He rushed to a cabinet filled with objects and pulled out a piece that looked like reading glasses. Without missing a beat, he ran to another cabinet and flung it open with a rush of motion, revealing an arsenal of guns, knives, and wands.

"Merlin," Ginny breathed, momentarily speechless at the sight.

Draco, ever the pragmatist, grabbed a wand and a sleek, silver knife. "We need to move quickly," he said, his voice low and urgent. 

"Mia cara," Blaise said in a low voice, his eyes locking onto Ginny's. "At this exact moment, I need you. I need the fire that burns inside your Gryffindor heart. You must fight with every weapon you have."

Ginny nodded, her posture shifting from that of a trophy wife to a determined warrior. She kicked off her high heels and Accio'd a set of comfortable clothes from Luna's closet. Within seconds, she was ready, her eyes fierce with resolve.

Draco gave Ginny an approving nod.

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

She stood frozen in the middle of the living room, her mind racing in disbelief. The walls that once felt so familiar now loomed around her like a suffocating cage, and a chilling dread seeped into her bones. The news echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat: Hermione had been kidnapped. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet, leaving her adrift in a sea of confusion and despair.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the coffee table, desperately trying to ground herself in the chaos. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each inhalation feeling like a struggle against an invisible force that sought to crush her. Panic clawed at her throat, tightening its grip until she felt lightheaded and unmoored. The room spun around her, and she could hardly comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened.

Then, without warning, the dam broke. She fell to her knees, the hardwood floor unforgiving beneath her. The weight of the moment crashed down like a tidal wave, pulling her under into an abyss of grief. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she cried hard and loud, each sob a raw testament to the agony that had taken root in her heart. It felt as if her very soul was being torn apart, shredding the fabric of her being into countless pieces.

Then, without warning, the dam broke. She fell to her knees, the hardwood floor unforgiving beneath her, the impact jolting through her body. The weight of the moment crashed down like a tidal wave, pulling her under into an abyss of grief that threatened to swallow her whole. She could feel the air around her thickening, suffocating her with the enormity of what had just happened. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she cried hard and loud, each sob a raw testament to the agony that had taken root in her heart. It felt as if her very soul was being torn apart, shredding the fabric of her being into countless pieces, each fragment a reminder of the joy and laughter that had been ripped away.

In the midst of her despair, a familiar sound broke through the chaos of her thoughts—the soft, frantic rustle of fur against fabric. Crookshanks emerged from the shadows, his wide eyes filled with fear. The usually confident cat, known for his sharp instincts and clever antics, had sought refuge in a closet, overwhelmed by the turmoil that had erupted in their home. But now, sensing her distress, he darted toward her, his little legs moving with surprising speed.

As he approached, she felt a flicker of recognition and comfort. The cat, usually so independent and aloof, seemed to understand the gravity of the moment, his instincts guiding him to her side. She reached out a trembling hand, and Crooks leapt into her lap, nuzzling against her, his soft fur a balm against her raw emotions. She clung to him tightly, burying her face in his warm, familiar coat, seeking solace in his presence as she whispered, "Your mommy... she... oh my god, Beast," the words coming out in choked gasps as the reality of the situation settled in.

Her heart ached not just for Hermione, but also for Crookshanks, who had always been by Hermione's side, a silent guardian in his own right. "You need to come with me," she urged, her voice trembling with desperation. "We have to find her. We can't let her be alone."

With him securely nestled against her, Pansy pushed herself back to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. The determination that had begun to stir in her chest ignited anew. She couldn't let herself wallow in despair any longer; she had to act. Hermione needed her, and Crookshanks needed her, too.

As she moved through the living room, she began to gather her thoughts, piecing together a plan amidst the haze of panic. She knew she couldn't do this alone; she needed the strength of their friends, those who understood the bond they shared. Every second wasted felt like an eternity, and she refused to let the darkness take Hermione without a fight.

"Pansy?" Crookshanks mewed softly, as if sensing her resolve. She looked down at him, his big, golden eyes filled with concern, and felt a surge of love and responsibility. He was more than just a cat; he was a part of Hermione's life, a living reminder of their friendship, and she would fight for both of them.

"Come on, Crooks. Let's go find your mommy," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She clutched the cat tightly, the warmth of his small body grounding her amidst the storm of her emotions. With each step toward the door, the heaviness in her heart pressed down on her like a weight that threatened to crush her. She forced herself to push through, determined to act, even if her mind was racing with fear and uncertainty.

