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Chapter Text

Regulus

February 16th

Regulus takes a moment to straighten the already perfect collar of his robes before entering the lion’s den. Or rather, the crows’ den. That’s what his parents have always reminded him of; crows or vultures, two ominous birds with beady eyes, ready to attack at the slightest show of weakness. 

When he was younger, Regulus would let their countenance rattle him, but over the years, he’s developed resistance to their aura of terror. There will be no rattling today. They might not know it yet, but he holds all the cards. This meeting has been a long while in the making, so he’s had the time to scheme, plot, and devise contingencies. All of them instrumental in reaching his goal. Regulus Black will have his revenge. By any means necessary. 

After one last adjustment of his outfit and brushing a wayward lock of hair away from his forehead so his appearance remains immaculate, he throws the door open and strides inside. He heads straight toward the mahogany desk, a wooden abomination, almost dwarfing the man sitting behind it. The room is as stifling as ever. The walls are adorned with damask-patterned wallpaper in murky grey tones, and the narrow windows never let in enough light, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. There are enchanted candles in the sconces, their flickering light only emphasizing the yawning darkness lurking in the corners.

Exactly as Regulus expected, Walburga hovers by Orion’s elbow like a primly dressed shadow. She’s wearing formal robes with a stiff collar that holds her head unnaturally high. With her delicate bone structure, grey eyes unique to the Black family, and raven hair with the white streak Regulus inherited from her, she must’ve been a striking beauty at some point. She still could be if it weren’t for the sour expression marring her face.

Probably because her hair is in such a tight bun, it pinches her skin into a permanent sourpuss.

The corners of Regulus’ mouth twitch at the thought, but he stifles the offshoot of mirth, rearranging his features into neutrality instead.

While more robust and less refined than his wife, Orion cuts an imposing figure, nonetheless. He’s wearing velvet robes in a deep sepia color, and his salt-and-pepper locks are pulled back in a sleek ponytail. His green eyes are cold and lifeless, scrutinizing Regulus’ face as if trying to extract all his secrets.

Good luck with that, dear old dad. 

“Mother. Father.” Regulus doesn’t bother with an actual greeting. Their family prides themselves on formality, but Regulus has long since discovered that formality doesn’t equal cordiality.

“Regulus,” Walburga says while Orion merely nods to acknowledge his son’s attendance, “I trust you understand the necessity of your presence here today?”

“I have my assumptions, but please, elucidate. So we can all operate with the same knowledge and avoid misunderstandings,” Regulus replies without losing a beat.

Show nothing. Betray nothing. Give. Them. Nothing.

He has a plan. If they accept his conditions, he will be a step closer to accomplishing it.

 “As you wish.” Walburga smooths down her robes as she talks. Her palms rustle over the fabric, a sound that played in the background through most of Regulus’ childhood. But he’s no longer a child, so he won’t let himself be intimidated. He meets his mother’s gaze head-on.

“We must discuss your upcoming nuptials.”

“How peculiar. To my knowledge, I am not engaged. Or have you stashed a fianceé under my bed without me noticing?” He brushes an imaginary speck of dust off his sleeve, not providing his mother the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

She doesn’t have to know what a mess I am on the inside.

“Don’t be glib with your mother, boy.” Orion cuts in to admonish him as though he’s still a child desperate for his parents’ approval. They’ve missed the memorandum about him growing up and losing what shred of respect he’s ever had for them. 

“My apologies. Would you rather I were glib with you?” Regulus asks with a saccharine smile.

“You’ll behave as befits the only heir of the Noble House of Black.” 

Oh, Father. You have no idea. 

On the outside, Regulus schools his face into a bored expression. “Very well then. Let’s proceed with this… business.” He never mentions the word ‘unsavory,’ but his careful enunciation gets his message across well enough. His parents’ downturned mouths confirm they didn’t miss his true meaning. 

“Well? Discuss, mother,” Regulus says, performing an elaborate gesture with his hand. Annoyance flashes through Walburga’s gaze, but she appears to be just as eager to put the negotiation behind her as Regulus is. 

“Like I said, Son, we need to address the matter of your engagement and marriage. Now that you’re nearing twenty-five, it is your sacred duty to serve House Black by taking a wife.”

Regulus has been subjected to speeches about sacred duties and nobility and purity and ancient bloodlines on many occasions since childhood. He has it memorized, in fact. Every time, it’s as ridiculous as when he first heard it at the ripe age of eight. He suppresses an eye-roll only through sheer strength of will. After all, he can’t afford to antagonize his parents too much, or they’ll never accept his terms. 

“I’ve arranged several advantageous matches for you,” Walburga carries on as if he’s been nothing but an obedient little pawn. A muscle ticks in her jaw, so she must’ve noticed his derision, but since he’s never expressed it directly, she can’t call him on it. That would make her appear weak. 

“Oh?” Regulus raises one eyebrow to indicate curiosity, but doesn’t offer any opinion about the matter. 

If I did, they’d both have a stroke where they stand. Which could solve a lot of my issues, now that I think about it.

But if both of his parents fell dead to the ground this instant, he’d never get to enjoy the satisfaction from the looks on their faces if—when—his plan works.

“Yes. The Selwyn and Greengrass family both expressed their desire to join their name with the Blacks. And let’s not forget about Andromeda—”

Regulus’ stomach curdles with nausea. “She’s my cousin, mother. Not to mention several years older.” 

He’ll have to introduce the next step of his agenda sooner than expected if this is the direction the conversation is taking. A shame. Regulus would’ve enjoyed playing mind games with Walburga for a bit longer. Dancing between the conversational landmines stimulates his intellect, and watching Walburga squirm as she realizes her son has outgrown her and she can’t keep up with him anymore? Well, that’s just a delicious cherry on top. Unfortunately, he draws the line at incest. 

“She is fertile and a Black, keeping the lineage pure. Anything else is of no consequence,” his mother counters with a straight face. 

“Maybe to you,” Regulus mutters under his breath, then realizes his blunder and winces. 

Walburga narrows her eyes, but she obviously hasn’t caught his tiny rebellion, or she’d already be lecturing him about behavior unsuitable for the heir of one of the most ancient wizarding families. Thank Merlin for this tiny mercy. Still, it’s a clear sign of Regulus’ fraying nerves, so he’d better put an end to this charade. Before he manages to turn both of his parents against him, rendering any chance at them agreeing to his plan (scheme, if he’s being honest, but he won’t be disclosing that in a hurry) impossible.

He straightens up, smoothing down his robe as he weathers Walburga’s scrutiny with a face devoid of emotions. “You will agree with me when I say the main purpose of this union is propagating the Black line. Or am I mistaken, Mother?”

Walburga hums in agreement. She doesn’t offer him more acknowledgment, but Regulus interprets it as a sign to continue.

“As such, wouldn’t you also agree that tying our name to these subpar bloodlines would dilute our wealth and respectability? Not to mention that neither the Sellwyns nor Greengrasses can compare to our family in terms of magic power.”

“The decline of old wizarding bloodlines in Britain is regrettable,” Orion joins the conversation, his voice thick with approval. “Unfortunately, the truly great families are long gone now. Lost to madness or interbreeding with Muggles.” 

More like inbreeding with each other and going loonier than a barrel of ferrets munching on sillyweed.

Outwardly, Regulus demonstrates nothing of his thought process, offering his father a benign smile. “A tragedy,” he agrees. 

“All of that is true,” Walburga says, measuring Regulus with suspicion, trying to read the cards he’s refusing to reveal. To her great aggravation, no doubt. She’s always been used to controlling the situation.

The tables have turned. You’d better get with the times, Mother.

“While I agree with your assessment, I don’t see a way to produce a rightful successor to the Black dynasty without one of the daughters of the lesser houses, which brings me back to my earlier proposition—”

“If I may,” Regulus interjects so smoothly that Walburga has no other option but to shut her mouth with an audible click, which is satisfying on a very profound level. So much so that Regulus finds his delight mildly disconcerting, but he can’t let himself be distracted. Not when he’s got his parents exactly where he wants them. Chased into a corner, primed to sign their own death warrants. Not literally, of course; he’d never stoop to anything as crude as murder, but he suspects they would find death more palatable than what he has in store for them. 

“If I may, I’d like to offer a counter-proposal.” Regulus retrieves his wand from the holster on his forearm and Accios the parchment he so painstakingly pored over for several days before handing it to an esteemed Gringotts solicitor, who pored over it for several additional weeks after accepting an outrageous sum of money and agreeing to an Unbreakable Oath that swore him to secrecy under the penalty of death. 

Keeping his face blank, Regulus spreads the parchment on the desk for his parents to peruse. “You’ll find everything outlined in this document to the last detail, but if you allow me to summarize,” he pauses, waiting until Orion inclines his head, indulgence oozing from the gesture. Regulus wants to hurl, but he suppresses the nausea and continues with no outward signs of his inner disgust except for a slight throat clearing. “To summarize. I promise to provide House Black with a legitimate heir. A pureblood wizard of impeccable descent on both sides. No marriage will be necessary to facilitate this… happy occurrence; therefore, our wealth will remain undivided and our name untarnished by association with lesser families.”

Regulus holds his breath, awaiting his parents’ reactions. This is the moment. It all comes down to this. If they agree, half his battle is won. And sure, a few wrinkles remain to be smoothed out, but Regulus is fairly certain they shouldn’t pose a problem.

I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to come on board.

Orion busies himself with studying the document in depth while Walburga merely skims its content before flicking her eyes back to Regulus.

“Regulus, darling. All this sounds too good to be true. How ever will you achieve such a feat?” she asks in that poisonously sweet tone she always used to express how preposterous she found his (and Sirius’) wild claims. More often than not, a punishment would follow. Regulus balls his hands into fists as a leftover childhood reflex, so hard his nails dig stinging crescents into the soft flesh of his palms. The stab of pain sends shame bolting through him. 

No. No more being scared. I will have my revenge.

He blows out a breath through his nose, for the moment sacrificing his pretense of aloofness. It’s worth it since the action allows him to regain his composure and then relax his grip, finger by finger.

“Leave that to me, Mother.”

Walburga’s nostrils flare. “Need I remind you that a child born to a—to a trollop out of wedlock won’t be recognized as a legitimate Black.”

“I am fully aware,” he says coldly. After all, that’s how you defeat snakes. With determination and coldness. “The child will be a trueborn heir. That, I guarantee.” 

“Very well, boy. Let’s say we’ll play along with your absurd scheme,” Orion sets the contract aside.

Regulus’ fingers twitch with the desire to grab it. The pale rectangle creates a striking contrast against the dark mahogany. A sliver of brightness, shattering the perpetual gloom. Almost fragile, and yet. Regulus’ entire future hinges on it. On a piece of vellum and a drop of ink. 

“You produce a male successor for our bloodline without marrying a respectable witch, as ludicrous as I find the concept. A man needs a woman by his side to support him in his endeavors.” Orion looks to Walburga, a picture of demureness, who drops her gaze, forcing Regulus to battle against a scoff and a massive eye-roll, both threatening to break out at the same time.

Walburga, supportive. Now, there’s a ludicrous concept if Regulus has ever heard one. Also, he would very much like to object that no, you don’t need a woman, Father, when you’re gayer than a bloody maypole. That would hardly win him any points with his parents. They still live under the illusion that their sole heir is a red-blooded heterosexual. The Black family has always excelled at deluding themselves. 

Normally, Regulus would sneer at their denial, but today, he’s grateful. The less Orion and Walburga know about his proclivities, the less probable they catch wind of what he’s planning and find a way to thwart it. Regulus might despise them with the power of a thousand burning suns, but he’d never make the mistake of underestimating them. 

So, instead of riling Orion up, he reaches deep within his self-restraint and assumes a neutral expression. “Was there something on your mind, Father?” 

“Yes. You succeed in providing us with a male heir without the prerequisite of tying the house of Black to an inferior family. What happens next?” 

“Why, I think you’ll find that stipulated in section C, paragraph three, which clearly states that in such a case, both you and Mother step down from your position as heads of House Black, and I shall take over your roles, becoming the sole administrator of our estate.”

This is it. The last hurdle. If his parents agree, he’ll be over the hump. There’s the slight issue of them overlooking the fact the proposal he presented them with doesn’t actually list any guarantees for them after Regulus assumes his new post, but he counts on them being so enamored with the vision of not splitting their assets that they’re going to overlook this tiny, insignificant, absolutely monumental and the whole reason he’s doing this, detail.

Of course, there’s one more problem he needs to solve, but it doesn’t involve his parents, and Regulus prefers to focus on one issue at a time. Besides, he can’t believe he’ll have trouble convincing him to agree with his proposal. No, he’s bound to jump on the chance if the heart eyes he used to send him across the Great Hall are any indication. The poor man is so smitten with Regulus that it’s actually a bit pitiful, but Regulus has never been above using every instrument at his disposal to achieve his goals. He’ll use the crush this pathetic sap harbors for him without batting an eyelash.

Anything to succeed.

“So. Do we have a deal?” With utmost effort, Regulus maintains an even tone, tamping down the quiver he feels trembling on his vocal cords.

Orion and Walburga exchange a glance without a word. Are they communicating through Legilimency, dissecting every flaw in the carefully laid-out paragraphs, and agreeing on swift retribution? Regulus wouldn’t rule it out. His stomach clenches with dread, and his fingers turn into icicles, frigid and painful, but otherwise, he remains still. Not fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, not shifting on his feet. Conquering his fear. All in the name of vengeance. Or justice, if he desires to sound particularly noble. 

Yes. Justice. For himself. For his brother, who considers Regulus nothing but a waste of space, so for their ruined sibling bond as well. For their lost childhood. For their future. For Regulus’ broken dreams.

After eons of silence, Orion nods and Accios a quill and dips it in the inkwell that has a place of honor on his desk. It’s a gaudy creation made from pure crystal and decorated with gold, but Regulus will concede the ever-filling enchantment it’s equipped with at least makes it useful when it can’t be refined.

“Yes, Regulus. We have a deal. If you succeed under the conditions detailed in this contract.” Orion taps the parchment. Regulus can’t miss the reflection of candlelight on the Black signet ring on his ring finger.

Soon. Soon, that ring will be mine.

“However,” Orion scowls to infuse his words with gravitas, and Regulus’ heart plummets, “if you fail to complete this undertaking in twelve months, you’ll take a wife of our choosing with no further ridiculous excuses.”

The last-minute demand throws Regulus for a loop because a year puts him on a tight schedule, but he only needs a moment to recover. He’ll simply have to succeed on his first try.

“Of course.” Regulus grips his wand tighter, the familiar elm a smooth reassurance in his hand. And at the moment, he needs all the reassurance he can get. With a flick of his wrist, an amendment appears on the parchment. Orion pulls it closer, examining Regulus’ wording.

“This seems to be in order,” he concedes grudgingly.

Regulus nods. “Excellent. Shall we proceed with signing?” 

When Orion and Walburga seal their fates by providing their signatures without being any wiser, Regulus allows his smile to grow a fraction wider. 

Soon.

In nine months, to be more accurate. Give or take.

Now, the next step of his plan awaits.

Convincing James F. Potter to have sex with him.

Chapter Text

James

February 19th

“Solid effort today, James.” Heath Wilkins, another chaser for the Arrows, slaps James’ back on his way from the bathroom, whistling as though they haven’t just spent two grueling hours dodging Bludgers. On foot. While racing against their teammates on an obstacle course designed by an unfiltered maniac, also known as Patric Kent, the current Arrows head coach.

But while Kent might be a lunatic, he knows his stuff. When people describe his training methods as torture, they’re not exaggerating. Unfortunately, those methods have proven effective again and again over the course of his career. 

That’s why the Arrows have won the British Quidditch League in four consecutive years. That’s why the other teams count their losses every time they face the Arrows on the pitch. And that’s why they’re in great shape to take the trophy home again this year. James winces at the thoughts and prevents the jinx by knocking on the wooden bench he slumped on the second he entered the locker room.

Unlike Wilkins, he can’t muster the energy to whistle. Probably because he didn’t phone the training in earlier. Not because Wilkins is eight years younger, barely out of Hogwarts, so young and vibrant with energy that starts fading after the years slip from -teens into -ies.

Twenty-fucking-six. James is turning twenty-six in a month and a half. Not an age where he should consider retiring, no, that’s a long way off yet, but apparently an age where he needs to start watching out for younger players thirsty to prove themselves. Wilkins is a good teammate, though. He doesn’t hog the spotlight at others’ expense, he always makes the extra pass, and he helped secure their victory in the last match against Puddlemere, so James can’t find it in himself to stay mad at him.

Even if he did look awfully chipper today. I’m pretty sure he managed to skip climbing the net at the last obstacle somehow.

James scrounges the last reserves of energy, climbs to his feet, and tears off the upper part of his quidditch kit, hissing out as cool air slices over him. Goosebumps race across his skin, so he dives into his locker for his wand and a shrunken shower caddy, slinging a towel over his shoulders, eager to wash the sweat and grit off. Some players merely spell themselves clean before disapparating, and some prefer to leave dirty and take care of their hygiene at home, but James hates the itchiness of grime sticking to him, so he always hits the showers first. Besides. The cleaning spells are murder on his hair. 

The Potter hairdo, both his pride and curse, requires a gentle approach and oil secreted by the glands of a very rare feathered serpent living in the depths of Amazonia. Argan oil will do in a pinch. James runs a hand through his locks on autopilot, checking that he has all the bottles with his hair products, when the door creaks open, and the coach’s voice interrupts his routine.

“Potter. You have a visitor.” The statement carries a note of aggravation, but James pays it no mind. Kent always complains the Marauders treat the Arrows training grounds as their personal clubhouse, so his annoyance is nothing new. ‘This isn’t a place to throw parties with your mates, Potter, this is a professional Quidditch facility and blah blah blah.’ James usually zones out after the first couple of sentences, so he couldn’t say what follows if someone dosed him with Veritaserum. 

It’s probably Sirius dropping by. He must miss James as much as James misses Sirius and decided to use one of his rare free days to pay him a visit. Neither of them likes going too long with limited contact, and due to their packed schedules, they’ve been passing each other like ships in the night lately. That one’s not only James’ fault, either; Sirius’ job as a Pediatric Healer keeps him equally crazed and impossible to pin down. 

“Send him in,” James says cheerfully to Kent.

“I see I’ve been downgraded to your messenger boy. Don’t get used to the special treatment, Potter, just because you’re semi-decent at tossing a ball around. Remember, there’s plenty of players graduating from Hogwarts each year that’d cause me half the grief you do,” Kent grumbles, but James tunes him out. He’s learned that his bark is much worse than his bite, and despite his cantankerous attitude, he’d die for the team. Plus, he’d allow his star player to get away with a lot more than having a guest in a locker room.

Kent waves at someone to come inside, then departs, leaving James skipping with anticipation. In his excitement, the minor detail of being half naked, still glazed with sweat, and in dire need of a shower becomes a minor concern. Not like any of his mates will mind—they’ve seen him at his lowest. This? This is nothing. Not even low. Merlin, not even medium.

But when his visitor enters, and his eyes widen in shock as he takes in James’ semi-nude form, James reassesses the percentage of bare skin that’s acceptable to parade in front of strangers. After quick mental calculations, he comes to the conclusion he’s revealing far more than appropriate, but it’s too late to fix the situation now. The damage has been done. Still, he makes a half-hearted attempt at concealing his nipples by repositioning the ends of the towel hanging around his neck. Turns out, the standard size doesn’t provide enough coverage, so it dangles limply down one side of his chest while the other side remains fully on display.

Not embarrassing at all. What a great impression you’re making there, Potter. Next time, maybe you could flash him.

Perfect. James has waited for years to meet this person without other people present, only to embarrass himself the second his wish came true.

“Regulus,” he chokes out because it truly is the Black heir with his sleek hair and a white forelock and freckled face and haughty air standing in front of him. “How, um. Why. I mean.” Bloody hell, what’s wrong with his tongue? Why can’t it form one coherent sentence? 

Regulus will surely think he’s slower than a sloth hit by the Impedimenta curse. James wants to weep at the injustice. Usually, he’s so quick on his feet—and off, as his career record proves. It’s just—it’s just Regulus. Sirius’ younger brother. The one they don’t talk about. The dutiful son. James’ crush since he was fifteen. The guest star of an occasional late-night dream that ends up with James waking up painfully hard and even more embarrassed. In short, the last person James would expect to grace an Arrows locker room with his presence.

And the thing is, most people would say something, right? They’d throw him a bone, but Regulus, the contrary git, just gapes, mouth slightly ajar but not producing any conversational Hail Marys, his eyes dark with an emotion James can’t decipher. Revulsion? Contempt? Impossible to determine.

But hey, Regulus is the one who swanned into the locker room of an athletic team. He had to accept that walking on a player in the middle of changing was a distinct possibility. Besides, James doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of. People pay good money to see him undressed. The calendar the Arrows posed for last year was a big hit, and it turned in a huge profit they donated to St. Mungo’s Permanent Spell Damage ward. No small thanks to James’ contribution. The contribution being his abs.

James straightens up and clears his throat, finally regaining control of his language skills. “What brings you here, Regulus?” 

“I have a proposition for you,” the younger Black doesn’t beat around the bush and cuts straight to the quick, aloof as you please, brushing an invisible piece of lint off his robes.

Damn, they look good on him, too. Dark grey, stitched with a subtle runic pattern that’s visible only when the light hits the fabric under the right angle, and adorned with trimmings in light green bringing out Regulus’ jade eyes. But all that pales in comparison to how they flatter Regulus’ form, highlighting how trim it is.

Of their own accord, James’ eyes travel lower, performing a set of internal measurements. For Merlin’s sake, he could encircle Regulus’ entire waist with his hands, the body part so tiny it’s almost indecent. Without warning, James’ mouth waters, forcing him to swallow convulsively.

Stop ogling him, you bloody creep.

“Um. What kind of proposition?” James asks to stem the flow of the very improper thoughts flooding his brain. 

“One that would benefit from being discussed in a more private environment. A more odorless environment.” Regulus wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Okay,” James says, unsure of where this is going. He’s never interacted with Regulus before except for the occasional insult and ‘watch your step’ in the Hogwarts corridors, so he has no frame of reference for how to approach the conversation. “Is this about Sirius?” He can’t think of any other reason for Regulus dropping by.

“No, it doesn’t concern my brother. Or, to be more precise, only in a very roundabout way. Now, about those more private quarters.”

“We could go to my place?” The prospect of having Regulus alone, to himself, with no prying eyes on them, fills James with a dark thrill he refuses to examine in fear of discovering something he might not like.

“You live with Sirius,” Regulus says as if it explains everything, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes. Is that a problem?” 

“Only for you. But this is a sensitive issue, and I’d prefer it if my brother weren’t privy to our discussion.”

The earlier thrill fizzles into nothing. Of course, Regulus would keep his distance, and of course, Sirius would come between them. James’ friendship with Regulus’ brother is one of the many reasons he’s never acted on the feelings simmering in his gut.

“Then I guess we can go to The Broomsticks or Leaky?” 

“Like I said, Potter. Sensitive. Not a matter one wishes to discuss among the common rabble.” 

James bristles at the brusque tone and the insinuation that his favorite haunts are frequented by the rabble. “You know, since you want something from me, it wouldn’t hurt you to be civil. For example, you could start by using my first name.”

In four steps, Regulus crosses the floor to where James stands and stares at him from point-blank range. James’ traitorous mouth floods with saliva as if he’s preparing for a feast, but there’s nothing to devour except for the man raising his hackles. 

Until a sudden growth spurt between James’ years six and seven, Regulus used to be much shorter than him. A small kid, he always looked frail and almost sickly. But then he shot up over the holidays and now, he almost matches James’ height. No longer sickly, he’s filled out, too. The expensive fabric of his clothes accentuates the slender but well-defined muscles underneath, and James’ head spins. Is something sucking the oxygen out of the room? 

“All right, James. I can do that,” Regulus says, reaching out and toying with the corner of the towel still draped around James’ shoulders. During their chat, it’s grown damp with sweat where it touches his skin.

Time freezes, and so does James’ brain. Well, except for the scream, ‘Regulus is close, he’s standing so close, Merlin, he’s so close,’ playing on a loop somewhere deep inside his brain. In the lizard, horny part. Then, as Regulus continues to fidget with the terrycloth, his knuckles brush against James’ pecs. The touch is faint, almost non-existent, and yet lightning cracks outward from the point of connection, electrifying James. Unfortunately, the electricity also zaps his synapses back into life.

Shocked, James rears back and stumbles when his legs hit the bench running the length of the room. Regulus watches his struggle without a single comment, his eyebrow cocked, an amused smile playing on his lips. On the beautiful lips James fantasizes about kissing in those dreams he never admits to anyone. 

“We can use the therapist’s office,” he squeaks out, and what in Circe’s name has happened to his voice? Why is it coming out so high and strangled when he’s utterly fine? “She’s not in today, so it should be ideal. Private, like you wanted, no witnesses, no chance of Sirius barging in on us.” He forces his voice back into the deeper register, where it belongs, but apparently can do nothing about babbling like a smitten teenager. 

“Sounds acceptable.” Regulus doesn’t move, still intruding on James’ personal space. His scent, warm and sweet, assaults James’ senses. Odd. He’d expect Regulus to smell sharp, like citrus, or perhaps cool, but no, he’s all warmth, sugar and vanilla, delicious and intoxicating. James longs to run his nose along his throat to inhale as much of it as possible and carry it in his lungs as a reminder of this encounter.

Regulus flutters his eyelashes at James from down below, innocence incarnate despite throwing James’ entire composure out of whack.

“Great. It’s down the hall, second door on the left. Give me a sec to freshen up, and I’ll come join you,” James manages to say, a little winded perhaps, but without any undue sniffing. Thank goodness for small mercies.

“I know.”

“What? How?”

Regulus smirks. “This might shock you, but your therapist is one of my best friends.” 

He’s right. The revelation does shock James a little. Not because Pandora isn’t likable. On the contrary, she’s one of the loveliest people he’s ever met, but he wouldn’t expect even her undeniable charm to win over Regulus. Who, based on James’ observation in Hogwarts (which might’ve been a tad more involved than strictly appropriate for a mere ‘crush’) always preferred to avoid any form of human interaction.

Yeah, I should know better than to underestimate Pandora. She can sway anyone, apparently.

An ugly twinge of jealousy winds through James’ chest.

Perhaps I should ask her for tips.

After Regulus leaves, James races through the fastest shower of his life, throws some clothes on, and rushes out to learn the reason for the unexpected visit. He finds Regulus in Pandora’s office, which is empty for the afternoon because Pandora is volunteering at Mungo’s each Tuesday. The room is spacious and full of therapeutic props, with a large window that lets plenty of light in and a simple wooden desk standing underneath. Regulus has nestled behind it, appropriating the swivel chair Pandora adores so much. Unfortunately, it’s the only chair in the room, which leaves James with the option to either stand or sit down on a gymnastics ball currently pushed against a wall. Since nobody can manage to look dignified bobbing up and down on one of those, he chooses to stand. 

He’s already embarrassed himself enough for today, so he counts on the height advantage to boost his confidence. He feels as though they’re playing a game, only he can’t figure out the rules. So far, he’s only learned Regulus is winning while he feels shaken and wrong-footed, always a step behind.

“So, what did you want to discuss?” James asks, shifting his weight and profoundly loathing his inability to shut it, initiating the conversation despite Regulus being the one to approach him. Yet another point going to Regulus. He should be explaining himself, but here he sits, leaning back with his hands folded on his flat, flat stomach, lips pressed in a thin smile, watching James squirm. “Is this your idea of a prank? Dropping by my workplace unannounced to mess with my head? Not very impressive, I gotta tell you. You can do better. I’m willing to provide lessons in case you’re interested.”

“Please, James,” Regulus’ voice softens at his name, as if he’s caressing the sound in his mouth, grazing his teeth across the consonants and wrapping his tongue around the vowels. 

It doesn’t send a shiver down James’ spine. It does not. Not one bit. And he doesn’t imagine Regulus whispering it in his ears while their bodies mold to each other so tightly that they’re essentially fused. 

“If I were to pull a prank on you, rest assured, you wouldn’t know what hit you.” 

That’s not hot. I do not find veiled threats hot.

On instinct, James balls his fists, shooting a quick glance at Regulus, who meets his gaze with barely contained amusement.

Okay, apparently, he does find veiled threats hot when they come accompanied by a wry smirk on a haughty face and a glint of mischief in pale green eyes.

“But in the interest of moving things along, here,” Regulus drawls as he retrieves a magically shrunken envelope, enlarging it with an elegant flick of his wand. 

Without a word. 

So Regulus Black performs nonverbal magic. So what. He’s Sirius’ brother, and Pads is brilliant, so it stands to reason Regulus would be too. Their whole family is powerful. It’s not surprising, and it’s definitely not hot, either. It’s not. It’s NOT. 

James draws on every drop of his self-control to ignore the throb of heat skittering around his body and sliding down, down, down, until it settles in his cock, where it continues to pulse in lazy beats that urge James to do something inadvisable. Like asking Regulus to ditch this place and come back to his house, not to talk, but to get rid of the tension between them with a thorough shagging session.

Thankfully, Regulus pays no attention to James’ plight as he slides the envelope across the desk to him. It’s a sturdy issue from hand-crafted paper, bearing a sigil James doesn’t recognize. A crow and a lion stylized to form a circle surrounded by a field of stars. Simple yet elegant. 

“It won’t bite,” Regulus prompts, tapping the desk when James continues to stare in turns at Regulus and the envelope, rooted to the spot and not moving to pick it up. For the first time, Regulus’ impenetrable facade cracks as his mouth turns downward and apprehension flickers through his eyes. But then he blinks, and his expression clears, so Merlin knows what James saw. 

His curiosity getting the better of him, James pulls out a parchment covered in neat handwriting and skims its contents. And then again, and then he brings along the gymnastic ball he dismissed earlier and drops down on it because his legs would give out from under him otherwise, and he needs the support to study the proposition outlined here, black on white, without worrying about keeling over.

This is… okay, there are no actual words. This is outlandish. Preposterous. Impossible. Intriguing. Tempting. Did Regulus perform some sort of forbidden occult ritual the Blacks no doubt hide in their vast library full of forbidden magic books, invade his mind, pluck out his deepest, most shameful fantasies from there, and crank them up to fucking eleven?

Fine, it turns out there are plenty of words in store, but James still refuses to believe the text he’s just read. Regulus must be joking. Perhaps James has underestimated his pranking abilities.

“Are you pulling my leg?” he asks when he recovers his speech.

“I assure you I’m serious.” Humor flashes through Regulus’ eyes.

Is he in on the Sirius/serious joke? The idea amuses James, but his mirth quickly dies under the weight of Regulus’ proposal.

“Regulus. What you suggest here—it’s biologically impossible.”

Regulus lifts his chin in a defiant gesture, and an image of James hooking his finger under the delicate jawbone so he can seize his mouth in a desperate kiss flashes through his mind. There are two beauty marks near the hinge, and James would love nothing more than to suck bruises into each one.

Okay, this is getting out of hand. The chances of James surviving this encounter with his sanity intact diminish with every second. He needs to wrap this up fast, apparate home, and rub one out before he implodes.

“For Muggles, maybe,” Regulus scoffs, but he refrains from using slurs, which James appreciates. “But nothing is impossible with a bit of magic.” 

“Said every wizard going dark, ever,” James frowns, tossing the contract back at Regulus as if it burned him. He was on edge before, off-kilter thanks to Regulus’ surprise appearance and the unwelcome reaction of his cock to the younger Black, but this crosses all the lines. He’s fucking done. “I mean, what the hell? Regulus, you’re suggesting that I, um,” he falters, unable to finish.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘impregnate me,’” Regulus supplies helpfully.

“Okay. Yes. That I impregnate you. You. In case you didn’t notice, you’re a man. And I’m a man. We lack certain necessary components for cooking up a baby.”

“Thanks for explaining my gender to me, darling. Yes, I’m aware, but I’m glad it didn’t escape your notice. It will save us an awkward discussion on the night of fulfilling the contract.”

Fulfilling the contract. Impregnate. Not to mention the ‘darling.’ Regulus keeps tossing these outlandish terms around as though he’s talking about the weather. As if ambushing someone he barely knows at work and asking him to father his child in open defiance of biology is just another Tuesday for him.

The room, which seemed so bright earlier, darkens. Or maybe it’s just James’ vision going out. He rubs his temples in the hopes of staving off the impending migraine. “Okay. Okay. Let’s move past the ethical and biological impossibilities for a while. I’ve got another question.” 

Regulus straightens up in the chair, toying with his rings. He keeps twisting the ornate one with a small emerald on his middle finger over and over, so perhaps he’s not as in control as he’s striving to project. “Ask.”

“Why, Regulus? Assuming you’re not yanking my chain and this is indeed feasible, which I still don’t believe, by the way. Why would you put yourself through pregnancy—not to mention birth? If you want a baby that badly, there are other ways. Much easier ways where the man’s task is a lot less strenuous. Even pleasant, according to what my straight mates claim.” 

“Bold of you to assume I’m straight, but my reasons are none of your business, Potter,” Regulus snaps, then winces as he realizes his mask has slipped.

Finally. We’re getting somewhere. I much prefer the genuine Regulus compared to the fake version, even if he is biting my head off.

“Considering you’re asking me to fuck you and make a freaking baby with you, I’d say your reasons are very much my business.” 

James climbs to his feet and braces his hands on the desk. The edge bites into his palms, but he welcomes the sensation. The pain reminds him that this is real. Otherwise, he might consider this peculiar reality, where Regulus Black pops by on a random Tuesday to beg James for his cock and his genes, a hallucination brought on by exhaustion from a rigorous training session. 

Regulus runs a hand over his face. Another fissure in the facade. He looks weary. Almost fragile. More like the young boy clinging to Sirius on his first ride to Hogwarts than the distant person he became… after. 

“That’s fair, but I can’t—I’m sorry, James, I can’t go into detail. Rest assured, my actions won’t harm you, and they might even benefit the people you care about.” 

