Chapter Text
If you had told a younger Regulus Black that one day he would find happiness, he would have stared back in disbelief, perhaps even with a touch of scorn. The idea would have seemed absurd, laughable even. Happiness? For someone like him? He might have forced out a dry, dismissive laugh, or perhaps shot you a sharp glance before brushing it off entirely.
Happiness was never something Regulus thought he was meant for. Growing up in the Black household, joy felt like a distant concept, reserved for people who didn’t carry the weight of a family legacy on their shoulders. For Regulus, duty was a constant shadow, whispered into him as a reminder of who he was expected to be. A obedient child. His life was woven with quiet expectations, each thread tightening around him until he could hardly breathe. He had rarely allowed himself to dream of another life. What was the point of imagining something better, when he knew it would never be his? He was doomed to feel only the weight of things—resentment, guilt, anger—or worse, nothing at all. He watched others laugh and live freely at Hogwarts, but he kept his distance, feeling as though those thing like joy while playing dumb teenagers were luxuries he could not afford. Instead, he wore a mask of indifference, hidden beneath a façade of so-called maturity, when in truth it was nothing more than exhaustion disguised as control.
But now, years later, here he was standing in a home that was entirely his own and his husband by his side. And that, more than anything, was something Regulus cherished deeply.
James and him had finally moved into their new home. They had searched long and hard for the perfect place, taking their time to ensure it felt just right. After countless viewings and discussions, they had found a charming house that seemed to breathe warmth and possibilities. Sunlight streamed through the windows of the half-furnished living room, casting warm spots on the wooden floor. Boxes were stacked in every corner, and tools were scattered about from the ongoing renovations.
James was inspecting a wall where they planned to hang a large mirror when Regulus picked up a paintbrush. “No, love. Let me take care of this.” James reached out to take the brush from Regulus, his face soft with concern.
Regulus rolled his eyes, gripping the brush tighter. “I’m pregnant, not helpless, Potter. I can manage just fine.”
Yes. Regulus was expecting, something he had never allowed himself to imagine. To truly want a child. Yet with James, the thought felt natural. He wants to have a baby with him, to raise a child with him. To be a family.
James smirked, crossing his arms. “Potter, hm? Talking to yourself there, love? Because you’re officially a Potter now, you know, my dear husband.”
"I’m well aware.” Regulus muttered, but he couldn’t help the small smile that played on his lips. James leaned down and stole a kiss, disarming him a little.
James pulled back, grinning. "This house is going to be perfect, just you wait. We’ll get all the furniture you want—green for you, red for me. And did you see the garden? Isn’t this everything you imagined?”
Regulus took a deep breath, glancing around the room with a newfound sense of contentment. "It really is. I love it. Thank you, James. For all of this.”
"But it's not me, my love." James smiled, kissing him on his forehead. "It's you." Before Regulus could respond, a loud knock echoed through the house. “I’ll get it!” James jogged to the door and swung it open, grinning when he saw who was there. “Padfoot! Hi!”
“Prongs! How are you mate?” Sirius stepped in, taking a long look at the place. “And this house... Beautiful! It’s almost presentable.”
James chuckled, slapping him on the back. “Are you here to help us, then?”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Help? No, no, I came by to relax and drink a bit of firewhiskey with you if I'm being honest.”
“Oh, so you dare to came to our house just to drink with my husband, did you? When I am pregnant?” Regulus asked, crossing his arms as he looked at his older brother.
Sirius grinned, slinging an arm around Regulus’s shoulders, completely ignoring his younger brother’s scowl. “My Reggie, look at you! You’re glowing. Only four months along, and barely showing.” He nudged him playfully. “I’m so excited to have this little sprout running around.”
“Don’t ever call my baby a ‘little sprout’ again.” Regulus snapped, though a small smile tugged at his lips despite himself.
James chuckled from the side, shaking his head. “We’ll have to set some ground rules for Uncle Sirius before he starts handing out nicknames willy-nilly.”
Sirius leaned back, mock-offended, but his eyes twinkled. “Ah, rules. Love those.” Sirius teased, smiling at them. “Anyway! As much as I didn’t plan to make my beautiful body make an effort today, what do you need help with?”
James clapped his hands together, grinning. “Perfect! How about you start by helping us get that mirror up in the hallway? And after that, there’s a garden fence, waiting for you to paint it!”
Sirius groaned theatrically but picked up a brush. “Fine, fine! I’ll help with your perfect little home but only because I want the baby to know how generous Uncle Padfoot was.”