Neville felt the bond between them tighten in his soul, a visceral connection that pulsed with urgency. The intensity of Pansy's distress reached out to him, wrapping around his heart like a vice. He could sense her panic, her fear, and the overwhelming weight of grief that had enveloped her. It was as if a storm raged within her, and he felt every gust of wind, every bolt of lightning as it tore through her spirit.

At that moment, he couldn't wait. He let the bond guide him, feeling its familiar pull lead him toward her. With a single, determined thought, he concentrated on their connection, allowing it to draw him through the corridors of their shared emotions. Each step felt like a leap through the very fabric of their souls, bridging the distance between them until he found himself standing right beside her.

As he materialized next to her, the atmosphere was thick with her pain. She knelt on the hardwood floor, her body wracked with sobs, and he could see the raw anguish etched across her face. In an instant, his heart ached for her. She was so consumed by her sorrow that she didn't even notice him at first, lost in the depths of her grief.

"Pansy!" his voice cut through the haze of her thoughts like a lifeline, and she turned to see him standing there, concern etched across his features. "My love, what's the matter?" His voice was steady, filled with an urgency that sent a flicker of hope through her.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She shook her head, tears spilling over her cheeks, and felt the air hitch in her lungs. "Oh, Merlin, please, Neville," she managed to gasp out, her voice thick with emotion. She was crying so hard that forming coherent sentences felt impossible, each sob tearing through her as the distress overwhelmed her.

"Breathe with me, love," he urged softly, stepping closer, his presence warm and calming. "Why are we in the penthouse?" He reached for her hand, but she was too far gone in her panic to acknowledge it.

"They... kidnapped... Hermione!" she finally blurted out, each word punctuated by another wave of sobs as she continued to hyperventilate. The sheer weight of the news crashed down on her like a tidal wave, and she felt as if she were drowning in a sea of fear and despair.

"Where is everyone else?" he asked gently, his gaze never leaving hers, trying to anchor her in the storm.

"They went to find her!" she exclaimed, the desperation in her voice rising to a fever pitch. "Neville, some bitch has her! What is she going to do to her?" The terror that gripped her heart was suffocating, and the images of Hermione in danger swirled in her mind like a relentless nightmare.

"Okay, baby," he said, his voice low and soothing, "then they will find her." He took a step closer, reaching for her, but the tension in her body was palpable, and she could barely focus on anything other than the fear coursing through her veins.

"Some bitch has her!" she repeated, her voice rising again, filled with frustration and terror. "What is she going to do to her? I can't just sit here!" Her heart raced, and her hands trembled as she clutched Crookshanks tighter, desperate for the warmth and comfort he offered.

"My love," he said gently, his brow furrowing with concern. "You cannot go like this. You need to calm down." He looked down at Crookshanks, who had nestled himself tightly against her neck, seeking comfort in her embrace. "Pansy, you're strangling him," he pointed out softly, though the cat seemed oblivious to her distress, content to be close to her.

But she shook her head, unwilling to part with Crooks. "He needs to stay with me," she insisted, her voice cracking as she spoke. "We need to take him. He's scared too, and I can't just leave him."

"Okay, then let's take him," he agreed, his voice steady as he placed a reassuring hand on her back. "But first, you need to breathe, alright? In and out. Just like I taught you."

She focused on his voice, the familiar cadence of his words a calming melody against the backdrop of her chaos. She took a shuddering breath, trying to follow his lead, but the tightness in her chest made it feel like an impossible task.

"Just like that," he encouraged, his hand moving in gentle circles on her back. "You're doing great, love. Just a few more breaths."

With every inhalation, the chaos in her mind began to settle, if only a little. She focused on the rhythm of her breath, matching it to his steady pace. As the seconds passed, she felt the sharp edges of her panic dull, giving way to the warmth of his presence and the reassuring weight of Crookshanks against her.

"We'll find her, Parky," he promised, his voice low and steady. "You're not alone in this. I'm right here with you."

The sincerity in his words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, comforting her in the depths of her fear. She knew that as long as they were together, they would face whatever came their way.

"Okay," she whispered, taking another deep breath, feeling more grounded with each passing moment. "I trust you."

As they stood together, surrounded by the chaos of the situation, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. They would do whatever it took to bring Hermione home. Together.

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

With a firm grip on her and a surge of determination coursing through him, he apparated them home. The world around them blurred into a whirlwind of colors and sensations, a brief moment of disorientation before they landed safely in their familiar living room.

