The cottage was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the occasional soft hum of Cedric’s wand as he tried — again — to fix the nursery cradle.

It wobbled.

Again.

You bit back a laugh, watching him tilt his head at it in confusion, then frustration. The rest of the room was perfect: enchanted stars scattered on the ceiling, a rocking chair that gently swayed on its own, and tiny shelves floating at gentle angles. But that cradle — stubbornly crooked — had become his greatest enemy.

—“You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, wand between his fingers as he crouched beside it again.

—“You keep saying that,” you teased, wrapped in a soft blanket as you sat on the couch, a hand resting on your rounded belly. “But I think the cradle’s winning.”

Cedric grinned as he gave up for the night and crossed the room to join you. He always smelled faintly of fresh air and old books. The second he sat down, you curled into his side, and his hand instinctively found yours. The firelight made his features golden again — like back at Hogwarts, before everything.

—“I’ve been thinking about names,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him. His eyes were on the fire, calm but serious.

—“What about… Harry?”

It took you a moment. And then you understood.

He turned to face you, reading your silence.

—“I just… I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I feel like I owe him more than words.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “And I want our kid to grow up knowing that being brave doesn’t always mean being loud.”