Regulus laughed, his eyes softening as he looked around the house that was slowly but surely becoming their home. “Thank you, Sirius. It means a lot that you’re here.”
“Anything for you, Reggie." said Sirius with such sincerity. "Anything."
Regulus glanced at his brother and noticed something unusual in Sirius’s expression. Sirius was watching him, but there was a softness in his eyes that Regulus wasn’t used to seeing. It was strange, almost unsettling but at the same time, comforting. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother had looked at him with such genuine tenderness. There had been years when they barely spoke, separated by more than just school and family expectations. Sirius had always seemed larger-than-life, loud and rebellious, while Regulus had clung to being quiet and secretive. They had chosen different paths, walked different roads. Yet here they were, side by side, in a house with boxes scattered around, his best friend as his husband and Sirius looked at him as if he truly saw him for the first time.
Regulus felt an instinctive warmth spread through him, and without thinking, his hand moved to his stomach. The faint swell there was new, barely noticeable, but to him, it already felt like a whole world in the making.
Sirius noticed him, his smile widening. “Look at you, Reggie. Who’d have thought of it? My little brother, having a whole human in his belly.”
Regulus chuckled, a little embarrassed but secretly delighted by this thought. “It still feels unreal. I mean, me? Having a child and being a father? This is crazy.”
Sirius softened even further, stepping closer. “You’ll be a great one. And hey, they’ll have an uncle who’ll spoil them endlessly and teach them all the ways to drive you and James mad.”
Regulus gave him a playful, warning look, but there was no real bite to it. “Don’t you dare to fill my child’s head with nonsense, Sirius. One Marauder is already more than enough to handle.” he said, gesturing to James, who was busy wrestling with a piece of furniture in the corner.
Sirius let out a soft laugh, slinging his arm around Regulus’s shoulders with an easy familiarity. “Fair enough. But I promise you this: they’ll know who their family is. And they’ll know how much you fought for this happiness, for this home. That’s something worth passing on.”
Regulus felt the weight of those words settle deep in his chest. He met Sirius’s gaze, a surge of gratitude stirring that he couldn’t quite put into words. Maybe, he thought, the years of distance, of silence, had been necessary to bring them here. To feel again the unmistakable bond of brotherhood.
“And hey,” Sirius added with a grin. “my nephew is going to be the cutest baby ever. I’m sure of it!”
“Nephew?” Regulus raised an eyebrow, his forehead knitting in confusion. “We don’t even know the gender yet.”
Sirius froze for a moment, his eyes locking onto Regulus’s with a piercing intensity that made his younger brother’s stomach knot. Why was he staring like that? Then, just as abruptly, Sirius’s tense expression shattered into a loud, carefree laugh that filled the room. Regulus blinked, utterly baffled, his confusion only deepening.
“Ha! You’re right! Let’s just say I have confidence in my instincts!” Sirius said, leaving Regulus blinking at him in stunned silence, wondering if his brother had completely lost it.
“Pad!" James called from across the room. “Are you coming or not?”
“Yes! But for the love of Merlin, James, let’s use our wands! I refuse to do all of this with my beautiful hands!” Sirius gave Regulus a quick, uncharacteristically gentle squeeze before striding toward James, leaving Regulus standing there, still a little bit confused.
With a blink, it seemed as if the house was transformed, and ready.
Everything was just so easy when you are a wizard.
Every room had come together perfectly, each detail a blend of both their personalities. But Regulus’s favorite room, by far, was their child’s nursery. The theme was unmistakably cosmic. Stars, moons, and planets were scattered across the walls in delicate patterns. Tiny, plush toys in the shapes of constellations lined the shelves, and a cozy mobile with floating stars hung above the crib. Near the window sat a small, endearing plush stag, Remus’ gift for the baby. He brought it over with a sheepish smile, claiming every child should have a loyal animal companion, just like James had his Animagus form.
Everything was ready, Regulus thought, gazing around the room with a sense of peace and satisfaction. The house, the nursery and, he supposed, he himself. Almost ready to meet this little one.
When he's looking down, he can’t see his feets right now—only the ever-growing curve of his belly. Pregnancy had gone by much faster than he expected. Time seemed to slip by as he imagined the life he’d soon share with their child. Now, he couldn’t wait to meet them.
Just as he was lost in thought, a sharp andunfamiliar pain surged through him. He gripped the door frame, eyes widening as he realised what was happening. “James!” he called, his voice echoing down the hall.
