Chapter Text
The world had shrunk to the size of a single room, painted in the soft, sterile hues of St. Mungo’s maternity ward. For Regulus Black, the universe had contracted further still, down to the tiny, warm weight nestled in the crook of his arm. Exhaustion was a leaden blanket over his bones, but it was a sweet, earned exhaustion, the kind that came after a seismic and wonderful battle.
James Potter, his husband, had not left his side for twelve hours. His glasses were slightly askew, his usually immaculate hair a riot of black curls from where he’d repeatedly run his hands through it. He was currently draped over the side of Regulus’s bed, one hand resting on Regulus’s knee under the blanket, the other gently stroking the impossibly small fingers of their son.
“Look at him, Reggie,” James whispered, his voice thick with awe. “Just look.”
Regulus didn’t need to be told. His entire being was focused on the baby. Harry. Their son. He was so tiny, swaddled in a cream-colored blanket, a thatch of jet-black hair already defying gravity in perfect, soft curls—James’s curls.
“He has your hair,” Regulus murmured, his own voice hoarse from efforts past.
James beamed, a sunburst of pride in the dim room. “He does, doesn’t he? Poor thing. But look at his skin.” James’s finger, calloused from Quidditch, traced a feather-light path down the baby’s cheek. It was a beautiful, warm olive tone, a perfect blend of James’s sun-kissed gold and Regulus’s own paler, cooler complexion. “He’s a perfect mix. Just like we wanted.”
But it was the eyes that held Regulus captive. Harry was sleeping, but earlier, in a brief moment of wakeful blurriness, they had seen them. They were James’s exact shade of warm hazel, but the shape—the shape was all Regulus. They were the same almond shape, the same delicate set, the same dark lashes that brushed his cheeks. It was like looking at James through a Black family lens. It was everything.
“He’s everything,” Regulus echoed his own thought, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Harry’s forehead, breathing in the scent of newness and pure love. “Our little star.”
James’s eyes glistened behind his glasses. “Our little star,” he agreed, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying for his usual bravado and failing spectacularly. “He’s going to be a brilliant Seeker. Look at that grip. Already trying to hold a Snitch.”
“He’s holding your finger, you ridiculous man,” Regulus said, but he was smiling, a real, unguarded smile that still felt new and wonderful on his face.
The quiet moment was broken by a hushed, dramatic commotion from the corridor. “…are you sure this is the right one, Moony? What if we barge in on some poor witch named Agnes? Padfoot, will you stop pacing, you’re wearing a trench in the linoleum.”
“I can’t help it! What if he’s… what if Reggie is… you know?”
“I’m certain he’s fine, Padfoot. James’s Patronus said everyone was healthy and perfect.”
The door cracked open and Sirius Black’s head appeared, his long dark hair tied back, his grey eyes wide with a mixture of terror and excitement. Remus Lupin stood behind him, looking fondly exasperated.
“Are we… are we allowed?” Sirius whispered, as if entering a sacred tomb.
“Get in here, you idiot,” Regulus said, his tone dry but his eyes soft. The reconciliation with his brother had been slow, painful, and the best thing either of them had ever done.
Sirius didn’t need to be told twice. He practically flew into the room, but his trajectory wasn’t towards the baby. He went straight to Regulus’s bedside, ignoring James completely, and cupped his little brother’s face.
“Are you alright?” Sirius asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious, his thumbs stroking Regulus’s cheeks. “Reggie? Merlin, you look exhausted. Was it awful? Do you need anything? Water? Pumpkin juice? I could steal a Healer’s wand for you if you need.”
Remus entered more calmly, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder. “Congratulations, Prongs,” he said softly, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “How’s he doing?” He nodded towards Regulus.
James grinned up at his friend. “He was incredible, Moony. Absolutely incredible. And look.” He finally moved aside, giving the new arrivals a clear view.
Sirius, finally assured of his brother’s well-being, allowed his gaze to drop to the bundle in Regulus’s arms. All the air left his lungs in a soft whoosh. His bravado, his nervous energy, everything evaporated.
“Oh,” he breathed. It was a tiny, broken sound. “Oh, Reggie.”
“His name is Harry,” James said proudly.
Sirius just stared, his own grey eyes—so like Regulus’s—shining. “He’s so… small.”
“That’s generally how they start, Padfoot,” Remus said gently, coming to stand beside his boyfriend. He looked down at Harry and a wave of pure tenderness crossed his scarred face. “Oh, James. He’s beautiful.”
“Do you… do you want to hold him?” Regulus asked softly.
Sirius’s head snapped up, panic instantly replacing the awe. “What? Me? No. I can’t. I’ll break him. Look at him! He’s made of glass and… and little biscuits.”
James laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the room. “He’s sturdier than he looks. Here.” James stood up, his movements sure and confident. He carefully leaned over Regulus, his chest a warm wall against Regulus’s side, and slid his hands under the baby. He lifted Harry with an innate, practiced ease that made Regulus’s heart ache with love.
“Support his head, that’s the main thing,” James murmured, not to Sirius, but to Regulus, a quiet moment of solidarity between them. He then turned to a frozen Sirius. “Alright, you great lump. Sit in that chair.”