Sirius. This must mean Sirius because who else could benefit from anything Regulus does? No, that’s the wrong question. It would be more accurate to ask, ‘Who else from James’ friends would Regulus care about benefiting?’ Regardless of the question, the answer remains the same. It always comes down to Sirius. Still. Having a baby is a strange way of mending fences with his brother. Talk about overcompensating.

“That’s a hell of a sacrifice purely for Sirius’ well-being.”

“Again, with you assuming.”

“Seemed like the only logical conclusion. Or am I wrong?” Another horrible thought occurs to James. “Is this some kind of twisted attempt at taking revenge on Sirius? Because if that’s the case, you can kiss my help goodbye.”

“No. Not on Sirius, at any rate. Like I said, this might benefit him, but I’m not doing it exclusively for his sake.” Regulus flushes bright red, and James can’t help but soften a fraction. Look at that, Regulus Black has a heart. But the proposal remains as ludicrous as when James first heard it. 

More to distract himself than anything else, James studies the document on the table again. “Why me?” he asks the question haunting his mind. A tendril of hope, the smallest one in existence, a bud, more like it, germinates in his chest. What if. What if what if what if. What if Regulus feels the same? 

Regulus feigns disinterest, but he continues to twist the ringer on his middle finger. A nervous tick betraying his true feelings. Which means he’s feigning the cold detachment. Twist, twist, twist. Combined with the flashes of green stone, the movement hypnotizes James. He can’t pry his eyes away from Regulus’ hands. White skin stretched over elegant bones. A lace of blue veins creating patterns underneath. James wants to trace them. With his thumb. With his tongue.

“You’re a pureblood,” is the only reasoning Regulus provides.

“Plenty of purebloods out there,” James says, lifting his gaze. “More receptive to your beliefs. Your friends. People you trust.”

Regulus’ face remains impassive. “One day, I’d love to hear what you think my beliefs are. Right now, we have a more pressing business. And just to be clear, I don’t trust anyone.”

That stings. “Yes, that sounds like the Regulus I know, and it brings me to my earlier question. Why me? Assuming I’m included in ‘anyone.’” 

“In a manner of speaking. You’re right that I don’t trust you. But at the same time, you reek of this disgusting, self-righteous integrity that makes me believe you won’t betray me. As for your earlier question. You’re a pureblood—”

“Yes, so you’ve said. For someone asking a massive favor, you could stand being a little nicer.”

Regulus scowls. “Don’t interrupt me. Apart from that, you’re also healthy, tall, athletic, and magically gifted. These are all the genetic qualities I’m looking for in the father of my child.”

“I also have all of my teeth and no cavities if you want to check.”

“What? Why would I want to check that?”

James can’t prevent bitterness from filtering into his voice. From drenching it. Any hopes he might’ve foolishly nurtured about Regulus returning his feelings died a swift death after the oh-so-objective evaluation of his assets.

“Isn’t that what you do with a breeding stud?” 

Regulus blows out a loud breath through his nose. “Looks like I forgot to mention your confidence. Stud.”

Against James’ will, his mouth twitches at the sudden display of humor. Regulus’ eyes twinkle, and for a while, they share a brief understanding. Until Regulus’ next question shatters it.

“So? Can I count on your participation?” 

“I’m sorry, Regulus. I can’t do this.” With more decisiveness than James feels, he slides the parchment back to Regulus, straightening his back and returning the other man’s gaze. 

Which is why he notices the panic flickering through his eyes despite Regulus immediately blinking it away. “But you have to—you can’t refuse. Isn’t this what you want? To get me into bed? Well, here I am, offering to fulfill all those fantasies you no doubt spun when staring at me across the Great Hall.” 

So much for James hoping to keep his fascination with the younger Black unnoticed. He should’ve anticipated that if there was one person he couldn’t hide his crush from, it’d be Regulus.

“Okay, cards on the table. If you had asked me out on a date, then yes, I would’ve accepted, and we would’ve had a great time, and it probably would’ve ended in sex. Lots of sex, if it were up to me. But under these circumstances… I can’t go along with this. Sorry, Regulus.” 

“Why not?” Regulus says in a small voice.

The panic in his gaze morphs into devastation. His face pales, turning from haughty to brittle, and when James witnesses the magnitude of his reaction, he almost backtracks. He wants to recall his refusal because why is he declining the chance to sleep with the person who’s consumed his mind for years? But he can’t. Not with so much at stake. Regulus isn’t suggesting a romp in the sheets here, a bit of casual fun, or even a steady relationship. He’s suggesting a tie more permanent than any unbreakable bond. He’s suggesting the creation of a whole new person.

“First, I don’t like the idea of going behind Sirius’ back. He’s my best friend, and I hate keeping something this important from him.”

“I didn’t realize you had obligations to give him reports on your conquests.”

“Don’t play daft, Regulus. It doesn’t suit you. This is different, and we both know it. But it’s not the main problem. Your ridiculous manifesto here says I relinquish all claims to the, ugh, ‘result of our union’ the second my part is finished, but I can’t do that. I can’t bring a baby into this world and not stay in their life. That’s not who I am, and to be honest, I’m a bit disappointed you’d ever expect me to agree to something like that. It shows how little you understand me, which only further proves my point about this being a terrible idea.” James tries to prevent disappointment from leaking into his voice, but based on Regulus’ flinch, he doesn’t succeed. 

How dare he? How dare he put him in this position, offering James his heart’s desire and more and then snatching it away with conditions spelled out in harsh lawyer terms?

Fuck, I want to say yes. I really, really want to say yes. But I can’t.

Regulus wraps his arms around himself as if building a protection against the impact of James’ refusal, but he doesn’t raise a single protest, which only spurs James on.

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Believe me, I never thought I’d be refusing you, of all people. I have no idea what you’re trying to achieve, but I wish you the best of luck. Just leave me out of it.” With that, he turns on his heel, ready to march out.

“What if I amend the contract?” 

A whisper from behind halts James’ steps. Slowly, he spins around. Regulus has recovered some of his composure, facing James with his shoulders squared and eyes glittering with defiance. 

And look, James isn’t stupid. He recognizes bait when he sees it, but he can’t resist the temptation, so he swallows it, hook, line, and sinker. “Amend how?”

“However you want. You’re right. Forbidding you to be part of the child’s life is not fair to you. Or the child. I just assumed you’d rather avoid the responsibility—” 

James sucks in a sharp breath to protest, but Regulus raises his hands in the air, silencing him. “A mistake on my part. So. Tell me, James. What do you desire?” 

A crack of heat spills over James because fuck him. Regulus acting all reasonable and willing to hear him out? Willing to acquiesce to James’ conditions just so he can sleep with him? To have his baby? As a gay man, James has never considered he might be able to have biological children with the person he—his partner. And then Regulus, the person he’s nursed feelings for longer than healthy, comes along and offers him everything he might’ve dreamed of if he let himself go down that road. A stronger man would have trouble keeping a cool head under the circumstances. James isn’t a strong man. On the contrary. He’s weak, so ridiculously weak for Regulus, and he finds his resolve wavering. 

What if I just bend him over the desk and fuck him right now?

That probably wouldn’t solve much, but damn if James doesn’t find the idea appealing. Too appealing. His cock unfurls against his thigh, causing him to adjust his stance. Thankfully, Regulus doesn’t notice his discomfort, or he does a good job pretending.

“Visitation rights, definitely. For the kid to know who I am—no, they don’t have to know I’m their other father, as ludicrous as I still find the idea. Have them call me Uncle James for all I care, as long as they’re aware of my existence, and we get to have a relationship.” 

“Anything else?” Regulus arches one eyebrow, returning to his mocking tone.

He must’ve realized he regained the upper hand, but at this point, James doesn’t care anymore. His needs and concerns have shrunk to one. To crush Regulus in his arms, kiss him stupid, and fulfill every single wish he might entertain. 

“Y-yeah, well, I suppose, I don’t want to be greedy. Although, being able to spend the occasional Christmas or Halloween with the kid would be brilliant. I’ve always loved trick-or-treating. Oh, and I’d want to introduce them to my parents. They would adore them to pieces.” 

“Your terms sound acceptable,” Regulus concedes with a sharp bob of his head and then twirls his hand in a complicated pattern until several new paragraphs appear on the parchment while others disappear. “Feel free to take this home and properly study it. Owl me about any corrections, then send it back with your signature. Be aware that the contract is binding and imbued with enchantments that will come into effect after signing and activate in case of reneging on the agreed upon stipulations.” 

“What kind of enchantments?”

“They’re all described in addendum three.”

James’ heart gives an unpleasant lurch. Clearly, Regulus perceives this as a business transaction, while James can’t stop his emotions from getting invested. This doesn’t bode well for the future state of his heart, but he’s never been one to worry about the future too much. Right now has always seemed more important, and right now, he can’t wait to fuck a baby into Regulus.

“Okay.” He chews on his lip, trying to pull his mind out of the gutter. “Let’s say I’ve sent you the signed contract. What happens next?” 

Regulus’ gaze snaps to James’ lips as if hypnotized. Slashes of red appear on his cheekbones and spill down his throat, where they disappear under the collar of his robes. Perhaps the idea of the two of them… fucking… affects him as well, which only pours more liquid fire into James’ veins. He’s hot all over. If somebody cast Incendio at him right now, it might actually cool him down.

“Next, I’ll send you further instructions. Once I’ve received the signed contract. So I suggest you apparate home and start reading.” Regulus probably aims to sound commanding, but the breathiness of his voice undermines the overall effect. 

There’s nothing else left to discuss after that, not if they don’t want the oxygen in the room to explode with unspoken tension. On his way out, Regulus halts when he passes James, drawing himself up to whisper in James’ ear.

“Looking forward to seeing more of you next time, darling. But I have to say, I rather enjoyed the preview.” 

And then he’s gone, nothing but the heat of his promise hanging in the air.

In seconds, James apparates back home. He has a contract to sign as fast as possible.

Chapter Text

Regulus

Conception, April 1st

Regulus surveys the living room of the cottage he’s renting for the weekend with a critical eye, but to his delight, everything seems to be in order. The interior, with gleaming hardwood floors and a crackling fireplace, is cozy but not over-the-top intimate. Welcoming without being homey, every surface breathing class in that slightly impersonal manner of expensive rentals. Plus, the remote location of the property ensures there’s no danger of running into anyone from Regulus’ (or Potter’s) social circle.

In short, the small house in a Muggle village deep in nowhere, Cornwall, sitting right on top of a cliff overlooking the sea, couldn’t be more perfect for the occasion. The occasion being getting railed by James Potter. Railed and bred. That is, if the man in question keeps his word and actually turns up. 

No. Regulus refuses to entertain the possibility of Potter having a sudden change of heart. He can’t. Regulus forbids it. In the letters they exchanged after their first meeting, Regulus impressed upon him the utmost importance of following through on his promise, shamelessly playing to that famous Gryffindor sense of honor. 

Of course, Regulus omitted to mention that a majority of his plan hinged on James. That without him, the whole thing would fall apart. That in case James changed his mind, the deadline Orion had set, already tight, would close around Regulus’ neck like a noose and become nigh impossible to meet. 

Regulus has put his eggs quite literally into one basket, and now he has to pray the basket doesn’t get cold feet because the eggs need to be fertilized.

To distract himself from these pointless yet pointed thoughts stabbing his brain at regular intervals, Regulus busies himself with putting a couple of finishing touches on the place. He enchants candles to float around the entire house and provide mood lighting, then heads to the bedroom, where he stashes a bottle of expensive (very expensive) lube into the bedside table for the eventuality that they decide to forgo spells. With that done, he continues to the bathroom, where he replaces the generic towels with his own because he’s particular about what gets to touch him. 

After he’s finished, he circles back into the living room and sets a bottle of fine wine and two glasses on the coffee table. It might come in handy if they need to break the ice. Or if Potter wavers and needs that final push of alcohol to make unwise decisions. Or if Regulus needs to dull his nerves, strung tight and thrumming with anxiety, a little. Or if—it just might prove useful, and it’s better to come prepared than regret his lack of foresight; that’s always been Regulus’ policy. 

Thorough preparation is half the victory.

Once he has everything ready, Regulus plops down on the couch and begins fussing with his outfit. Yet another aspect of the evening he’s spent way more time contemplating than he probably should’ve. After all, if things go according to plan, his clothes will be the first thing to disappear. Still, the part of his brain that draws strength from controlling every single detail of each scenario insisted on devoting a lot of attention to his choice. 

He doesn’t want Potter to think he’s a slob. That’d be unbearable. And it makes sense to look nice—he’s trying to seduce the man, for crying out loud. Although Potter would most likely fuck him if he were dressed in a burlap sack, the savage. But Regulus takes pride in his appearance, so he’s put some thought and effort into his choice.

He opted for simple yet elegant grey slacks and a white shirt clinging to his chest with his favorite embroidered vest on top. Maybe not the most practical choice given his objective, but the way the cinch nips the vest in the back flatters his waist, and Regulus didn’t miss how Potter slobbered over this part of his anatomy during their encounter in the locker room. Stylish forest green robes held closed at the collar by a silver clasp but flaring open at the front complete the ensemble and present a blatant view of everything he has to offer. 

Let’s hope Potter appreciates the view. Although, I suppose his taste might not be refined enough to recognize fine tailoring. He’ll probably be more focused on what’s underneath, anyway. Which is the point.

Regulus tugs the vest lower so it hugs his waist just right as his mind revisits the image of James Potter wearing nothing but a pair of leather Quidditch trousers, a towel around his neck, and a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. And leaving all that golden skin and powerful muscle on display for Regulus to admire. He quite enjoyed a peek at the goods, so to speak, confirming that, regarding physical condition, he’d chosen well when selecting Potter to contribute the other half of the genetic material for Regulus’ offspring. 

On instinct, his hand drifts to his belly. To his, for the time being, flat belly. Well, almost flat. He has the tiniest, almost imperceptible bulge where there used to be nothing but sleek abs. His fingers trace the protrusion, following the curve from left to right and then back. Even though Regulus savors the tangible evidence that the experimental spell has proven successful, the notion of having a womb and growing an actual child inside his body fills him with apprehension. The concept seemed more palatable when it was months away. Now, when it looms dangerously close, Regulus can’t help feeling intimidated by his undertaking. 

By this time tomorrow, he will be pregnant. Pregnant. With all the scary realities and unpleasant side-effects the condition entails. A human being will grow in his belly. He presses harder on his abdomen before jerking his hand away. It’s a daunting concept to digest. Necessary, yes. But daunting. Also, revolving around Potter actually showing his face. If he doesn’t, Regulus will be back to square one, which would leave him in a terrible bind. He would be cutting the deadline awfully close, and he simply can’t tolerate such disregard for their agreement.

 If Potter doesn’t have the decency to show up, if he doesn’t abide by the rules of the contract they both signed, Regulus will teach him a lesson. Potter won’t get away with such flakiness, such utter disrespect for other people’s feeli—timetables. And the tiny voice whispering about disappointment at missing out on the opportunity to get fucked by James Potter doesn’t play a role in his decision at all. Not one bit. 

Regulus is about to cast a tempus when a knock rattles the door of the charmingly sterile rented property. Potter apparently has no manners and can’t even announce his arrival with grace. Regulus decides that annoyance with Potter’s lack of decorum is preferable to acknowledging the surge of relief coursing through him. 

Because he didn’t truly worry about Potter changing his mind. Not much, anyway. Or at all. Fine, he might have been marginally jittery, but only because of the plan. Not because he’s been looking forward to enjoying the impressive physique he glimpsed when ambushing Potter at his place of work. Not because he’s curious about what it feels like to have Potter’s body close, sweaty and glorious, while he thrusts into him with all the power those bulging muscles no doubt provide him.

“Hey, Reg.” Potter offers him a sheepish grin when Regulus opens the door. He must mean it as an apology for his delay, but Regulus refuses to be charmed.

“Are you aware of the time? What took you so long?” he snaps before ushering Potter inside with terse motions.

Potter curls his lips—his infuriatingly full, sculpted lips Regulus isn’t entranced by, he isn’t, he bloody isn’t—in a sincere smile that rounds the apples of his cheeks and pushes his glasses up his nose. It’s—uh, endearing, really. How is Regulus supposed to maintain his (very justified, mind you) levels of aggravation when Potter is looking at him like that, round-cheeked and stupidly handsome with his gold-framed glasses and messy hair?

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he says, grabbing Regulus’ hand without preamble (or permission, the bloody sod—Regulus will point out his transgression against etiquette as soon as his head stops spinning from how large and warm and deliciously calloused his fingers feel against his skin). “Ten minutes before our scheduled ‘meeting.’ I’m early, if we’re splitting hairs here.” 

“Oh.” Heat creeps into Regulus’ cheeks. If Potter’s telling the truth, why did the wait seem like an eternity?

Must’ve been the nerves.

“Eager, are we, Regulus?” Potter’s smile morphs into a smirk, and Regulus no longer considers it charming. Bloody obnoxious is what it is. Regulus wants to wipe it off his face. With his lips, preferably. His tongue would work in a pinch. He’s more than willing to put the theory to the test.

“Eager to get this over with.” There. A nice, clean save. Regulus leads Potter through the hallway and into the living room. “I thought we might have a glass of wine before we begin.” He attempts to regain control of the conversation by steering James toward the sofa.

“Wouldn’t that delay our plans? The plans you’re so desperate to get over with.” Laughter echoes through Potter’s voice, plinking against Regulus’ composure. Teasing. Taunting. Tantalizing. Plink. Plink. Plink.

“Well, yes, but we must not forget about propriety. Rules of social conduct we’re required to follow. Otherwise, we’re no better than animals.” 

James comes to a halt in the middle of the living room, gaping, causing Regulus to nearly collide with him. Unfortunately, this brings him much closer to Potter’s general physique and allows him to study his eyes, wide open in disbelief as they are. An opportunity he’d love to avoid, but weak and pathetic as he is, he just stares, fascinated by the unique hue. Until now, he assumed it was brown, and not the good kind of brown either. Not the color of chocolate or coffee, but the color of mud that’s been baking too long in the sun, bleached of vibrancy, cracked and green around the edges. 

Merlin, was Regulus wrong. Potter’s eyes are the color of whiskey, reflecting the warmth of a fireplace on a cold evening when one sinks into his favorite chair to rest after an exhausting day. They’re the color of honey dripping off a spoon into a hot cup of tea. All things warm and sweet and beautiful. All the things Regulus’ life is missing. He could get drunk on those eyes. Drown in them, like a fly caught in amber.

In a blink, Potter shatters Regulus’ stupor by leaning closer, bringing his mouth next to his ear. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Reggie.” His breath is hot and heavy on Regulus’ skin. He’s so confused by the sensation that he forgets to protest the nickname. “There’s nothing proper about what we’re about to do. And rules? Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d say we’re about to break a good number of them tonight. Or have you forgotten about everything laid out in your contract so clearly?” 

Too distracted by Potter’s proximity, Regulus doesn’t manage a proper response, settling for a headshake. Potter’s scent floods his nose and his lungs, filling him like an appetizer for what’s about to happen, and it’s disconcerting how much the ordinary combination of mint from his mouthwash and cedar from—soap? cologne? has Regulus’ body tied up in knots. 

No. No. That’s just the nervousness muddling my senses. This is nothing but a business deal. All part of my plan. And Potter is nothing more than an instrument helping me carry the plan out.

“Trust that I remember every word. But we can spare ten minutes to acclimate ourselves since we are, as you pointed out, ahead of schedule.”

“Alright. I reckon a glass of wine can’t hurt.” Potter retreats from Regulus and continues to the sofa, where he assumes a seat, throwing his arms across the top of the cushions as though he owns the place. His legs fall apart, filling Regulus’ head with inappropriate—or, given the situation, appropriate—thoughts. 

Nothing about Potter’s cocksure manner resembles his skittish demeanor from their first encounter. No, on the contrary, he appears utterly at ease as he uncorks the bottle and pours them both a generous splash. 

Nonplussed, Regulus follows his lead and sinks down on the opposite side of the couch, not raising a single objection to Potter misappropriating the role of the host. He’s too focused on the movement of Potter’s hands, fluid and unhurried. The glass stem looks almost fragile in those long, self-assured fingers with knuckles slightly too knobbly but attractive regardless. Regulus forces himself to accept the drink Potter passes him with grace, even offering a terse nod.

“Not bad,” Potter says after the first sip.

“It’s a nineteen-fifty-three-century Bordeaux. It deserves a lot better than ‘not bad,’ but I suppose I can’t expect proper appreciation from someone with such a crude palate.”

“Rest assured, my palate is perfectly fine. If you had run a check like I’d offered, you would’ve seen it for yourself. The offer is still on the table if you’re interested, by the way.” 

Regulus chokes on air while Potter carries on without losing a beat. “If I had known you were going to quiz me on the finer points of wine tasting, I would’ve studied. Regardless, it’s sweet of you to spoil me with such a rare vintage. Appreciated.”

“Please. As if you can recognize its value,” Regulus scoffs. He should’ve gone with something cheaper. The bottle is wasted on Potter.

“You got into such a huff when I made snap judgments about you, yet here you are, doing exactly the same thing,” Potter sighs theatrically. “Fine. This gives me absolutely no pleasure, but since you insist on being proven wrong. The 1953 Bordeaux wine is the product of a hot, warm growing season with plenty of sunlight. The only minor problem came with some rain in September, which pushed the harvest back a bit. In fact, the delayed start of the harvest could have added to the quality of the wines as it allowed for a longer hang time, giving the grapes a better opportunity to ripen on the vines and providing the beverage with a lovely, full flavor. So. Do I pass your test?”

“If I were to mark you, I’d give you Acceptable,” Regulus says, fighting back a wave of aggravation dwarfed by a much greater and more dangerous avalanche of lust Potter’s monologue has unleashed. 

Damn, that was hot. Unexpected, but extremely sexy. With his blood traitor status and disregard for basic etiquette and civil conduct, it’s easy to forget Potter grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. And Regulus shouldn’t find that attractive because isn’t that sort of snobbery he stands against? What he’s fighting to overthrow with this very endeavor? But it’s impossible to fight his true nature, and as a product of his environment, Regulus can’t deny the display went straight to his cock, which now throbs unhappily in the constraint of his underwear.

James slants him a knowing glance, then shrugs, and he abused fabric of his clothes strains around his impressive shoulders. Chaser shoulders. A muggle outfit, which is what Potter is—a grey shirt open at the collar and dark blue slacks—is not equipped to handle a physique honed by Quidditch. It does make him look unfairly handsome, though, carelessly elegant and just the right amount of disheveled.

As if on cue, Potter runs a hand through his hair, aggravating the mess, which has no right to look as charming as it does, considering it’s essentially a pigeon’s nest. “My father collects rare wines, and my mother loves throwing fancy dinner parties. You pick up a thing or two when listening to tipsy Wizengamot members,” Potter says without a hint of self-consciousness and helps himself to another sip. 

A drop of red liquid clings to his lips, and a bolt of heat tears through Regulus. The ice has been officially broken, revealing nothing but a churning vortex of desire underneath. Now, how could Regulus nudge Potter toward the bedroom without confirming Potter’s suspicions about being over-eager? To his frustration, Potter doesn’t seem in a hurry now that he’s settled down. He swirls the wine absently, his eyes trained on Regulus, one corner of his lips ticked upward.

“Are you quite finished with that?” Regulus snaps, indicating the drink.

Nice. Very subtle, Black. Definitely not too keen.

“Almost,” James replies smoothly. “First, I’ve got a couple of questions I wanted to ask.” 

“Then you should’ve done so through the owl post before signing. We’re past the point of discussion now, Potter, plus I’ve already addressed your concerns in the contract. Can’t imagine you having more.” Regulus’ hands begin shaking, so he shoves them under his thighs. Potter doesn’t have to learn how much he’s got at stake.

“James,” he corrects. “And don’t worry, I’m not going back on my word.”

Fuck him for ascertaining the root of Regulus’ anxiety so easily. He should give him more credit. The fact he is a jock doesn’t mean he’s clueless, and Regulus should better keep it in mind and not underestimate him in the future.

“What’s the issue, then? Do you need another rundown of the stipulations?”

“No, I recall everything. ‘After tonight, all contact between the two parties will cease until party one, meaning you, chooses to reestablish the communication upon giving birth to the child sired by party two, meaning me.’ Followed by a long list of what’s going to befall me if I have the dumb idea to run my mouth or betray your trust in any way—kudos for being so creative with the jinxes, truly, gotta admire the Slytherin ingenuity. And, of course, all the stuff about me fulfilling my part in, let’s not mince words, filling you. When you think about it, it’s your run-of-the-mill one-night stand, except in this case, the goal actually is to get pregnant, pretend we don’t know each other afterward, and get horribly cursed if I forget to uphold my end of the bargain.”

“So? I don’t hear a question. Spit out what’s bothering you so we can proceed to the ‘fulfilling part.’” Regulus infuses his words with as much scorn as humanly possible, but judging by the glint in James’ eyes, he isn’t fooling anyone.

“My question is, what happens after? Once the deed is done and we’ve cut all contact? How do you intend to spend the following nine months? Where are you going to stay? Are you going to lie low somewhere? I’m assuming Grimmauld is out of the question unless your parents are in on this and forcing you to pop out a next-generation pureblood. I wouldn’t put it past them, except I can’t imagine good ol’ Wally and Ori touching a family of blood traitors with a ten-foot pole. Then again, we are quite rich, and money tends to purify one’s heritage like a miracle.”

“The ‘cease all contact’ clause was in the contract for a reason,” Regulus says in a clipped tone. He’s not disclosing his future address to anyone, least of all Potter. Only his best friend is in on the secret, and that’s only he quite literally needs her to be his Secret Keeper. 

“And what reason is that, Regulus?”

“The reason is that I don’t want you to poke your nose into my private matters. I’m not risking you dropping by and ruining everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve whenever you feel bored.”

“You need to come up with a new excuse because this one’s getting old.” James’ face ices over. “Don’t forget you nagged me into agreeing to your mad gambit precisely because you need me to poke my anatomy into your private matters.”

Regulus sputters at the lewd remark, unable to think of a comeback fast enough, so Potter resumes his speech after a beat. “Thought so. But I promise not to harass you in the future if you give me some basic information so I don’t have to chew my nails to the quick, stressing about you being on the lam or living in the streets.”

“Is this why you’re asking? Because you’re worried about my well-being?” 

James finishes his drink and sets the glass on the table. He hasn’t used a coaster, so a dark ring forms underneath, the color seeping into the wood, forever marking it. Regulus can’t tear his eyes away. 

“Of course. What else did you expect?” 

Negotiation, Regulus knows how to handle. Genuine interest? That trips him up. His mouth opens up against his better judgment and spills the truth before he composes an evasive response. “No, I’m not staying at Grimmauld, and I’m not doing this on behalf of my parents. Quite the contrary. If they find out about what I’m doing, there might be unpleasant consequences for everyone involved.”

But if I succeed, they’ll get the punishment they deserve. I’ll take away everything that matters to them. Their status. Their wealth. Their dignity.

“Are you going to be safe?” James leans forward, his eyes almost gold in the candlelight. Nobody in Regulus’ life has ever given two figs about his safety. Not his brother, slipping away from their wretched childhood home without a word of goodbye. Not his parents, using him as an instrument of their agenda. Only this man. This man, who Regulus is treating the same way his parents treated him. Like a tool. Regulus’ heart gives a confused thud, forcing him to reach up and rub his breastbone through his clothes.

“As safe as possible under the circumstances. Please, James, don’t press for more details as I can’t provide them. I promise to contact you once the child is born and everything is resolved.” 

Potter lights up at that. “Can’t wait to meet them.” Yes. This is where his interest stems from. From concern about the child. That’s why Potter agreed to go along with this. So he can become a parent. Not because Regulus is so damn irresistible. A sting of disappointment pierces Regulus’ sternum, but he rubs his chest again, and the pain fades away without so much as a whisper.

This is good. I can use Potter’s obsession with fatherhood against him as leverage if necessary.

“Would that be all? Is your curiosity satisfied? Because we have a job to do here, and the clock is ticking.”

“Not entirely.” Potter slides on the couch until he’s seated next to him, placing his palm on Regulus’ leg. Warmth radiates from his touch, spreading through Regulus, and only with inhuman effort does he suppress the urge to throw his head back and moan. It’s as though his entire body is a land ravaged by the drought, and Potter’s touch is the spark that sets it ablaze.

“Then fucking ask.” Regulus’ resilience is crumbling with every second of the conversation. 

“I’m just curious about how this works.”

“What do you mean by ‘this?’”

“This. Us.” Potter squeezes his thigh, his fingers digging into the muscle, skirting the edge of pain yet never crossing it. A host of shivers rattles down Regulus’ spine. Damn, he needs to drag Potter into the bedroom and climb on top of him before his heart seizes up from excess lust. The magnitude of his reaction takes him by surprise—he’s had sex before and enjoyed himself well enough, but he’s never experienced such a bone-deep need to entwine every single cell of his being with another person.

“Us? As in, the mechanics? Do you need me to explain how sex works? For Merlin’s sake, you’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No,” James laughs. “Far from it, believe me.” He wiggles his eyebrows, laughter echoing through the statement. “Professional Quidditch players usually don’t lack options when it comes to bed partners.” 

Jealousy bursts through the haze of heat clouding Regulus’ intellect, dark claws shredding his contentment apart. How dare Potter sleep with others when he’s supposed to be fixating on him?

“But I’ve never gotten a man pregnant, so I’m at a loss. Do I need to do something special? Does either of us have to perform a spell before we fuck? Is there a potion we need to drink? Do you have, um, female anatomy or any other surprises down there I should prepare for?”

“No. Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing surprising going on ‘down there.’ We’re going to have regular gay sex, Potter. If you’re into something kinkier, do it on your own time. Apparently, you Quidditch players are spoilt for choice with people willing to lend a hand.”

“They’re willing to lend a lot of body parts,” James quips, “but I’m more interested in how you are going to achieve, you know. Getting pregnant.”

Regulus debates the benefits of telling Potter to fuck off and mind his own business, but he needs to move things along. Tide and ovulation wait for no man. “I performed a ritual I’d discovered in one of our old family books, and no, I couldn’t believe it myself at first, either. But the longer I studied the theory, the more plausible it sounded. Apparently, several centuries back, a couple of old coots in my family got really spooked by our line dying out and ensured the male members of the Noble House Black could carry their own offspring to prevent such a terrible eventuality.” Regulus rolls his eyes at that, and Potter rewards his theatrics with a chuckle. A surge of satisfaction explodes in his chest, so he hurries to continue before he can dwell on the strange reaction. 

“Granted, it’s a bit outlandish, but not dark—or illegal. Well, likely. I suppose it constitutes a bit of a grey area, but an heir from such a union should be a true successor to the Black dynasty, and that’s all that matters.” Regulus cuts himself off when he realizes he disclosed more than he intended, but Potter is fixated on the technicalities and misses the significance of Regulus’ blunder; Merlin bless his straightforward mind.

“Okay, so what, you cast a spell or—what did the process involve?”

“It wasn’t that difficult, strangely. More disgusting than anything else. For a month, I had to drink a truly vile potion I’d brewed,” he grimaces as he remembers the revolting taste, “and then perform an incantation during the full moon to ensure the potion would come into effect. A week of cramping and nausea later, and here we are, wasting time chatting when we should be fucking.” 

His cheeks flush with heat. Dammit, his impatience is getting the better of him. Or the wine is. Or the magical hormones flooding his system. Can Potter’s presence amplify the effect somehow? The notes on the ritual didn’t mention anything of the sort, but he feels, goodness, he feels so horny and desperate and ready to be bred. And Potter smells so bloody good. If they don’t start fucking soon, Regulus is going to maul him.

“You were the one who insisted on societal niceties. Besides, it’s something you don’t experience every day, so pardon me for being curious.”

Regulus scoffs, then grabs Potter’s hand, which is still resting on his thigh (is the thing glued to his pants?), and puts it on the protrusion on his belly.

“There, since you’re so damn inquisitive. Some bits and bobs I’d rather not think about and one magical womb, ready to—” 

—be filled. Be pumped full of your cum. Be bred.

Regulus stops himself from blurting those thoughts out loud, as well as a whine itching at the back of his throat.

“—fulfill its purpose. Which we should start working on, because even magic has limitations. That anatomy you were so interested in is actually all on the inside and acts like a regular female cycle, meaning there’s one optimal day for getting impregnated, and that day is right now.” 

“Look who’s in a rush all of a sudden.” Potter strokes Regulus’ belly, his motions slow. Deliberate. Maddening. 

“Like I said. There are time constraints to consider.” Regulus’ voice struggles through the desire coating his throat and emerges soaked with it. 

“Let’s not keep you waiting, then.” Potter leans closer, head tilted and eyes falling shut, but he’s not forcing his way in. He’s not forcing Regulus to accept the gesture. Ever the gentleman, he leaves the decision up to him, so what other choice does Regulus have than to claim those lips, those stupid, pillowy lips so often curved in a smile, for himself? 

Potter exhales into his mouth, a soft gust of relief as he gently twines his tongue against Regulus’. Carefully, as though he’s wary of scaring him away, but there’s no chance of that. Throughout the whole evening, Regulus’ need has been building, mounting, snapping in his gut like flames, higher and higher, climbing the walls of his chest and invading his heart. 

He’s in no mood for careful. He’s in no mood for gentle. 

“Come on, Potter. That the best you can do?” he taunts.

Potter’s eyes fly open, glinting amber in the reflected light. For a second, they freeze, taking stock of each other like enemies before a duel. The one who fires off the first spell wins. Regulus sucks in a sharp breath, not sure if he wants to mock his opponent or seduce him—he’ll figure it out as he transforms the air into words—but Potter beats him to the punch. He’s the one to score a victory in this round. 

With a lightning-fast motion worthy of the incredible athlete Potter is, he hauls Regulus off the sofa and into his arms. He doesn’t waste any more time, attaching his mouth and teeth to the soft flesh of Regulus’ neck and nipping at the tendons there until he draws a long and embarrassing moan out of him.

“Better, Reggie? Is that what you had in mind?”