James was at his side in an instant, running towards him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Regulus took a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on James with intensity. “James, I think my water just broke.” His voice was steady, but there was a glint of both fear and excitement in his eyes. “Oh Merlin, I think the baby’s really coming now!”
James’s face twisted with panic, the usual composure he clung to unraveling as he looked at his husband, disbelief clear on his face. “What? Aren’t we supposed to have hours? Hell, months? Time to, you know get to the hospital and calmly wait until the baby is here?” He swallowed, as if trying to make sense of the situation. “Why is it so fast!?”
Regulus shot him a sharp look, eyes narrowed through the pain. “James, I’m having our baby. Right now.”
James nodded, but his eyes were wide. “Yes. Yes, right now. But it’s really fast—”
“Aaah!” Regulus cried out, clutching his belly as another wave of pain hit him.
The color drained from James’s face as he truly processed what was happening. “Oh. Oh Merlin! St. Mungo’s! We need to get you there now!” He scrambled to grab anything useful, but Regulus tightened his grip on James’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“It’s too late for that!” Regulus panted, wincing through another contraction. “We’re not going anywhere. The baby’s coming now!”
James’s eyes darted around the room, as though looking for an answer he couldn’t find. “What if we use the floo network? Maybe we can...”
“The floo network is not connected to St. Mungo's, James!” Regulus yelled, voice strained as the contractions surged stronger.
James blinked, glancing back at him helplessly. Then, drawing a breath as he seemed to gather his resolve, he gave a shaky nod. “Alright. Okay, okay. I, I can handle this.” He forced a small laugh that did nothing to hide his nerves as he fumbled for his wand. “I’ll call for help! Just hold on, Reg, hold on!”
Within minutes, their home was bustling with friends and a sense of urgency. Lily and Pandora arrived first. The two women were moving towards Regulus like they had planned for this, each gesture full of care and purpose. Lily knelt by Regulus’s side, her presence grounding as she took his hand gently, meeting his eyes with a soft reassurance.
“You’re doing wonderfully, Regulus. Just keep breathing with me, alright? Each breath.” she murmured, guiding him through the tension.
Pandora, at his other side, squeezed his shoulder, her voice a steadying force. “You’re not alone. We’re all here with you. Focus on your breathing, you're going to be alright.”
Meanwhile, in the hallway, James paced back and forth, the floor creaking under his hurried steps. His hands were tangled in his hair, fingers gripping at the strands as if trying to physically wring the worry out of himself. He muttered nonstop, words tumbling out in a chaotic mix of fear and anticipation.
“This is crazy. What if something goes wrong? The baby... they shouldn’t even be coming this fast! Am I even ready for this? What if—” His voice cracked on the last word, and he ran a hand over his face, pressing it into his palm as if to steady himself.
Around him, Sirius, Remus and Barty were clustered close, exchanging anxious glances, trying to calm him. Remus placed a firm, grounding hand on James’s shoulder. “Hey, breathe, mate. You’re going to be an incredible father. And right now, Regulus will need you focused, not panicking.”
James laughed nervously, but the worry hadn’t entirely left his face. “I should be with him.” he whispered, glancing at the door with a look of desperation. “What if he needs me now?”
Barty stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder in a rare display of affection. “He’s in good hands. Lily and Dora know what they’re doing. And Regulus he’s one of the strongest people we know. Everything is going to be just fine.”
James exhaled sharply, trying to steady his breathing. “Where are the others?” Only Pandora, Lily, and the three men had arrived so far.
Sirius met James’s eyes. “They’ll get here soon; I suppose.” he said, shrugging slightly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his own worry.
"Okay..." James ran a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “I just I can’t believe this is happening so fast.”
Sirius stepped closer, placing a firm hand on James’s shoulder. “Hey, breathe. One thing at a time.”
James nodded, trying to absorb the words, though the panic still churned in his chest like a storm waiting to break.
Moments later, James was finally called back into the room. His legs moved almost of their own accord, carrying him to Regulus’s side in a rush of fear and anticipation. Dropping to one knee, he took Regulus’s hand in both of his, squeezing tightly as if the pressure could anchor them both. Regulus lifted his head, every line of his face carved with exhaustion and unwavering determination. Sweat dampened his hair, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow gasps, and yet a faint, pained smile tugged at his lips as he met James’s eyes.