She remained rooted to the spot, her body still tense as she clutched Crookshanks tightly against her chest. The cat, sensing her distress, curled even tighter into her embrace, refusing to let go. It was as if they were both clinging to each other for dear life, each seeking solace in the other amidst the chaos that had engulfed them.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered softly, kneeling beside her. He watched as Pansy's trembling fingers gently stroked the cat's fur, her tears soaking into his orange coat. They were a picture of intertwined desperation—Pansy and Crookshanks, two fragile souls finding comfort in their bond, both reluctant to release their hold on one another.

An hour later, Theo appeared in the living room, his expression grim and urgent. The moment Pansy caught sight of him, she sprang off the couch, her heart racing.

"Theo!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and fear.

"Listen here, Pansy," Theo replied, his tone sharp and commanding. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that demanded her full attention.

"Theo!" she began to cry, the weight of her emotions crashing over her like a relentless wave. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to keep herself composed.

"Listen to me, Parkinson," he said firmly, shaking her lightly to emphasize his point. "Listen carefully."

Neville, sensing the urgency in the air, moved closer, his heart aching for Pansy's distress.

"Hermione was brutally attacked. BRUTALLY," Theo continued, his voice low and urgent. "Luna's doing surgery on her now."

At his words, her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, the hardwood pressing cold against her skin. Panic surged through her as she processed the gravity of the situation, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

"LISTEN TO ME, PANSY!" Theo repeated, his voice cutting through the fog of her despair.

"I'm listening," Neville interjected, his focus entirely on Theo, ready to act.

"I need you to go to Nott Manor and get Lysander. Bring him to your home." Theo's expression softened for a moment as he thought of his son, his voice steady and resolute. "I need my son to be safe."

"Yes, of course," Neville replied, determination shining in his eyes. He understood the urgency of the moment, the importance of protecting Lysander amidst the chaos that threatened to consume them.

She looked up at Theo, desperation mingling with determination. "What about Hermione? What will happen to her?"

"We'll do everything we can to save her," Theo reassured her, his tone softer now. "But right now, we have to focus on keeping Lysander safe. He can't be in the middle of this."

With a deep breath, she wiped her tears, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "I'll go. I'll get him," she promised, rising to her feet.

"Be quick," Theo urged, his gaze steady on her. "We need to stay one step ahead."

As she moved to the door, Neville gave her a supportive nod. Together, they prepared to face the uncertain path ahead, determined to protect their loved ones at all costs.

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

 With a crack, they found themselves standing in the grand foyer of Nott Manor. The familiar surroundings provided a brief moment of comfort amidst the turmoil in their hearts. Her breath quickened, urgency propelling her forward as she dashed up the sweeping staircase, her mind racing with thoughts of Lysander.

As she reached the top of the stairs, the sounds of splashing water echoed from the nursery. She pushed the door open to find her godson laughing gleefully in the tub, a small head elf, Bobsy attending to him. The sight of his innocent joy was a bittersweet reminder of the chaos outside.

"Bobsy!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with both relief and urgency. "Your master sent me to keep the little master safe."

Bobsy looked up, his large eyes glistening with concern. "Yes, missus, everything for him!" he squeaked, wringing his little hands anxiously.

She knelt by the tub, her heart heavy. "I need you to be really brave for me now," she said, locking eyes with the elf, who nodded fervently, his expression shifting to one of determination despite the tears beginning to well up.

"Yes, missus!" Bobsy replied, his voice quivering. "I will do my best!"

Neville stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on the elf's shoulder. "Nothing bad is going to happen, love. We're going to keep him safe," he promised, his gaze steady and unwavering.

She swallowed hard, forcing down her own fears. "Bobsy, I need you to be brave and put the house under protection spells. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, ma'am! I will do it right now!" he declared, puffing out his chest with newfound resolve.

"Thank you," she said, her voice softening as she reached out to Lysander. She brushed her fingers through his damp curls, her heart aching at how small and vulnerable he looked. "Come here, my sweet," she said, lifting him gently from the tub, the water splashing around them. "I need a kiss on the cheek for comfort."

Lysander, simply giggled, leaning forward to plant a wet, chubby kiss on her cheek. It was a gesture that filled her with warmth, reminding her of the innocence she was fighting to protect.

"Promise me you'll put the house under protection and after that, you'll come over, okay?" she urged, her eyes locking onto Bobsy's.