“Not—not entirely. But you’re getting there.” He’s scrambling, scraping up the tatters of his dignity and clutching them to his chest in a pointless effort to regain the upper hand.

“Hmmm. I think you’re a liar, and I’m going to prove it to you.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“It’s supposed to be the other way around, according to your contract. So. Bedroom?”

“Well. Um. Bedroom sounds acceptable. Unless you’d prefer to bend me over the sofa.” Okay, it’s safe to say the situation is spinning out of control. How did Potter manage to blow his carefully orchestrated agenda to pieces in a matter of seconds? 

“Let’s call that option B,” Potter says, unruffled. His eyes glint with something, some kind of emotion, but one blink, and it’s gone, leaving Regulus uncertain of what he’s seen. Contempt? Hunger?

“But what I meant to ask is, where is the bedroom, Regulus? You might not believe this, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about fucking you ever since you strutted with your outrageous proposal straight into our locker room. If you remember, you forbade me from ‘touching myself’ in the week ‘leading to the culmination,’ so you’re not the only one in a hurry here.” 

Oh. Hunger, then. The growling undertone clears away any doubts Regulus might have had. His stomach swoops in anticipation while his cock gives a violent jump, and he has to force himself to swallow through his suddenly dry throat so he can give James directions. “It’s down the hall to the right.” 

The bedroom is decorated in a similar vein to the house itself—beige and inoffensive. A large bed occupies most of the space, but before they can reach it, Potter slams the door shut behind them and pins Regulus to the wall with nothing but his impressive bulk. He grinds his hips into him, the hard ridge of his arousal unmissable against Regulus’ belly. 

This. It all comes down to this. The months of scheming and sneaking around. Studying obscure—possibly forbidden—fertility magic, poring over legal loopholes and drafting up contracts, preparing excuses for his absence, and purchasing real estate under an assumed Muggle name so he has a place to hole up for the duration of his pregnancy. 

Yes. This is the moment, and it’s all coming together. Except when he was hatching his plan oh-so-carefully, Regulus overlooked one variable. One person, to be more precise.

James Potter. James Potter, with his hands so confident, resting on Regulus’ waist, the thumbs slipping under the hem of his shirt and pressing on the sensitive skin above his hip bones, where James himself flaunts that irritating V-muscle that drives Regulus insane. His lips, hot and demanding on Regulus’ neck. His muffled groans, escaping whenever he detaches for a second to draw some breath into his lungs before he assaults Regulus again.

It all comes down to him.

And Regulus can only hope he survives what’s coming unscathed without losing control of the situation. Or worse, his feelings.

Chapter Text

Regulus

Conception, April 1st

When Regulus planned this evening, minute by minute, no detail overlooked, he had an idea of how it would unfold. With him calling the shots and James following every order like a good soldier. But in reality, James is the one in charge, and Regulus is reduced to a mere spectator, doing his best to hold on for the ride in the back seat. 

“Love these robes on you.” James’ hands move up, whispering over the expensive fabric draped across Regulus’ shoulders. Then, with one movement, James rips them off more effectively than if he used a spell. “But I’ll love them even more on the floor.” 

A pathetic mewl spills from Regulus’ mouth before he can get his reactions under control, but he valiantly regroups in a last-gasp attempt to save his dignity. “If you ruined them, I’ll send you the bill. They cost more than your whole wardrobe.” 

“Really? The price of clothes is what you’re concerned about right now? When I’m about to fill you with my cum and breed you like some kind of pureblood mare?” Potter quirks an eyebrow at him. So insufferably smug. 

Regulus should tear a strip off him for his insolence, but all he manages is a whimper. Before, he liked the prospect of getting fucked by Potter, but the pregnancy itself—if he’s being honest, the whole concept intimidates him. Or has. Until this moment. Now, with Potter’s molten gaze trained on him as he utters all these outrageous, lewd things, Regulus finds his gut tightening with lust at the idea of bearing a child. Potter’s child.

“N-no. No.”

“That’s what I thought,” Potter says, too arrogant, too unbearable, too irresistible as he runs the tip of his finger from Regulus’ chin to the collar of his shirt, flicking the top button open so he can continue to graze his skin until he reaches the divot between his clavicles. “So formal,” he mutters as if to himself. “Always so formal. It drives me mental.” He drops his hands to Regulus’ midriff, encircling it. “This stupid vest. The way it makes your waist so tiny. Should be illegal.”

Regulus suppresses a delighted smile. He clocked Potter’s interest right in the locker room. Now is the time to reap the benefits. Potter seems to be on the same page, his movements hurried and jerky as he tosses first the vest, then the shirt on the floor after a brief struggle with the buttons. 

He rakes his gaze over Regulus’ bare chest up and down without a single word, and Regulus can’t contain the shiver that racks his body under the scrutiny. Fuck. Will Potter think he cares about his opinion? Because he doesn’t, he really doesn’t. As long as Potter is, let’s say, ‘up’ to the task, Regulus doesn’t care if he considers him attractive. 

“You are so beautiful,” Potter breathes out with unexpected reverence, but his next actions contradict the almost religious awe of his words because they are pure sin.

Regulus wants to sneer to show Potter how much he doesn’t give a damn, but the bastard snatches the opportunity straight from under him by worshipping him with gentle hands and ravenous kisses. How bloody rude. Regulus doesn’t get the chance to comment on that either when Potter pulls out a wand and removes the rest of their clothes and his glasses with a single charm. Along with the garments Potter has already stripped off, he sends them sailing across the room until they land in a neatly folded stack by the bedside.

For a fleeting moment, the considerate gesture distracts Regulus from the fact he’s standing in front of James Potter stark naked, pale and freckled and skinny when Potter towers above him like a poster child for a strict training regimen and eating heaps of protein. Every inch of him is as close to perfection as a human being can be, and it has Regulus seething with rage because—it’s unfair. So unfair Potter gets to look this way, with shredded muscles covering his frame and rippling with every shift, every movement. Veins popping under miles of golden skin, thrumming with life. Exuding vitality while Regulus feels sickly and frail in comparison.

I suppose I need to find comfort in the fact that, as far as sperm donors go, I chose an impressive specimen.

Potter appears busy with a crisis of his own, gaping with his mouth parted, his wand dangling limply by his side. Before Regulus can tease him about his vacant stare, he snaps out of his daze, sends the wand soaring away on a wave of wandless magic (it’s not hot, it’s not, it’s not), and plants a firm hand on Regulus’ hip, motioning him to turn around. 

“What, bed not good enough for you?” Regulus sneers through a terminal case of paralyzed vocal cords.

“No. Too far. Can’t wait a second longer to have you,” Potter says, the strain in his voice a balm on Regulus’ bruised ego. His cock jumps, the head already flushed a deep red and wet with driblets of precum. A couple more gush out after Potter’s admission.

“It’s literally four steps away from us,” Regulus objects out of habit. Not like he cares where Potter fucks him and in what position as long as it ensures the desired result. 

“Too. Far,” Potter growls, biting into the sensitive juncture of his neck and shoulder, the absolute primitive wanker, while his fingers leave bruises on Regulus’ pale skin. He’s branding him with his touch and teeth, signing his handiwork, and Regulus—oh, he should mind, shouldn’t he? He should hate it. After all, he’s not—he’s not property. He doesn’t belong to anyone. Definitely not Potter. 

But does Regulus protest? Does he put him in his place? No. On the contrary, he throws his head back, wailing louder than a cat in heat, and lets Potter take him. Own him. Desecrate him.

“Yes. Yes. Good point. So bloody far,” Regulus pants, anguished, self-control in cinders, no longer recognizing himself. He’s out of his mind with need. His cock is leaking in an uninterrupted stream now, his ass pulsing and wet, which as an unusual sensation but convenient given his objective, and all he can think about is being pushed into the wall he’s leaning against and pounded within an inch of his life. 

“Glad we can agree on something,” Potter whispers in Regulus’ ear, then spreads his cheeks apart. 

With a careful touch, he circles Regulus’ rim, sending sparks careening through his body until they converge in a dull heat in his belly and cause his balls to ache. The duality of the sensation is proving almost more than Regulus can bear. Not with grace, at any rate.

“Dammit, Potter, stop teasing and fuck me. Give me that fat cock of yours. Pump me full of your cum until I’m swollen with your child. Please. Please. Take me. Breed me. Breed me so full I can’t stand,” Regulus pants, his dignity long gone and replaced with raw need. He has no idea what’s gotten into him. A carnal spirit must’ve possessed his body, overruling his common sense and making him spout all that nonsense.

“I thought this was just a business deal to you. A contract to be followed to the letter without any emotional investment. Wouldn’t have guessed you’d find the idea of being pregnant with my baby so tempting.”

 The slight friction, the pressure, the stretch of Potter’s fingers inside him—it all overwhelms Regulus for a while, so he has to gasp for breath before he manages an answer.

“It is—it is. Means to an end. Not. Not tempting.” Regulus stammers, his face overheating because that damn surge of horniness is rendering him incapable of concealing the truth. That he finds the idea appealing. More than appealing. Intriguing. Delicious. He never desired anything more in his life. Being bred like a little bitch. Filled to the brim. Potter fucking him thoroughly until he’s round and fat with the result of their coupling.

Regulus struggles to recover his sanity, a sliver, a tiny molecule, something to hold on to in the sea of lust he’s drowning in, but he fails. Completely. Potter offers him no reprieve, pumping his finger in and out without any resistance. A pathetic, drawn-out keening escapes Regulus as ecstasy shoots up his spine, and he arches his back, seeking more contact. Potter molds his forefront to him and lets out a groan as if soaking Regulus’ pleasure into himself. 

“Please. Harder. More. I need more,” Regulus begs, past caring about propriety.

Like a good soldier, Potter obeys, inserting a second finger inside. He doesn’t wait for Regulus to adjust and crooks them until he finds that bundle of nerves that has Regulus’ vision whiting out from sensory overload. 

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. Wet and hot and loose. Have you prepared yourself for me?” Astonishment filters into Potter’s voice, and a lightbulb goes off in Regulus’ head. 

“No. No. I didn’t touch myself. Must be—the ritual. It must be taking care of things.” Nothing else makes sense. But if the magic is affecting his mind, it explains why he’s so unnaturally aroused and running his mouth like a cheap whore from a house of ill repute.

What a relief. For a while there, I thought I was losing my mind, but it’s just the spell getting me all horny at the prospect of carrying Potter’s child.

“Oh.” The one syllable contains an ocean of grief, but swept up in his epiphany, Regulus hardly notices. If magic is pulling the strings, he doesn’t have to be ashamed of his behavior, does he? None of what he says counts against him because it’s the magic doing the talking. Not him. For once in his life, he doesn’t have to censor himself. He can let the magic course through him and tell Potter exactly what he wants. How much, how hard, and how deep. Invigorated by the prospect, he recovers bits of his previous confidence.

“Are you going to fuck me any time soon, Potter? I obviously don’t need any more prep.”

The fingers rubbing against his prostate so deliciously withdraw, and Regulus bites his tongue to prevent the whimper threatening to escape at the sudden emptiness, instantly regretting his actions. That felt good, what Potter was doing, and now he’s stopped, the infuriating prick, and doesn’t seem to be inclined to continue, holding Regulus but not moving.

“We’ve been over this, Regulus,” he hisses into his ear. “If we’re going to fuck, if we’re going to make a baby together, you need to show me the basic courtesy of calling me by my name. James. Say it.” The fingers on his hip, the ones already bruising him, grip harder. “Say my fucking name.” More pressure. Pain jolts through Regulus. Fuck. With his skin so soft and pale, it’ll take the marks weeks to fade.

Still doesn’t compare to the other mark Potter will leave on me, does it? That one will require nine months to recede.

His cock jolts violently, slobbering precum all over Regulus’ shaft. How embarrassing. He needs to stop finding the notion of being bred so arousing. 

“Okay then, James,” he savors the name, dragging his teeth through the consonants while his hands grab behind him to bring Potter closer. There’s a gasp as Potter’s hard cock comes into contact with the cleft of his ass. “Hurry up and fuck me. Prove you’re not all talk, darling,” in for a Sickle, “and pound me like our lives depend on it,” in for a Galleon.

My future certainly does.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweetheart. Fuck me so hard I can still feel you a week from now. Paint my insides with your cum. Put a baby in me, James. Don’t tell me I’m the only one in favor of the idea. You’re into it too, aren’t you? Fucking a child into me. Getting your best friend’s brother pregnant. Knocking him up. Right under Sirius’ nose.”

James makes a distressed, garbled sound, more animal than human. Elation blooms in Regulus’ chest, unfurling like a flower. Clearly, he’s not the only one affected by this whole situation, and the knowledge is heady. 

Encouraged, he presses on. 

“Tell me, James. Am I wrong?”

“No. No.” Two syllables waft out in a quiet denial. Regulus needs to hear more. He’s greedy for the audible proof that Potter desires him.

“Have you thought about it? Pictured it? Me, heavy with your child?” Regulus steals James’ hand and guides it to his stomach, a reassuring weight against the slight bump.

“Yes,” James says, and Regulus doesn’t have to turn to confirm there’s torment written all over his face. The tone of James’ voice is all he needs to recognize his passion. His need. It binds them, wrapping its coils around them. Tighter. Firmer. Closer.

“‘Yes’ what?” Regulus prompts when James doesn’t continue.

“Yes, I pictured it. You. Pregnant with my baby.” 

With the confidence of a man who’s struck gold, Regulus presses, “When? When were you picturing me, James?” 

“In the shower. When I was, fuck, when I was jacking off. I’d imagine how you might look all cute and round, your bump jutting out as you’re bouncing on my cock. How I’d fuck you on all fours when your belly would be too big and getting in the way. How I’d love knowing it’s my baby in there, that I was the one to knock up Regulus Black. How Sirius would lose the plot if he knew that I got his baby brother up the duff.” 

Regulus has to agree; all those scenarios sound more appealing than they probably should. He burns to ask for more details, to continue the push-and-pull, the game they play with James—okay, he’ll admit he doesn’t mind using the name of the bloke whose cock is rubbing so deliciously against him—but James ruins his intentions. Again.

Not wasting any more time, he curls his fingers into the globes of Regulus’ ass and enters him in one smooth glide without further talk or a single warning. He gives Regulus no pause to adjust, but he doesn’t require one, either. There’s no pain. No stretch and burn. Thanks to the ritual, Regulus’ hole is wet and pliant. Ready. He’s just so ready. To be fucked and owned. To give himself over. 

“James, please,” he whines, trying to coax him into moving when James’ thick cock slides fully inside and then stills. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Potter’s vocabulary seems to be suffering from a severe malfunction. He’s trembling and only manages to repeat the single word as he desperately grips Regulus’ side, his other hand threading under his arm and grabbing his throat. 

“That’s the idea. Move, dammit.” If he doesn’t, the throbbing heat in Regulus’ gut will incinerate him from the inside. He’ll explode. He’ll go mad. He’ll—

The thought fractures into a million pieces when James finally thrusts, and a wave of relief more profound than anything Regulus’ has ever experienced floods his system. Yes. Yes. This is it. The culmination of his plans. In all his scheming and calculating, he never believed the act of getting pregnant could feel this good. Nothing in his life has ever felt as right as James Potter’s fat cock splitting him in half, pushing in and out of him in a smooth, relentless rhythm as James pistons his hips with all the stamina of a star athlete. 

“You’re so good, James. You’re fucking me so good.”

“You like this, don’t you? Me being this deep inside. You’re so desperate for it. For my cock.”

“Yes.” There’s no point pretending. 

Regulus can’t help but be overcome with gratitude for James’ arms essentially propping up him because his knees would buckle otherwise from the intensity generated by their bodies. Sweat is running down his temples, and he doesn’t achieve more than arching his back with quiet moans, begging wordlessly for harsher treatment.

And James reads his intentions and provides. Sweet Merlin, how he provides. Regulus assumed he’d be capable, skilled, even, but James exceeded all his expectations. Those Regulus allowed himself to entertain when he devised this mad endeavor, anyway. There weren’t that many—unlike Potter—James, James, James—he didn’t pleasure himself at the fantasy of them fucking because that’d seem too much like crossing a line. But in the scenarios he considered, he anticipated—excellence. And yet. His imagination didn’t come close to the real thing. Potter is far, far better than his wildest dreams, tagging his prostate expertly with every thrust, holding him like he’s precious, like he cherishes the opportunity to touch him. Like he never intends to let go. 

“Who do you belong to?” James grinds out, speeding up his movements. With every thrust, he lets out a grunt, low and guttural, ratcheting Regulus’ arousal to ridiculous heights. His hand abandons Regulus’ chest and threads into his hair, yanking roughly at the strands. Firecrackers race from Regulus’ nape down his spine, adding more electricity to the tempest already brewing at the base. 

“You. I’m yours. You own me. Fuck me. Please, James. I’m so empty. Fill me with your babies, Jamie, please, can’t take it anymore,” he all but sobs as James picks up the pace, jerky now and so fast he’s pounding Regulus’ prostate almost without breaks. 

“Yes. Yes, I own you. Gonna mark you. Breed you. You’re gonna carry my fucking child, Regulus. You know why? Because you’re mine. You’ve always been mine, and now, you won’t be able to deny it. There will be proof. Everyone will see how I filled your belly.” James buries his teeth into a raised tendon of Regulus’ neck as if he’s trying to dominate him like a wild animal might do.

“Yours,” Regulus wails. “Please—fuck—come already, I need it, I need it so bad.” Emptiness coils inside him, springs wound tight in his gut and ready to explode, ready to take root, but he needs that trigger, that heat of James’ climax spilling in his body—in his womb, blistering and transformative.

“Don’t—don’t worry. Close. I’m almost there, Reggie. I’m gonna breed you so full.”

“Yes. Yes. I want to feel you. Want to feel you coming in me.”

James must have some presence of mind left, which Regulus finds impressive if slightly unbelievable under the circumstances because, with the utmost effort, he grabs Regulus’ cock. 

“You first.” James gives him a rough pump, then another. The pleasure searing through Regulus transforms into a sizzling current bordering on pain. A little more of this, and he won’t be able to maintain his composure much longer. “Come for me, Reggie. Come. So I can give you—everything. Everything you want. Everything you need.” 

When the grip on Regulus’ shaft tightens, James’ thumb flicking over his crown, something in Regulus snaps. His climax sweeps through him without mercy, a world-altering event that provides zero chances for Regulus to retain a hold on his sanity. He comes in a violent burst of pleasure, black stars littering his vision from the force, his whole body slumping forward as his muscles slacken. Overwhelmed but still secure in James’ arms. 

James only needs two more thrusts to reach the point of no return, climaxing almost in sync with Regulus.  

“Fuck, Reg, I’m—coming, I’m coming,” he grunts as his cock shoots spurts of cum, scorching Regulus’ insides. 

Hopefully, some of it will find its mark and fulfill its purpose. Get Regulus pregnant. With James’ child. The idea introduces a new host of shivers into Regulus’ system, and James, who Regulus believed to be an oblivious lout until, let’s face it, mere moments ago, notices and holds him closer, his lips warm against the skin of his neck.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Reggie.” James’ voice brims with tenderness. Regulus won’t stand for it. That’s not what either of them signed up for. Quite literally. They both signed a deal that clearly spelled out their duties and obligations. Tenderness was not included in the provisions. And Regulus knows because he wrote the damn thing.

Quicksilver fast, Regulus weaves out of James’ hold. He lets out an involuntary hiss when James’ cock slips free from his hole as he whirls around to level with James with a glare. 

“We’re done here.” He holds his chin high. Regal and unperturbed. At least that’s the image he’s striving to project despite his hair matted with sweat, his flaccid cock dangling between his legs, and Potter’s cum oozing down his thighs. He’s Regulus Black, dammit. Nobody pulls off regal better than him. He’s got the lineage and the training his mother drilled into him with her claw-like hands to fall back on precisely on such an occasion. Okay, maybe not precisely. To no one’s surprise, his etiquette lessons didn’t cover the protocol after getting impregnated by his brother’s best friend, but they laid the foundation, and Regulus is more than capable of expanding on it.

Potter gives him an unimpressed scan, then puts a hand on his hip. “No, I don’t think we are, Regulus.” The rumbling quality in his voice has Regulus’ knees going all wobbly, but he locks his muscles tight and doesn’t let show how much Potter rattles him.

“The contract clearly states—” he begins, but Potter growls; he actually growls like a caveman, then scoops Regulus up as though he’s a rag doll and throws him onto the so far ignored bed.

Regulus opens his mouth to voice his displeasure because this kind of behavior is absolutely unacceptable, outrageous, truly; who the hell does Potter think he is to maul Regulus this way, like a doltish brute? 

But once again, James throws a wrench in his plans. “Screw your contract.” 

He follows Regulus onto the bed, looming over him as he straddles his hips. Regulus’ cock, spent and inert mere seconds ago, gives an interested twinge under James’ weight. “Screw your fucking conditions.” Potter grabs Regulus’ wrists to pin them by his sides, yet Regulus still does nothing. 

He goes along with this madness, not voicing a peep of protest because—why? His eyes travel from the neck corded with muscle over the solid chest with sparse black hair and dusky nipples to the stomach ridged with abs, and finally settle on the heavy cock that’s grown semi-hard during their altercation and begins to strain upward. Oh, right. That’s why. 

“And screw you for thinking we’re done. You have no idea, sweetheart.”

Shivers rack Regulus’ body when he hears the monicker, even though he normally loathes pet names, “how long I’ve waited for this chance. And you think I’d settle for one round with you? Think again. We’re finished when I say we are, and not a second sooner. And to be absolutely clear, that’s going to be when I’ve fucked the ability to walk out of you. When you’re so full of my cum you would get pregnant even without your precious ritual. When you lose the capacity to speak except for moaning my name.” 

Right on cue, a helpless moan slips from Regulus’ lips after hearing the scandalous talk pouring from Potter’s lips. Who would’ve thought the straight-laced golden boy had such filth in him? Certainly not Regulus, but he can’t deny how much it turns him on.

Shame curls through him. Damn the stupid ritual that’s muddling his mind, his precious saber-like instrument, with a fog of horniness. And damn Potter and his obscene mouth, but Regulus really wouldn’t mind round two, at least judging by the state of his cock, stiff again and rubbing against James’ erection. Not to mention the itch in his ass demanding to be soothed by forceful pounding and the pangs in his belly that still beg to be properly filled.

“I see you’re on board,” Potter says, unbearably smug.

“Only my cock. It lacks taste.” 

Potter leans down, crushing their mouths together in a ruthless kiss. Possessive. Skirting the edge of desperation. Heat explodes in the pit of Regulus’ stomach when James plunges his tongue into Regulus’ mouth without asking permission.

“No, it seems honest. Unlike the rest of you.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Isn’t the whole point of this evening to do it the other way around, love?” Potter brings his lips next to his ear, lingering obnoxiously right there for endless seconds, his breath hot, intoxicating, before he withdraws to resituate himself on his haunches. And dammit if being pinned down by Potter’s solid frame isn’t something lifted straight from Regulus’ fantasies he amused himself with when he caught him staring in Hogwarts. Occasionally. Rarely. Almost never. But sometimes, he let his mind wander, and he’d be lying if he claimed it had never drifted in Potter’s direction.

“The whole point is that your job here is done. Once to culmination should—should suffice. And since you’ve already finished, your obligations are complete.”

“But don’t you want to make extra sure you did all you could for your plan to succeed? Really guarantee it takes?” Potter rocks his hips suggestively. A fat bead of precum squirts out of his slit and slowly rolls down his shaft. Regulus has never encountered such an intense need to taste something. His mouth waters as if he were a dog, drooling after its master.

“I suppose—it would be prudent—to use every means at my disposal to achieve the desired outcome.” Regulus’ statement comes out in shivering pants, his resolve unraveling fast as Potter continues to grind against him.

“Yes. So. Very. Prudent.” In a sudden flurry of limbs, James switches their positions, so Regulus now lies on his belly, his ass sticking in the air, his face pressed into the pillow by a strong hand on his nape. He’s immobile and helpless, about to be bred again, and he loves every second of it. He loves it so much his next exhale would come out as a scream if he hadn’t bitten his lips.

“I’m all about prudence,” Regulus agrees when he trusts himself enough to talk again.

“Absolutely. It’s just good sense.” James moves behind Regulus and pushes inside him. “Wouldn’t want your precious plan to fail, would we?” 

“No. The plan is what matters—ah—the most.” And he’d better remember that, as difficult as the concept seems with James moving in and out of him, smooth and relentless, as if created specifically to fit him. As if their bodies were cast from a matching pair of molds, always meant to slot together seamlessly. 

“Not right this second,” James huffs out, snapping his hips so that his cock nudges against Regulus’ prostate, forcing him to unleash the scream he considered stifled.

“Maybe—maybe not right now,” Regulus admits, subdued. In his position, facing down, the pillow cold against his cheek, he can’t tell if James has heard him. He gives no indication, that’s for sure, as he continues to fuck into him. 

It’s probably for the best if he hasn’t. Such admissions skirt that dangerous boundary Regulus swore he wouldn’t cross on his path to vengeance. He needs to remember this is nothing more than the first step. And the following ones are bound to present much greater challenges, so Regulus can’t afford any muddled thinking or foolish hopes. 

But, for the moment, he can enjoy himself. So he closes his eyes shut and lets Potter—James—fuck him over and over and over until neither of them can move anymore. Until they’re weary to the bone but filled with achingly sweet contentedness as they rest snuggled between the covers, James’ hand stroking Regulus’ belly and Regulus not swatting his hand away but rather entwining their fingers together. They cast a sloppy cleaning spell, extinguish the candles, and fall asleep in each other’s arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

 In the morning, Regulus sneaks out under the guise of a silencing spell to avoid rousing James and heads out to enact the next phase of his scheme.

Alone.

Just as he likes it.

And if there’s a quiet voice in his head whispering that having the sturdy presence of James Potter by his side might not be so bad for what lies ahead, Regulus’ ears are deaf to it, his mind fixating on two goals only. 

Carrying the baby they hopefully conceived last night to term. 

And dismantling the most ancient and noble House of Black.

Chapter Text

Regulus

16 weeks along,  July 22nd

Regulus is in the middle of puking his guts out for the third fucking time this afternoon when the doorbell rings.

“Ugh. Figures,” he mutters, wipes his mouth, and takes a step toward the washbasin. Unfortunately, his unruly insides—no, let’s be accurate, the baby developing in his freaking magical womb—disagrees with his intentions. Another wave of nausea slams into him, forcing him to throw himself at the toilet bowl with no regard for dignity. Acid burns the back of his throat as he vomits what little food is left in his stomach.

Why they call it ‘morning sickness’ when it lasts all day and night long, I’ll never know.

Pregnancy. So far, not as advertised. Regulus strongly suspects his female relatives gushing about ‘magical times’ were overselling the experience to either offset the sheer insanity of growing a human being inside their bodies or lying to lure other unsuspecting victims into a pit of shared misery. After all, they say it loves company.

The bell rings again, but Regulus can’t do much about it in his current position, hunched over on his knees, with his head stuck in the toilet. 

When his stomach settles, or rather, when Regulus doesn’t have anything more in him to vomit, he heaves himself up, one hand resting on his distended belly in a quiet reassurance that his tiny stowaway remains unharmed. He splashes cold water on his face, pointedly ignoring his reflection in the mirror, all too aware of what he’d see if he looked. A complexion that used to be porcelain white but now veers more into greenish. Dark bruises under his eyes. Cheeks too gaunt to be considered healthy anymore. But there’s nothing he can do to fix his appearance, so he scrubs himself dry with a towel and exits the bathroom to deal with his unexpected guest.

In front of the entrance, he casts a quick verification spell to discern the identity of his visitor. Excessive? Perhaps. Especially considering the list of people aware of Regulus’ location is so selective it’s practically non-existent, and in case someone managed to discover his secret, the array of wards he painstakingly installed should dispose of any intruder. Nonetheless, he refuses to take the risk. He won’t compromise the safety of his hideout or, more importantly, his baby. Not after he went to such lengths to ensure it.

Once he confirms no danger lurks outside, he throws the door wide open to greet his best friend.

“Dora? What are you doing here? We don’t have another visit scheduled for two weeks.”

“Yes, and that’s a great deal of time to spend alone, so I thought I’d better check on you,” Pandora says by way of greeting, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a bag overflowing with groceries, complete with carrot tops and a baguette sticking out like a sodding cliché. “Why does it take you seventeen minutes to open the door?”

She’s wearing embroidered periwinkle robes that complement her ash blond hair and pale skin, looking ethereal as usual. A dream solidified. Her attitude, however, is anything but, brisk and no-nonsense as she pushes past Regulus. Once she bustles inside, she comes to a halt in front of him, sets her bags down for a moment, and wraps him in a hug. 

“Because I’m pregnant and slow, and you interrupted me while I was studying my lunch in reverse,” Regulus grumbles.

“You know, we could avoid this song and dance if you connected my house to your Floo.”

Regulus snorts as he steps back. “Your house is like a shelter for every lost soul that happens to be passing through. I won’t risk someone trampling in by accident. Or worse, my parents sneaking one of their spies inside on purpose.”

“Come on, Reg. Your mother and father are not criminal masterminds,” Pandora chides gently, but he refuses to be swayed. The people who underestimated Walburga and Orion Black would confirm the wisdom of his vigilance. If they could. But they can’t because they’re all dead.

“Better to go a little overboard with safety protocols than leave me vulnerable to my parents’ goons invading my property,” he says, not willing to explain the breadth of malevolence his parents are capable of carrying out.

“Okay. They’re your parents. I will defer to your judgment. By the way, you’ve got a little something—” Pandora tilts her chin toward Regulus’ shoulder, where the episode of morning sickness left evidence in the form of an incriminating stain.

“Dammit. That’s mortifying.” A quick Scourgify fixes the state of Regulus’ attire but doesn’t make a dent in his humiliation. Or his exhaustion. Dear Merlin, but he’s always weary these days, as though the fetus is sapping all his energy and hogging it for itself.

Regulus trudges through a short hallway into the living room, where he collapses on the couch and uses his favorite blanket, green with stitched-on foxes, to wrap himself into a little cocoon of safety. Pandora drops the bag of groceries on the floor and makes herself comfortable next to him, tucking her legs under her body and studying Regulus with the laser-beam focus that comes as a shock to most people who consider her a flighty weirdo. Not to Regulus, though. No, he’s very familiar with the extent of his friend’s brilliance.

“Morning sickness still giving you a hard time?” she asks with sympathy.

“Morning, noon, evening, night, the whole damn day, the entire week, and then another week starts and the entire cycle begins anew.” Absently, Regulus rubs his stomach. His skin itches again after another growth spurt, driving him crazy. Strange how he failed to consider that a growing belly would mean stretching skin. And stretching skin itches something wicked, regardless of how many ointments and soothing spells he applies to it. Yet another unwelcome discovery on the constantly expanding list of misery.

Pandora’s face tightens with concern. “That can’t be normal. Did you ask Axel about it? What does he think?”

Regulus shrugs. “Of course I asked him. He assured me the baby is healthy. As am I, apparently. There’s nothing to be alarmed about, and the constant vomiting is just part of the deal.”

“A pretty crappy deal, if you ask me. You’re not making a compelling case for getting pregnant.”

“Believe me, if I had any other choice, I wouldn’t go through with this. Alas. It’s a necessary stepping stone on my path to success.”

Pandora scrunches her nose, but that’s the only outward sign of the disapproval Regulus is sure she’s doing her best not to throw in his face. “I still think there were easier ways to bring down your parents than gestating an entire human being.”

“Easier? Possibly. A lot more violent? Almost certainly. No, believe me. This will be more elegant. And peaceful. Once I return triumphant with a legitimate Black heir in my arms, they’ll have to step down, as the hex-proof contract they both voluntarily signed and which is currently stored under round-the-clock security at Gringotts comes into effect, courtesy of the heavy-duty spells my solicitor and I placed on it.” 

“Hm. If you say so. You know your family best, after all.” The tone of Pandora’s voice suggests she doesn’t entirely believe him, but the good friend she is, she changes the subject. “Do you feel like eating, or are you still queasy? I’ve brought supplies.” She nudges the bag on the floor to demonstrate, the contents jiggling with the motion.

“I’m so hungry I could swallow a hippogriff whole. Whether the sprog will let me, that’s another question.” 

She grabs his hand and brings it to her lap, encircling his wrist with her fingers. “Morgana’s breath, Reg. A sick bird would have more solid bones than you. A sick bird dying from starvation. Did the Healer really say everything was okay?”

“Yes, I’m bloody sure.” He extracts himself from Pandora’s grip and gets off the couch to pour them both a glass of water, mostly to escape her concern, which sounds rather like judgment in his opinion.

Although I probably need to drink since I keep losing fluids because of the constant vomiting, and the fetus sucks up whatever’s left in my system. 

The tactic fails as Pandora’s gaze remains trained on him the entire time and continues to track the changes in his body with disconcerting intensity once he eases himself back down and sets the drinks on the coffee table in front of them. 

“You’ve lost a lot of weight, Reg. Or it all went to your belly. Are you sure you’re only having one baby?” 

Regulus tugs the blanket over his bump to cover the incriminating body part. “Way to boost a man’s confidence, Dora. Yes, I’m only having the one baby. Axel showed me the illu-gram and everything,” he says, stifling a groan. He’s well aware of the drastic transformation his body underwent over the past several months and doesn’t love the reminder.

The slender waist he used to be so proud of is nowhere to be found, replaced by a swollen bump growing bigger with each passing day. The rest of him is rail thin, miles away from the sleek physique honed by countless runs and Quidditch training sessions. “I know my stomach looks like a fucking blimp. Apparently, I’ve got something called ‘anteverted uterus,’ which is apparently Latin for an organ sticking out. Plus, there’s the unfortunate fact that sodding Potter, the lumbering hulk he is, apparently makes gigantic babies.” 

If Regulus suspected the Herculean physique would come with such drawbacks, he might’ve reconsidered his choice of the child’s other parent. Then a memory of those bulging muscles pressing him into a wall, fucking him with all the vigor of an elite athlete who has a body shredded from an intense training regimen, flashes across his mind. No. No, he can’t regret his decision. Potter is an amazing physical specimen whose genetic contribution will hopefully override Regulus’ case of terminal scrawniness.