“You’re here...” he murmured, voice strained but filled with relief, almost a whisper over the rhythm of his labor.
“Always, darling. Always.” James replied, brushing damp hair from Regulus’s forehead, his own voice thick with emotion. He leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, a silent vow that he would never leave him.
With Lily and Pandora guiding every movement, Regulus drew on the last reserves of his strength. His muscles burned, his breath caught in sharp gasps, and yet his grip on James’s hand never faltered. And then it came: a tiny, piercing cry, raw and wailing, slicing through the room like a sudden beam of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Life itself filled the space, shattering the tension that had coiled like a spring in their chests.
Regulus let his head fall back against the pillow, finally exhaling a shuddering breath, his body melting into relief and exhaustion. James pressed a trembling kiss to his knuckles, laughter and tears mingling as he realised he had been holding his breath for hours.
Pandora gently wrapped their newborn, turning to them with a soft smile. “It’s a boy." she whispered, her voice full of wonder. “A beautiful, healthy boy.”
She handed him to Regulus. He stared down at their child, his heart swelling as he took in every detail. The small fingers, the pink cheeks, the fine wisps of his hair. Tears slipped quietly down his cheeks as he held his son for the first time, feeling a love deeper than anything he’d ever known. James wrapped his arm around Regulus’s shoulders, his own eyes shining with tears as he looked at the tiny miracle in Regulus’s arms. Their eyes met in a moment of silent joy and awe, as if the whole world had disappeared, leaving just the three of them.
“Harry. My Harry.” Regulus whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home, my little prince.”
James leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Regulus’s forehead, a wide, tearful grin breaking across his face. “Regulus, you were perfect. Our family is finally complete. You did it.”
And as they looked down at their newborn son, both of them knew, in that room filled with warmth and laughter and new life, that happiness was finally within reach.
The arrival of Harry had drawn a small crowd of loved ones into their home. Regulus, despite the exhaustion settling deep in his bones, couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. He sat propped up in bed, cradling Harry against his chest, unable to tear his eyes away from his newborn. How could he possibly sleep when he held something so miraculous, so fragile, was in his life?
Harry Fleamont Potter was, without a doubt, the most beautiful baby in the world.
Remus leaned in closer, eyes soft with awe as he took in the tiny, swaddled bundle. “He’s barely a few hours old,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, “and you can already see he’s got Prongs’ face. Look at him… he’s a little Potter.”
Pandora hovered nearby, smiles soft and proud, her hands gently resting on Regulus’s arm. “He’s so cute.” she whispered, eyes glistening as she leaned closer to peer at the baby.
Lily nodded, her own smile wide, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You two really outdid yourselves.” she said softly.
Barty chuckled, his grin spreading wide as he reached out, careful not to disturb the baby. “We’re in trouble if he’s got both of your personality.” he teased, casting a sly glance at James and Regulus.
"That's right!" James laughed at Barty's comment. A fond protectiveness had softened his expression as he looked at Regulus and Harry. “Well, I think they both need some quiet time now.” he said, his voice low but warm.
One by one, their friends murmured their congratulations and headed to the living room, the sounds of laughter and quiet chatter trailing behind them as they left. The room grew silent, and James settled beside Regulus, his arm slipping around his shoulders as he looked down at Harry, who was asleep.
“Tired, my love?” James asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his husband's temple.
“Not really.” Regulus murmured. “Well, I am. But I feel like if I close my eyes, all of this might just vanish.” He gave a soft sad smile while his gaze never leaving Harry’s face, his fingers lightly tracing along the baby’s tiny hand. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “He’s so delicate. And so, so perfect.” There was wonder in his tone, as if he were discovering what's pure love was again. “I can’t believe we made this. He’s ours, James. Our son.”
James’s heart ached with a happiness that felt too big to contain. He brushed a gentle thumb along Regulus’s cheek, his eyes soft with affection. “You don’t have to keep yourself awake, sweetheart. Rest. You’ve done more than enough. I’ll be here. I’ll take care of Harry. I’ll make sure he’s safe.” His words were a promise, soft and unwavering, like an oath he’d silently made the moment Harry entered the world.
"Okay." Regulus nodded, but his gaze lingered on Harry, his fingers lightly tracing the wisps of dark hair on his head, the delicate arch of his eyebrows, the tiny, perfect nose. As he drifted closer to sleep, he felt James’s arms wrap around him and their child, holding them both close, his warmth seeping into Regulus’s weary bones.
