It was still dark when he left that morning.

You sat on the couch in one of Mattheo’s oversized Slytherin hoodies, your legs curled under you, a mug of tea warming your hands. He stepped out of the bedroom, half dressed in his usual black robes, hair still damp from the shower. You caught him watching you like he always did—eyes soft, like the world was finally good when he looked at you.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, smiling faintly.

“You’re glowing,” he replied, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands slid gently over your barely rounded stomach, fingers splayed like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“Three months already,” he whispered to your bump. “You’re growing fast, little one.”

You giggled quietly. “That’s mostly the hot chocolate and chocolate frogs.”

He looked up at you with that crooked grin you loved, then leaned in and kissed your lips—slow and sweet.

“I’ll be back before lunch,” he promised. “Just a quick meeting with Tom and the others. Nothing dangerous.”

You cupped his cheek. “You better be.”

Mattheo kissed your belly one more time. “I’ll always come back.”

And then he walked out.

He didn’t come back.

It was late afternoon when the boys showed up.

Tom was the first to speak. His face was pale, his hands bloody from where he’d clearly broken something—maybe a wall, maybe someone’s nose.

“They got him,” he said hoarsely. “The Order. A trap.”

Your blood ran cold.

You stood up. “Where is he?”

“We don’t know. They took him underground. Hidden wards. Off the grid.”

“And you let them take him?” you spat.

Tom flinched. “We tried—”

“No. No, he’s mine,” you snapped, stepping forward. “He’s my husband. And our child doesn’t get to grow up never knowing him.”

“You’re pregnant—”

“I’m not helpless.”

There was a fire in your voice none of them had ever heard before. You turned to the others—Draco, Theo, Blaise, Regulus, Enzo.

“I’m going with you. I don’t care what you say.”

Tom’s jaw was tight. “It could kill you.”

“And sitting here won’t?” you hissed. “If he’s suffering somewhere, if he thinks we gave up on him, if he’s scared—I need him to know I’m coming. That I never stopped.”

Tom stared at you for a long time.

And then he nodded.

Three Months Later

You dreamed of him sometimes—bloodied, chained, but still alive. Still fighting.

You knew he was alive.

And finally… a lead. A spy inside the Order leaked a location.

It was a forest cabin in Scotland, veiled with unbreakable enchantments—except Tom did break them.

The night you found him was freezing. Moonlight cut through the trees as you, Tom, and the boys stormed the clearing.

You heard the first scream before the house came into view.

Your heart shattered.

It was him.

You didn’t wait. You burst through the door like a curse let loose, wand raised, fury in your chest.

“Expelliarmus!” you roared, blasting the stunned Auror back into the wall.

Tom took out the wards. Enzo disarmed the guards. Blaise dragged open the dungeon door—

And there he was.

Mattheo Riddle. Shackled, bruised, barely able to lift his head—but his eyes snapped up the moment you stepped in.

“Y/N…?” he croaked.

You rushed to him, dropping to your knees, sobbing as you touched his face.

“It’s me,” you whispered. “It’s me, love. We came for you.”

He stared down at your belly. Bigger now. So much bigger.

“You came?” he whispered.

“I told you I would,” you said. “You promised to come home. So I brought you home myself.”

He broke.

Tears streamed down his face as you kissed him.

Tom stepped forward, voice quiet. “We’ve got to go.”

“I’m not leaving his side,” you said, already unshackling him.

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you, too weak to stand, but strong enough to hold you.

“I knew you’d find me,” he whispered.

You looked him in the eyes. “Always.”