"Yes, I'll be brave! I'll go over after," he promised, wiping away the tears that had escaped his eyes.

"Good," she said, pulling Bobsy close, she kissed the brave elf. 

As they prepared to leave, she felt the weight of responsibility settle upon her shoulders. She would not let anything happen to Lysander, not while she still drew breath. With Neville at her side and Bobsy tending to the protective spells, they would do everything in their power to ensure that the darkness threatening their lives would not encroach on the light of innocence that was Lysander.

"Let's go, sweet boy," she whispered, hugging him tightly as they prepared to

face the uncertainties that lay ahead, determined to keep their family safe.

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

As they arrived home, a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of familiar, comforting figures. Lady Lemongrass trotted excitedly toward her, yapping with joy, while Crookshanks slinked alongside, purring loudly. It felt good to have the warmth of their presence, yet her heart still ached with worry.

With a determined breath, she focused on the tasks ahead. She levitated the baby furniture and various items, expertly maneuvering them into place in the nursery. The sight of his changing table brought a rush of urgency, and she placed him gently on it, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and adrenaline.

"I know, my loves," she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked down at him. "Lysander is here."

Lady yapped in excitement, her little tail wagging furiously, and Crookshanks rubbed against her leg, seeking comfort from her. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her, but the joy of her loyal companions eased her mind, if only for a moment.

"Let me help you, my love," he said, stepping closer, his eyes filled with concern. "Please go and make me a whiskey."

Pansy was momentarily dumbfounded by the request. Whiskey? Was he really suggesting that now? Yet, as she looked into his steady gaze, she realized he was trying to keep her grounded. With a nod, she walked to the liquor cabinet, the familiar movements almost automatic despite her racing thoughts.

As she poured the whiskey, she could feel the tremors in her hands, but she steeled herself. This was not the time for weakness; they had a child to protect.

When she returned, he had expertly dressed Lysander in a clean, warm outfit, and the sight of her godson brought a rush of love and protective instinct.

"There you go, Nevie," she said softly, handing him the drink.

"Thank you, my love," he replied, his voice calm yet firm. "Now drink it."

She blinked, confused. "What?"

"My love, I would give you the same calming draught, but I need you at full attention. So please, take a sip."

"No, no, it's okay. I'm okay." She protested, but the tremors in her hands betrayed her, and she knew deep down that she was far from okay.

"My love," he said gently, his tone shifting from urgency to sincerity, "you need to take care of yourself first. I can't have you falling apart now."

The weight of his words settled heavily in the air between them. She had always prided herself on being strong, but the fear clawing at her insides was relentless. Taking a deep breath, she finally lifted the glass to her lips and took a cautious sip. The warmth spread through her, offering a small measure of comfort.

"See?" he said, a small smile breaking through his concern. "Just a little sip. You're doing great."

"Thank you, love," she replied, feeling a bit more centered. She reached out to stroke Lady Lemongrass, who had settled beside her, offering silent support. Crooks, sensing the tension, curled up on the couch, his presence a quiet reminder of home.

"Now," he said, his voice steady and reassuring, "we need to come up with a plan to keep Lysander safe. We have to be ready for anything."

Pansy nodded, determination hardening within her. They would protect Lysander and find a way to bring Hermione back. Together, they would face whatever darkness lay ahead.

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

Pansy cradled Lysander against her chest, feeling the warmth of his tiny body as he slept soundly, oblivious to the chaos that surrounded them. Crookshanks lounged comfortably on his chest, his rhythmic purring resonating in the quiet room, while Lady nestled between them, a comforting presence in the bed. The weight of the day had finally taken its toll, and despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling in her heart, exhaustion washed over her like a warm blanket. She succumbed to the pull of sleep, her mind drifting into a dreamless slumber as the sounds of soft breathing filled the air.

Hours later, she stirred, pulled from her sleep by the sound of hushed whispers. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing softly across the walls. Groggy, she blinked her eyes open, and her heart raced as she focused on the scene before her. Theo stood nearby, cradling his son with an air of tenderness that made her heart swell, while Neville leaned against the wall, his expression grave. The muted tones of their conversation were laced with urgency and concern.

"She's alive. My Luna saved her," Theo whispered, his voice a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Oh thank Merlin," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper as she slowly rose from the bed. She was so relieved to hear that Hermione was alive, but that relief was bittersweet as she took in Theo's appearance. His shirt was soaked in blood, a stark reminder of the violence that had unfolded.