And in that quiet, sacred moment, Regulus allowed himself to close his eyes, secure in the knowledge that he had everything he’d ever wanted—right there, in his arms.
It was a genuine surprise to see Narcissa pay them a visit. Out of all his family, she was the one person in the family who had understood him, even during the worst times. Her quiet presence brought a calmness in his life as a child and a teen. So, it was a comfort to have her here now, especially with her gentle advice on caring for Harry. She carefully explained a few tips about feeding newborns, showing Regulus different techniques for calming Harry, the sorts of foods he’d eventually need and some clothes of her son Draco, was sleeping near her. He was born around a month before Harry.
“Thank you, Narcissa.” he said sincerely. “It’s very kind of you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” she replied warmly, adjusting Draco’s blanket. Narcissa seemed more radiant than Regulus had seen her in years. “I know how demanding a newborn can be in the beginning, and no need to buy too much clothes with how fast they grow up.”
Regulus’s eyes softened. Then he looked at her, and a hint of regret touched his expression. “I’m sorry, you know.” he murmured. “For not being there for you when Draco was born.”
She brushed off his apology with a kind smile. “It’s all right. It wasn’t the best of times, was it?”
Regulus tried to grasp the memory, clawing through the fog of his mind for that early June, but it slipped through his fingers like smoke. What had he been doing exactly during that month? The images refused to settle, fractured and fleeting, leaving only a hollow ache where clarity should have been.
“Yes... I suppose.” he muttered, his voice low, almost wary of the silence around him. “I was in my eighth month. Barely had the strength to leave the house.”
Even as he spoke, the memory felt distorted, unreal, like a scene he had witnessed from behind a pane of frosted glass. The walls of his mind pressed in, the recollection of pain and exhaustion mingling with something darker—an undercurrent of fear he hadn’t been able to name at the time. Every step, every shallow breath, had been a struggle.
He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts when Harry babbled softly in his arms. The small sound was almost jarring in the heavy air, a fragile life insistently present amid the unspoken tension. Regulus smiled down at his son, but his eyes kept flicking to Narcissa, whose eyes remained fixed on him.
“Yes, it would have been difficult for you.” she murmured, her voice low, almost a hiss. For a heartbeat, her eyes were distant, like she was remembering something. The silence that followed was suffocating, punctuated only by Harry’s soft coos. But Regulus could feel it, the withheld words hanging between them.
Finally, unable to bear it, he spoke. “Where is your husband? Is he alright?”
Her eyes locked onto his, cold and unblinking. “I don't know." she answered. "You didn’t allow him in.”
Regulus blinked, taken aback by the bluntness, but then a small, unapologetic smile crept onto his lips. “Right. I suppose not.” Lucius had always unsettled him, the way cruelty seemed to cling to him like a shadow, and he’d never understood what someone as sincere as Narcissa saw in him. It made sense, then, that he would never invite him into his home.
There was a pause, thick and heavy, and Narcissa’s posture shifted, softening almost imperceptibly. Something vulnerable flickered in her eyes, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Nor did you allow Bellatrix.” She hesitated, as though weighing some truth she had long kept buried. “Regulus, I’m grateful to be here, truly. But...” She inhaled sharply, the air tense around her words. “Have you considered letting Bellatrix back in? With us?”
Regulus froze, his grip tightening subtly on the arm of his chair. His mind raced. What is she even suggesting? “Cissa, why would I ever let Bellatrix into my home? With all her pureblood nonsense? No thank you.” he said with a calm tone.
“Right. You’re right.” Narcissa said, though her tone had shifted, layered now with something deliberate, almost coaxing. Each word was slow, deliberate, like she was testing him. “But perhaps you could make her see things differently? Perhaps she could change?”
Regulus blinked, confusion spiraling into quiet suspicion. “Change? Bellatrix?” he repeated. “What exactly are you on about?”
She glanced away, her eyes flicking to the floor for a fraction of a second, calculating. “Yes, change.” she whispered again, the word almost pleading, yet carrying an edge that made Regulus’s skin prickle. “With your help. Maybe she could become someone different here.”
He stared at her, a shiver of unease running through him. "Help her, become someone difference here?” he echoed, not quite understanding.
“Perhaps.” she murmured, her voice low. “You can do it, right?”
For a long moment, she stared at him, her eyes unreadable. There was something that made Regulus’s stomach tighten, a weight that pressed against him. He opened his mouth to ask something — anything — but the words caught in his throat.