“My apologies,” Pandora worries her bottom lip with her teeth, observing him. “If it’s any consolation, you’re glowing.” 

“Vomit for three and a half months straight and you’ll be glowing, too,” Regulus scoffs. “But if you must know, Axel expressed minor concerns about me being malnourished and prescribed some potions that should alleviate the nausea and provide me with the necessary nutrients.”

“That’s a relief. Did they help?”

“I threw them up.” 

“I’ll take that as a no.” 

They exchange a look and burst into laughter. The normalcy of the action, paired with the fact that someone is here to share it with him, eases the anxiety scraping at Regulus’ ribs. 

“No, definitely a no.” He wipes his eyes when his mirth subsides. “I suppose I could ask for another round, but my next check-up is due in a week, so I’ll muddle through until then. I’d prefer to avoid popping by the hospital too often.”

“Why?” 

For a while, Regulus pretends to be absorbed in smoothing out the wrinkles on the blanket before he answers. “I’d rather not risk someone recognizing me and reporting back to my parents.”

Pandora makes a thoughtful sound. “This again. I understand being cautious, but aren’t you crossing into paranoia, Reg? Do you really think your parents have spies everywhere? Or that a random patient would find a way to pass the information along to them?”

“Well.” Regulus smacks his lips. “I can’t discount the possibility. Plus, I don’t want to get Axel in trouble. He’s been keeping everything off the books, so the fewer visits, the lesser the chance that someone begins poking around, asking questions.”

“What would your parents do if they found out, anyway? It’s not like they can force you to terminate the pregnancy.” 

On instinct, Regulus hugs his stomach as if trying to protect the tiny person inside. Damn right they can’t force him. He won’t let them. Anyone trying to harm the sprog should prepare themselves for the fight of their lives.

Based on the slight smile tugging at Pandora’s lips, the significance of the gesture is not lost on her, but to Regulus’ relief, she doesn’t comment on it.

“I don’t know, but I’d prefer not to find out.”

Pandora inclines her head. The waterfall of her hair tumbles to one side, revealing a small turquoise owl in her ear, wonderfully matching the color of her outfit. She is poised and elegant and composed. Exactly as Regulus used to be. Exactly as he isn’t anymore. 

In his clothes, simple and stretchy to accommodate his growing body (he’s wearing joggers, for Merlin’s sake), disheveled, with hair that hasn’t seen a trim in months and probably looks a fright thanks to the episode in the bathroom, he feels rather pathetic in comparison. 

Pathetic, wretched, and so very pregnant. He is fucking pregnant. A pregnant man. Who subjected himself to strange magic to achieve what exactly? Taking down his parents? Dishing out a little vengeance? Proving to himself—and his brother—that he’s worth something? That he’s not the blood-purist sycophant Sirius takes him for? 

Or was it all just an excuse to sleep with James Potter? To be bred like a broodmare by him? 

The absurdity of the situation hits Regulus in full force, shutting his airways and filling his eyes with tears. How utterly ridiculous and ridiculously unbearable. He was laughing seconds ago. These rapid mood shifts are yet another aspect of his condition he would happily forgo. 

“Shh, Reggie. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” Pandora leans over the gap between them, closing her arms around him as much as their position allows, and holds him while he sobs his heart out for reasons he can’t name. 

“Can’t help myself,” he sniffles into the soft fabric of her robes. “Bloody hormones. These sodding mood swings, I swear to Merlin, Dora. I never would’ve believed how draining they could be. No idea what I was thinking. Five months. I’ve got five more months to go, and I’m already a wreck. I don’t want to picture what I’ll look like in the third trimester. Catatonic, probably.” He pulls back with a wet laugh, gesturing limply at her shoulder. “Sorry. I might’ve ruined your outfit.”

“Don’t worry about that, love.” She takes care of any tear residue with a flick of her wand, then climbs to her feet. “Come on, let me fix you some dinner to boost your spirits. Everything always seems bleaker on an empty stomach.”

“Sounds great, except, like I said, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold anything down,” Regulus objects. Even the abstract idea of food makes his insides rebel.

“I might have a remedy for mitigating nausea in pregnant people,” Pandora announces with a beatific smile. 

Regulus can’t thank her enough for using ‘people’ instead of ‘mothers.’ “Really? I’ve been searching for some spells with this effect, but so far, I’ve come up empty. Of course, my resources have been a tad limited.”

“I dived into research a bit lately to help out my friend. He’s a stubborn one, but I love him anyway.” 

Her kindness moves Regulus to tears again, and because of the bloody hormones, he’s unable to suppress their flow, so they streak down his cheeks freely. The second he wipes them away, a fresh wave replaces them. “That’s, um, so nice of you.” Another round of sniffing follows. Merlin, he’s hopeless.

 “So you’re okay with me casting on you?”

“Are the spells safe for the baby?” Regulus asks, hugging his belly. 

He can’t stop himself. Along with the hormones, his protective instincts are in overdrive, demanding to be heard and impossible to deny. Yet another thing that’s no longer under his control. All of this is happening too fast, spiraling out of hand with him watching from the sidelines, like an interloper in his own body. 

“Absolutely. I checked with another friend of mine—Alicia. You might remember her from Hogwarts, although she was in Ravenclaw, and I know you didn’t associate with their crowd much. Anyway, she’s a healer at Mungo’s now, specializing in prenatal care—no, don’t worry, I didn’t mention any specifics to her; I said the spells were for my pregnant cousin—and she confirmed they were perfectly harmless to the fetus.”

“Okay then. Guess you can go ahead.” Regulus gives a reluctant nod and unwraps his arms. An involuntary shiver runs through him as the action exposes his stomach.

“Don’t worry, Reg, I’d never hurt either of you,” Pandora says, then pushes up her sleeves and starts casting.

Two hours later, they’re sitting at a kitchen table, devouring a simple dinner of roast herb chicken and baked potatoes with carrots Pandora made. Quite tasty and, to Regulus’ surprise and relief, not threatening to reappear. Whatever spells Pandora used to counteract his unsettled digestion proved more than effective. For the first time in months, he’s enjoying a nausea-free meal, extremely grateful for the reprieve from constant misery. 

“How are you feeling?” Pandora asks, setting down the utensils after finishing her meal and eyeing him like a bomb that might go off at the slightest gust of wind.

“Better than I have in days. Thanks, Dora.”

“Anytime, Reg.” She leans across the table, capturing his hand in hers. “Now, let’s put the kettle on so you can fill me in on everything.”

“Pretty sure we’ve already covered me. I don’t have much going on at the moment except for gestating a human and puking my guts out, but I could murder a cup of tea.”

Without the prospect of rushing to the bathroom, Regulus feels a lot more content and willing to chat. Even if he can only drink herbal concoctions these days instead of his favorite strong Assam.

Pandora discovers a forgotten packet of biscuits in the far reaches of the pantry, and for a while, they sip their beverages in companionable silence, but when she places her mug down and bites her lip in a way that’s always preceded her addressing an upleasant issue back in Hogwarts, Regulus knows the peace is over.

He blows out a long-suffering breath through his nose, steeling himself for the inevitable lecture about the foolishness of his undertaking. After all, it’s nothing he hasn’t told himself many times in the four months since he slept with Potter. At least Pandora won’t be as harsh on him as Regulus usually is. “Go ahead. Say your piece,” he gives her an opening. Anything to get this over with as fast as possible.

“I don’t have a piece.”

“Really? Not a single thing you’d want to share? That doesn’t sound like you, Dora.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Well, I guess I am a little concerned.”

Ah. There we go.

“I assure you that, discounting the morning sickness, I’m doing splendid,” Regulus states primly, straightening in the chair.

“Are you?” She raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “You’re all alone, squirreled away in the middle of nowhere in France of all places—”

“Not nowhere. In Revel. You know why I chose this spot. The hospital where Axel works is nearby, so I don’t have to travel far because preggos can only use the Floo and I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it’ll become once I’m further along. The shorter the distance spent in transit, the better. So, despite your claims, I’m perfectly safe and under medical supervision.” 

Yes, Regulus took all these aspects into account when choosing the property where he’d weather the nine long months of his pregnancy. And the deciding factor ended up being the remote location of this particular house, nestled deep in the mountains, surrounded by nothing but wilderness, which suits Regulus’ dropping off the map agenda. Of course, admitting as much would prove Dora’s point, and he’ll be damned if he gives her the satisfaction.

Pandora squeezes his fingers. Rather forcefully, in Regulus’ opinion. She might give the impression of an airy fae creature at first glance, but she has a core of steel and doesn’t hesitate to employ it when necessary. 

“That’s all nice and good, Reg, but it doesn’t change the fact you’ve only got deer for company here, and I worry about you.”

“Don’t forget the badgers. Foxes, too. And magpies. It’s quite lively, actually, especially this time of year. Can’t sleep in the morning because of all the ruckus.”

“And that’s lovely, but you might want to consider adding some humans into the mix.”

“I’ve got you,” he mumbles.

“Yes. Once a month, because you won’t let me visit more often.”

“We’ve been over this. I can’t afford to draw attention to this place by having people popping over constantly.” 

“Then connect my house to your Floo. Nobody will notice anything suspicious if I turn up straight in your sitting room.”

Regulus casts a quick Tempus. “Ah, only took you ninety-three minutes to bring the issue up again.” 

“You timed me?” she asks with an indignant huff.

“Just pointing out the futility of rehashing the topic.” 

Pandora must concede his point because she launches an attack from a different angle. “Limiting your contact to seeing one person once a month can’t be healthy, Reg. People are social creatures. This can’t possibly fulfill your need for companionship.” 

“Says who? I’m doing fine.” He snatches his hands away and begins toying with the hem of the tablecloth. 

Pandora doesn’t contradict him, but her put-upon sigh expresses her opinion more than clearly. Too clearly. Regulus simply doesn’t assign as great a value to human camaraderie as most people do. He’s always fared well alone. It’s not his fault others can’t wrap their minds around the concept of embracing solitude.

“Say what you want, but I know you’re not as happy without someone to snark at as you like to pretend. And what if something happens to you? Or the baby? Who will give you first aid? The magpies?”

“If you must know, I have an arrangement with Axel. In case of emergency, the spell in this ring,” Regulus lifts up his hand and wriggles it, showcasing the silver band inlaid with an emerald on his middle finger, “triggers and alerts him, and he’ll come to my rescue. Because I pay him heaps of money to do exactly that. So you can rest easy, Dora. This is me we’re talking about. I’ve thought of every ‘worst case’ scenario under the sun and arranged appropriate contingencies.”

Pandora shakes her head, then her wand, and, in seconds, the dirty dishes begin flying into the sink, where brushes and sponges immediately attack them. 

“Okay. Good. That’s a relief, actually.” She darts her gaze away, biting her lips, which tells Regulus she’s not sure how to broach the next topic. A sure sign he won’t like it. 

“Would you consider,” she says casually—too casually, which instantly sends Regulus’ inner alarm bells ringing, “asking James to pop by from time to time? To keep an eye on you?”

Yep. He one hundred percent called it. He doesn’t like this notion at all.

Regulus carefully avoids thinking about James in any form these days and doesn’t appreciate the reminder that the fetus gestating in his belly has a second parent. A parent with warm eyes, a dazzling smile, hair that contradicts nature laws, and absolutely drool-worthy muscles. Also, an ego the size of a dragon but the heart to match it. In a moment of weakness, he disclosed his identity to Pandora and regretted the lapse of judgment ever since.

What label applies to James, anyway? Second parent? Other father? Or just father, full stop? If he’s the father, does that make me the mother?

Regulus’ hand comes to rest on his bump, scrubbing idly at the irritated skin. He fancies he can sense the flutter of movement inside, even though, according to every book on pregnancy he’s read, for first-time parents, the movements become noticeable most commonly in week twenty.

Those books only covered pregnant women, though. Perhaps it’s different for pregnant men.

“Potter’s involvement in the situation ended the moment he came inside me.” Or, technically, after the four rounds that followed, but Regulus’ doesn’t volunteer that tidbit.

Pandora snorts, then puts on her best approximation of Regulus’ posh accent. “How crude, Regulus. Who would’ve thought the heir to the noble house of Black capable of such coarse language?” Then, in her normal voice, she adds, “Kudos for trying, but you won’t distract me so easily. I think you should let James in on the secret. So he can be there for you. And them.” 

She lifts out of her seat to poke him in his belly. As light as her touch is, Regulus scrambles away in a blind panic, the chair scuffing against the floor loudly in his hasty attempt to escape the unexpected breach of his personal space. Normally, he doesn’t mind Pandora touching him, but his stomach, with its precious cargo, is off-limits. To anyone. 

“Sorry.” Pandora’s face crumbles into a regretful expression when she notices his frightened reaction. 

“No harm done.” Flushed, he resettles in his seat, glad she doesn’t pry further into his instinctual response.

“My point stands, though. Plus, I think James could benefit from some information, too. He seems so melancholy these days. Unfocused. Like he’s got a thousand things on his mind.”

Regulus’ pulse ratchets up after her revelation, jumping in his throat like a deranged rabbit, but can anyone blame him? The success of his plan hinges on secrecy. If Potter had blabbed, if he’d revealed Regulus’ goals, all his effort, all his sacrifices would have been in vain. His only chance at vengeance would be ruined. 

“Did he say anything to you? Did he ask about me? Because our contract explicitly forbids him from inquiring about my whereabouts. Not to mention, the hexes woven into the document should prevent him from getting the question out if he tried.”

Pandora squints at him. “Regulus. What did you do?”

“Let’s say I installed safeguards to protect my interests and leave it at that.”

“Of course you did.” Pandora rolls her eyes, showcasing the impressive range of motion the human eye can perform. “No. Cool your Bombardas, James didn’t ask me a single thing—he never so much as mentioned your name. But he’s been… off his game. Whenever he comes for physio, he’s always so tense, and I overheard the coach complaining about his performance, even considering subbing him in the upcoming season. And James never gets subbed. If my calculations are correct, it’s been going on for almost four months, give or take. Doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots, and I can’t help feeling sorry for him.”

“Why? I was upfront about the conditions from the start. If he wasn’t equipped for the task, he should’ve refused. And you’re supposed to be my friend, not be all concerned about Potter,” Regulus says, a little too defensively, but there’s little he can do about that.

It’s just so frustrating. Despite his best efforts, Potter keeps hijacking his life. First, he stole Regulus’ brother. Then he fucked a baby into Regulus, stealing his ability to digest food, and yes, this one might’ve been Regulus’ idea, but he’s pregnant and miserable, so he doesn’t care about being fair. And now, the greedy bastard is stealing Pandora as well when she should be on Regulus’ side. 

“Of course, I’m your friend, Reg. That’s why I’m saying all this. Because I think you might benefit from his company. There’s no need to be jealous just because I’m concerned about James in a professional capacity.”

“Jealous? Please. Don’t be daft.” Jealous. Of Potter. Pfft. What a ludicrous notion. 

“Mmm, sure.” The look Pandora gives him is too knowing for his liking. “Still, if you’re interested in my opinion—”

“I’m not,” Regulus grumbles under his breath, but Pandora blasts straight through his feeble protest. 

“—since there’s no backing out of this crazy scheme of yours now, I reckon reaching out to James would do you both good. Furthermore, there’s the baby to consider.” She tilts his chin toward his stomach to indicate what she means. As if there was another extra baby floating around or maybe hiding in the sofa cushions. “They deserve to have both parents, don’t you think?”

Nettled by Pandora’s misplaced worries, Regulus scrambles to his feet and begins pacing the kitchen. 

“Look, Dora, I appreciate your visit, the dinner, and the unprompted meddling, but I’ve got everything handled, alright? I certainly don’t need Potter poking his ugly nose into my business. His poking in my anything is done. Concluded. Finished. Case in point,” Regulus stops halfway across the floor to flick both his forefingers at his stomach before he returns to his pacing, “and as far as the baby itself is concerned, we settled the matter of custody in the contract. What I need right now is a bit of friendly support, not to hear how I should manage my affairs. If I wanted to be pestered about how to live my life, I would’ve stayed in Grimmauld.” 

Pandora lifts her hands in a universal peaceful gesture that immediately douses the flames of Regulus’ rising temper. “Sorry, Reg. You’re right.” She gets out of the chair and steps closer, arms open wide. “May I?” 

When he nods, she brings him into a hug, mindful not to press against his belly. Her slender form feels so warm and familiar against him. The scent of her perfume, lilac with a note of gooseberry, filters into Regulus’ nose, reminding him of when they hung out in Hogwarts library to read contraband Muggle romance novels. Simpler times when the only thing they had to worry about was acing their tests. When Regulus didn’t have to stress about a vengeance scheme, a baby growing inside him, or a man he possibly hurt and refuses to face again. Oh, how Regulus misses those days.

Pandora pats him on the back. “Of course, I’m here to support you. And to spoil the little monster rotten once they’re born.”

“You keep saying ‘they,’ but it’s a he. It’s gonna be a boy,” Regulus mutters into the crook of her neck.

“Oh. Did Axel tell you the sex already?”

“No. It’s a bit early for that, but the ceremony I performed should’ve ensured I’m having a boy. If it’s a girl, I’m fucked.”

“Well.” She pulls back a fraction, one hand planted on his arm, the other waving toward Regulus’ protruding stomach. “I’d say that’s accurate.” 

A chuckle escapes him. “No argument there. Very fucked indeed.”

His mind strays to the memories of James’ cock breaching him, and heat erupts in his cheeks. Definitely a night to remember, even without the memento he carries in his belly.

Pandora eyes him with interest. “You never told me. How was James? Was he any good? And how big is his, you know? ‘Poking device?’ Asking for a friend.” She accompanies her words with a lopsided grin.

“Pandora!” Regulus squeaks out, scandalized. Did she really ask him about Potter’s cock? Unbelievable. What a harlot. He still adores her, but certain information is meant to stay between a man and his impregnator, if that’s even a word.

“What?” She shrugs. “We have this bet going on at the office about some of the players. It’s natural to be curious when I have Galleons on the line.”

“No. Galleons notwithstanding, I’m not answering that question. I don’t kiss and tell. Or fuck and tell.” 

He steps out of her hold and heads to the couch, where he nestles into the pillows, pulls his legs up, and draws the blanket over them. Not hungry or plagued by nausea for once, fatigue crashes over him, weighing down his bones and rendering him sluggish and woozy.

Pandora snuggles into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “Spoilsport. If I go bankrupt, it’ll be all your fault.”

“Sorry, Dora,” he says through a yawn. “I’m gonna help you out once I get full access to our family vault.” Another yawn cracks open his jaws. “And sorry about that,” he adds, slapping his hand over his mouth.

“Don’t be silly. No need for apologies between friends. Take a nap, Reg. Sounds like you could do with one. Feel free to use me as a pillow. I don’t mind.” 

“Okay. But only if it makes you happy.” He yawns again and lets his eyelids, which must’ve transformed into lead platings in the past couple of minutes, fall closed.

“The happiest, my prickly little hedgehog,” Pandora agrees, scrubbing gently through his hair. 

Tendrils of warmth radiate from Regulus’ scalp into his entire body, relaxing his muscles until they’re loose like cut pieces of string. If he weren’t so bloody exhausted, he’d embarrass himself by purring from utter bliss. “Glad to help, then.” 

As hard as he racks his brain, Regulus can’t remember when he last felt this safe and content. Possibly when James held him during the one night they spent together, his arms banded around Regulus’ torso, not restricting but protective. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too bad to have someone here to hold him when he struggles with the weight of his situation. Of course, he torched any chance of that someone being James when he snuck out in the morning like a coward. 

Regulus can’t imagine James would want to see him after he disposed of him in such a cruel manner. And there’s the real reason he avoids contacting him. Shame. Coupled with the fear of disappointment. Regulus couldn’t handle the blow James’ inevitable rejection would deal him. Of course, he’d rather shave his head bald than tell Pandora.

But really, it’s for the best. The circumstances are complicated enough without adding more emotions to the drama. Regulus just needs to survive the next five months. And a week. Until he gives birth. Then he’ll have his revenge. He’ll bestow a painful lesson on his parents before assuming his rightful seat as Lord Black, ensuring comfort and safety for himself, his brother, and most importantly, his newborn son.

And if James wants to be involved in the child’s life afterward, great. Regulus won’t (and can’t) stop him, but if not, no skin off his nose either. Not one iota. It will be him and the sprog against the world.

He burrows his face deeper into Pandora’s neck and lets sleep engulf him. 

Chapter Text

James

16,5 weeks along, July 25th

“Potter. A word?” James is about to sneak out, hopefully unnoticed, but the request stops him in his tracks. And the stern tone of Coach’s voice doesn’t incite much optimism regarding the topic of the discussion that will surely follow. 

On a certain level, James has been expecting his chicken to come home to roost for quite some time. He’s been off his game for months—quite literally—and after the disaster of today’s training session, some kind of reckoning seemed almost inevitable. Still, a tiny part of him held out hope for a longer reprieve. But it looks as though the universe has run out of patience with his lackluster results, giving James no option other than to square his shoulders and take his lumps.

They end up in the coach’s office, a cramped room barely deserving the name, where a rickety desk languishes under the weight of scraps of paper and notepads containing various notes. Probably analyses of the strengths and weaknesses of every single player on their team, if James were to guess. And also of every other player in the League. And possibly the information about their children, spouses, distant cousins, favorite meals, and childhood pets. James has long since learned Coach Kent does his homework. Usually, it works in the Arrow’s favor. Not today, though. No, today his thoroughness is going to bite James in the ass. Hard.

Should make broomstick riding fun.

There are also two large boards with diagrams outlining their current strategy hanging on the walls, along with many, many photos capturing the team’s various line-ups over the years. Quidditch memorabilia and Arrows merchandise cover every available surface, fighting a losing battle against dust. The only tidy area in the whole room is the shelf with five golden cups above Coach’s desk. Unlike everything else around here, they are gleaming. Whether a sixth will be joining them this year seems a lot more uncertain than it did before today.

“Take a seat.” Kent waves toward a pile of towels stitched with the Arrows emblem. James liberates a chair from underneath and plops down, gripping the edges to stop himself from fidgeting. 

“Would you like anything to drink? Tea? Something stronger?”

James shakes his head, desperate to get this over with as fast as possible. Kent pours himself a tumbler of Ogden’s finest and slumps heavily behind his desk, which is covered with rows of snow globes emblazoned with the Arrows logo.

Probably leftovers from last year’s inventory.

The tiny snowflakes inside swirl and dance much like James’ rioting nerves, and just like his nerves, they never seem to settle down.

“Straight to the quick then,” Kent says, once he knocks back his whiskey. “Is everything okay with you, Potter? How are the parents? Healthy?”

James has braced himself for a dressing down, so this line of questioning takes him aback. He gives a stuttered nod, uncertain of what his reaction should be. 

Kent grunts his acknowledgment before he continues. “Nothing else bothering you? Girlfriend not giving you trouble?”

“No. According to my last check-up, I’m in top physical shape, and there’s no troublesome girlfriend to speak of, Coach.” 

Mostly because I’m as gay as a week is long. And everything else is just brilliant. Roses and daffodils. Couldn’t be better. Except for the fact that I got someone pregnant. Funny story, it was a bloke. My best friend’s brother, no less. The person I’d had a crush on forever. And after we spent the hottest night of my life together, he jetted out without so much as a ‘bye’ and vanished into thin air. He hasn’t reached out since, so I have no idea how he’s coping, where he is, or if he’s getting the help and support he needs, and it’s messing with my focus so much I end up botching basic passes worse than a bloody rookie. 

Of course, James can’t say any of that to the man holding his professional career in his hands unless he wants to win a fast trip to a Mungo’s mind healer. 

“Everything’s fine. Business as usual,” he says, trying for nonchalance and failing horribly.

Does my voice sound as strained to Coach’s ears as it does to mine?

Difficult to assess because the coach doesn’t twitch a muscle, his eyes drilling into James as if attempting to pry all his secrets out into the open. “Glad to hear it. So if everything is ‘fine’ and ‘business as usual,’ care to explain what the fuck that performance was out there? If you can even call it that? Were you asleep the entire time? Seriously, Potter. I’ve seen first-years at Hogwarts fly better than you. Hell, I’ve seen blind pigeons fly better than you. Did the broomstick handle get stuck in your ass? You broke formation at every turn and didn’t manage to land a single goal. Not to mention that you almost crashed into one of the posts. And then there was your little stunt.”

James shrinks into himself when he replays the incident in his head. Definitely not his finest moment.

“What were you thinking, cutting across O’Malley’s flight line? The poor girl crashed straight into Woodward to avoid you. It’s rule number one of any basic stratagem. Always give the Seeker plenty of room to maneuver. Now we have two players at Mungo’s with the season start around the corner. How am I supposed to put together a decent team without my primary Seeker? You tell me, Potter.”

“Sorry.” James drops his gaze, studying the snow globes. Such gaudy things, but the fans love them. Shame bolts through him, leaving prickles of misery in its wake. Yes, he fumbled the training, injuring his mates and disappointing everyone,  most of all himself. He’s well aware and doesn’t love the reminder. 

Ever since the business with Regulus, he’s been unable to concentrate on anything other than creamy skin and dark hair and soft moans urging him to fuck him harder. On the fact that Regulus is out there somewhere, out of reach, carrying James’ baby. Provided the ritual worked. How can James focus on tossing balls when his mind is always hung up on Regulus? Searching for him. Worrying about him. Craving him.

After a lengthy silence, the coach heaves out a sigh. “Look, Potter. Normally, you’re one of my most consistent players. We’ve got all these,” he gestures towards the line of golden cups, “no small thanks to your contribution. So I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and the opportunity to pull yourself together, you hear me? You’re gonna take a nice little break. Two weeks.”

“But that’ll only leave me with one week to train before our first game of the season.”

Coach lifts a hand, quelling the rest of his protests before they can manifest. “No buts. This is not up for debate. Use the time to pull your head out of your ass and get it back in the game. Because if you continue down this path, I’m gonna have to relegate you to a substitute. Maybe trade you. And I’d really hate to do that. Do we have a deal?” 

James bites back the instinctive objection rattling in his throat. Arguing won’t win him any favors with Coach Kent. No matter how much he’d love to rant and wail against the punishment, and no matter how much it stings, he has to admit it’s more than fair. He fucked up out there. A timeout is the least he deserves.

I doubt two weeks with nothing to do except stew in anxiety about Regulus will improve my mental state, but that’s not Kent’s fault.

“Yes, Coach. We have a deal. I’ll try to—um. Step up my game. Any tips?” James adds, only half joking. Kent’s been around for a while, so who knows? Perhaps he can offer some insight.

Kent rubs his chin and leans back in his chair, treating the question more seriously than James expected. “Yes, actually. Something’s obviously eating at you. Come on, lad, you didn’t think you fooled me, did you? I wasn’t born yesterday.” A rueful smile flits across his face, smoothing out his harsh features for a second before melting away. “You’re not the first player to have a poor showing because of personal matters. I’d say your private life is none of my business until it starts affecting the team, which is precisely what happened. So, my suggestion is this. Find the root of your problem and fix it before you start working on fixing yourself. Lean on your friends. Visit a mind healer. Whatever helps. But faffing around with the external won’t achieve anything unless you’re willing to confront the core of your issues.”

If only. If only James could confront the ‘core of his issues.’ The green-eyed core with a white streak in his hair and a surprisingly sweet mouth that contrasts so starkly with his sharp tongue. The core that disappeared without a trace.

“What if it remains inaccessible?” he ventures.

“Then find a way to fucking access it, Potter. Or do I have to hold your hand? Draw you a map? You’re an adult, for Merlin’s sake. Act like it.”

The expression on James’ face must be miserable, verging on pathetic because Kent’s voice softens as he continues. “Off the record? You’re my favorite. I’d hate to see you go. But keep going like this, and you won’t give me a choice. I have a responsibility to the owners and, more importantly, to the rest of the team. And above all else, to our fans. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Coach. Crystal.”

 “Okay then.” Kent picks up a notepad and begins jotting down his thoughts, completely forgetting James’ presence. “What are you still doing here?” he asks after a beat when he lifts his head and finds James still across from him. “Beat it. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

James exits the office deep in thought but only makes it a couple of steps in the direction of the locker room and, hopefully, a long, hot shower when a voice coming from behind halts him for the second time today. 

“Hi, James. Can we talk?” 

Fuck. Not again. Just let me get out of this place in peace.

With a pained smile, he whirls around and comes face to face with their mysterious physical therapist. Pandora disarms his glare with an innocent blink of her wide blue eyes. She’s tall and willowy, looking almost fragile in her colorful scrubs. 

A misleading impression, as James discovered during his first visit. Not expecting much from the ethereal creature, he lay down on the cot with a smug grin on his face, only to regret his cavalier attitude the second Pandora dug her steel-like fingers into his stiff muscles and made him groan with pain. But he learned his lesson that day and hasn’t dared to underestimate her ever since. 

Why does everyone have the sudden urge to talk to me? Fuck, does Pandora intend to lecture me as well? I’m so bloody wiped and just want to go home and get pissed with Sirius.

“Um.” He rubs the back of his neck. “What about? I’m pretty beat and haven’t gotten a chance to hop in the shower yet.” 

“This won’t take long. It’s about our mutual acquaintance.” 

That catches James’ interest. During their first meeting, Regulus mentioned that he and Pandora were friends. How could James have forgotten? And, for that matter, why had it never occurred to him to try and wheedle some information out of her? Well, because he forgot, obviously, or rather, failed to make the connection, with his mind hung up on Regulus, but he can’t help regretting the missed opportunity. 

The exhaustion pressing on him like a lead blanket slips right off at the possibility of finally learning something concrete about the elusive younger Black. 

“Do you mean…” James sucks on his bottom lip, unsure if mentioning Regulus’ name will trigger the magical booby traps woven into the contract he signed. ‘Worse than an unbreakable oath if you violate one of the conditions,’ were Regulus’ exact words. But as hard as James is racking his brain, he can’t remember whether simply asking Pandora to confirm the identity of Regulus as her friend falls under the violation umbrella. 

Thankfully, she takes pity on him after a few seconds of watching him squirm. “Yes, it’s about Regulus.”

“Is he,” James licks his lips, testing the ice, “alright?” Can he ask more questions? Press for more information? 

Is he well? Is he actually pregnant? Is the baby healthy? How is he coping? Does he miss me? Did he mention me? He must’ve, right? How else would Pandora know to approach me? 

James’ cheeks flush at the realization. Sweet Merlin. If Pandora, with whom James has a cordial but strictly professional relationship where they never chat about anything more personal than the weather and their biscuit preferences (James likes digestives with chocolate, Pandora prefers plain shortbread), sought him out to discuss Regulus, she must’ve heard about James’ involvement in the entire venture. She must know, or suspect, he’s the father of Regulus’ baby.

Let’s hope Regulus is not the type to gossip about the gory details.

A fresh wave of heat washes over James when he realizes what Regulus could share with his friend if he wished to.

“He’s fine. Mostly. Stubborn. And snippy.” A delicate smile graces Pandora’s lips. 

“That seems like the Regulus I remember from our limited interactions.”

Pandora’s smile widens. “Let’s talk more in private. These aren’t matters suited for a discussion in hallways.” She motions for James to follow, then spins on her heel and marches further down the corridor, leading him to her office.

Due to its double function as a physio gym, it’s much more spacious and better organized than Kent’s cluttered space. A solid desk stands under a large window that lets in plenty of light. There’s a thick mat under a row of wall bars and various gymnastic equipment scattered around. Despite the illusion of brightness facilitated by the slanted sunbeams glinting off floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the atmosphere here is thick with the ghosts of James’ first encounter with Regulus. 

The instant he steps inside, memories sucker punch him in the chest, crushing him into the floor and rendering his every breath a misery. Here he was, sitting on the stupid gymnastic ball that’s now tidied away in a corner, listening to Regulus’ outlandish proposal while battling against a surge of lust so intense it rendered him dizzy. This time, he’s dizzy for completely different, less pleasant reasons, but the end result remains the same. The world around him won’t quit spinning.

“Sit.” Pandora waves at her chair. 

 The tone of her voice demands obedience, so James plonks down without a peep. 

“So. Regulus.” She grabs a stack of paper and jots something down before addressing James again. “If I know him, and I do, even though he hates it and denies it to his last breath, he probably bound you by a million spells to prevent you from asking about him or divulging any details about his activities. Are my assumptions correct?” 

James’ head is reeling from today’s rollercoaster of emotion—and possibly from the post-match adrenaline crash—but he manages a nod.

“Thought so. Well, he implied as much. Devious little bugger.” 

“Isn’t he your best friend?” 

“Oh no, he is. Precisely because he’s a devious little bugger.” She finishes scribbling and slides the sheet of paper across the desk toward him, then hops up, perching on the edge like an exotic butterfly who wandered into the building by accident.“Take this. You’re going to need it when you pay him a visit.” 

James swipes his gaze over Pandora’s neat handwriting, recognizing the shape of a magical formula but not its effect. “What kind of spell is this?”

“A nausea-alleviating charm. It seemed to help the last time I popped by, but then time got away from us, and I had to leave before I could teach him. Morning sickness is doing a number on him, the poor dear,” she clarifies when James’ only response is a blank stare. 

“You’re several very long steps ahead of me here, Pandora, so please, walk me back a bit. What do you mean, when I pay Regulus a visit? First, I have no clue where he is, and second, does this mean he’s really—” 

Pregnant, James intends to say, but his teeth clamp together, and his tongue becomes a dead weight at the bottom of his mouth, preventing him from uttering another word. “Fuck. Those stupid precautions of his really seem to work,” he says when he un-sticks his jaw after a minute.

“Quite ingenious,” Pandora agrees without a hint of sympathy for James’ plight. “No surprise there. Regulus has always been a prodigy. Allow me to do the talking, then. Ingenious or not, he didn’t bind me with a curse of silence.”