Theo noticed her gaze and sighed heavily. "Jelena is dead. She can't hurt Hermione anymore."

She felt a surge of vindictive satisfaction at the news. "I hope she rots in hell," she replied, the anger bubbling to the surface. The thought of Hermione enduring such torment at the hands of that monster was infuriating.

"She will," Theo assured her, his voice steady. But then his demeanor shifted slightly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. "Hermione is in a medical coma. She had skull surgery."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of the tragedy. She felt her heart sink, the reality of the situation crashing down on her like a wave. She exchanged a glance with him, and in that moment, they both understood the enormity of what had happened. They couldn't find the right words to express the horror, the grief, or the fear that coursed through them. All they could do was share the silence, the anguish binding them together in that moment.

"Pansy, I'm going to be honest with you," he continued, breaking the stillness that had enveloped the room. "You cannot visit her in your state." His tone was gentle but firm, and Pansy felt a pang of frustration at the truth of his words.

"I understand," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She hated the thought of being kept away from Hermione when she needed support the most, but deep down, she knew Theo was right. She couldn't risk overwhelming Hermione with her emotional turmoil.

Theo shifted his weight, looking at both of them with a sense of urgency. "I would like the two of you to take care of Lysander in the meanwhile."

Neville stepped forward, determination lighting up his eyes. "Of course, it's an honor," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. He moved closer to Theo, ready to take on the responsibility of caring for their little charge.

She felt a mix of gratitude and trepidation. Taking care of Lysander would be a welcome distraction, a way to channel her worry into something constructive. "We'll do everything we can for him," she promised, her heart swelling with affection for the tiny boy who was already becoming a symbol of hope in their dark times.

Theo nodded, relief washing over his features. "Thank you. He needs you both right now. I need to be there for Luna."

She watched as his expression shifted, the weight of his responsibilities evident in his posture. It was clear that he was struggling, torn between the duty to his family and the emotional turmoil of the recent events.

As he prepared to leave, she felt a surge of determination within her. "Theo, wait," she said, her voice steady. "Please keep us updated on Hermione. We'll be here for you, for her. We're family."

Theo met her gaze, a flicker of gratitude passing between them. "I will, Pans. I promise. And Lysander will be safe here with you and Neville."

With that, he stepped away, leaving them in the quiet room, the weight of their new responsibility settling upon them.

She glanced down at Lysander, his peaceful face reminding her of everything that was at stake. With Neville by her side, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. They would protect him, cherish him, and keep the light of hope alive in the darkness that had threatened to consume them all.

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

Weeks turned into a blur of days, each one blending into the next as they adjusted to their new routine at home with baby Lysander. They spent their days caring for him, reveling in his soft coos and babeling , and finding solace in the small, precious moments they shared. Yet, the weight of Hermione's absence hung heavily in the air, a persistent shadow lurking just beyond the edges of their daily life.

Every day brought a flicker of hope as they received updates about Hermione's condition. Sometimes it was Theo delivering the news with a weary smile, other times it was Luna's gentle reassurances that reminded them of the strength Hermione possessed. Slowly, the updates began to paint a picture of gradual recovery. Each improvement—no matter how small—felt like a victory, a step toward healing that kept them hanging on to hope.

She longed to hear from Hermione herself, to feel the warmth of her friend's spirit and the sharp wit that had always been a balm for her soul. But until that day came, she would settle for the small glimpses of progress that Theo and Luna provided.

Then, one afternoon, as Pansy was changing Lysander's diaper, her heart skipped a beat when she received a message from Luna. The message was brief but loaded with meaning: "Come, love visit Hermione. We all need you."

Her pulse quickened. Luna's invitation felt significant; it was the first time she had reached out directly. The implication that she wanted Pansy there ignited a spark of hope in her chest. Setting down the baby supplies, she turned to Neville, who had just entered the room with a sleepy Crookshanks in his arms.

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

Pansy strolled into the room, Crookshanks nestled comfortably in her arms while Lysander, still unsteady on his feet, toddled along behind her. A smirk danced on her lips at the sight of Draco waiting near the doorway, his arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face.

"Parkinson, I'm warning you," Draco said, his tone a blend of firmness and exhaustion. "You can't disturb her peace."

Unfazed, she didn't break her stride or cast a glance his way. "Oh, fuck off, Malfoy," she shot back, her playful defiance clear.