The sudden creak of the door broke the tension. James stepped in, weary and disheveled, but relief softened the lines of his face. The sight of him was like a tether back to normalcy, and Regulus felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen. Narcissa rose gracefully, her movements quiet. “I should go.” she said softly, her eyes lingering on Regulus for a beat too long. “But do consider it, my dear cousin. It would make me happy. Really.”
Narcissa approached the door, Draco cradled carefully in her arms. She paused a moment, turning back to him for one final look. “Stay on your guard tonight.” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, carrying an unspoken weight.
There was something almost haunting in that last glance, a shadow in her eyes that Regulus couldn’t decipher. She adjusted Draco’s blanket with meticulous care, then slipped out, the soft click of the door echoing through the quiet room. Regulus stood frozen, a strange weight settling in his chest. Then, he moved to follow her, descending the stairs quickly but he was stopped abruptly by James stepping into the hallway, appearing almost out of nowhere at the corner.
“Hi love. I just saw Narcissa.” James said with his usual warm smile. “Is everything alright?”
Regulus turned from James to the door, then back again before letting out a small, resigned sigh and nodding gently. “Yes. She came by to drop off some clothes for Harry. Ones that used to belong to Draco.”
James’s eyes softened. “That was really thoughtful of her. We should invite her over more often. She’s not like the rest of your family.”
Regulus nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yes. I’ve always had a soft spot for Narcissa. Even as children, she was different always seemed to understand me when no one else could. She... never judged any of my decisions once.”
James gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you have her on your side, then. Is Harry upstairs?”
Regulus returned the squeeze with a small affectionate smile. “Yes. Asleep in his crib. He’s been especially peaceful, though he was babbling non-stop earlier.”
James grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief and relief. “Does this mean we have an evening to ourselves for once?”
Regulus let a small, knowing smirk play across his lips. “I suppose we do.”
“So how about a little dinner, just the two of us? You, me... trying to recreate one of my mother’s famous recipes.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that a challenge, Potter?”
“A great one.” James said, tilting his head with a mischievous grin as he gestured toward the neatly arranged ingredients in the kitchen. “It’s her legendary aloo gobi. Mum made it every Saturday, and I swear, it’s practically magic itself.”
Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Fine. But if this ends in disaster, don’t expect me to clean up the mess.”
James leaned a little closer, eyes sparkling. “Deal."
They moved around the kitchen in an easy, familiar rhythm, a silent choreography shaped by trust and teasing. James chopped onions with quick, precise strokes, the sharp knife hitting the board in a satisfying rhythm. Regulus, crouched slightly over the counter, peeled potatoes, his fingers deft despite the occasional slip, and flicked a playful nudge at James whenever a slice fell to the floor.
“Alright,” James said, glancing up, “you’re on onions duty now. I’ll handle the potatoes.”
Regulus shot him a sharp look, one brow arched. “Excuse me? These potatoes are flawless, thank you very much.”
James threw his hands up in mock surrender, laughing, the sound warm and bright in the small kitchen. “Fine, fine! I’ll admit it—excellent potato work. Truly artful. But let me handle it before you kill someone.”
They moved fluidly between stove and counter, occasionally brushing against each other as they reached for the same spice jar or stirred the same pan. The air thickened with the scent of simmering meat, fresh herbs, and sizzling butter. Regulus inhaled, letting the warmth of the kitchen and the proximity of James sink into him. “You’re really good at this.”
James looked up, eyes softening, and shrugged with a grin. “Well, I had a good teacher. Mum would be overjoyed to see me cooking this with you, though she’d probably scold me because I'm not following the recipe step by step.”
Regulus smiled. “We should go visit her soon. I think she’d love to see Harry.”
“Yes,” James replied softly, a trace of longing in his voice. “I miss her and she hasn’t met Harry yet. It’s strange... I’m sure I sent her a letter.”
“Maybe she’s just busy.” Regulus suggested, turning his attention back to the meal simmering on the stove. “Or perhaps she thinks you’re managing just fine without her guidance?”
James let out a small, nervous chuckle, but the worry in his eyes lingered. “Yeah. I, I don’t know. She’s always loved being involved with everything, especially family. I know she’d be excited to hold Harry.” He paused, gaze drifting toward the window, thoughtful, almost distant, as if trying to picture her absence on the quiet, dimming street outside. “I just... I hope she’s alright.”