“Maybe he didn’t assume his best friend would betray his confidence.” 

She shrugs, unperturbed. “It’s for his own good.” 

“Not positive Regulus would agree. I mean, I am curious, sure. Burning with curiosity, in fact. Obsessed, if I’m being honest. All I think about these days is Regulus and how he’s doing, but he put all these security protocols in place for a reason, and I don’t like the idea of us trespassing on them. Either of us.” James shocks himself by defending the obstacles Regulus installed to keep things between them as impersonal as possible. The obstacles he’s loathed until this very moment. What’s even more startling is that he believes in what he says. He promised Regulus he’d honor their contract, so that’s what he intends to do.

He meets Pandora’s gaze head-on, steeling himself for a confrontation. To his surprise, she lets out a tinkling laugh and reaches out to pat his shoulder in approval as though he passed some sort of test.

“You’re exactly what he needs, James Potter. For once, he made the right choice, consciously or not. Don’t worry. I’ll bear the full extent of Regulus’ wrath in case my meddling backfires. But it won’t.” 

“How can you be so certain? This is Regulus we’re talking about. He holds a grudge like it’s a sports discipline, and he’s gunning for the gold medal.” James would love nothing more than to believe Pandora, but the four months of zero contact haven’t inspired much confidence in him. If anything, they confirmed Regulus meant it when he said their night was a one time occurrence, never to be repeated.

“Magic.” Pandora taps her nose with a conspiratorial grin. “Intuition. Prophetic dreams. Fairy whispers. Star reading. Take your pick. Mostly, I’ve learned Regulus isn’t as independent as he likes to pretend. So, to answer the questions you’re burning to ask but can’t. Yes, he’s really pregnant, and yes, he told me about the part you played in that, even though he refused to elaborate.” She waggles her eyebrows at James. “Imagine my disappointment.”

“Thank fuck,” James mutters under his breath. The notion of Pandora learning any kind of specifics about the night he spent with Regulus—nope, he refuses to dwell on that. His cheeks still heat when he remembers the absolute filth his mouth spouted in the heat of the moment. The things he said to Regulus. The things he did to him. Not that James was a blushing virgin before, but seeing Regulus desperate to be fucked, to be bred by James, brought out the worst in him. Or the best. He can’t decide, but he’s certain he’d die of embarrassment if Pandora knew.

Unaware of his thoughts, she continues. “Regulus is physically healthy—for the most part. The morning sickness is pretty rough on him, so he’s more malnourished than I’d like. Hence the charm. For you to get some food into him and not just bodily fluids.” She gestures at the piece of paper resting under James’ hand. While he’s choking on air over her casual remark, she carries on placidly. “Mostly, I think he’s lonely. He’d deny this as well, but he misses the company of other people. And I’m going to go on a limb here and say that the company he craves most right now is yours. Company and reassurance. What he’s going through is pretty scary.”

No. That can’t be right. Regulus can’t miss James. He wouldn’t make such a big deal of keeping him at arm’s length otherwise.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea to abandon him. If he asked, I would’ve been there for him the whole time. Merlin, he wouldn’t even have to ask. Just not sneak out in the middle of the night without providing a way of contacting him,” James says, unable to staunch the bitterness coating every syllable.

“Yes, Regulus tends to be his own worst enemy,” Pandora agrees sagely, “so I’m asking you on his behalf. It’s my duty as his best mate, and I accept full responsibility if he hexes your balls off.” 

“Can he really do that?” James asks with sudden apprehension.

Perhaps reaching out to Regulus when he doesn’t wish to be found isn’t the best course of action. He went to a lot of trouble to ensure his privacy. How is he going to react when James intrudes on it? 

I doubt he will throw me a parade. Hexing off body parts sounds more likely.

Pandora ‘accepting responsibility’ is all well and good, but it won’t give James his balls back if Regulus decides to teach him a lesson.

No. He can’t give in to doubt. For months on end, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Regulus. Is he going to throw in the towel now when the chance to reach him fell into his lap? Forget safety and precautions. James would be foolish not to jump at the opportunity to speak with the man who’s infiltrated his every waking thought.

“Well. Like I said. He’s a prodigy, and technically speaking, he has no use for that part of your body anymore, but don’t fret, James. I don’t think Reg would actually hurt you. He’s more bark than bite. Kind of like those tiny animals who make themselves all puffy and big to scare off predators. Or grow spikes all over their bodies. Like a hedgehog,” Pandora says with the serenity of someone whose balls aren’t on the line. 

James makes a face. “I really hope your therapy magic can reverse this type of hex if you misjudged the situation. Now, please tell me where—” 

Once again, before he utters the question, his tongue freezes, but this time, the effect is accompanied by his vocal cords clamping firmly together, not letting any words or air out. Or in. In a blind panic, James gasps for breath, struggling to suck oxygen into his lungs while dark spots pop up in his vision.

“Try to say something not concerning Regulus. If I’m correct, it should counteract the effect.” Pandora’s voice cuts through the fog enveloping James’ brain.

“Coach ordered me to take two weeks off. Thank fuck.” The hold of Regulus’ safeguard relents, which James uses to gulp down as much air as possible. Sweet, life-giving air. He’ll never take it for granted again. He’ll never underestimate Regulus, either. 

“Those spells of his are no joke. What a sadistic prick.” 

A genius sadistic prick. A sadistic prick I miss despite only spending a single night with him. Damn, there might be something wrong with me.

“Yes. He can be that, too. Regulus contains multitudes,” Pandora replies, then jumps off the table, motioning for James to get up. She jots something down on another piece of paper and hands it to him. “Here are instructions on how to locate Reg’s residence and how to bypass the wards he’s installed.”

“Wards. Of course, there are wards. Why make it simple like giving the—” James wants to say ‘father of your child’ but pivots before the jinxes come into effect again, “people close to you Floo access when you can have them jumping through all kinds of hoops and unraveling wards.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t have his Floo access, either.”

Considering Pandora’s close relationship with Regulus, and her knowledge of his entire operation, this strikes James as peculiar. “Why not?”

“Something about my house serving as a sanctuary for mongrels who could swarm his haven at any time.”

“That’s not particularly reassuring.” 

The only response Pandora offers him is a shrug.

“Can you at least give me a hint about what I should expect when I visit him?”

“Nothing too dangerous, I don’t think. The usual suspects. Muggle-repelling charms, Entrails-expelling curses, Petrificus booby traps, and the Black family special, the Soul-devouring jinx. It doesn’t actually devour your soul, mind you. Just drains every drop of liquid from your body, leaving you a desiccated husk, but you know the Blacks. They love their drama and mystique.” Pandora rolls her eyes, expressing her opinion about this particular trait of her best friend’s family. 

James doesn’t share her blasé attitude. “How is that not dangerous?” he sputters.

 “There are Muggle-repelling charms in place, so there’s no danger of an innocent soul being hurt. And it’s intended to serve as a defense against intruders, so there needs to be an element of deterrent,” Pandora explains slowly, as though James is a dim-witted child.

“Intruders? Meaning people exactly like me?” he reminds her, pointing a thumb at his chest to underscore his point.

“Aren’t you Gryffindor lot supposed to be brave? So go forth. Be brave. Dismantle some curses. Consider looking up a rehydrating counter-charm before, though. You know, I never would’ve guessed a handful of obstacles would prevent James Potter from getting what he wants. Isn’t Regulus worth the risk?” She shakes her head in disappointment, and while James understands her act is, well, an act meant to prod him into action, it ignites the desire to prove her wrong deep inside his chest.

“Of course, he’s worth it. He’s worth everything,” he says in a terse voice. 

Pandora pats his shoulder with an indulgent smile. She’s won this round, and they both know it. “An excellent answer, Mister Potter. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Yeah, yeah. A fat lot of good they’ll do me when I’m a dried-up husk. So, um, where am I going?” 

“I’ve written it all down for you. Regulus is in France, in a tiny hamlet in the middle of nowhere. You’ll find his house on the outskirts of the village near the mountainside. Use those two weeks to take care of him. And yourself.”

“Okay. Actually, that doesn’t sound like the worst idea.” Perhaps some time in Regulus’ company, confirming that he’s alive and healthy, would settle the constant dread cramping in James’ belly. Perhaps it might even help resolve his performance issues. Fingers crossed.

Cheered up by the prospect, James tucks both pieces of paper safely into the pocket of his quidditch kit, then heads out but looks over his shoulder one last time before closing the door behind him. “Thanks, Pandora. I mean, you didn’t have to—thanks.”

“Anytime, James. Like I said, Regulus is my best friend, and he deserves all the support, even if he kicks and screams while getting it.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“And that’s why I think you’ll be good for him. Keep me posted. Please.” She goes to organize the exercise equipment strewn around the room, effectively dismissing him.

“Will do.” 

James feels lightheaded from relief and excitement. Here’s his chance to learn the answers to the questions plaguing him for four damn months. A chance to lay his eyes on Regulus again. To make sure he’s alright despite the peculiar business he embarked on, and then, well. What happens next remains to be seen. 

James wouldn’t mind rekindling a friendship at the very least, although can he call it ‘rekindling’ when they were never friends in the first place? He also wouldn’t say no to more if Regulus were open to such a proposition. No, that’s an understatement. Merlin, James would probably break his neck with how fast he’d agreed to ‘more.’

Provided Regulus doesn’t hex me as soon as I darken his doorstep. 

Which remains a distinct possibility despite Pandora’s reassurances. Regulus might be nice to her, but that doesn’t mean he’ll extend the same courtesy to James. 

Still. James is willing to accept the risk. More than willing. Eager. Like he said to Pandora, Regulus is worth it. And James deserves some bloody closure.

For the first time in months, he allows himself to hope as he makes his way to the locker room with a smile on his face.

Regulus doesn't make an appearance in this chapter, so here's a little consolation prize :) The wonderful Olga Snow illustrated a scene from this story for me and she did an extra concept of Regulus with his white hair. He's so beautiful, no wonder James is smitten.

Chapter Text

James

17 weeks along, July 29th

This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.

The thought runs on a loop through James’ mind like a hamster stuck in a wheel when he arrives at Regulus’ home. 

Armed with Pandora’s instructions and ‘useful’ advice on bypassing the wards (he did end up looking up a countermeasure to the Soul-sucking curse, plus a rehydration spell, just in case), he found Regulus’ temporary refuge quite easily. There aren’t that many dwellings outside Revel except for one lonesome building, which simplified his task quite a lot.

And James has to admit the house, or Maison L’Étoile as the sign above the entrance proclaims (James has to fight back the biggest snort to ever snort at the name. How very pretentious. How very on the nose. How very Regulus) has its charms despite its remote location within the Montagne Noire National Park. It’s a classic French chalet built from grey, rough-hewn stone, complete with wooden railings adorned with lovingly carved ornaments, an elevated patio accessible via stairs, and a tidy herb garden attached to one side. A forest borders the property, spreading as far as the eye can see. The only sounds James hears are the hiss of the wind combing through the needles and the occasional call of a hawk protecting his domain.

Top marks on remoteness and tranquil vibes. Guess I can understand the appeal if Regulus’ primary motivation is secrecy, but it seems awfully lonely up here. No wonder Pandora worries about him.

Which is why, despite his reservations about trespassing on Regulus’ privacy, James draws himself up, scrapes together some courage, and knocks on the door. But not before performing protective spells on his body in general and on his balls in particular. There’s a difference between calculated recklessness and pure insanity. 

For a while, nothing happens except for James’ pulse thundering in his ears and drowning out the noise of nature.

Okay, I always knew that Regulus ignoring me was a possibility. So, what now?

Blowing the door apart by force is always an option. However, James can’t suppress the nagging feeling that such an action wouldn’t endear him to Regulus. And he’d rather begin the visit on the right foot. To stack the odds in his favor so he can build a proper relationship with Regulus. Because he wants one. Badly. For the sake of the baby, of course. Not because he’s been obsessed with Regulus forever. No. The baby is his priority. 

So, any real estate violence is out of the question. At least for the time being. Last resort only. 

James poises his hand for one more knock, figuring an extra attempt can’t hurt, when the door flies open, revealing a disgruntled Regulus Black standing in the doorway. A visibly pregnant Regulus Black, with hair longer than James remembers pulled into a messy bun and eyes blazing with fury. 

The shock of seeing the man who only appeared in his fantasies for four months, combined with the anger emanating from him in palpable waves, sends James stumbling a few steps back. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” 

James’ tongue must lack common sense because it blurts out the first idiotic thing that pops into his mind. “I thought we settled this matter already. It’s James, not Potter.”

Regulus’ brows furrow into an impressive glare, but the effect is diminished by the flour dusted across his nose and the apron with lavender print and purple hemming he’s wearing over a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of light green slacks with a stretchy waistband accommodating his distended belly. It’s not quite a bump yet, but it’s far from the tiny waist Regulus boasted when they first met. 

Here’s my confirmation, then. The ritual seems to have worked. 

He sweeps his eyes over Regulus again. To confirm with absolute certainty. Yes. Definitely worked. James doesn’t allow himself to dwell on how the visual of pregnant Regulus Black scrambles his brain. Not right this second. He’d have to fall to his feet in worship, and he’s got more pressing issues at the moment. Like gaining an invitation.

“May I?” James asks, and without considering the recklessness of his behavior, he steps up to Regulus, reaches over, and wipes the flour away. “There you go. Much better.”

The action stuns Regulus into silence, but not for long. After a second or two, he recovers from his shock and launches an offensive. “Wasn’t I clear enough in the contract, James? Can your teeny tiny pea brain comprehend written text? Because I vividly recall a clause about ‘no contact until initiated by the first party’—the first party being me, which was also defined in the legally and magically binding document,” Regulus hisses. “How did you get past the wards? Why are you not a shrivelled husk? No, forget that. How did you manage to track me down?” 

Sometimes, the best defense is a counter-attack by diversion. “Why are you covered in flour, anyway?”

Regulus’ head snaps up, his eyes widening with a sudden realization. “Shit. Fuck. Dammit, they’re gonna burn, and it’s all your fault, Potter.” He darts back into the house without a backward glance, abandoning James on the porch.

“For Merlin’s sake, it’s James,” he shouts loudly in the hopes of reaching Regulus’ ears. Only silence rings out in response.

Should James chase after him? No, he’s already trespassed enough for one day. Plus, he’s got his answers, so there’s no reason for him to overstay his welcome, not that he received any. 

The most important thing is that Regulus appears to be fine. Undeniably pregnant, yes, but he looked healthy otherwise, as far as James could tell. Disgruntled and prickly, but that’s his default, not cause for concern. 

“If you’re not coming inside, at least do me a favor and close the bloody door. You’re letting the draft in,” comes Regulus’ voice from within the house.

“How could I resist such a heartfelt invitation?” James mutters to himself, following the sound through a short hallway into a spacious area that combines a living room and kitchen. 

The interior reflects the outside, with more focus on wooden accents, although James glimpses the rough texture of the stone walls peeking out here and there from underneath the paneling. The whole impression is rustic but warm, with what James guesses is Regulus’ personal touch, evident in soft blankets, colorful pillows on the couch, and pots with flowers on every available shelf. A vast window overlooking the mountains takes up one whole side of the room, and a fireplace with perfectly stacked logs occupies the adjacent wall. 

The space looks, well, the only fitting description is cozy. Lived-in. It’s clear Regulus has made himself at home here. Alone. A sharp sting of pain pierces James’ sternum, but he refuses to ponder why. 

“Well, these are ruined,” Regulus announces, staring mournfully into a pan.

James moves closer, careful not to spook Regulus again, and peers over his shoulder at the charred remnants of his culinary efforts. “What were they supposed to be? Trilobites?” The air reeks of acrid smoke, so he forces himself to breathe through his mouth.

“Shortbread biscuits.” Regulus smacks the pan on the counter with a loud clang.

“Why? I mean, why go through the hassle of baking them? There’s a French village not twenty minutes from here. I’m positive one of the local boulangeries carries a lot more interesting pastries than good ol’ English shortbread. Are you homesick, Reg?” 

“No, I’m not fucking homesick, Potter,” Regulus snaps. “What I am is bored. And I was craving something sweet, didn’t want to go through the hassle of dressing myself to mask this,” Regulus turns around, waving at his abdomen, “which is getting more and more complicated by the minute since I’m growing at an alarming speed, and anything more elaborate like macarons, which I would absolutely murder for, are above my skill level,” he finishes his speech by yelling in James’ face. 

His eyes glitter, his cheeks are flushed crimson, and he is so beautiful that James’ brain stutters and refuses to function. Unfortunately, so does his survival instinct. “Has anyone told you that your freckles stand out more when you blush?” 

“Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable. You ignore my every wish, everything you promised, barge in on me unannounced, make me burn the biscuits I was really looking forward to and—” Regulus slaps his hand over his mouth, cutting himself off. “Ugh, that stench,” he moans as if he only now realized how much the air in the kitchen reeks. “Stay where you are,” he barks at James before fleeing up the stairs. 

A door slams somewhere in the house, followed by deafening silence.

What the hell just happened?

To busy himself while he waits, James clears up the foul odour with a purification spell, which he should’ve done in the first place, then vanishes the immolated biscuits. By the time he’s finished cleaning the pan, Regulus still hasn’t reappeared, and James’ chest constricts with concern. 

“Regulus? Doing alright up there?” he calls out.

Nothing. No response. The band around James’ lungs tightens. Regulus ordered him to stay put, but he’s already in trouble for showing up uninvited, so he might as well add another transgression to the tally.

He makes his way upstairs, where he discovers a landing pad with three doors. One leads to what turns out to be a closet, and the other to Regulus’ bedroom, which means the third one must belong to the bathroom. “Reg. Are you in there?”

“Don’t you dare enter, Potter,” comes a muffled response.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself? It’s James. Literally one syllable. Much easier to pronounce than Potter. Or Regulus, for that matter, but you don’t hear me complaining.” He leans against the door, waiting for a reaction, which seems like a running theme of the day.

“You’re complaining now. Be grateful I’m even talking to you—” once again, Regulus’ voice cuts off mid-sentence. A sound of retching follows, loud and unmistakable.

James finally connects the dots and frantically pats his pockets for the piece of paper Pandora gave him. “Hold on, Reg, I can help.”

“Stay outside! And quit calling me Reg,” Regulus squeezes in between bouts of nausea, but James ignores him and barges in, wand in hand.

Regulus strikes a pitiful picture, slumped over the toilet bowl with his hair, usually sleek and neatly coifed, hanging down in lifeless strings and obscuring his face. 

James doesn’t waste a second before the incantation leaves his lips.

“Nauseam levario!” 

As the effect of the spell takes hold, he sighs with relief, and his muscles relax. No longer in pain, he wipes his mouth and pins James with a glare. “I told you to stay outside.”

“You told me a lot of things. This might surprise you, or more likely not, but I’m not overly keen on letting people boss me around. Unless they buy me dinner first.” James scratches a side of his neck, aiming a sheepish grin at Regulus. In his experience, the lopsided tilt of his mouth lends him a rakish appearance (Sirius’ words, not his), and James is not above taking advantage of the fact people have trouble resisting it. 

A hint of a smile flickers across Regulus’ features but vanishes in an instant, replaced by a scowl. 

Ha! Not immune to the signature Potter charm either, as much as he’d love to pretend.

James suppresses the urge to preen. “Are you alright, Reg? And, um, the baby?” He inclines his head toward Regulus’ belly.

“Yes. We’re both fine. You can tone down the unrequested displays of chivalry, Potter.” 

“Thank you, James.”

Regulus’ face scrunches up in confusion. “Are you having a stroke? I’m Regulus. James is your name.”

“Oh, so you do remember it. I’m not having a stroke. Just demonstrating a polite response to someone helping you out of a bind.”

“I’m sorry.” Regulus’ says. His words sound innocuous but so full of poison James begins to worry he might’ve gone a step too far in his needling. “Please accept my boundless gratitude for your timely intervention. James, my hero,” Regulus rolls his eyes as he heaves himself up. “Does that stroke your ego enough?”

“It’ll do. For a start.” Perhaps antagonizing Regulus further is not a smart idea. James is here to build bridges, not burn them. He steels himself for a biting comeback, or worse, a hex, but to his surprise, Regulus lets James’ dig go unnoticed. 

“Go back to the living room. I need to freshen up first before I can deal with you.” The order allows no room for negotiation, so James trudges downstairs, takes a seat on the comfortable sofa, and waits.

Regulus returns five minutes later. His face is clean, if pale, and shadowed by heavy circles under his eyes. He’s shed the apron, fully revealing the casual muggle clothes underneath. They are a tight fit, and the visual causes James to almost swallow his tongue. His cock twitches, making him grateful his sitting position masks the unfortunate reaction somewhat. 

Seriously, though. How is Regulus so bloody hot? Should I find him this hot? I mean, it’s Regulus, and I’ve always considered him handsome, but he’s a man, so I’d assume the pregnancy would look strange on him. Make him less attractive, not more.

James sweeps his gaze over him as he waddles toward the couch, lingering on his cut-glass features and the curve of his stomach. Nope, not less attractive in the slightest. Who would’ve thought James would find Regulus’ pregnancy this appealing? Not him. No sir. Yet here he is, drooling like a bullmastiff offered a slab of ham. His cock swells even more, fully hard now. He crosses his legs, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Get a fucking grip, Potter. You’re not a teenager. 

Regulus comes to a halt in front of him, glancing in toward the kitchen.

“Took care of the mess. Hope that’s okay with you,” James pipes up, guessing the direction of his thoughts.

“Thank you,” Regulus says with a grimace, as though it physically pains him to show James any measure of civility. “So. Pandora sent you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

James squirms in his seat. At least his ‘problem’ is quickly deflating under Regulus’ death glare. “How do you figure?”

“She’s one of the few people I informed of my whereabouts, so that limits the suspect pool considerably.”

It also makes James wonder about the other people aware of Regulus’ hideaway. Jealousy sizzles through him, scalding and ugly. Just how many people did Regulus tell while leaving James in the dark?

“But unlike the others, Pandora likes to meddle, plus I recognized her spell. Doesn’t require a genius to connect the dots,” Regulus sneers.

“Oh. Yeah.” James gives a self-deprecating laugh. “She said it helped with your morning sickness and told me to give it to you. I’ve never seen that charm before, but I’m glad it came in handy. Anyway, here. A peace offering, maybe?” James holds out the piece of paper he folded, unfolded, and refolded while he waited for Regulus to return. 

For a beat, Regulus eyes the tiny rectangle with distrust, then plucks it from James’ hand, careful so that their fingers don’t so much as graze.

“Afraid I’m contagious?” 

“I don’t like strangers touching me.” Regulus slips the paper into his pocket and wraps his arms around his stomach in a protective gesture.

A sliver of hurt cuts through James. Sure, they’re not the closest friends, and except for that one night that lives rent-free in his head, they’d never spent much time together, but strangers? Regulus’ brother is James’ best friend, for one thing. And for another— 

“I remember you liking my touch just fine. Or do you always let strangers fuck babies into you?” James’ gaze lingers pointedly on the prominent swell of Regulus’ stomach. 

Apart from that, however, Regulus seems like he’s actually lost weight—he’s a lot thinner than James remembers. Four months ago, he admired the slender but powerful muscles straining under him as he pounded him into the mattress. Now, Regulus looks almost frail, curling in on himself and hugging his belly tight. 

A ferocious creature awakens in James’ ribcage, demanding him to step in. To pull Regulus into a hug. To brush his hair aside, press a kiss to his temple, and shower him with reassurances. Unfortunately, he can’t. Regulus is not his to console. And given their interaction so far, he’d probably curse James into oblivion if he indulged those impulses.

“That was a business transaction. You met the required criteria. Don’t read more into it,” Regulus states coldly but refuses to meet James’ eye.

“Yeah, right. I don’t buy that for a second.” James might’ve overstepped by dropping in on Regulus unannounced, but he won’t let him taint his memories of them sleeping together. “Don’t forget I was there, too. You’re not that good of a liar. And for the love of Morgana, sit down so I don’t have to crane my neck to look at you.”

James expects a retort about where he can stick his request, but the sickness episode must’ve exhausted Regulus more than he’d have James believe because he follows the suggestion, dropping heavily on the couch beside him. So close, their thighs almost wind up touching. 

Regulus flinches away as he registers the proximity, putting more distance between them immediately. Another frown crosses his face as he reaches for a blanket and drapes it over his legs. Once he’s far enough and comfortable, his arms come banding around his midriff again in an automatic gesture James would consider adorable if it weren’t so heartbreaking. Clearly, Regulus feels the needs to protect the baby against James when he’d throw himself on a dark wizard without a wand to save them both.

“Come on, Reg. I don’t know what impression I’ve been giving, but I wouldn’t touch you without permission. I’m not that kind of bloke.” James runs a tired hand through his hair, all his excitement about meeting Regulus fizzling under the hostility aimed at him.

“No. You’re not. You’re just the kind of bloke who ignored my explicit request to leave me alone. A bloke who broke his promise, intruding on my privacy, oh yes, without permission. A bloke who reneged on a legal document he signed with his very own name. So forgive me if I’m having some trust issues.” 

“You know what?” James takes a beat to consider Regulus’ words, and all fight vacates his body. “You’re absolutely right. Sorry, Regulus. I overstepped. And I knew it wasn’t right—I told Pandora when she asked me to go see how you were doing, but she’s difficult to refuse. Pretty sure she could sell a mirror to a basilisk.” 

Regulus gives an amused huff. “That sounds like Dora. She can be quite persuasive when she puts her mind to it.” 

“Yeah, so I couldn’t say no to her, especially when she approached me right after Coach tore me a new one and sent me on a sabbatical, so I figured I should go check on you, but I was only thinking about myself. About how to fix my problems. I was being selfish. Anyway, you have the spell, and apart from the occasional biscuit murder, you’re obviously doing fine,” James interrupts his babbling to gesture at their surroundings, “so I’m not gonna bother you anymore. See you in what, five, four months?” he prods, pushing his luck as he stands up. “I’d still love to be a part of their life. If you let me after today.”

“Sit back down, James. We’re not finished here, not even close, and I don’t want to crane my neck when I talk to you,” Regulus parrots his earlier words back at him. 

James’ knees buckle as though he is a wind-up soldier, and he lands back on the sofa with a dull thud, the cushions dipping under his weight.

Regulus gives him a thorough once-over while rubbing circles into the side of his belly, letting James stew in uncomfortable silence before deliberately shattering it. “His life. It’s gonna be a boy.”

“Really?” James struggles to tamp down the flare of excitement that licks up his spine at the revelation. “You already know the sex?”

“The ritual should’ve ensured it. If not, if the baby is a girl, then—” Regulus’ expression grows pensive. “No clue, to be honest. Except that it’d complicate the situation immensely. I need to provide a male successor to the Black line so I can become Head of the House.” 

So that’s why Regulus is putting himself through pregnancy. To gain power. Wealth. And influence. For the Black family? Maybe. But most certainly for himself. It fits. How naive of James to assume a secret, noble motivation behind his actions. Regulus always prioritizes his own benefit. He always has a plan or an agenda. And blinded by lust, James lost sight of who the second parent of the child he fathered truly was.

“She’d deserved to be loved, regardless,” he says in a clipped voice.

“Of course, I’ll love the baby no matter their sex. Boy, girl, it won’t change how I’ll feel about them. Despite what my brother might’ve insinuated, I’m not a monster, Potter,” Regulus retorts, then lets out a sigh and tilts his head back so it rests on the top of the sofa cushions. His hands are cradling his belly, his eyes are closed, so James can study him without interruptions. To his surprise, he discovers that Regulus appears… a little lost. Lost and far younger than his twenty-five years. Just a boy in trouble. 

“Are we back to Potter, then?” James asks to lighten the mood that’s grown a bit too heavy for his liking.

“If you piss me off by assuming the worst of me, then yes, we are.”

Perhaps Regulus is right. Perhaps James has jumped to conclusions, ready to believe the ugliest rants about ‘that Slytherin shit of a little brother’ Sirius treated him to over the years when he doesn’t truly know the man. If he wants to build a relationship with him, be it romantic or friendly, he needs to let go of his old prejudices. 

“Would you find it in you to forgive me if I baked you something? As compensation for the torched shortbread,” he offers, both to worm his way into Regulus’ good graces over and to soothe his conscience.

Regulus peels one eye open. There’s a glint of annoyance hiding in there, but also a different emotion. A hint of interest, unless James is very much mistaken. And he spent a major portion of his last two years in Hogwarts learning to read the forbidden book of Regulus Black’s expressions, so that seems unlikely. 

“I didn’t know you could bake.” 

“Then you’re in for a pleasant surprise.”

James gets off the sofa and crosses the room to examine the state of Regulus’ pantry. “Mind if I borrow your kitchen for a while?” 

“Knock yourself out. Be warned, I’m running low on useful ingredients. That was another point in favor of the shortbread—all the recipe requires is butter, flour, and sugar. I really need to do a supply run, but it’s too much of a hassle with disguising myself these days, so I’ve just been casting replenishing charms on the leftovers. When I’m hungry, anyway. Which I’m almost never because of the constant morning sickness. All your fault, by the way. You and your bloody effective sperm are making me puke all the time.” Regulus frowns, as though he revealed too much about his affairs.

“Sorry about that.” James rubs the side of his neck, unsure of whether he should be feeling guilty or proud. “In my defense, I was acting on your orders. You all but demanded that I impregnate you.”

“I guess it’s true you should be careful what you wish for, then,” Regulus laughs humorlessly.

“Well, Pandora’s spell should help with the nausea,” James offers in consolation. He also makes a mental note to bring groceries next time since his quick scan confirms that Regulus’ food supply is running low. If Regulus allows another visit, that is. 

Scrambling for anything useful, he casts his gaze around, and it lands on a bowl of lemons sitting on the counter. Jackpot. “What about these? Can I use them as an ingredient?” 

“Sure.”

“Perfect.” Time to quite literally sweeten the deal, the deal being his unannounced social call. James sets all doubts and questions plaguing him, such as ‘How have you really been,’ ‘When can I see you again,’ and ‘Have you decided on a name,’ and gets to work. After all, the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, as the old saying goes.

Regulus would probably object that the best way to a man’s heart is through the fourth and fifth rib, and he might have a point, but I’ll settle for winning him over with my culinary skills.

Around the halfway mark, Regulus saunters over to fix himself a cup of tea and settles at the table, observing the process with interest. 

“What are you making?” 

“Lemon curd muffins. That’s about the only thing possible to cobble together from your sad, miserable, downright depressing supplies. But hey, on the plus side, you and the baby should be safe from scurvy.” 

“Pretty sure all the unholy amount of sugar you’ve poured in will negate any health benefits the lemons might have.” Regulus raises a brow at him in challenge, taking a sip of tea and stretching his long legs in front of him while James is doing a great job of not staring. Or trying to, at least.

“Everyone’s a critic. The unholy amounts of sugar are what makes these so good. Besides, you need the energy, so shush, sit there, look pretty, and let me work my magic.”

Regulus scoffs, probably over the ‘look pretty’ remark, and does not, in fact, shush. James begins to think Regulus has never met a statement he didn’t want to argue. 

“Where did you learn this? I mean, no offense, but knowing how to bake is the last thing I’d expect from the Arrow’s pretty boy who’s got muscle for brains.” Trust Regulus to wrap a personal question in a stinging insult. Merlin forbid he give off the impression of being genuinely interested.

“There’s more to me than meets the eye. You know, like my huge, throbbing recipe book.” 

Regulus sputters out a surprised chuckle, a bit reluctantly as though admitting James might be funny goes against his belief system, but it’s progress. James joins in with a snicker, then flicks a wand and sends the batter pouring into a muffin tin he’s transfigured out of an old pot because Regulus doesn’t owe one, to no one’s surprise. 

“But in regards to your question—my mom taught me most of what I know, although macarons are definitely ‘above my skill level,’ so don’t get your hopes up.” He flashes Regulus a grin. “She hated the thought of me not being able to feed myself. Or my future partner.” James winces when he replays the words in his head. “Not that I’m implying—I didn’t mean—” He clears his throat awkwardly. 

Does he like the idea of Regulus being his actual partner instead of someone he knocked up per his rigid legal request? Yes. It’s already getting difficult to ignore how domestic this whole setup feels, with the sweet, lemony scent filling the air while James and Regulus trade barbed remarks and personal anecdotes. But thinking about Regulus in ‘partner’ terms when he made it crystal clear he’s not interested in getting involved with James? A disaster in the making.

“Relax, James. I understand generalization,” Regulus drawls. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman, though.”

“She’s the best,” James agrees. He returns to his muffins, grateful for the subject change.

“Shame her son didn’t seem to take after her.”

“Yeah, everyone says I’m the spitting image of my father—hey! Did you just insult me?”

“Bravo.” Regulus gives a few mocking claps. “You catch on quick. Merlin, I hope the sprog inherits my intellect.” 

Unbidden, James’ eyes wander to Regulus’ belly again. The tangible proof of their heated encounter has been pulling him in like a magnet. 

“The sprog?” James asks, incredulity seeping into his voice. How cute. And surprising. And not at all what he’d expect from the guarded, a less generous person might call it ‘emotionally-stunted,’ younger Black.

“Yeah.” When Regulus repays James’ gaze, his cheeks are red, and he jerks one shoulder defensively. “He’s sort of nameless right now, but I have to call him something. ‘Baby’ or ‘fetus’ sound so impersonal.”

“Okay. Sprog works. But if you’re looking for name recommendations, I have a few. Starting with Elvendork.” James waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s unisex.”

Regulus exhales through the nose. “James, why do you hate our baby?” 

 A whole inferno of emotions detonates in James’ gut after Regulus casually connecting them with the fragile tether of a single pronoun in an off-hand remark. One word, and two not-quite-strangers but not friends either become a family. Only for a moment, but it reminds James of how high the stakes are for him. Of everything he could lose. Or gain, his traitorous mind whispers.

 He turns away to hide his face, unwilling to reveal the depth of his vulnerability. Maybe in time, he’ll feel more comfortable around Regulus, but building such levels of trust doesn’t happen overnight. 