Ignoring her retort, Draco's demeanor softened as he knelt down to Lysander's level, his frustration dissipating in an instant. He picked the boy up, cradling him with ease and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Hello, my little prince," Draco murmured, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Would you like to see Mimi?"

"Mimi!" Lysander's eyes sparkled with delight, and he clapped his small hands together, a picture of pure excitement.

Draco's heart swelled at the sight. "Auntie is resting, just like the princess in your bedtime story," he explained, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, I need you to be brave for me, little prince. Can you watch over her and keep her safe?"

Lysander's expression turned serious, and he nodded eagerly, determination shining in his eyes. "Yess!" he declared, puffing out his chest as though he were already donning a royal cape, ready to embrace his "prince duties."

Draco chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. "That's my brave boy," he whispered, grateful for the light that Lysander's innocence brought to the otherwise heavy atmosphere surrounding Hermione.

As Draco and Pansy stepped quietly into the room, Crookshanks padded silently behind them. The orange furball wasted no time leaping onto Hermione's chest, settling down as if he had done so a thousand times before. His comforting purr filled the quiet space, a soothing sound amidst the tension hanging in the air. But when Hermione remained still, Crookshanks gently tapped her face with a paw, as if trying to rouse her from slumber.

When she didn't stir, the cat's purring shifted into soft, pitiful cries, a sound filled with concern and yearning.

Pansy's heart twisted painfully at the sight. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she swallowed hard, forcing back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't let Lysander see her break down, not now.

"There you go, Pumpkin," she said softly, placing Lysander gently on the bed beside Hermione. "Go say hi to Mimi. She's asleep, but she can still hear you."

Lysander stared at Hermione for a long moment, his little face serious as he tried to comprehend the scene before him. Needing comfort of his own, he reached out and took Hermione's hand, his tiny fingers curling around hers with a sweet innocence. With his other hand, he began to stroke Crookshanks, who had nestled on her chest, still purring in a comforting rhythm.

"You see?" she murmured, her voice warm with affection. "You and Crooks are helping Mimi heal, just like the prince in your storybook. You're both taking care of her."

He didn't say a word, but after a moment of contemplation, he snuggled closer to Hermione, resting his head carefully on her chest. "Mimi okay?" he asked, his voice soft and tender, as though he were speaking directly to her heart.

"She's okay, little love," she reassured him gently. "She's just sleeping, like the princess. Give her a kiss, and then we'll go see mummy, alright?"

"Mummy," he repeated, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on Hermione's cheek, his small lips brushing against her skin with all the affection a child could muster. His innocent gesture hung in the air, a mix of hope and worry.

Watching this tender moment, Pansy felt her heart swell with a mixture of love and fear. Lysander was a beacon of light in the darkness surrounding Hermione's condition, a reminder that life continued, even in the midst of uncertainty.

As Lysander nestled closer, Pansy's gaze flicked to Draco, who was now standing at the foot of the bed, his expression softened by the sight of his son's devotion. The air was thick with emotion, a silent understanding passing between them. They were all bound by love—love for each other and for Hermione.

"Let's give him a moment," Draco said quietly, motioning for her to step back. They both stood watch as Lysander instinctively wrapped his small arms around Hermione's arm, holding on as if anchoring them all in this fragile moment.

She leaned against the wall, her heart racing as she took in the scene: Lysander, the sweet, innocent embodiment of hope; Crookshanks, offering his furry comfort; and Hermione, a warrior resting against the odds. In that moment, she realized that they were all fighters in their own right, each holding onto their strength in different ways.

As they stood there, time seemed to slow, and she breathed in the scent of baby powder and warmth, a bittersweet reminder of the fragility of life. She knew they would get through this together—just as they always had.

She stepped outside, Lysander perched on her hip, a soft breeze ruffling their hair as they made their way across the garden. The sun cast a golden hue over everything, illuminating the vibrant flowers that swayed gently in the wind. She felt a twinge of hope amidst the chaos, but it was soon overshadowed by a wave of melancholy as she thought of Luna.

As if sensing her thoughts, Luna came into view, running toward them with unrestrained joy radiating from her. Her laughter rang like music, the sound both soothing and heart-wrenching to Pansy. The sight of them brought tears to her eyes; they hadn't seen each other in a month, and the bond between mother and son was palpable.