Regulus stepped closer, brushing a hand over James’s arm. “I'm sure she’s fine, darling. You’re worrying for nothing. She’ll come to see us very soon, I promise.”
James let out a slow breath, but his eyes stayed fixed outside, tracing shadows in the fading light. “Yeah... you’re probably right. I think I just want to see her. It’s just crazy, how things used to be, and how much has changed since then.”
“And I get it. It can feel overwhelming.” Regulus said softly. “But we’re in this together, right?”
James finally turned to him, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “Together.” he echoed. “Once we’re done, do you think Harry will give us a quiet night?” James asked with a smirk.
Regulus chuckled. “Well, maybe. Though it’s your son, so I wouldn’t bet on it.”
They had managed to finish the meal, which, to their surprise, turned out rather presentable. Between bites, conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter spilling across the table as they reminisced about Hogwarts adventures, mischievous pranks, and the quiet, tender moments from their younger years.
“You know,” James said, spooning more of the meal onto his plate, “I think you secretly enjoyed me sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower every night to find you.”
Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small, reluctant smile. “Secretly enjoyed? That’s one way to put it. I’d call it being terribly annoyed.”
James’s grin widened, and he leaned across the table, lightly nudging Regulus with the back of his hand. “Personally, I wasn’t annoyed. Not even a little, especially seeing you like that, your face in the moonlight. It was impossible for me to ignore your beauty.”
Regulus felt heat rise in his chest at the teasing, a warmth that had nothing to do with the spices in the meal. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter.” he said, his voice calm but soft, though the small curve of his lips betrayed a hint of amusement.
James chuckled, eyes sparkling, and rested his hand briefly over Regulus’s. “I love you, Regulus.” James murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent, carrying the weight of everything they’d been through.
Regulus’s throat tightened, a smile tugging at his lips. “I love you too, Jamie.” He leaned forward, their foreheads nearly touching as they shared a kiss, slow and tender.
Regulus felt a rare, perfect peace settle over him. Then James’s eyes flicked past him, toward the window. At first, Regulus thought he was just stretching, but James froze, every muscle taut, his smile vanishing instantly. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by a sharp, unyielding focus.
“James? Is everything alright?” Regulus asked, a twinge of unease creeping into his chest.
James didn’t answer. He shoved back from the table so abruptly that the chair screeched against the floor, and crossed the room toward the living room's window with a speed that made Regulus’s stomach knot.
Regulus’s heart, breath catching in his throat. “James...?” Regulus said again, his voice barely audible, as dread coiled in his stomach.
James’s jaw tightened. “Stay here. Don’t move.” James reached for the curtain, his fingers trembling slightly. He pulled it aside, eyes narrowing. “What is that...?” he murmured, his tone low and tense.
Regulus’s pulse quickened. He joined James in the living room, not listening to him. Then, he froze. Beyond the glass, a lone figure stood at the edge of the property, half-swallowed by the mist. The shape was barely visible at first. It was a shadow among shadows but it was moving. Each step closer revealed more of it. A dark silhouette, silent and unyielding, as if it knew exactly where it was going. A chill crawled down Regulus’s spine.
“Regulus, we need to—” James’s voice was firm now. His hands moved frantically, patting down his pockets, then the table, then the couch. “Where’s my wand?” he muttered, his tone breaking, the edge of panic slicing through his words. “Where did I leave it?”
Regulus didn’t answer, his eyes were locked on the figure and his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and terror. Outside, the figure moved closer, its outline no longer just a shadow. Moonlight cut through the mist, illuminating a face that froze Regulus to the core: pale, snake-like features stretched over deathly thin skin, slits where a nose should have been, and those eyes. Cold, gleaming, inhuman. Regulus didn’t move. He couldn’t. His body was locked, every muscle coiled tight as the monster advanced. The faint reflection of the window trembled in front of him, distorting the nightmare approaching through the mist. Behind him, James’s voice broke the silence, frantic, disjointed—drawers slamming, wood scraping, panic rising but Regulus barely heard him. The figure outside was close now, so close he could see the faint curl of its lips, the glint of anger and hatred in those dead eyes. The air in the room felt heavier, colder, as Regulus glanced toward the staircase.
His baby was still sleeping upstairs.
Regulus stopped breathing.
“No.” The word left his lips like a verdict as he raised his right hand, every muscle taut, eyes fixed on the intruder.