When the muffins finish baking and cool down, James brews fresh cups of tea for both of them and takes a seat at the table, where Regulus is already peeling the wrapper off and burying his teeth in the brightly yellow pastry. 

After the first bite, he closes his eyes, too blissed out to feign aloofness. “These are fucking delicious.” 

On the inside, James snickers. On the outside, he puts on a neutral front to avoid a row that would inevitably follow if he let the snicker out.

“Yeah? Does this mean I’m forgiven?” 

“No. That’s going to require a lot more than muffins, but it’s a step in the right direction.” 

“Okay, so tell me, what would seal the deal completely? Would scones tip the scales in my favor? Toffee pudding? Or perhaps something savory, like cornish pasties? Because I can make all of those things. Just so you know. You should have all the information so you can make an informed decision,” James says, not disclosing he’s already familiar with Regulus’ sweet tooth and his weakness for toffee. 

It might be too early for him to discover I might’ve been a little obsessed with him in Hogwarts. That I still am a little obsessed with him. 

His eyes travel back to Regulus’ bump, now partly obscured by the table. 

Okay, perhaps more than a little.

Regulus takes his time to ponder the answer, devouring the muffin with relish and producing an occasional moan that has James’ cock hardening with record speed, trapped uncomfortably against his left thigh. 

When Regulus swallows the last crumbs, James sends a quiet thanks to Merlin. The strong man he is, he doesn’t let his gaze fixate on how the sharp tip of Regulus’ Adam’s apple bobs up and down or how he runs his tongue along his lips to collect the residue of sweetness clinging to them. James ignores the display so pointedly that he has to bite back a groan of his own and find a more comfortable position to relieve the pressure building in his balls.

“Mmm. Delicious. Almost worth the displeasure of your company.” The corners of Regulus’ lips soften, taking the sting out of the remark. “And I’m quite fond of toffee pudding.” Yep, James called that one. “Or lemon drizzle cake,” Regulus adds. 

Also not surprising, considering the production James has just witnessed. His pulse quickens. “Think I can manage that. Does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I popped by more often? Maybe we could make this a regular thing?” 

“Why did your coach give you time off?”

“Don’t change the subject, Regulus.”

“My question is pertinent to the subject. Answer it.” 

James plucks a muffin off a plate and begins peeling the wrapper off to keep his hands busy. He doesn’t relish the prospect of exposing his weaknesses, of showing Regulus what a significant role he already plays, albeit unwittingly, in his life. Then again, aren’t great relationships built on honesty and open communication and similar crap? James has no clue since he’s never had one. He’ll have to ask his parents. But at the moment, he’ll grow some fucking nerve and give it a go.

“It was only a matter of time, really. I’ve been playing like shit ever since—ever, well, since you, to be honest. Guess I’ve been somewhat preoccupied wondering about you and the sprog,” he says with a light chuckle, “so yeah. Not at my best currently, but that’s not your responsibility. It shouldn’t affect your decision. I’m capable of figuring out my problems on my own.” 

James finishes and sets the now unpeeled muffin back on the plate, from which Regulus instantly snatches it. Their gazes meet and lock, neither of them willing to look away first. A familiar game they played at Hogwarts as well, divided by the Great Hall and four whole sets of tables. In those days, they were trying to catch each other stealing a glimpse, and when they succeeded, they upped the competition by testing who’d capitulate sooner.

Today, James takes the win as Regulus averts his gaze. “Very well. I’ll grant you one more visit,” he concedes with the hint of pompousness that used to rile James up when they were younger, but not anymore. These days, it causes quite the opposite reaction. A frisson of heat deep in his gut that’d only take the lightest breeze to become a firestorm.

“Only the one? What if I want more?” James knows he should be grateful he succeeded in talking Regulus into giving him a chance at all, but the competitiveness at the core of his being, always driving him to challenge and outperform others, urges him to push the issue. Because he definitely wants more. And he doesn’t just mean extra visits. 

Regulus pins him with a look, his eyes fierce and serious. “You’ll have to convince me first before I agree to that, James.”

“Of what? My baking prowess? Piece of cake. Pun very much intended,” he jokes, but Regulus doesn’t smile.

“No. Convince me I can trust you.” With that, he climbs to his feet and waves toward the exit. “I’m going to lie down now. You can show yourself out. And James, please remember not to attract any unwanted attention next time you stop by.” 

“Don’t worry, Reg. It will be almost as if I’m invisible.” 

Regulus doesn’t deign to answer, disappearing back upstairs while James finishes his drink, laughing quietly to himself. 

He’ll show Regulus how trustworthy he is if it’s the last thing he does.

Chapter Text

Regulus

18 weeks along, August 5th

After his first unannounced appearance, Potter quickly sweet-talked Regulus into unrestricted visitation rights, so in the following week, he’s popped by every single day without fail. Despite never agreeing on a schedule, he always arrives at Regulus’ doorstep at nine o’clock sharp to pester him, distract him, and try to bribe his way into Regulus’ good graces with delicious food and pastries. Which, Regulus must grudgingly concede, has been proving rather effective. Potter is a surprisingly capable chef, and thanks to Pandora’s spells, Regulus actually manages to keep most of his meals down. 

Still, they’ve never made their new arrangement official. There are no conditions outlined in legal jargon and corroborated by witnesses, charting the path into the unknown territory they embarked on together, against Regulus’ better judgment. 

So when Potter fails to materialize on his porch in the morning for the first time in over a week, Regulus shouldn’t mind. He shouldn’t care. He should embrace the peace, blissfully devoid of Potter’s chatter and his fussing and those soulful looks he sends him when he thinks Regulus is too preoccupied to notice his blatant ogling.

Moreover, Regulus should cherish not hearing all those remarks and inquiries that grate on his nerves. 

‘Eat more, you need your strength.’ ‘Don’t lift that, it’s too heavy.’ ‘Is the nausea getting better?’ ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘And how’s the sprog doing today?’ ‘Is he kicking yet?’

As much as Regulus would like to assume Potter cares about his well-being, he’s too rational, or maybe too cynical, to believe that. While he admits Potter might be genuinely invested in the baby, his interest in Regulus only extends as far as the incubator gestating his progeny. So Regulus shouldn’t give a damn about the human-shaped cockiness with terrible hair missing his usual arrival window, but in truth, when James doesn’t appear, Regulus’ heart craters as if he got hit in the chest with a bludger at full speed. 

Merlin, I must be getting desperate if I miss him this much.

And Regulus Black doesn’t do desperate, so he does his best to occupy himself by light cleaning and playing the violin. Unfortunately, no activity holds his interest for long. He wanders the house, restless and unable to settle down on anything. 

Even reading his favorite book, Ravaged by the Dragon Prince, fails to distract him. It’s a trashy Muggle romance novel, an offense to literature that Regulus would deny enjoying under the Cruciatus curse, as thoroughly wrong about dragon lore as it is entertaining.

 Regulus adores the story to pieces, as it never fails to provide an escape from the harsher realities of his condition. Not today, though. Today, his thoughts swirl in shapeless blobs of vague anxiety that refuse to calm down but that seem to throb in the rhythm of James’ name.

Where is he? Why didn’t he come? Has he grown bored of me—of us—so soon? Perhaps the whole pregnancy deal scared him off? But he didn’t look like he minded earlier.

No, if anything, Potter gave the impression of being intrigued. Fascinated. Regulus would notice him staring occasionally, a hungry expression on his face, and eyes hazy and full of heat. Then, when Potter realized he was caught in the act, he’d blush, clear his throat, and launch into an innocuous topic to bridge over the awkwardness. 

Okay, maybe not the pregnancy, but something must’ve driven him away. Probably my attitude. Or the fact that I’ve become so high-maintenance.

Regulus rubs his belly in frustration. He doesn’t ask Potter for all the acts of service he seems determined to provide, so that one isn’t his fault, but it’s undeniable that Regulus appreciates the help. That he needs the help. That he’s no longer as independent as he used to be, or rather, that the pregnancy has rendered him vulnerable and emotional and a fucking drain on Potter’s resources. 

No wonder he opted not to stick around under these circumstances, and really, it’s for the best that he’s shown his true colors so early on. After a month or two, Regulus might be. No, not more because he isn’t. Invested. But a while longer under Potter’s tender loving care, and he might become. Which would only complicate a situation that is more complicated than an ancient Egyptian curse.

Either way, good riddance. It was supposed to be Regulus and the sprog from the start. He doesn’t need anyone else, not really. Pandora got into his head for a moment with her talk of loneliness and support and similar rubbish, but Regulus should’ve known better. He’s certainly learned his lesson now. He managed in Potter’s absence for four months; he’s gonna manage five more, and then he’ll become Lord Black and have all the means at his disposal to provide for his son without needing any charity from his sperm donor.

Reassured by the prospect, Regulus curls on the sofa with a freshly brewed cup of tea and reaches for the book he threw away in frustration before. Leaden clouds, heavy with the promise of rain, have been gathering outside his windows for hours, but Regulus is safe inside, snuggled in his favorite blanket while the enchanted lamps on the walls cast the whole room in a cozy glow. He couldn’t ask for better reading conditions, so he’s going to enjoy himself or die trying, dammit.

Of course, fate has different plans in store for him. The second he opens the book, ready to dive into the simplistic yet satisfying plot, someone knocks on the door. No, not someone. A grand total of four people know about this location, and only one of them uses the swift, sharp rap of knuckles to announce themselves. 

With a sigh, Regulus scrambles to his feet after draping the blanket over his shoulders, turning a deaf ear to how loudly his pulse hammers against his skull.

At the entrance, he casts a quick verification spell, and when it confirms the newcomer’s identity, he throws the door open. A gust of wind slams into him, forcing him to take a step back as he rakes his gaze over the porch that appears to be empty. 

A week ago, the sight fooled him, but after dealing with Potter and his precious cloak on numerous occasions since then, he no longer falls for the trick. 

“Look what the kneazle dragged in.” Regulus puts his hands on his hips and taps his foot, glaring into thin air. 

“Invite me in, Reg, it’s pissing down outside,” comes a disembodied huff from around the same height where James Potter’s mouth would be.

“Yes. I’ve noticed. Dreadful weather we’re having,” Regulus drawls, infusing his voice with fake pity. He has never been above taking delight in other people’s suffering. And when the ‘other people’ is James Potter? He’ll fucking bask in it. 

“I’m getting drenched to the bone here.” 

“Sounds positively ghastly.” Regulus pulls the blanket tighter around himself. “Well, it’s been lovely to catch up. Take care.” 

“Regulus, come on. Are you really gonna make me beg?” 

A blazing fork of lightning cleaves the sky apart for a few seconds, followed by thunder that shakes the surrounding mountains. Regulus goes to grab the door, ready to slam it in Potter’s face.

“Fine, fine, you proved your point. I’m sorry, okay? Sorry I’m late, but I had a good reason, promise. Now, if you’re done indulging your pettiness, will you let me come inside?” A hint of amusement filters into James’ voice. “I mean, it isn’t that long ago you were begging me for the exact same thing.” 

“I should leave you at the mercy of the elements for that remark alone. It’s in poor taste.” 

“Agree to disagree. It’s hilarious.” 

Regulus heaves out a put-upon sigh and waves at James to follow him. “Do me a favor and dry yourself first. I have no desire to deal with muddy tracks all over the house.”

Back in the living room, Regulus resettles on the sofa, tugging the blanket around him like a fluffy shield. James enters a few seconds later, beaming, dry, and fully visible again after he’s stripped out of the cloak and carefully hung it on the rack in the hallway. 

Today, he’s wearing a Muggle outfit, consisting of a pair of dark blue jeans and a grey argyle jumper, with a white collar of a shirt poking from underneath. A completely undignified ensemble for a wizard, but, Regulus has to admit, a perfect camouflage in case someone from Revel catches a glimpse of him. Plus, it looks unfairly good on him, but then Potter could wear a burlap sack and it would look good on the genetically-blessed sod.

“Missed you, Reggie.” James leans down to wrap an arm around his shoulders and drop a kiss to his cheek. The casual gestures of affection started during James’ second visit. During the third, Regulus stopped protesting them. By the fourth, he came to crave them. He hasn’t admitted his change of heart to James, of course. Merlin, he’s barely admitted it to himself.

James’ lips are cold from the rain, but they shoot a flash of heat through Regulus, and the contrasting sensation renders him dizzy and almost unable to suppress a moan.

Stupid pregnancy. First, it makes me nauseous, then barmy, and now horny? What’s next? Sprouting wings? Speaking in tongues?

“And I missed you too,” James says to Regulus’ stomach, or rather, the occupant inside. He towers over Regulus, and his hand travels down from his shoulders, hovering a couple of inches above his bump in a quiet request for permission Regulus should refuse, but which he grants with a nod, letting James stroke his belly in a gesture so tender and intimate Regulus almost dissolves into a puddle of hormones and longing. 

“You said there was a reason for your tardiness. I’m dying to hear it,” Regulus bites out when James continues the gentle belly rubs without any indication of stopping. He aims for annoyance tinged with indignation, but he lands south of there in a husky territory with a touch of pathetic. 

This is humiliating. Five more seconds of this, this fondling, and I’m going to do something so incredibly stupid I could give Sirius a run for his money.

Like throwing himself at James and demanding a very thorough shag.

With a jolt, James straightens and clears his throat, patting his pockets. “Ah, yes. I swung by my parents’ place, and Dad wanted to pick my brain about a new potion, and Mum needed help with a boggart, and before I knew it, I was running behind schedule.”

“And how does that concern me?” 

“Right! It does; just hang on a sec. Okay, here we go.” James sets two miniaturized items on the coffee table, then pulls out a wand and restores them to their normal size. One appears to be a book with a frayed leather cover that remembers better times, and the other is a colorful box with a picture of a castle on top. 

“What do you think?” The smile on James’ face has the potential to render the sun obsolete. 

Why does one person need so many teeth, and all so obnoxiously white?

Regulus doesn’t bother suppressing a scowl. “I think I require an explanation.” 

“This is a book of family recipes,” James says, tapping the tome.

“Yes, I have a vivid recollection of you describing it as big and throbbing. Your words, not mine. I figured out you were compensating, but this is neither, so now I’m confused. Not to mention disappointed.”

James grins at him, his delight obvious and distasteful. “So glad to hear my words from the first visit left an impression. But this book can’t be either since it isn’t mine. I borrowed it from Mum. Under the pain of death.”

Regulus arches a brow at James. “Are you currently lacking in death threats? Because I can remedy that for you quite easily.”

“Thanks, I’m covered.” James lets out a chuckle, and even his laugh is obnoxious. Rich and warm, the acoustic equivalent of a cup of cocoa on a dreary day.

“Are you sure? It’s no bother. I’ve learned a couple of interesting new curses since drawing up the contract, and I’ve been itching to practice them on someone.”

To his annoyance, James laughs again, shaking his head as if he finds Regulus amusing, then drops into the seat beside him, the long line of his thigh pressing against Regulus’ leg, firm, radiating heat, and utterly maddening.

“Mum wouldn’t hurt me, not really. It was just to impress how important this heritage is to our family. All the recipes passed down from one generation of Potters to the next. I thought we could use them for inspiration and make some together since you’re able to eat properly now.” James rests his hand on Regulus’ bump in an automatic gesture. 

Regulus should hate it, all of it, the nerve, the audacity, the liberties Potter takes for granted. He should put him in his place and tear him a new one, explain that nobody touches Regulus Black without express permission, but instead… Instead, he curls closer, leaning into the contact like a wounded bird. 

“Can you? Eat, I mean? Are you feeling better? Shit, I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry, Reg,” James stammers.

“Yes. Relax, James. I don’t know if it’s the effect of Pandora’s spells, being officially in my fifth month, or both, but the morning sickness has receded significantly. You’re allowed to cook for me.”

“How magnanimous, my king, but this time, you’re going to participate rather than just boss me around.”

“But you have such a boss-able disposition. Admit it, Potter. You like being told what to do. After all, don’t you follow orders for a living?” Regulus smirks. 

“Like I already told you, I don’t like being ordered around.” James’ eyes snap to Regulus’ lips, his pupils two dark bursts eclipsing the irises, but he doesn’t acknowledge the jab as he continues. “I was thinking beef stew with carrots and peas, mashed potatoes on the side, and baked apples for dessert. And after, we can do a jigsaw.”

“A what?” Regulus’ thoughts have strayed far away from the topic of their conversation and now spin in a pointless circle of ‘lips, kissing, bloody Potter and his kissable mouth; how bad would it be if I asked him to pin me down and kiss me stupid, or maybe put his mouth to other uses,’ so he struggles with processing the content of James’ words. Regulus’ cock pulses in his joggers, coming alive after several months of dormancy. Probably another side effect of the nausea disappearing, and one he could forgo, considering he can’t do anything to relieve the pressure at the moment. The opposite, in fact. He has to sit next to Potter and endure his smiles and warmth and the scent of cedar and mint, all of which render the problem harder.

“A jigsaw puzzle.” James pulls away, warmth and thighs and all, leaving Regulus cold and forlorn, a sin he’d love to punish with impunity. “Muggles do them for fun. Lily got me into them. They’re fun.”

“So you’ve said. Twice. I’m not doing anything Evans recommended.”

“Why?” James’ eyebrows shoot above the rim of his glasses, giving him the expression of a bewildered owl. “Is a muggle activity beneath the high and mighty pureblood wizard? Or are you more bothered by the fact a muggleborn suggested it?” 

“First, you should be more polite to a person on whose hospitality you’re trespassing,” Regulus says with a meaningful tilt of his head toward the window. “The storm looks nasty. I, for one, wouldn’t like to be cast outside in such foul weather. Second, I don’t mind Muggle activities. Not many opportunities to indulge in them in the Noble House of Black, but that’s beside the point.” He chews on his lip until he tastes copper. If he confesses the actual reason behind his knee-jerk reaction, his petty jealousy of Lily Evans, the former object of Potter’s obsession, he will never live it down. Potter will either tease him, berate him, or, worst of all, act unbearably smug. Regulus won’t survive Potter being smug.

“Okay, my oh-so-gracious-host, what’s the problem, then?”

“Nothing.” Regulus smooths the blanket over his thighs, turning his head away from James’ probing stare. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Then it’s settled. Now stop lazing around and come give me a hand with dinner.” 

“Do you want to hear what I think? We should divide our assignments. The person carrying your baby will sit and sip tea while you spoil him because he is, I’d like to reiterate, carrying your baby. And the person not currently pregnant will do the cooking.” Despite his grumbling, Regulus eases off the couch and follows James into the kitchen, where James has already begun setting out ingredients on the counter.

“Nice try, Reg.” With the aggravating ease of an athlete not burdened by a human fetus growing in his abdomen, James spins around, kisses the tip of Regulus’ nose, and then returns to the task at hand. “But if you want to eat, you need to pull your weight. Plus, it’ll taste better if you participate. Trust me.” 

Regulus grimaces in disgust, picking a carrot from the ingredient line-up to examine it. “Oh, you’re one of those. Figures.”

“One of what?” 

Regulus puts the vegetable back and folds his hands on his stomach. For some reason, touching the bump seems to soothe him. Perhaps it’s some primitive instinct driving him to connect with the baby, or the position balances his disturbed center of gravity. “One of the people who relishes in the ‘glowing sense of accomplishment’ that comes from being part of the team.”

“I am literally a professional Quidditch player. Teamwork is in the job description.” 

Regulus scoffs. “The Seekers beg to differ.” 

“You played enough matches at Hogwarts to realize that’s rubbish. The Seekers have to coordinate strategy with other players on the team and adjust their reactions accordingly, like anyone else.” James flicks his wand several times to get the stove burning and the vegetables chopping themselves. 

The lazy display of domestic competence shouldn’t affect Regulus by any means, and under normal circumstances, it probably wouldn’t, but with his hormones out of balance, a bolt of desire shoots through his body, causing him to swallow a moan.

Stupid nesting instincts. It’s all your fault, do you hear me, Sprog? If I throw myself at your other father because of his carrot-chopping abilities, you have only yourself to blame. 

“For your information, that’s not my approach,” Regulus states primly, looking down his nose at James.

“In Quidditch?”

“In general. Counting on others inevitably ends in disappointment. People will fall short of expectations, lie, exaggerate their skills, or break their promises. Much safer to rely on yourself when you need something done right.”

“Safer, sure, but also lonelier. And more exhausting,” James replies with a shrug, not sparing Regulus a glance as he concentrates on the cooking process. “Although I suppose your attitude is not surprising given your whole,” he makes a vague gesture at the house, “isolated in the middle of nowhere set-up.”

“Loneliness doesn’t bother me.” 

“But I bet you don’t like it as much as you pretend.” 

Regulus moves closer to the counter, where he charms the potatoes to peel themselves so he can start on the side dish. He doesn’t dignify the jab with a response. After all, what should he say? That James might’ve struck a nerve? That his independence is a virtue born out of necessity? A shield forged in the fire of spite and neglect that allowed him to survive in the Black household for all these years? 

James’ company isn’t as deplorable as Regulus assumed, Merlin, he will even admit he finds a certain amount of comfort in his steady presence, but that doesn’t mean he owes him unvarnished honesty. After all, their arrangement is nothing more than a business deal, and one does not tip their hand to their business partners if they intend to emerge victorious on the other side.

They work in silence for a while, then begin chatting about inconsequential minutiae of their everyday lives, which soon evolves into a heated discussion about Quidditch, followed by a debate about safety protocols during sports events and the security measures against muggles, and on and on it goes from one topic to another without a lull. 

Regulus becomes so engrossed in the exchange of opinions that he almost fails to register that dinner is ready until James begins setting the table. They talk more as they eat, and Regulus has to remind himself this is just a formal contract, just making the best out of the situation, why shouldn’t I get something useful out of Potter? when he catches himself staring at the way the light renders James’ hazel eyes golden, or when he becomes hypnotized by a droplet of sauce clinging to his beautifully chiseled lips. 

Once they finish eating and deal with the dishes, working in sync as though they’ve perfected the routine over countless evenings of a shared life, they make themselves comfortable on the couch with mugs of cocoa and a plate of biscuits and take out the jigsaw puzzle. To Regulus’ disappointment, the game doesn’t involve saws at all. Rather, it entails painstakingly assembling thousands of different, already pre-sawed pieces by hand.

Regulus immediately suggests resorting to magic, but James declines his argument, ‘One Reparo, and we’re done,’ with a dismissive gesture and a ‘But where’s the fun in that, Reg?’ so here they are, slaving over a picture of a French castle. Château de Sédaiges, to be more precise, according to the description on the box. At least it’s a lovely scene, the castle covered in climbing plants with carmine leaves against the backdrop of the French countryside in the autumn. In another life, Regulus could imagine getting married there.

As they work, their fingers brush from time to time. Too often, in Regulus’ opinion. Every such contact, no matter how glancing, ignites a tempest in his veins and fries his common sense.

It’s a transaction. Nothing more. Just a transaction.

He grits his teeth so hard he almost bites his tongue in half when the reminder doesn’t make a dent in the lust raging through him. All the measures he’s taken when he plotted his mad scheme, all his precautions and plans failed to prepare him for excessive horniness.

The stupid ritual should’ve come with a massive warning label regarding out-of-control libido. 

“So, how’s that career snag of yours going? Any progress?” Regulus asks to distract himself from how James’ tongue peeks between his lips when he focuses on selecting the right piece of the puzzle.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ll be wiser once the two weeks of probation are over and I’m back in the game.” James combines two border pieces, then glances at Regulus, shrugging. 

He’s shed the jumper, so Regulus is treated to a show of his arms flexing with every movement in a way that should be outlawed for the effect it has on Regulus’ self-restraint. His hands twitch with the need to reach out and trace over James’ taut biceps and lower, slide down the corded veins in his forearms, and finish the journey by caressing his long, graceful fingers. They felt so bloody wonderful gripping Regulus’ hips. Even better inside him. 

Focus, Black. You can’t afford to lose sight of what’s at stake here, and getting involved with Potter will only muddy the already murky waters further. Nothing but misery and regret lie in their depths.

And yet. He glances at James, his pulse quickening.

A pained whine escapes him. How pathetic. He tries to mask it by faking a yawn, but his trick doesn’t fool James in the slightest. His head whips up, and he measures Regulus with eyes narrowed behind his round glasses. 

“Everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Regulus bites out. 

“Any discomfort? Pain? Is the baby okay?”

“Are you deaf? I said I’m fine, Potter.”

“James,” he corrects gently, edging closer but careful to leave a gap between them. Only a few inches of space. A sliver of the sofa cushion. Nothing more than a bit of fabric and stuffing. It might as well be an unbridgeable gulf. Regulus longs to reach across and throw himself into James’ arms.

“James,” Regulus repeats like an automaton. Then he jolts back to his senses. “You don’t need to fuss over me.” 

“Indulge me. You deserve a little fussing. You, and the little one.”

Peeved off, Regulus rests his hands on top of his bump. Of course, the sprog would be Potter’s primary concern. Who cares about good old Regulus? Always the spare, never the first choice.

“Unnecessary. I have everything under control.”

James’ brows knit together in a scowl. “That’s sort of my point, Regulus. I know you’re used to being a one-man army, strong-arming every hurdle in your path, but this isn’t something you can browbeat into compliance by glowering long enough.” 

“Thanks for the pep talk, but save it for someone who gives a damn, okay?”

“I’m just worried—”

“Yeah, and you think I’m not?” Regulus explodes, unable to keep a lid on his emotions any longer. The iron grip on his self-control has corroded over the four months of constant misery, and James’ concern was the last nail in its coffin. Under his gentle gaze, it fell apart without so much as a whimper, and all the fears Regulus shoved aside and did his best to ignore are spilling out in the worst way possible. “I’m fucking terrified. All. The. Bloody. Time. And not just for me. I could handle worrying about just me. I’ve had a lot of practice in that area, and while I don’t have your Gryffindor propensity for rushing pointlessly into danger, I can deal with anxiety. That’s not a problem. Except it’s not only about me anymore. It’s about him, too, and I’m constantly paralyzed with fear that I’m gonna harm him. Fail him. Fail at being a parent. Because, let’s face it, I didn’t exactly have great role models growing up. And when I’m not out of my mind with dread, I’m physically miserable—bloated, achy, puking my guts out—you name it. And the mood swings! They’re so exhausting; you have no idea. One minute I’m laughing, another I’m fighting tears out of nowhere. I teared up over scrambled eggs the other day.”

James opens his mouth, but Regulus barrels on without giving him a chance to interrupt.

“Regular eggs, James. I thought of all the poor, unhatched chickens that could’ve existed but hadn’t, so I could stuff my face and just broke into tears on the spot. And my clothes don’t fit unless I alter them with magic, but it ruins the fabric in the long run, which doesn’t really matter because nothing, not even the most flawless material in the world will change the fact I’m so fucking bloated and ugly. I used to have a waist, James, and now I look like I swallowed a Quaffle,” Regulus throws his arms around in agitation.

“None—none of this was part of my plan. I keep reminding myself why I’m doing this, why it’s important, but then I’m hit with some fresh horror or remember that I have an actual human growing inside me, a human that’s going to depend on me and I’m spiraling again and can’t stop, I can’t stop—” his voice rises in pitch, then breaks off in a pathetic hiccup as his breathing punches out of him in quick, distressed pants. His pulse is galloping and uneven, black spots are gathering in his vision, and Regulus Black realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s about to pass out and humiliate himself in front of the person he’s always sought to impress. 

Bloody perfect.

A trickle of maniacal laughter escapes him when two strong arms haul him into an embrace. James moves closer, adjusting their position so Regulus’ head rests on his chest while his hands stroke along his spine.

“Shhh, calm down, Starling. It will be alright. Everything will be alright. I’m here. We’ll get through this together. Breathe for me, love, okay? Please? Can you do that?” James’ voice rumbles deeply in his chest, the vibration traveling into Regulus’ temple resting against James’ body. 

Regulus nods, not trusting himself to speak. Otherwise, he’d have to address the endearment—they’re barely past the stage of getting to know each other. Definitely not in the pet name phase. But it distracts him enough for his heartbeat to slow down by a degree, and he manages to drag in a couple of deep breaths into his lungs per James’ request.

“Great. Inhale, exhale. In and out. Now, please move your forefinger for me.” 

When Regulus obeys the order, drumming it against James’ thigh, he presses a kiss into his hair.

“Perfect. And tap your foot.” 

Regulus does that, too.

“Good,” James encourages. “You’re doing so good, Starling. Now, shift your head. Excellent,” he praises when Regulus fulfills the instruction as well. “Now, please, tell me three things you can hear.” 

Too strung out to protest the recurrence of the nickname, which he likes quite a bit, if he’s being honest, Regulus casts his senses out, listening. The storm hasn’t eased up at all during their conversation. On the contrary, it rages and howls outside with no signs of abating. “The rain, lashing at the windows.” 

“That’s one.” 

“Your bloody grating voice.” 

James has the cheek to laugh. “I’ve been told my voice has a soothing quality.” 

“Your heart, beating right under my ear.” 

So deep. So calm. So grounding.

“It’s supposed to do that.” James murmurs, propping his chin on the crown of Regulus’ head.

“Unfortunate because it means you’re alive to annoy me.” 

“I gather you’re feeling better.”

“Marginally.” Jittery, as though he’s survived a fight with a dragon, Regulus pulls back, wiping at his eyes to mitigate the damage his outburst must’ve caused. It’s a waste of effort—he’s always been an ugly crier, his pale skin turning patchy with red stains at the slightest show of emotion, and his nose becoming puffy and gross. “Could we please blame this little breakdown on hormones and never mention it again?” 

James shrugs, his hazel eyes brimming with affection and understanding. “If you wish. But I think you needed to get that out of your system, and I’m glad you did. It’s not healthy to bottle up all your emotions inside.” James still hasn’t released his hold on Regulus. Not completely. 

His fingers are resting in the crook of Regulus’ elbow, stroking gently, and dammit, elbows aren’t meant to be an erotic body part, are they? Not to mention, he broke down into a psychotic wreck mere seconds ago, but when James touches him, sparks of pleasure dance through him, rousing parts of his body that have been inactive for months.

“I wasn’t aware you moonlighted as a Mind Healer,” Regulus bites out with as much poison as he can muster, the final line of defense against James Potter’s charm. A hopeless battle, but he has to try.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” James leans closer, his breath gliding over Regulus’ skin in warm puffs. “But I know one thing about you. You’re wrong, Reg. Completely, utterly wrong.”

“About what?”

“About being ugly. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve always—well, I guess it’s no secret I’ve always found you attractive, is it?” A rueful smile graces James’ lips.

“Sorry to inform you, but you weren’t exactly subtle back in school.” Regulus is pleased to hear some of the usual venom has returned to his words. The reputation he’s worked for years to build would be in tatters if he remained a sniffling mess.

“Embarrassing, but at least it should prove I’m not a liar when I say you’ve never been more gorgeous.”

“Spare me your pity, James,” Regulus whispers. “Emotional support was not a condition listed in the contract. And I’m not interested in empty platitudes.”

“Why don’t you believe me, hm?” James asks, his fingers skimming across Regulus’ jaw. 

Powerless against such tenderness, he shivers. James is so close, the heat of his body an almost tangible presence against Regulus’ skin.

“Because I have eyes. You can’t possibly consider this—” he groans, gesturing vaguely at his stomach when James retracts his hand.

“—attractive? That’s where you’re wrong. You’re so adorable with your little bump, and knowing it’s my baby in there is driving me absolutely crazy. And regarding the rest, I’m here for you, Regulus. Whatever you wish. Say the word, and it’s done. You have a craving for fresh gelato? I’ll Apparate straight to Rome. You need a unicorn hair for an anti-nausea potion? I’ll catch one for you personally. Nothing is off-limits as long as—”

Unable to withstand the arousal mounting in his gut at such a display of completely over-the-top gallantry, or perhaps unwilling to hear James’ goodwill only extends to the remainder of his pregnancy, Regulus wraps his hand around James’ nape and cuts the rest of the sentence off by seizing his mouth in a bruising kiss.

Chapter Text

James

18 weeks along, August 5th 

For an instant, the press of Regulus’ lips freezes James into complete stillness. His body lockjams, uncertain of how to react, and he can’t even laugh at the irony. Because on any other day, he wouldn’t hesitate a second to reciprocate. Today, however? With Regulus just coming out of his panic attack? James can’t help feeling a little dirty. Like he’s abusing Regulus’ distraught mental state.

When Regulus notices James’ lack of response, he retreats, his shoulders jutting up in a defensive posture. “Apologies. I must’ve misread the signals. Please trust that I didn’t mean to ambush you,” he mutters, his eyes darting to the side, his voice formal and stiff.

Discomfort radiates from him in palpable waves, breaking James out of his stupor. “Reg, no, please, don’t be daft. There’s no need to apologize.” He bites back a groan. Declining Regulus Black’s advances was not on his docket when he planned today’s visit. In fact, he had the exact opposite idea in mind. 

They’ve been dancing around each other with Regulus in slowly tightening circles for a week, so James hoped today they might close the distance completely. He didn’t anticipate getting cold feet at the deciding moment.

“I beg to differ. If only for my poor assessment. I seem to have misjudged the situation,” Regulus bites out through clenched teeth. 

James longs to banish the pained grimace from his face. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m a little tired, so I’m going to turn in early. You can show yourself out.” Regulus braces himself on one hand, about to climb to his feet, but James grabs his wrist, stalling his departure.

“Come on, Reg, at least let me explain before you kick me out. This is not a question of me not wanting you—because fuck, how could that ever cross your mind? I’m mental about you. Isn’t that why you approached me in the first place? Because you knew I was a sure thing? That hasn’t changed, except it might’ve gotten even more out of hand. At the risk of sounding pathetic, I still want you so much it’s probably gonna kill me one of these days. Ever since the night we slept together, since we made the baby, you’ve been constantly on my mind. I can’t begin to imagine being with someone else. Every time I wank, it’s to thoughts of you.” James chuckles humorlessly, then throws his head against the sofa cushions with a groan. Defeated, he lets his eyes fall closed for a second.