"Lysander!" Luna called out, her voice filled with delight as she closed the distance. Her heart ached at the sight. The two of them had missed so much time together, and the connection was instant as Luna scooped him into her arms, enveloping him in an embrace that spoke volumes of her love.

As Luna showered him with kisses, Pansy stood a few steps back, feeling like an outsider in this moment of reunion. She hesitated, knowing the joyous exchange was bittersweet. 

She couldn't bring herself to tell Luna that their son had taken his first steps and spoke his first coherent sentences while Luna had been risking her life to save Hermione. The weight of that secret hung heavily in the air, a shackle that bound her heart.

Lysander squealed with delight, completely engrossed in his mother's affection. She watched them, her heart swelling with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The love that Luna poured into her child was a sight to behold, but it only served to deepen the ache within her chest.

Her gaze drifted to Luna's face. In that fleeting moment, her eyes conveyed everything she felt: a tumult of emotions that threatened to spill over. She wanted to stay, to be part of this beautiful moment, but the pressure in her chest felt like it was building to a breaking point. It was all too much—the stress of the past few weeks, the worry for Hermione, and now this moment of joy that reminded her of what had been lost.

As if sensing Pansy's turmoil, Luna briefly turned her attention away from Lysander, her gaze piercing through to meet hers. There was an understanding in her eyes—one that spoke of love and concern. Without a word, Luna nodded, her expression telling Pansy that she understood her struggle.

She took a shaky breath, feeling her resolve begin to crumble. "I can't stay any longer," her heart whispered. She could feel the tears threatening to spill over, and she couldn't let Lysander see her break down.

With a subtle motion, Luna redirected Lysander's attention back to her, playfully spinning him around. "Look at the flowers, my love!" she exclaimed, her voice bright and cheerful. Pansy admired her friend's ability to shield Lysander from the heaviness that had begun to suffocate Pansy's spirit.

Pansy took a step back, her heart breaking as she turned away. Each step felt like a weight, her footsteps echoing the conflict within her. She wanted to be there for Luna, to celebrate this moment with them, but the shadows of her worries loomed larger than the sunlight that kissed the garden.

"Be good for mummy, my little prince," she whispered under her breath, knowing that he would be safe in Luna's loving arms. As she slipped away, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, taking in the sight of mother and son. Luna's radiant smile made the corners of her mouth twitch in a fleeting grin, but it was quickly replaced by the swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

With one final deep breath, Pansy stepped away from the sanctuary of the garden, hoping that the distance would allow her heart to find some semblance of peace.

As she walked, she clutched her own heart, feeling it ache not just for herself but for all the unspoken words and moments they had lost. She silently promised that she would return, that she would find the strength to share in their joy, but for now, she needed a moment to breathe—to gather the pieces of herself before stepping back into the light.

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

Neville stood in the doorway, a silent sentinel against the harsh reality that weighed heavily on her heart. He didn't need to say anything; his presence alone was a balm to her frayed nerves. She crossed the threshold, and without hesitation, leaped into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder as the floodgates opened. The tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, carrying with them the weight of everything she had witnessed.

The image of Hermione in that sterile surgical room was seared into her mind, a haunting reminder of how fragile life could be. What if Hermione never woke up? The thought spiraled through her mind, each cycle tightening the grip of dread in her chest. She had fought so hard, endured so much, and yet here she lay, vulnerable and still. The starkness of the room, the bright lights, the beeping machines—they all felt so cruel and cold in contrast to the warmth Hermione usually radiated.

But it was the sight of Hermione herself that rattled Pansy the most. The bravery of her friend was astonishing; she had gone through skull surgery, her body battered yet resilient, and she was now bold in a way that was both shocking and admirable. Hermione's head was bare, devoid of the beautiful, cascading curls that had framed her face; the absence of hair felt like a stark proclamation of her struggle. 

Despite the sterile surroundings, there was something almost ethereal about her. Hermione looked like an angel, lying there, surrounded by the sterile equipment of the hospital. In her stillness, she seemed to transcend the brutality of her experience, embodying a serene strength that Pansy could only admire from a distance. It was as if she had emerged from a battle, scarred yet victorious, a testament to the power of the human spirit.

She could hardly reconcile the image of the vibrant, fiercely intelligent woman she knew with the fragile figure before her. The haunting memory of Hermione's laughter, her endless debates over the most trivial of subjects, and their shared moments of vulnerability danced through her mind like flickering shadows. How had it come to this? The world outside continued to spin, while they stood at the precipice of uncertainty, teetering between hope and despair.