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ v Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́vХ̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ ▓▓▓▓▓▓ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́▓▓▓▓▓▓Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́▓▓▓▓▓▓Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́ Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́▓▓▓▓▓▓Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́Х̶̿̀͊̍̈́͑̓̈́̃̆́
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
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“Hi love. I just saw Narcissa.” James said with his usual warm smile. “Is everything alright?”
Regulus smiled, his gaze locking onto James. “Yes. She came by to drop off some clothes for Harry. Ones that used to belong to Draco.”
James’s eyes softened. “That was really thoughtful of her. We should invite her over more often. But anyway... guess who I brought with me?” His voice was bright with excitement.
Regulus turned, and a smile spread across his face as he saw who it was. “Euphemia! Oh Merlin, it’s so good to see you!”
James’s mother beamed, her eyes sparkling with genuine delight as she stepped forward and wrapped Regulus in a warm, enveloping embrace. “Oh, Regulus, I’m so glad to see you! And congratulations on Harry! I simply couldn’t wait any longer to meet him.”
Her voice was soft but vibrant, carrying a quiet joy that filled the room. Regulus felt the warmth of her hug seep into him, a comforting reminder of family and the long-awaited happiness of shared moments. He hugged her back tightly. “Thank you. It’s wonderful to see you here. Was the trip too long?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.
“Nothing is too long when it comes to meeting my grandson!” Euphemia replied, her smile wide and radiant, lighting up her entire face.
“Harry’s upstairs. He’d love to meet you.” Regulus said, leading the way as Euphemia and James followed, their footsteps soft against the floorboards. As they reached the top of the stairs, Euphemia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him,” she murmured.
Regulus opened the nursery door, and soft light from the lamp spilled across the room, bathing everything in a gentle, golden glow. Harry lay peacefully in his crib, a tiny, perfect figure swaddled snugly in blankets, his chest rising and falling in calm rhythm.
“Oh, look at him.” Euphemia whispered, stepping closer, her hands reaching out almost instinctively. Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with love. “He’s absolutely perfect.”
James stood beside her, pride radiating from him as he watched his mother lean over the crib. “Isn’t he?” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “Regulus and I are so lucky.”
Regulus smiled at James, then turned his attention back to Euphemia. “Would you like to hold him?”
“Can I?” Euphemia asked, her eyes wide with delight.
Regulus nodded. “Of course!” He carefully lifting Harry from the crib and cradling him in his arms for a moment before passing him to Euphemia.
Euphemia took the baby gently, her hands trembling with joy as she held him close. “Oh, Harry, my sweet little grandson,” she whispered, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes. “You’re going to bring so much joy to the world.”
Regulus watched the tender scene unfold, a sense of warmth enveloping him. James stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Regulus’s shoulders, sharing the joy of the moment together.
“Look at her.” James said softly, nodding toward Euphemia, who was gazing down at Harry with a mixture of awe and affection. “She’s going to be a fantastic grandmother.”
Regulus chuckled lightly, his heart swelling with softness. “I think she already is.”
Euphemia looked up, her face beaming. “Thank you both for allowing me to be a part of this. It means the world to me.”
"It's normal." Regulus replied, his voice sincere. “You’re family.”
They spent the next few moments lost in conversation, Euphemia was still holding Harry while sharing stories about James as a child and his mischievous antics. Regulus listened intently, enjoying the warmth that filled the room, the laughter mingling with the soft sleepy coos of Harry. But as Euphemia continued to talk, Regulus couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of unease that had been nagging at him since their earlier conversation. He stole a glance out the window of his son's room.
There is no more silhouette.
“Do you want to help me with dinner?” James asked his mother, pulling Regulus’s attention away from the window. “I wanted to try one of your recipes earlier and I could definitely use some guidance.”
Euphemia chuckled, glancing back at Harry with a fond smile before nodding. “I’d love to! I’ll show you a few tricks.” She then gently laid Harry into the crib, adjusting his blankets. “There we go, little one.” she whispered, her voice full of tenderness. “All cozy and safe.” Regulus watched, a small, tender smile tugging at his lips.
As they headed back downstairs, Regulus lingered a moment longer by the nursery door. Euphemia’s soft laughter mingled with James’, carrying through the quiet house. He cast one last glance at Harry, peacefully swaddled in his crib, chest rising and falling in calm rhythm. A small, protective ache settled in Regulus' chest. Then, with a steadying breath, he stepped away from the door and descended the stairs, joining James and Euphemia in the kitchen, where warmth and light awaited.
He clung to the hope that this peace would last, vowing to do everything in his power to protect it.