“I have to agree with you. It does make you sound a bit pathetic,” comes a dry remark from his right, but as Regulus continues, James can’t miss the note of fondness sneaking into his voice. “What’s the issue then if not your lack of interest? Provided you’re telling the truth and consider me attractive despite my—despite my condition,” Regulus falters, and James wishes that for a second, he could project his perception of Regulus into his mind so he could see himself the way James sees him. 

Heart-achingly beautiful. Wilfully stubborn. Brave and tenacious.

Well. Perhaps he’ll rustle up a pensieve and make it happen.

“If my pregnancy isn’t an issue, why are you hesitating? Why aren’t you jumping at the chance to shag me? Or did your performance from the Quidditch pitch spill over to the bedroom?”

“Low blow, Regulus.” James twists in his seat to face the impossible challenge of Regulus Black head-on. 

“Unfortunately, we haven’t gotten to the ‘blow’ part, let alone anything else. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“Fine. I’m gonna level with you. Your ‘condition’ is the opposite of an issue. I find you incredibly hot, okay? I find the pregnancy incredibly hot.” James tracks his gaze over Regulus’ form, lingering pointedly in places and especially on the curve of his belly, doing nothing to disguise his interest. His hunger. “Any other day, I’d fuck you in a heartbeat, but you’re upset and probably not making the best decisions at the moment. Bottom line, I don’t want to take advantage.”

Regulus blows out a frustrated breath. “How chivalrous of you. How noble. How very Gryffindor.” 

“Now, why do I think that wasn’t a compliment?” 

“Because it wasn’t supposed to be one. Spare me your ill-timed displays of gallantry, please. You’re not being considerate of me; you’re merely trying to appease your conscience because, for some reason, you view not acting on your desires as conduct worthy of admiration. Even though there’s no one to admire you for it. Let me make this absolutely clear. You’re not taking advantage if I’m offering it to you freely. I don’t need to be treated with kid gloves. I’m an adult, more than capable of handling my affairs. These past months have been absolute hell. If you’re going to deny me the first thing that has the potential to make me feel good, you’re not being the good guy here. You’re a fucking idiot, which is on brand with your Gryffindor upbringing, I suppose, but no less stupid. You say you want me? You have my consent to act on it. Deliver on those big words. Prove it. Fuck me like you did when you impregnated me. You weren’t too concerned with the state of my mind then.”

Regulus’ goading unleashes an inferno of fury mixed with unbridled lust in James. Lashes of heat whip down his spine, and a muffled whine trickles from his lips before he has a chance to control his reaction, but then, with tremendous effort, he pulls himself back together.

“There’s a difference. An important one, in fact. You weren’t falling apart on me when I knocked you up. You were stable and confident and demanded that I fuck you. Which I was bound to do by the contract.”

“That can be quickly rectified. If it eases your mind, we can add a clause that obligates you to have intercourse with me during the pregnancy to alleviate my misery. Misery you caused, technically speaking.” 

A predatory gleam enters Regulus’ eyes. There’s no trace of the panic that crushed him only minutes ago. The air sizzles with an electric charge as Regulus edges closer, one hand suggestively rubbing his stomach, the other supporting his weight. His hair cascades to his shoulders, long and sleek after months without a trim. It flatters his face, and it gives him the appearance of someone free. Someone not beholden to the Blacks with their pureblood rhetoric and aura of superiority.

“Yes. But that ‘misery’ also stems from your original request,” James breathes out, torn between laughter, frustration, and so much raw desire he almost disintegrates on the spot.

“What a sacrifice on your part, to fuck the bloke you’ve been panting after for years,” Regulus sneers, infusing his tone with just right amount of poison to come off as teasing instead of outright offensive. The unique white forelock flops into his eyes, a striking contrast to the rest of the dark mass.

Without thinking, James reaches out and tucks it behind Regulus’ ear. As his fingers graze the shell when he withdraws his hand, Regulus sucks in a sharp breath. Their gazes lock, slotting together like the puzzle pieces lying forgotten on the coffee table. Outside, the storm continues to rage with no sign of abating. The rain pelts the windows with furious ropes of water, and the wind howls louder than a pack of werewolves, but nothing reaches the cozy living room where James Potter is drowning in Regulus Black’s green eyes.

A beat of stillness ticks past, then one more, and when it seems the quiet will stretch on forever, they both explode from their seats and come crashing into each other as a lightning bolt rends the skies apart. Brilliant light drowns the world, but wrapped up in Regulus, James doesn’t have the mental capacity to process natural phenomena. He’s too consumed by the sensation of Regulus’ lips on his to notice anything else. Hypnotized by Regulus’ body, pliant in his arms. Overwhelmed by Regulus’ taste, cinnamon and black tea, warm and heady when Regulus’ tongue drags against his in velvet strokes. 

The sweetest moans and whimpers pour from Regulus as the kiss goes on, so James is content to let him dictate the pace for a while, but his impatience crests fast when Regulus drags his teeth along James’ lips, forcing him to snatch the control back from him. Without offering him a reprieve, James licks into Regulus’ hot mouth while his hands come to rest on both sides of his bump.

“Fuck, how is this so hot?” he moans before deepening the kiss. “Seeing you knocked up with my child drives me fucking wild, Reg. Could hardly control myself from the first moment I saw you again. It was like all my dirty fantasies coming true at once.” 

“Is that right?” Regulus pants in the breaks where they gulp much-needed air into their lungs. 

James hums in confirmation.

“Then it took you a remarkably long time to act on those desires.”

“I’m acting now.” 

“Because I bullied you into it. You’re so easily manipulated.”

“I’ll show you easy.” The promise comes out in a growl as James’ fingers coast down to Regulus’ underbelly, delving under the hem of his t-shirt and tugging it over his head before he can protest.

“James,” Regulus hisses in admonishment when James tosses the piece of clothing aside without consideration of where it lands. Or perhaps his reaction is caused by the breath of air dancing across his naked flesh and leaving goosebumps behind. James can’t say because the sight of Regulus half-dressed right in front of him has stolen all his power of logical reasoning. 

He wasn’t exaggerating when he claimed he found Regulus’ current state attractive. On the contrary. He might’ve been downplaying the sentiment a bit so as not to appear overeager. In truth, he has to dig his nails into the meat of his palm to get a hold of himself as he examines the curve of Regulus’ pregnant belly and the way it contrasts with his lithe form. A fresh surge of lust shoots through James’ system, causing his already rock-hard cock to twitch in his trousers.

“Damn. You’re so gorgeous. It’s not fair. I mean, how am I supposed to stand a chance when you look like this?” James mutters the last part mostly to himself before attaching his lips to Regulus’ neck, licking over the tendons that strain under fragile skin as Regulus ceases his resistance and tips his head back. 

“Potter. James. You can’t say—can’t just say stuff like that,” Regulus squeezes out with apparent effort while James’ hands roam his body, caressing his stomach and running over his pecs in turns.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re also a conceited, haughty bastard who’s incapable of uttering a simple greeting without coating it in ten layers of sarcasm, but you’re so incredibly lovely. Those are undeniable facts.” James bends his head and flicks his tongue over Regulus’ nipple. 

Regulus’ chest heaves with labored breaths, and the only sound he manages in response is a strangled keen. 

“That’s what I thought,” James says, filled with an inordinate amount of pride at his ability to render Regulus, poised, haughty, brilliant Regulus, an incoherent mess by nothing more than sweet words. 

“If I’m conceited, then you’re an arrogant jock with an overblown sense of self-importance.” 

“No argument there,” James laughs, busy with ducking his fingers under the waistband of Regulus’ joggers.

Before he succeeds in pulling the garment off, Regulus bats his hands away. “No. I’m no longer in a fit state for a quick fuck on the sofa.” He withdraws to underscore his statement with a stern look.

James leans closer, nipping at the tender spot under Regulus’ jaw. “Fair enough. Especially since I don’t plan on being quick. No, I’m going to take my time with you, Starling. So, where to?”

“B-bedroom seems ideal,” Regulus stammers out, his hair dishevelled and his lovely porcelain skin streaked with red flush.

“Bedroom it is,” James agrees, jumps off the couch, and offers Regulus a hand to assist him.

The walk upstairs is a blur, interrupted by frequent breaks during which they kiss as though they have all the time in the world, lips famished and hands eager to touch and explore. Inside the bedroom, Regulus activates the magic lamps on the walls with a simple command, and they help each other undress as they stumble toward the bed.

“You’re absolutely shameless,” Regulus says, glancing up from where he’s perched at the edge of the mattress, his gaze traveling the length of James’ nude form.

“See any reason I shouldn’t be?” James smirks, flexing his muscles, honed by grueling training sessions and brutal Quidditch matches. He’s proud of his body and won’t pretend otherwise. Not even for the sake of Regulus’ good opinion. Regulus would see straight through fake humility, anyway.

“Stop, or this will be over before it can begin.” 

“Because you can’t resist me, baby?”

“Because I find your bloated ego a complete turnoff, and if you don’t drop the act, I’m going to remove you from the premises with extreme prejudice,” Regulus says with a disgusted twist to his mouth, but his pupils are blown wide, and his chest is flushed and heaving with rapid breaths, convicting him of lying.

His threats would sound more credible if he hadn’t been begging me to fuck him only minutes ago.

On the inside, James smirks but doesn’t call Regulus on his deception, sinking to his knees instead. He runs his hand over Regulus’ thighs, dusted with fine dark hair, and takes a beat to appreciate the vision in front of him. In the intimate glow of the lamps, Regulus appears as if carved from marble, pale and delicate, with the freckles James’ so adores sprinkled across his shoulder and arms. Lower, the soft mound of his bump juts out in contrast with his slender form. Regulus’ cock strains underneath, long and slim like the rest of his body, and already wet with precum.

“You’re stunning,” James says, then leans down and sucks the tip into his mouth, reveling in the pop of saltiness. A crack of want sizzles through him, wiping his mind clear except for a singular objective. To lose himself in Regulus and provide them both with the relief they deserve. 

With reluctance, James releases Regulus’ cock, sets his glasses aside, and grabs his wand. “Prep spell okay, or do you want my fingers?” he asks, praying for Regulus to agree to the spell because, keyed up as he is, he can’t muster the patience required for the manual process. Somewhere between his back-and-forth with Regulus and wrapping his tongue around his cock, James’ body went into overdrive, and he’s now trembling with lust he can no longer contain. 

“Spell’s fine. Just hurry, Potter.” Clearly, Regulus agrees with his views on the benefits of speed.

Wired as James is, he can’t forgo his habitual correction. “James.”

“I don’t fucking care. Potter. James. Just prep me so you can fuck me and fuck me hard. I need you inside me again, James. I’ve missed that—missed being fucked. Missed being fucked by you. You might’ve ruined me with your stupidly perfect cock.” 

A spark of exhilaration goes off in James’ gut at the flattery, warming him throughout. Sure, people blurt out all sorts of nonsense in the heat of the moment, so he tries not to put much stock into it, but he’s not made of stone to ignore it completely.

James tilts his head, indicating Regulus should slide further on the bed, and climbs after him before casting the prep and lube spells in quick succession. 

Regulus lets out a quiet moan, writhing impatiently, his pale skin contrasting with the forest green sheets. He strikes a beautiful picture, more Veela than human, his black hair fanned on the pillow, precum dripping from his slit and getting smeared all over the underside of his belly. 

James had no idea he could grow harder than he’d already been, but he’s proven wrong as his cock stiffens to the point that straddles the border between pain and ecstasy. 

He pauses for a beat to cool down, grinding the heel of his palm into the base and breathing slowly to prevent himself from coming like a desperate teenager.

“Endurance problems already, James?” Regulus quirks an eyebrow at him from down below, giving himself a couple of lazy strokes, a sight that doesn’t help alleviate the pressure building in James’ balls one iota.

“Rest assured, my endurance is fine. More than fine. You’ll see for yourself in a sec. Now turn around and get on your hands and knees,” he orders gruffly. 

Partly to interrupt the show Regulus is putting on and avoid proving him right, partly because fucking Regulus on his back is out of the question, with the belly getting in the way. James’ control might be a fragile thing, held together by quickly disintegrating tatters of decency, but he draws the line at hurting Regulus. Or the baby.

Thankfully, Regulus obeys without any smart-mouth comment for once, assuming the required position, as impatient as James—or more, if his jerky movements and quiet whimpers are any indication. 

Without wasting more time, James scoots up behind him, spreading his cheeks apart and exposing Regulus’ pink hole. He grips the jut of Regulus’ hipbone, delicate and sharp like the man himself, for balance before slowly pushing inside. A tremor runs through his limbs as he keeps a tight hold on the urgency frothing in his gut and propelling him to bury his cock in Regulus with no regard for his comfort. And Regulus himself is no help, unaware of the effort James has to exert to remain above his more savage impulses.

Profanities and encouragement pour out of Regulus without pause, provoking James to move faster, to hurry up, to stop being ‘so bloody considerate and fuck me.’ In the interest of preserving his sanity, James tunes them out and focuses on breathing slowly as he inches deeper and deeper in tiny increments. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he’s buried to the hilt, his balls pressing against the smooth muscles of Regulus’ ass while Regulus is whining and sobbing, face down on the pillow, the sheets bunched in his fists.

“Come on, James. Fuck me. Move. You weren’t this careful the first time we had sex.”

True. Back then, James didn’t have to worry about being gentle with Regulus. So he didn’t. He let the desire he’d suppressed for so long take over and fucked Regulus as rough and fast as they both wanted. As they both needed.

“That was different,” he grinds out, but he can’t hold back any longer. The pressure and heat encasing his cock urge him to move, so he punches his hips, dragging against Regulus’ channel.

“Fuck. Finally. More. I need more.”

“You’re so impatient, Reggie, but you’ll have to wait. I’m calling the shots here.” 

“Or so you’d like to think. Come on, Potter, don’t go all soft on me. I can take it. I’m pregnant, not sick.” 

“First, my going soft is not a concern.” Not with his cock stiff like an iron rod. James illustrates the point with a snap of his hips that has Regulus arching his back and begging for a repeat.

“Second, don’t worry, you being pregnant is tough to miss.” 

James slides his hand lower to cup Regulus’ belly as he sets a smooth rhythm, rocking his hips slowly, angling them so that his cock hits Regulus’ prostate at every pass. 

“Pregnant with my child,” he leans forward, tipping his head down to whisper in Regulus’ ear. “How do you like being so full of me? Your belly full of my baby, and your ass full of my cock? Hm?” He gives a couple of harsher thrusts, but his fingers resting on Regulus’ bump remain so gentle, so careful, treating Regulus like treasure and rubbing circles into his taut skin.

“Dammit, Potter. Do you have a pregnancy kink?” Regulus gasps out with effort.

“Maybe I just like the proud and noble heir of House Black, the Regulus, who would sneer when he passed me in the corridors and never gave me the light of day, swollen with a little baby Potter. Maybe I like seeing how I bred you so well. How you’re so pathetic and desperate for me to fuck you again, now that I put a baby inside you.” 

James doesn’t understand what came over him to let such filth spill from his lips. Under normal circumstances, he’d never consider saying anything remotely similar to anyone, least of all Regulus. Not without drowning in embarrassment. Which he will once they’re finished. But right now, lost in the ecstasy, of moving in sync with Regulus, of slotting into him as though they’re two pieces cast from corresponding molds, the words only render the storm raging through him more intense. 

A scream rips from Regulus as James tunnels into him in violent jolts now, their bodies slapping urgently together, skin on skin, the sounds lewd and competing with the distant roar of thunder from the outside.

“You didn’t answer me. Do you like it?” James presses.

“Yes. Yes. I love it. I love how your cock fills me so well. I love knowing it’s your baby I’m carrying. I love having you inside me so much.” By the end of the sentence, Regulus dissolves into sobs again, so James wipes his tears away with a whisper-light touch, contrasting with his harsh words from earlier.

“Shh, don’t cry, Starling. Not when I’m about to make you see stars.”

“Pretty—ah—confident in your skills, Potter.” Regulus tries to mock him, but he’s too racked with pleasure to manage without stammering.

“With valid reason.”

“Yes. Ah, Merlin, that feels so good.”

The tension inside James mounts to an unbearable degree. He’s teetering so close to the edge, he’s one harsh breath away from tipping over. But not before he causes Regulus’ fall first.

“Who do you belong to?” James asks.

They’re both glazed with sweat, and the nubs of Regulus’ spine glisten as he moves against James. Their agonized breathing echoes through the room, joining the constant hum of the rain.

“You. I’m yours, Jamie. We’re both yours,” Regulus wails, his voice a thready, needy thing, barely there as he pants for breath.

“That’s right. That’s right, love. You’re mine. You and our little one. I wish I could make you more pregnant. Wish I could fuck another child into you to make your cute belly even bigger.”

To James’ surprise, his words elicit a harsh keening sound from Regulus. His back curves as he presses against James, rutting desperately into the mattress.

“Ah—shit—James—I’m gonna, I need you. ’m close, so fucking close.” 

With the last surge of lucidity, James wraps his fingers around Regulus’ cock. This close to the finish, he’s leaking so much that his shaft is wet and slick. There’s no friction when James strokes him once, twice, and then Regulus is groaning and trembling and spilling all over James’ hand in hot, endless spurts. 

James doesn’t let go, wringing the last drops of Regulus’ orgasm from him as he picks up the pace, his movements irregular and janky. A blaze of lightning rends the sky apart once more when the tempest in James explodes, and ripple after ripple of pleasure thunders through him as he shoots his release in Regulus’ quivering body. Blazing shapes dance in front of his vision, the afterimages of the storm and the intense climax he’s just experienced. 

Afterward, it takes them both a while to regain their senses. James feels woozy, his limbs like jelly when he eases his softening cock out, and Regulus isn’t faring much better, tremors shaking his body as he curls into a tiny ball on the bed, the sheets rustling under him.

After a moment of blind scramble, James recovers his wand and spells them both clean. Then he settles next to Regulus, pulling him into an embrace. Regulus lies tense against him at first, his back pushing against James’ abdomen, but muscle by muscle, he relaxes and snuggles into James, his hands overlaying James’ fingers and their legs tangling into a convoluted knot. 

Not a word shatters the silence blanketing the room. They listen to the fading rain, letting peace and quiet wash over them. Eventually, James will have to get up and head home, but he can’t resist prolonging the moment of bliss, the splinter of contentment ensconced between everyday worries and the problems awaiting them in the near future. 

For a while, neither of them moves, but when the chill creeps in, James pulls the duvet over them before gathering Regulus in his arms. He lets his hands wander, relishing the contours of Regulus’ body under his palms. A gentle caress across Regulus’ shoulder. A whisper-light glide down his chest and belly. A lingering kiss to the topmost vertebra of his spine. And all the while, Regulus lets James. Indulges James. He doesn’t withdraw, doesn’t launch a single attempt to escape. On the contrary. He curves his body tighter to James, the slender planes of his back a perfect fit against James’ sturdy form. 

The roar of the storm slowly fades, giving way to a solemn hush. A background perfectly fitting the magnitude of the occasion. For Regulus, sleeping together might be nothing more than stress relief, a method of coping with the anxiety eating at him, but to James, it holds a deeper meaning. And if he’s being honest, it’s had a deeper meaning since the moment he agreed to accept the conditions of Regulus’ contract, despite his hubris deluding him into thinking he’d be able to preserve an emotional distance. But then his career crisis proved him a liar, and the events of today hammered the point home with absolute certainty, so even a person who is sometimes obtuse about feelings can no longer ignore the truth.

James cares about Regulus. More than he likes. More than he’d prefer to admit. And yet the reality is staring him in the face, blatant and undeniable. He places a kiss on Regulus’ shoulder, connecting the splatters of freckles with his tongue, and the younger man reacts with a contented sigh. The puff of breath slips between James’ ribs and burrows into his chest, a secret he will protect forever. Lodged in his heart and paid for in blood.

After all, Regulus stated his intentions plainly from the start. He left nothing to chance, so there’s no room for misinterpretation. This is a strict exchange of favors. A clinical quid pro quo. Yes, they conceived a child, a child Regulus is now carrying—at this point, James’ hand strays to his belly of its own accord, stroking the bump lovingly—but even the custody they will share in the future was laid out in detached legalese.

There were no paragraphs for developing feelings. No allowances for a shared future. No sections for family. James’ chest aches as he entertains the idea of returning home to Regulus and their little one at the end of the day, but he doubts Regulus would agree with his vision.

He’d better get a move on and head home before he blurts out something unwise. Something he might regret. Besides, he’s probably overstaying his welcome. For the last time, he gives in to temptation and brushes Regulus’ long hair (it really does suit him so well) aside to breathe kisses into his neck before reluctantly propping himself on one elbow.

“I gotta take off, Starling. The storm has passed, and it’s getting late.” 

“No. Stay where you are. You’re so warm.” The protest escapes Regulus in a sleepy whine. “Please, Jamie. You wouldn’t leave a pregnant man to wake up alone after you had your way with him, would you? That’s not proper. That’s not classy. Spend the night here and bring me breakfast in the morning. I want eggs. And bacon. And muffins. Strawberry ones, this time.” Regulus lists his demands, adorably petulant. Clearly, the eventful day took a toll on him. And it rendered him cute. Softened his sharp edges and smoothed out his abrasiveness into something adorable. James has to bite his lips to prevent them from cracking a fond smile.

“Do you even have all the ingredients?” 

“You can do a supply run first thing tomorrow. There’s a market in Revel.” 

“Sweetheart, it’s August. A bit late for strawberries, no matter how well-stocked the local vendors are.” 

Regulus wriggles in his arms until he settles on the side, facing James, his bump pressing into James’ abdomen, a constant reminder of what brought them together in the first place. Of the temporary nature of their union. “Then improvise, darling.” The term of endearment is no doubt meant to be a mockery. Of that, James is sure, but it still injects a shot of warmth into his bloodstream. 

“Use blueberries, then. I don’t care. They should sell blueberries in August, no? And if all fruit fails, there’s always chocolate. Chef’s choice. Just bring me muffins in the morning. It’s a small price for the privilege to spoon me,” Regulus states in an imperious manner, but his voice, all slurred with sleep, undercuts the effect.

“Of course, love. I’ll bake you whatever you might desire.” Unable to help himself because James is hopelessly smitten and utterly hopeless and, above that, a complete fool for Regulus Black, he breathes the softest kiss to Regulus’ forehead, then places his hands on both sides of Regulus’ belly. “I’d do anything for you both. Give you the world. The moon. Anything you might want.”

“Just the muffins would be good. You make really delicious…” Regulus nods off in the middle of the compliment, his exhales growing deeper and more regular as he sleeps, secure in James’ hold. 

Yes, their arrangement is tenuous, and it will expire as soon as the baby is born. But if that’s all James can get, he’ll seize with all his might and thank his lucky stars for his good fortune. 

Despite the heartbreak awaiting him in the future.

After all, what Regulus said is true.

It’s a small price to pay for the privilege. 

Chapter Text

Regulus

22 weeks along, September 2nd

Sunlight pours through the latticework of interwoven branches and leaves, tickling Regulus’ face. Content, he inhales the scent of pine drifting through the air and listens to the myriad of insects buzzing in the grass and the faint chitter of creatures scuttling overhead in the canopy. He’s got his head propped on a pillow in James’ lap, eyes closed, his mind wandering aimlessly as James twirls his hair around his fingers. Every once in a while, he drags his blunt nails over Regulus’ scalp, and goosebumps rush down his back. 

Regulus is five months pregnant, stranded far away from the comforts of home, while carrying out a convoluted vengeance scheme. On top of that, he’s in the company of James Potter, whom he didn’t expect to see until after the end of his term. In fact, he went to considerable lengths to avoid precisely this scenario. By all accounts, he should be stewing in anxiety. Unable to relax. Instead, here he is, drowning in bliss. Regulus has a vague suspicion about who caused this turn of events, but he refuses to give the man credit and feed his ego. It’s already overblown enough. 

Besides, if anyone’s getting fed, it should be Regulus. He’s got a fetus growing in his womb, and the little devil requires constant sustenance. Which is why he gladly accepts the frequent breaks James takes from massaging his scalp to pop macarons into his mouth.

They prepared them together yesterday when James arrived from his training session and announced he was taking Regulus out. On a picnic, apparently, not with a curse. He scowled when Regulus made the joke, too. 

The baking process required some trial and error because, as it turned out, magic couldn’t substitute for practice and knowledge. Regulus didn’t mind spending time in the kitchen with James, though. He’d rather swallow his own tongue than admit it, and definitely not to Pandora, but sometimes, his voluntary exile grates on him. 

“This was a great idea,” James announces out of the blue, his voice brimming with satisfaction. 

“Praising yourself is unseemly.” Regulus peels one eye open. James is resting on his elbows, stretched out on a blanket transfigured from a fallen trunk, his face tilted upward to soak up as much sun as possible. In the golden light, his black hair is streaked with maroon highlights, and his tan skin appears to glow.

It’s not fair that a single person gets to be this good-looking. I hope you appreciate the remarkable gene pool I provided for you by choosing James as your father, Sprog. 

Unbidden, Regulus’ hands drift to his stomach. It’s grown noticeably in the past month, taking on the appearance of an actual, honest-to-Merlin pregnancy bump. James couldn’t be happier about this development, lavishing the body part with affection, but Regulus can’t say he shares the same enthusiasm. Barely out of the grip of constant morning sickness, he already has to wrap his head around another disturbing condition. 

Before, he could trick himself into believing he just looked a little bloated. Like he ate a big lunch, or perhaps overindulged on beer. Now, he’s entered the stage where he can’t pretend anymore. No two ways about it—he looks pregnant. Actually pregnant, with his belly round and proud, sticking out in a way he’s only ever seen on women before. 

“Well, you don’t seem inclined to, and I wanted a compliment for my brilliant vision,” James laughs shamelessly.

“Okay, I’ll admit it’s not the worst suggestion you’ve come up with.” 

Regulus drags himself into a sitting position and roots through the picnic basket they’ve brought along with them for the outing. He appropriates more macarons, some cucumber sandwiches, grapes, and a mug of tea with built-in warming charm, then conjures up an upholstered backrest and makes himself comfortable, stretching his legs out in front of him and balancing the plate with his spoils on top of his thighs.

“Somebody’s hungry,” James comments, his eyes dancing with amusement as he shoots the mountain of food a meaningful look.  

“Yes. Your son.” Regulus tears into the food with zero remorse. After months of constant nausea, his body demands compensation with interest. Not to mention the tiny stowaway in his stomach who’s always hungry. Regulus is more than happy to provide sustenance for both now that he’s sure he won’t puke it back up. “Do you have a problem with that?”

James pushes more macarons at him. “None at all. Knock yourself out.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When Regulus polishes off the contents of his plate, he puts it away and relaxes against his makeshift seat with a contented sigh, locking his fingers together and resting them on his stomach. Once again, he allows his eyes to drift shut. Mostly so he doesn’t have to witness James’ smug grin.

“Entertain me,” he commands once he’s comfortable. 

“Pregnancy makes you bossy,” James complains with laughter echoing through his words.

“Not true. I’m always bossy, pregnant or not.”

“Okay, can’t argue with that. Tell me, love. What would amuse you the most? Shall I dance for you? Recite limericks? Sirius taught me loads, but I’m not sure they’re appropriate.” 

Regulus snaps his eyes open, shaking his head. “No. I don’t want to hear anything from my brother.” His chest tightens at the reminder that James belonged to Sirius in the beginning. Probably still belongs to him, first and foremost. When Regulus planned this undertaking, he abused their connection without a second thought, using it to further his agenda, to punish his parents, Sirius, and, to an extent, James, in one fell swoop.

Back then, when he couldn’t imagine a relationship with James. When he couldn’t foresee how spectacularly his plan would backfire. In an ironic twist of fate, Regulus ended up the one being punished because he grew attached, and now every mention of the bond James and Sirius share drives a knife of searing agony into his ribs. 

“Tell me something—something nobody else knows about you. Not even Sirius,” he orders, hoping for a distraction.

“Hm. Okay. That won’t be easy, but you know me. I love a challenge.” James’ gaze turns inward as he thinks. “Okay, got one. Everyone assumes I love red, but I actually prefer green. Especially the color of new leaves in the spring. The bright, almost translucent kind. It’s lovely. So yeah. I love green, but I’ve always kept it to myself because it feels like a betrayal. It’s such a relief to say it out loud after all these years.”

Regulus snorts, infusing his voice with as much venom as possible. “My heart bleeds for you, my darling Gryffindor. But I have to concede, you have excellent taste.”

James performs a mock bow, then moseys up closer, the blanket rustling as he assumes a spot beside Regulus. He reaches out, cradling his jaw in his fingers, and gently turns his head so he can peer into his eyes. “Yeah. I like to think so.”

Warmth sluices over Regulus, and he just knows red blotches have erupted all over his cheeks. His pale skin always made his blushing so painfully obvious. That’s why he learned to suppress it. Until James Potter entered the scene, and his hard-won self-control flew right out the window.

“Your turn. Tell me yours.” 

“My what?” Regulus asks, unable to collect his racing thoughts, with James’ fingers slowly trailing up and down his throat.

James chuckles. “A thing you’ve never told anyone.”

“I wasn’t aware we agreed on an equal exchange of secrets.” Regulus cranes his head to evade James’ touch and reaches out to play with the silky grass surrounding their little blanket island. 

A stream gurgles peacefully over the pebbles nearby, and blue and orange butterflies flutter between a riot of wildflowers. All worries seem so distant and unimportant here in the middle of a forest meadow on a summer afternoon, but James’ question shatters the illusion of peace with a swift brutality worthy of any Slytherin.

 “Isn’t everything an exchange of favors with you?” James asks, pretending to be engrossed in plucking out daisies and blades of grass and weaving them into a circle. 

“I suppose, even if it does paint me in a rather unflattering light,” Regulus concedes. When James says nothing, he feels compelled to explain himself, hating the posh enunciation his speech assumes whenever he goes on the defensive. “It’s the way I’ve been raised, you know. The Blacks don’t provide anything for free. Our favor must be curried, and we, in turn, collect on the debts from others to amass more wealth and influence.”

“It wasn’t meant as a reproach. But I mean, look at our contract. Every eventuality stipulated to the last letter, every contingency outlined in excruciating detail, every punishment carried out swiftly and without mercy. Those choking spells are pretty brutal, love. Can you blame me for assuming, given my experience?” 

Regulus bristles, pulling away. “That sounded rather like a reproach, if you ask me.” 

James’ expression turns sheepish. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m guessing it still rankles a little, having my relationship with you and, more importantly, my son, summarized in legal terms.”

‘More importantly.’ Talk about words that rankle. Of course, the baby is what matters most to James. 

Regulus can’t deny that the unwitting confirmation of his coming second to the baby hurt him, but he loathes to spoil the day he’s been enjoying until now, so he switches the subject. For a while, he racks his brain for something to share—not that he doesn’t have plenty of secrets no one is privy to, but most of those aren’t suited for the lighthearted atmosphere he’s looking to re-establish.

“I threw up before my first Quidditch match because I was so nervous. So, there you go. Since you asked to hear something I’ve never shared. Nobody else had the dubious honor of hearing this.”

James immediately perks up. “I’ll treasure this knowledge till the day I die. Although it’s a shame you couldn’t pick a less gross example.”

Regulus shrugs. “Are you familiar with the old adage ‘Be careful what you wish for?’”

“Hold on. I remember bumping into you that day. I almost crashed into you, in fact, because I was in a hurry and didn’t look where I was going. You looked me up and down with that little disgusted sneer of yours and told me to watch my step, if I even could with my defective eyesight—and then you announced in no uncertain terms you were gonna make me cry so hard on the pitch my ancestors would come back from the dead as ghosts to ask why I was being such a sissy. Didn’t look nervous to me. Also, I should probably tell you I found the threat extremely hot.”

Regulus swats James on the shoulder. “No. You definitely shouldn’t. It was meant to intimidate you. Your wires must’ve gotten crossed, darling.”

“All I can say is that after our encounter, I couldn’t get my head in the game. All I could focus on was you. No wonder Slytherin ended up winning.” 

“Yes. We proved our superiority that day, but that was always a given. What you don’t know is that after I threatened you, I had to duck into the nearest bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach to be able to step onto the pitch.” 

“It certainly didn’t show during the game. Okay, here’s another tidbit that might surprise you. After you decimated us on the pitch, I waited in the locker room until everyone had gone and then had a long wank session in the shower while thinking of Sirius’ younger brother, who I’d failed to notice until then. But from that moment on, I couldn’t stop noticing him.”

The heat in Regulus’ cheeks explodes and trickles down his throat and chest, straight into his gut. Granted, he was aware of James’ infatuation, so this doesn’t come as a surprise. That’s why he approached him, among other reasons, in the first place. But hearing it firsthand, with all the specifics plainly stated as though James is not only not ashamed of his feelings but also proud, destroys his meticulously curated detachment.

“That is certainly new information, yes,” he admits, the words sticking between his teeth.

 Instead of a reply, James takes Regulus’ and slides the grass-and-daisies ring he’s been crafting on his finger, then breathes a soft kiss over each digit. 

“There. Now you’re all pretty.” As James admires his handiwork with a pleased grin, his cheeks do the stupid, adorable thing where they grow rounder with the smile, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “You owe me another one. Tit-for-tat, Mister Black.” 

Except Regulus can only gape at the gorgeous man in front of him, his mind full of static. “Oh. Hm. Yeah.” Salazar, is one smile and poorly fitting glasses enough to render him a simpleton? “I slept with a plushie Niffler till I was fourteen,” he blurts out, flinching the second he realizes what he’s confessed. 

To his utter mortification, James’ grin only widens as he hears the confession. “That’s adorable. Which reminds me. We’ll need to get the baby some toys, too.”

“I suppose so.” Regulus rubs his bump in thought. The sprog will deserve all the toys Regulus can afford to atone for his parents’ sins. And for his own. The ones he’s already committed, and the ones he’s bound to make. But unlike Walburga, Regulus won’t set them on fire to teach him a lesson about how demeaning it is for the Black heir to sleep with stuffed animals. 

James nods eagerly. “Oh yes. Definitely. Stuffed deer. Or maybe carved? And dogs. And wolves and rats.”