Sirius moved like a puppet, sitting stiffly in the armchair James had vacated. James carefully transferred the tiny swaddled bundle into Sirius’s waiting, awkward arms.
“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius whispered, staring down at his nephew with utter terror and devotion. His arms were rigid. “He’s… he’s looking at me.”
“He’s asleep, Padfoot,” Remus said, kneeling beside the chair to get a better look, his smile unbearably fond.
“He’s judging me,” Sirius insisted, but his hold was slowly softening, his arms curving more naturally around the baby. One finger, adorned with a silver ring, hesitantly reached out to brush the dark curls. “He has your hair, Prongs.” His voice was full of wonder. He looked up at Regulus. “But he has your eyes, Reggie. The shape. Merlin, he’s perfect. Hello, Harry. I’m your Uncle Padfoot. I’m going to teach you all the good mischief and protect you from all the bad. And buy you a motorbike.”
“Over my dead body,” Regulus and James said in unison.
Remus chuckled, resting his head against Sirius’s knee as he gazed at the baby. “He’s perfect, you two. Truly.” He looked up at Regulus. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Regulus admitted. “Sore. Happy.” His eyes stayed on his brother holding his son, a sight he would have thought impossible just a few years ago. A peaceful silence fell over them, filled only with Harry’s soft, sleeping breaths.
Watching Sirius, now completely entranced, gently rock the baby and whisper nonsense promises about breaking Hogwarts rules, Regulus felt a wave of warmth and affection for his brother and his… whatever Remus was. Partner. Boyfriend. The other half of his soul. It gave him an idea.
A slow, tired smirk touched his lips. “You know,” Regulus began, his voice light. “You look rather natural like that, Sirius. Perhaps it’s practice for one day. When you and Remus have one of your own.”
The effect was instantaneous.
Sirius’s head shot up, his face flooding with a deep crimson. He spluttered, utterly incoherent, his grip on Harry tightening protectively for a second before he remembered to be gentle. “I—we—what—a baby?!”
Remus, still kneeling, had buried his face in the fabric of Sirius’s jeans, but the tips of his ears were blazing red. His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.
James looked between his blushing best friends and his smirking husband and threw his head back with a loud, joyful laugh. “Merlin, Reggie! Look what you’ve done! You’ve broken them!”
“I—we’re not—that’s a much bigger pet than a dog, Moony!” Sirius finally managed to get out, looking desperately at Remus for support.
Remus lifted his head, his face composed but his cheeks still flushed. “I think we’ve quite enough on our hands managing one overgrown, animagus-prone child, thank you very much, Regulus,” he said drily, patting Sirius’s leg.
Sirius looked genuinely torn between offense and agreement. “Hey!”
The tension broke, and they all laughed, the sound muffled so as not to wake the baby. The image, however, was now planted, and Regulus could see the fleeting, soft look that passed between Sirius and Remus, a look of shared, impossible fantasy.
After a while, when Harry began to stir and make small, hungry noises, James expertly retrieved his son and passed him back to Regulus. The Healers came in to check on them and discuss discharge. The paperwork seemed to take forever, but finally, they were cleared to go.
James bundled Regulus up in the softest robes he owned, and then wrapped Harry in so many blankets he was practically a sphere with a tuft of black hair on top. Sirius and Remus flanked them like proud, slightly nervous royal guards all the way out of St. Mungo’s.
They Apparated back to the cozy cottage in Godric’s Hollow. Sirius immediately began fussing, building up the fire in the living room despite it being a mild evening, while Remus went to the kitchen to put on the kettle.
“Right, you need to be in bed,” James said to Regulus, his voice leaving no room for argument. He helped him up the stairs to their bedroom, which was filled with the late afternoon sun, and tucked him into the familiar sheets with a tenderness that made Regulus’s throat tight.
A moment later, James brought Harry in, now changed and fed, and placed him carefully in Regulus’s waiting arms. He fussed around the room for a minute, adjusting the light, making sure a glass of water was within reach, before finally settling on the edge of the bed, his body a solid, comforting presence beside them.
Downstairs, they could hear the low murmur of Sirius and Remus’s voices, the clink of teacups, the familiar sounds of family giving them space but staying close.
The relentless energy of the day finally began to ebb away, replaced by a profound, settling peace. Regulus sank back into his own pillows, into his own bed, the scent of his own home surrounding him. The weight of his son on his chest was the most perfect anchor he had ever known.
He looked down at Harry’s sleeping face, so peaceful and innocent in the dappled sunlight. He traced the curve of a cheek that was both his and James’s, a bridge of a nose that was entirely its own new, wonderful thing.
James was watching them, his love a tangible force in the quiet room. “He’s ours, Reggie,” he whispered, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.
“He’s ours,” Regulus agreed. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the impossibly soft skin of his son’s forehead. He kissed the tiny, star-shaped birthmark just visible there beneath the dark hair—their little secret, their little promise.
“Sleep well, my little star,” he whispered into the quiet, sacred space between them. “We’re home.”