The wizarding war had started about three months ago—or at least that’s what you thought. You’d been trying your best to keep track of the days since you were hidden away in this cabin, tucked deep in the woods, cloaked by powerful protective enchantments.

No one knew you were here. No one… except Theo.

This had been his idea from the start.

He never wanted to become a Death Eater. But thanks to his father, he had no choice. When he realized what was coming, his first thought was of you—how the Dark Lord could use you against him. That fear alone was enough for him to take drastic action. He begged you to hide. To disappear. And though you’d protested—fought him on it, cried even—you eventually gave in.

Leaving without a trace had been the hardest part. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going. Just a single note to your parents: “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” That was all you could risk saying.

Theo had promised he’d come back for you. When it was over.

Now, you sat alone in the cabin, three and a half months into solitude. The only connection you had to the outside world was the old enchanted radio in the corner—tuned to a secret frequency. It didn’t broadcast daily, for the safety of its casters, but when it did, it was a lifeline. News of battles, missing people… names of the dead.

You clung to it like oxygen.

It was evening now. The sun had begun to dip behind the trees, casting a warm, orange hue through the windows. You sat by one of them, dressed in a simple fitted T-shirt and soft pants, staring out into the woods. Your hand instinctively drifted down, resting on the small bump of your belly.

Three months pregnant.

You’d found out a few weeks after arriving. A solo trip—under heavy disguise—to a wizarding apothecary in a nearby village had confirmed it. You remembered standing in the back room, holding the result in shaking hands, tears streaming down your face. Happy tears. Scared ones too.

Theo didn’t even know. Not yet.

You didn’t know if you’d be raising this child alone. That thought haunted you daily. Was he safe? Was he hurt? Was he… even still alive?

You hadn’t let yourself cry about it today. Not yet.

Just as you were about to rise from your seat, a noise stopped you cold—the sound of footsteps on the wooden steps of the porch.

You froze.

Your heart started pounding as you scrambled upright, reaching for your wand. It was probably nothing. It had to be nothing. But then the door creaked open—and a cloaked figure stepped inside.

You aimed your wand, breath caught in your throat, but then—he pulled the hood back.

And you suddenly couldn’t breathe.

It was Theo.

“Sono un tesoro,” he murmured in Italian, a soft smile breaking across his face, his eyes drinking you in.

You didn’t even speak. You couldn’t. Your body moved before your mind could catch up—racing across the room, launching yourself into his arms. He caught you instantly, holding you close, so tightly it almost hurt.

Three months apart. So many fears. So many sleepless nights.

And now he was here.