“No. Absolutely not. Deer and canines are fine, but I draw the line at rats.” Regulus has been idly tracing circles into his belly when a sharp, undeniable kick jolts through the taut wall of his abdomen and connects with his palm, making him flinch.

“What. What’s wrong?” James tenses, coiled tight as he senses his discomfort, ready to spring into action and protect Regulus against danger. Very Gryffindor, but also quite charming, as loath as Regulus is to admit it.

“Nothing. Nothing wrong. I think—Jamie, I think the baby is kicking.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Seeing how I don’t have a great frame of reference, no, I can’t be sure, but it seems to be the only reasonable conclusion. See for yourself.” Regulus seizes James’ hand and guides it to the same spot where he registered the movement earlier. 

For a long while, nothing happens. Only the wind whispers through the leaves and needles, and a buzzard calls in the distance while they wait for the baby to kick.

“If he’s anything like you, he won’t move for the rest of the day purely out of spite,” James complains.

As if on cue, a tiny foot pokes into Regulus’ belly, sending a jolt through his skin and straight into James’ palm. He inhales sharply but remains motionless otherwise, his palm glued to Regulus’ belly.

“He’s there, Reg. He’s really there. Growing inside you.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Believe me, I’m aware.” It’s difficult to miss the tiny, or not so tiny anymore, interloper when he saddles Regulus with a host of inconveniences, ranging from mild to rage-inducing. But the worst thing, the one he doesn’t share with James to avoid unsettling him, is how intimidating he finds the prospect of incubating a human. 

When the baby’s movements were imperceptible, Regulus could pretend. He could put on blinders and delude himself into thinking he popped over to France for a prolonged vacation and gained a bit of croissant weight in the process. The illusion is significantly harder to maintain when a living being uses Regulus’ insides like a trampoline.

At the same time, the tangible proof of his son being alive and reaching out fills him with an odd sort of exhilaration. A son. Regulus is going to have a son. With James. What started as a tool to settle a score with his parents quickly outgrew Regulus’ original intentions and became his chance at a fresh start. A chance to have a family.

When he sneaks a covert glance at James, he finds him mesmerized, utterly enraptured by running his hand over the curve of Regulus’ belly to track the baby’s activity.

“He’s a lively bugger, isn’t he?” James announces happily after an episode of pokes and jabs Regulus is significantly less thrilled about.

“I’d expect nothing else with you being his father. But yes. I’ve felt him move around for a week or two, or at least I thought so. It hasn’t been this noticeable, but you’re right, he seems to be quite active.”

“You have no idea how glad I caught this. Sometimes, I feel a little disconnected—I mean, you’re the one carrying him, so I’m on the sidelines by default, and I want a chance to get to know him, too.”

“Well, in four months, with some luck, he’s gonna pop out and you’ll get all the ‘getting to know him time’ you heart might desire,” Regulus deadpans.

“Looking forward to it. Although probably not as much as you do,” James replies and then brings his head to Regulus’ bump and spends a long stretch of time whispering to its concealed occupant until the baby calms down again. 

“He must’ve dozed off,” Regulus shrugs when James drags himself upright with a disappointed grimace. “I’d say this qualifies as something you didn’t know, so now I demand to hear more about your obsession with woodland animals. Why rats, James? Lions, I’d understand. Even dogs, given their general popularity. Deer, however? Wolves and rats? Why? Is there a hidden meaning I’m missing? Is a rat a heraldic animal of your family?”

“What a pureblood thing to say. I don’t even think the Potters have a coat of arms.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m assuming the Blacks do?”

“Of course. Every respectable pureblood family has a crest to represent their values. And before you ask, there are three crows on ours, yet you don’t see me purchasing crow plushies for the sprog, so I don’t understand where this enthusiasm for forest creatures stems from.” 

James rolls his shoulders back with a sigh, his face unreadable. “I suppose it might be easier to demonstrate than explain.

“Demonstrate? What is there to demonstrate? Please don’t tell me you’re going to pull a flute out of nowhere and conjure up a swarm of rats. I’d rather not re-enact the Pied Piper, James.” 

“No. No swarms of vermin, I swear. Just keep an open mind and watch, okay?” With that cryptic remark, James uncurls from his spot and stands up.

In the blink of an eye, before Regulus cobbles together an objection, he vanishes, in his place a massive stag. The beast shakes its antlered head as if it can’t believe its own eyes, either. 

On instinct, Regulus wraps his arms around his midsection in a protective gesture, then scoffs at his idiocy. Obviously, the buck is James in an Animagus form, and if Regulus is sure of one thing, it’s that James would rather jump off a cliff than harm his future son. Or Regulus, if only by proxy.

Much slower than James, he climbs to his feet, doing his level best not to resent the fact. Moving with speed and agility is a thing of the past now. Regulus would never guess how much he’d miss this particular aspect of his pre-pregnancy life. 

Once he’s up, he rounds the beast, studying it with a careful eye. He hasn’t met any deer before, not up this close, but he can recognize a magnificent creature when he sees one.

Of course, James’ Animagus form would be an impressive specimen. Merlin, he’s impressive as a human, so it figures that his animal form would follow suit.

The deer makes an amused and very-human snort as if he can read Regulus’ thoughts, stomping his hoofed foot into the ground. He is a great deal bigger than Regulus would expect, his antlers sharp and deadly. But instead of impaling Regulus with his prongs, stag-James lowers his head and rubs against Regulus’ shoulder, not leaving any doubts that it’s still his human counterpart hiding under a hundred kilograms of solid muscle and deer hide.

Mesmerized, Regulus runs his hand through the thick ruff on the stag’s neck. When James doesn’t object to being treated like a pet, Regulus begins stroking him in earnest. As the stag’s eyes shutter closed in bliss, Regulus notices they’re not the usual liquid dark of the cervidae, but rather, the soft whiskey amber he’s used to seeing behind cute round glasses. A color that fascinates him more than probably healthy.

“You’re so beautiful,” slips from his lips before he has a chance to rethink. 

The deer makes a sound reminiscent of laughter, and Regulus has the decency to blush.

“So. You’re an Animagus,” he says once they resume their places on the blanket, a bowl of blackberries James bought in Revel set between them. Paired with whipped cream and kept under a cooling charm until now, they taste divine. 

“Yep.” James swipes a berry and pops it in his mouth.

“Unexpected,” Regulus says, turning his attention to food. 

James waits for a beat, then cracks. “Unexpected? That’s all you have to say? That’s your whole reaction to my big reveal?” 

Is Regulus impressed by James’ accomplishment? Not only the Animagus transformation as such, but also keeping it a secret from most people? Absolutely. Will he tell him? A snowball’s chance under Incendio. Especially since riling him up should prove much more satisfying.

“Well, it’s not particularly difficult to achieve, is it? To my knowledge, the process is more odious than truly challenging.” 

“Yeah? Well, I’d like to see you chew on a stupid mandrake leaf for a month, then wait Godric knows how long for a storm—but not while you’re pregnant, mind. Merlin only knows what effect mandrakes have on unborn babes.”

“Mandrake is a restorative, James, so I doubt it’d harm him, but you don’t have to worry. I sacrificed too much for this pregnancy to take any unnecessary risks. Besides, to tell the truth, I have no desire to become an Animagus.”

“You don’t? How come?” James asks, his brows knitting together in confusion. 

Clearly, the idea that not everyone harbors a secret longing to transform into a wild animal and spend their free time traipsing around the forest confounds him. 

“Not interested in relinquishing my bodily autonomy, and yes, I’m aware of the irony,” Regulus says with a wry smile, placing his hands on his belly. “Dear Salazar. That’s what your nicknames are about. Your Animagi. Prongs—well, you certainly didn’t strain any creative muscle inventing yours, did you?” 

“Everyone’s a critic. I’ll have you know that Prongs is a perfectly good and original nickname,” James pouts.

“If you say so. How amazingly inventive. Great work, dear.” Regulus can’t resist the wordplay, and James rewards his joke with an appreciative chuckle while bumping their shoulders together. 

“Now, let me figure out the rest. Padfoot, that would make Sirius what? A cat?”

“A dog, actually.” 

Regulus wrinkles his nose in disgust at the revelation. “No. Absolutely not. That’s so on the nose. Who’s left, then? Wormtail, well, if someone’s suited to a rat Animagus, it’s Pettigrew. And then there’s Moony for Lupin. I simply refuse to believe he’d turn into a wolf. Surely, magic can’t be this woefully uninspired.” 

James shifts in his seat, suddenly interested in the blanket weave. “Yeah, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Regulus searches his memory. He’s paid close attention to his brother’s posse back in school—not out of jealousy, of course. Perish the thought. It just made good sense to maintain a general awareness of who Sirius associated with. For practical purposes. So Regulus didn’t miss that Lupin was a frequent visitor to the Hospital Wing. He also noticed his peaky appearance each month, and how both of these phenomena coincided with the full moon.

“Oh no. Please, tell me I’m wrong. Remus Lupin, the unassuming bloke whose greatest crime was checking out a book out of a library without signing, is a werewolf? With his name, it seems in poor taste. Bordering on abuse. Almost as though he’s a mere character with a ham-fisted moniker written by a hack pulp fiction author.”

With a quiet snort, James abandons torturing the grass. “Damn, Starling. You should have a permit for that tongue. It’s so sharp I worry about you injuring someone with it. Me, mostly.”

“You’re safe.” Regulus presses more closely into James’ side, soaking up his warmth. The man radiates heat like a bloody furnace. It should come in handy with the forthcoming drop in temperature. “I wouldn’t harm my personal heating unit.”

“That’s a relief. And it’s always my pleasure to warm you up.” A good-natured laugh rustles through Regulus’ hair, followed by a soft kiss. “But I need to ask you, Reg—are you okay with this? I mean, Remus? Being a werewolf?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Regulus asks, incredulous.

“He is dating your brother. And the Black name carries a lot of weight. You could decide to get revenge on Sirius by reporting his boyfriend to the authorities, for example.”

The statement comes out sharp, possibly sharper than James intended. So that’s how he sees him. Still, despite the time they’ve spent together lately. As someone who would judge a person for circumstances beyond their control. As someone who would immediately seize the advantage to settle petty grievances. And what’s worse, maybe the accusation isn’t entirely unfounded. After all, the living proof of Regulus’ latest vengeance scheme is developing in his stomach and currently kicking up a storm again.

“Then perhaps you should’ve considered that before giving away Lupin’s secret,” he snaps.

James winces, making Regulus regret his harsh words. “Except I didn’t give anything away. You gleaned it from context.”

“You can rest easy, then. I happen to like Lupin, and I surmise that since he shared your dorm at Hogwarts for seven years, and not once did I see him go on a homicidal rampage, he must’ve established a routine that allows him to weather the transformation without becoming a danger to others.” Something clicks in his brain. “Of course. You’re his routine. His failsafe. Animagi. It’s exactly the misguided heroic nonsense I’d expect from you and my stupid brother. Risking your lives in a colossally dumb stunt for an even dumber reason.”

“I thought becoming an Animagus was not that impressive. Or dangerous.” 

“The same can’t be said about running around with a werewolf. You just can’t help being noble morons when it comes to helping people you care about, can you?”

“Possibly. But you’re not exactly one to talk.” James’ hand comes to splay on Regulus’ belly. “I’m not the one building a human from scratch to help my brother.” 

“That’s a horrible way to describe pregnancy, James.” The response slips out automatically without any input from Regulus’ higher cognitive processes. His mind is reeling, too busy to participate in the conversation as an influx of unwelcome thoughts floods his brain, all revolving around one theme. 

James doesn’t have an inkling. He doesn’t understand why Regulus decided to put himself through such a risky enterprise. Once he learns the truth, he might change his mind about his involvement. He might decide to sever their connection, robbing Regulus of the only source of comfort and joy he’s experienced in the last months.

For a blink, the cowardly part of him considers leaving James in the dark. Holding his tongue and letting the charade continue. Unfortunately, it turns out that much like any other nasty illness, the Gryffindor courage is a contagious condition. Whether it’s an airborne disease or spreads through sexual intercourse, Regulus is yet to determine, but he’s manifesting all the symptoms.

Such as recklessly blurting out the truth with no regard for consequences. 

“That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“I see.” James regards him steadily. His voice is even, without a hint of judgment—or understanding. “Care to elaborate?”

No. I had it wrong earlier. It’s not courage. I’m merely being pragmatic. Better to find out now if Potter can handle being tied to a Black with everything such a union entails than get invested only for him to turn tail when he has to deal with some of the less savory aspects of our—of mine—nature.

Regulus draws in a deep breath and cradles the bump, as though the fetus can lend him support. He holds his gaze fixed straight ahead to avoid catching the disgust in James’ eyes as he speaks in a detached monotone. “Having this baby, or rather, the next heir to our family name, will allow me to assume my rightful seat as Lord Black. For one thing, this means I will no longer be required to marry a woman and produce an heir with her to carry on the family name. For another, I should be able to restore Sirius’ position both on the tapestry and in the family, if he expresses such a wish.” 

“I’m hearing a but,” James prompts without providing a single hint of what he thinks about the revelation.

“But that was not my only motivation for embarking on this, let’s go with adventure.” And what an adventure it has been. Regulus caresses his belly and can’t suppress a burst of fierce joy when the baby responds with what seems to be a tiny fist-bump. At least, regardless of what follows, he won’t be alone. Not for the next seventeen years. “I bound my parents by a contract.” 

He hears James’ sharp intake of breath and lifts his hand to halt his remark on the subject. “Yes. Another contract. But unlike yours, where the spells’ hold on you break when I give birth, the jinxes embedded in this one are permanent. The second I provide a rightful heir to the House of Black, my parents will be cut off from our Gringott’s vault and, more importantly, our ancestral magic. In addition, every spell they cast with harmful intent against me, my progeny, or my brother will backfire on them. As Lord Black, I plan on evicting them as soon as possible while emphasizing the direness of their circumstances. They will be forever banished from our noble House, remembering it was I who brought forth their downfall. I suppose you could say the biggest part of my motivation wasn’t a longing for a child or a family or any other, sickeningly romantic notion. No. For the Blacks, family is nothing but a bargaining chip, after all. A tool to be used. So all this,” Regulus grabs James’ unprotesting hand and places it on his belly, “started with the idea of revenge. With my desire to humiliate the people who hurt me, who made my life miserable. Because I wanted to bask in their suffering.”

Silence descends on the meadow. The wind blows through the branches, making them creak, and a lonely bird chirps somewhere above their heads. Regulus casts a glance at James. His eyes have taken on a faraway look, as though he’s mulling over the new information, but he never stops stroking the swell of Regulus’ belly, which provides him with a sliver of consolation. 

At least the baby won’t lose him. 

“And Sirius?” James asks eventually, so quietly his voice almost gets lost in the forest’s susurrus.

Ah. Here’s the heart of the matter. The point of contention. The reason James will decide to break off their relationship before it has a chance to grow into something real.

Unaware of the storm raging on in Regulus, James continues. “I’ve heard stories about your childhood. About how your parents treated you. And I don’t blame you for wanting to take revenge on them, even if it’s not the greatest reason to bring a child into this world. But how does Sirius factor into your vengeance scheme? You claimed your actions would benefit him when you first approached me. And now, you insist you’re going to restore his position in the family. But he also counts as one of the people who hurt you, doesn’t he? Which would mean you’d want to humiliate him as well.”

Wordlessly, Regulus nods. “I did—I meant all that. I wouldn’t break my promise, but I might not have been entirely forthcoming regarding my brother. I wanted to impress him. And maybe punish him a little. By taking away his best friend, the way his best friend took him away from me.”

Regulus pulls back from James, unable to meet his eyes. He can’t face the disappointment, or worse, disgust lurking there.

“I told you, Reg, that I wouldn’t help you to get back at Sirius. I was clear about that from the start, and you used me anyway.” 

“Yes,” he says in a small voice, curling in on himself. “Yes. You were. And I did. I did all of that and thought myself clever, and I won’t insult you by denying it. If it’s any consolation, I regret my actions now, but I also understand that regret is pointless. Apologies are cheap as dirt and twice as common, but they’re all I have to offer. For what it’s worth, I am sorry, James, but I understand it fixes nothing, and won’t hold it against you if you choose to leave now and decide to never see me ever again. The only thing I ask is for you not to punish our son for my bad judgment. My foolish decision might’ve tainted his conception, but I want to do right by him. And he shouldn’t lose his other parent because of my mistakes.”

“Regulus.” James says his name with a sigh, a curse and a prayer, all wrapped together in one breath.

Regulus’ head snaps up so fast his neck cracks. 

“Yes. That’s me,” he whispers.

To his relief, it brings a smile to James’ lips. A corner quirks up even if his eyes remain serious. 

“I’m not going to leave you. I mean, maybe I should. You’re a bit of a bastard, has anyone ever told you?” 

“I’ve heard as much. Pretty much from every acquaintance of mine,” he nods stiffly, and James laughs. He actually laughs, a deep, full-throated sound that has Regulus’ chest aching with hope and a glimmer of something warm unfurling in his belly. 

“Well, tell them they’re right. Unfortunately, I’m already invested. I’m in too deep, especially with this little bugger in there.” James scooches next to him, erasing the distance Regulus put between them earlier without a second thought. With a feather-light touch, he grazes the side of his abdomen and props his chin on his shoulder. “Not gonna lie, I don’t love that you used me against Sirius, but I’m not going to throw a fit, and I’m definitely not going to bail on you. Either of you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah. Like I said. Too deep. Plus, I get it, your relationship with Sirius is complicated. I don’t totally understand since I’m an only child, but saying I’d prefer not to get involved would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it? What with me jumping at the chance to have sex with you. Which sort of brings me to my point. You wouldn’t have been able to use me if I had refused you. And you’re not on speaking terms with Sirius, while I’m his best friend, and I knew perfectly well that my sleeping with the brother he’s not that fond of—sorry, love—would hurt him. So I’m just as much to blame as you, if not more, and can’t afford to throw stones.” 

A terrible weight Regulus hasn’t realized he’s been carrying around lifts off his shoulders and dissolves in the warmth of James’ acceptance. 

“Thank you, James. I don’t consider myself worthy of your forgiveness, but I promise not to squander it.”

“Okay. That’s all I ask. Almost. No more secrets from now on. Agreed? No lying.” James pauses, then rephrases his statement. “Actually, I take it back. Four more months with a pregnant partner? I’ll need my white lies. So, no more lying for nefarious purposes. No more secrets. Clean slate going forward. Agreed? ”

Regulus’ mind winds back to all the matters he hasn’t disclosed to James. He’s a Black at heart, so divulging unnecessary information, especially during a time requiring so much discretion? No, that doesn’t come naturally to him.

I’ll strive to do better. I’ll tell James everything.

Still. Much like poison, an unpleasant truth is best served in small doses if the recipient is meant to survive.

Eventually.

“Yes. I give you my solemn word as a Black to adhere to the spirit of our oral agreement.”

“Good. That’s all I’ve wanted. You know, the way you talk like you swallowed a thesaurus from the sixteenth century and washed it down with a Wit-Sharpening Potion should be off-putting, but instead, I find it incredibly attractive.” To emphasize his words, James nuzzles into Regulus’ neck, latching his lips to a pulse point there and forcing Regulus to tilt his head with a quiet moan. “Let’s head back to the chalet. I want you to speak adroitly to me.”

“You’re a strange man, James Potter.”

“Guilty. But you seem to enjoy it, which makes you even stranger.”

A smile tugs at Regulus’ mouth. “Unfortunately, you’re correct on that account. I enjoy it a fair amount.”

Five months ago, Regulus would rather die than disclose any kind of vulnerability to James Potter.

Today, looking at James’ face crinkling with amusement, he shares it willingly.

And the rest will follow. Soon.

For the first time in possibly ever, Regulus finds that trusting someone does not always have to be daunting.

Especially if said someone is a stupidly gorgeous man with hazel eyes and messy hair and a heart larger than his smile.

Especially if said someone is James Potter.

Look what a cute pic my bestie Cyryl drew for me for my birthday! It's so amazing I'm crying happy tears.

Chapter Text

James

27 weeks along, October 7th

Two months after James’ first visit to France, the Arrows defeat the Wasps in a brutal match. They eviscerate their opponent, proving their excellent form with a final score of three hundred and twenty points to eighty, no small thanks to James’ contribution. 

Turns out, when he’s not plagued by worries about how Regulus and the baby are doing, he can devote his whole focus to the game—and it shows. And with the prospect of going to see Regulus after the match spurring him on, he dominates on the pitch, as proven by the number of goals he scored against their rivals. 

After the final whistle blows, Coach Kent sends James an approving nod for a job well done, which would count as a round of standing applause from anyone else, and a tremendous weight lifts off his shoulders. His position on the team should be secure again. No more talk of trades or relegations. 

The Wasps can’t quite hide their disappointment. They’ve been on the rise lately, and the rumors of Arrows’ fumbles in training filled them with false hopes for adding another notch to their bedpost today, so the defeat proves a bitter pill to swallow. 

Regardless, their captain, Ava Chapman, shakes Frank Longbottom’s hand with a smile (albeit a tense one), and the teams depart to their respective locker rooms with no hard feelings. Taking the L always smarts, but they all understand that such is the nature of the sport.

James strides out of the stadium, freshly showered but still buzzing with post-game adrenaline, ready to jump from the nearest Apparition point straight to France, when two familiar figures step into his path, derailing his plans. Any other time, James would be thrilled to see them. Today, his mind is already miles away in a cozy chalet on a mountainside with the man he—the man he cares about, so he can’t muster proper enthusiasm at their surprise appearance.

“Will you look at that, Moony? Could it be? The elusive Arrows chaser in the flesh? James Potter himself?” Sirius drawls, throwing a casual arm around James’ shoulders and planting a rough kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, James.” Remus gives James a nod, his face creased in a genuine smile.

“Alright, Remus? And bloody hell, Sirius, you act like you haven’t seen me in months when we live together,” James gripes as he shakes Sirius off.

“True. We do. Although I can barely tell with you being gone so often lately,” Sirius responds, his voice mild but with a sharp undertone. Velvet stretched over a razor. Soft at a glance, but push too hard, and you end up bloody. “The most I see of you is a glimpse of your back as you’re rushing out the door. You’re gone overnight more often than not, too. What gives, Prongsie? Are you, perchance, hiding something? Or, not to put too fine a point on it, someone? Do you need to introduce a new boyfriend to the family?” 

 Nah. Just spending most of my days fucking your brother and falling asleep next to him every night.

“Yeah, I wish, but no. No boyfriend. I’d tell you if that were the case. I’m just busy. Training, you know?” Shame sluices over James at how easily the lie falls from his lips.

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up. “At night?”

“Well, sometimes I’m so wiped I catch a nap on the couch in the lounge afterwards. Really, I’ve been busting my hump to make up for the rough start of the season, you know how it is. Kent threatened to bench me, so I had to show some extra dedication to get off his shit list.” 

“So much dedication, you can’t manage to Apparate back home.” Sirius squints, his expression suggesting he doesn’t buy James’ story at all. 

“Saves time?” Sweat beads on James’ forehead. Oh yeah, he’s the picture of an innocent person. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t believe him either.

Remus, ever the peacemaker, must’ve sensed his discomfort and chimes in to break the tension. James could kiss him. “At any rate, it looks like your hard work paid off. I almost felt sorry for the Wasps. You completely decimated them.” He moves to Sirius’ side, resting his fingers gently on his elbow as if reminding him to behave.

“Agreed. Good job, Prongs,” Sirius thaws a fraction as he fastens his eyes on his boyfriend. “The poor suckers must be licking their wounded pride right now.” In a reflexive gesture, Sirius covers Remus’ hand with his own and sends him a smile so tender James suddenly feels like he’s intruding on a private moment. 

Third-wheeling my mates now. Brilliant. Exactly what was on my agenda for tonight. 

Seeing his friends like this—like a couple—still throws him for a loop, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t happy for them. Because he is. And if his heart lurches painfully in his chest, it’s not because he’s jealous or because he minds sharing Sirius after so many years of having a monopoly on him. No, it’s because their quiet intimacy paints his relationship with Regulus in an unflattering light. 

Far from a love story, it sprang out of cold-hearted calculations with an expiration date attached to it. Regulus might humor James by going along with their friends-slash-prospective-parents-with-benefits deal, but James doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes up and believe Regulus did a complete one-eighty and changed his mind about the temporary nature of their arrangement only because they’re sleeping together now.

“How come Peter didn’t come to congratulate me?” James asks before he can spiral further and say something he’d regret. 

“He’s waiting for us at the pub. Unless you’re planning to bail again? I mean, you obviously don’t have to train right now, so you should be free to spend some time with your mates.” The razor blade in Sirius’ tone shreds James’ nascent excuse to pieces. True, he counted on returning to Regulus as soon as possible, but Sirius has a point—James has been neglecting his friends. They deserve better. Especially Sirius.

Bad enough, I’m keeping him in the dark about Regulus. But I can’t exactly tell him that I fucked his brother behind his back. Fucked and impregnated. Merlin, what would Sirius say if he knew he’s going to be an uncle? Would he be happy? Excited? Disgusted? With Regulus in the mix, it’s a wild guess.

With effort, James pushes the thoughts aside. One problem at a time. 

“Of course, I won’t bail.” He pastes a smile on his face, hoping no one registers how fragile it feels around the edges. “Lead the way.” 

A niggle in James’ mind still insists that he should return to the chalet as he follows Sirius and Remus to the nearest Apparation point. That he should check on Regulus instead of going out to the pub. That Regulus or the baby might need him. His doubts crest in the doors of their favorite Muggle pub, making him grind to a halt. Remus and Sirius don’t react fast enough and end up piling up behind him.

“Come on, Jamsie. Stop dragging your feet,” Sirius makes the decision for him by shoving him inside without ceremony. 

James stumbles across the threshold, and once he recovers his balance, he takes a quick look around. As usual on a Friday night, the pub is full of rowdy patrons watching the game on a brand new color telly standing in a corner. Not Quidditch, of course, this is a Muggle establishment, but something called footy, which James has watched a couple of times before, right in this pub. He has to concede it has the potential to be entertaining, but only if Muggles introduce some broomsticks to the game.

The delicious aroma of chips and fried fish wafts through the air, washing James’ hesitance away as his mouth waters. A couple of pints and a bite to eat can’t hurt, right? And it’s been such a long time since he had a night out with the boys. He owes it to them. He owes it to himself. 

Besides, Regulus will most likely be relieved he won’t have James breathing down his neck for once. They’ve been together non-stop lately, and Regulus is and always has been an introvert who needs alone time to decompress. He’s bound to appreciate the break. 

James trails after Remus and Sirius to a corner booth, where Peter greets them with a round of shots, starting the evening off on a strong note. They toast the Arrow’s victory, and everything turns into a blur after that. They drink too much alcohol, eat too much deep-fried food, do too many dares, rehash too many stories from their school days, and laugh so hard that people from nearby tables tell them to keep it down. 

As James gasps for breath when Sirius’ attempt to recite the alphabet backward in an attempt to prove he isn’t drunk results in his eyebrows catching on fire, it occurs to him he needed to blow off some steam more than he’d realized. For the last several weeks, all his thoughts have been consumed by Regulus or Quidditch (he wasn’t entirely lying when he said he had to log in extra training hours), and he’s failed to notice how the responsibility to perform well on the pitch while also supporting Regulus have settled in his chest and belly like a leaden ball.

Now, bathed in the glow of friendship and light inebriation, the burden of his responsibilities dissipates, allowing him to unwind, his muscles relaxed, his mind floaty and calm for once.

“This was a great idea. Thanks for dragging me along,” James says to Remus when Peter and Sirius pop out for a smoke. 

“Anytime, James,” Remus says, taking a sip of his Wrexham Lager. He’s always ordered Welsh beer as a nod to his half-blood upbringing, and James experiences a sudden rush of affection for one of his oldest friends and his boring drinking habits.

Remus drums his fingers against the table as if mulling something over, then apparently reaches a decision and fixes James with a stare. “So, James. Since we’re finally alone. Tell me. How’s Regulus?”

And just like that, James’ good cheer evaporates, replaced by dread curdling in his stomach and souring his breath. How in Merlin’s name did Remus figure out his secret out? Has James been that careless? If Regulus gets wind of this, he will rip James’ head off. He will disembowel him and string his entrails outside the chalet to scare off intruders, father of his child or not. 

“I have no idea what you mean. Haven’t seen the bloke since Hogwarts. Actually, no, hold on, that’s not true. I ran into him at Flourish and Blotts at some point, but we barely greeted each other. You know how Regulus is. So stand-offish, always looks like he’s sniffing something awful when forced to interact with someone out of his Slytherin gang,” James stammers, hoping his charade will throw Remus off the scent. 

Unfortunately, Remus is too smart to fall for his act. He holds James’ gaze, tawny eyes unblinking until James bends his head low in capitulation. “Okay, you’ve got me. How did you know?” 

“I didn’t. Until now.” 

James groans. “Really, Moony? That was low.”

Remus nods. “Oldest trick in the book, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker,” he confirms. “Like a sucker.”

James grimaces and takes a swig of his beer. The cool liquid slides down his throat, a welcome remedy for the shock he’s sustained. “What gave me away, then?”

“You’re a terrible liar with no poker face, and you don’t lie to Sirius except when it concerns his family. I figured you wouldn’t bother covering for his parents, so your sudden shiftiness must’ve concerned Regulus. Then there’s the fact you’ve pined after him forever and you never sleep at home anymore, and it wasn’t too hard to connect dots.” 

“And how would you know where I sleep these days?” James asks, raising his eyebrow suggestively and sending Remus into a fit of coughing.

“Well, it was tough to miss since I’ve been staying over at yours most nights,” he says, the white scars on his face standing out against the crimson background of his complexion. James decides to give him a break since he doesn’t wish to send his friend into a cardiac arrest from sheer embarrassment. 

“Nice.” He reaches out to fist-bump him. “So things are going well with you and Pads?”

“Things are going amazing.” Remus’ features soften in an expression James has privately dubbed as ‘stupid for Sirius.’ Only for a blink, though, before they shift back into his ‘concerned friend’ mask. “Don’t change the subject.”

James holds up his hands but can’t quite suppress a smile. “I would never. I’m just happy for you.”

When Remus and Sirius became a couple, it shocked a lot of people, James included. They had both been burned so many times by horrible romantic encounters, albeit for different reasons, that at one point, they wound up complaining about the latest string of disastrous dates at James and Sirius’ place. Sloshed out of their minds, they decided to break the curse by dating each other. James, who caught the tail-end of the conversation upon his return home, assumed that nothing would come of it, the ludicrous scheme becoming nothing but a faint recollection drenched in a haze of Firewhiskey once they sobered up. 

But to his surprise, it stuck. To his even greater surprise, so did the relationship. They became a couple, fitting together better than anyone had expected. Better than James had expected, that’s for sure. In the beginning, he predicted, perhaps a little unkindly, that they’d break up in a month. Nine months later, here they are, still going steady.

Remus’ calm temperament curbs Sirius’ more reckless and arrogant tendencies, while Sirius’ support and unwavering courage bolster Remus’ lacking self-esteem. James can only hope that one day, he’ll find someone who’ll match his flaws as perfectly as his friends match each other. Or rather, that he’ll manage to get the person he suspects might be his match on the same page.

“Thanks, James. Appreciated. Now, spill the tea about you and Regulus. I’m dying to hear how you managed to wear the Ice King down?”

“Please, keep your voice down. If Sirius overhears, he might—no clue, but I’d rather not find out. Not to mention Regulus would murder me. Dead. Avadad on the spot.”

“Hmmm. Not reassuring, but there’s no need to worry, Prongs. I asked Peter to stall Sirius so we could chat without interruptions.” 

“Diabolical. And hey, why do you assume I wore him down? It might’ve been the other way around.”

Remus snorts, which, hello, rude. “An educated guess.” 

James drains the rest of his pint and scans the pub for a server. When he makes eye contact, he points to the empty glass to signal he’d like another. Unless he’s mistaken, this discussion will require more alcohol than is currently circulating in his bloodstream. Who would’ve thought keeping the fact that he’s expecting a baby with Sirius’ brother under wraps would be difficult? Everyone. That’s right. Everyone with a single working brain cell. Except for James Horny-Glasses Potter, apparently.

“You’re an evil mastermind in a granddad jumper,” he grumbles under his breath, but Remus only sputters out a laugh, his eyes crinkling, not offended in the slightest.

“Hear, hear. Why do you think I wear them? It’s camouflage. Nobody suspects the bloke in a boring jumper of a nefarious agenda.” Remus raises his glass in mock toast before taking a long drink. “So, Regulus. I knew you carried a torch for him in school, but I thought he hated you. Imagine my surprise when I figured he’s the reason you’re never around.”

“Believe me, he does. Hate me. Or rather, he did. Jury’s still out but I think he might be warming up to me.” 

Remus reaches across the table and pats his hand in sympathy.

“Anyway, he was able to set his hate aside when it suited his needs.” 

“Unsurprising. Once a Slytherin… I just wonder what motivated him to look past his loathing?”

James toys with a napkin so he doesn’t have to face Remus ‘I-see-all-and-miss-nothing’ Lupin’s questioning gaze.“Can’t tell you.” 

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t. Literally can’t. It’s—it’s complicated.” 

“James. Please tell me you didn’t swear an Unbreakable. You know how risky they are. Not to mention how monumentally stupid you’d have to be.” Remus sets his forearms on the table, leaning forward to peer at James more closely. Examining him for signs of recklessness, no doubt, as if they’re a visible symptom like a breakout of measles. 

“Relax, I have some self-preservation instinct left. I didn’t swear an Unbreakable.” Debatable, but he doesn’t have to disclose all the specifics of his contract. “At least, not exactly. But Regulus, well, let’s say he can be creative when it comes to protecting his interests and leave it at that because I don’t need another lecture. Also, for the love of Merlin, don’t breathe a word about this to anyone. Especially Sirius. This whole thing is—complicated would be a huge understatement.” 

“I’m not going to lecture you, James,” Remus says in a hurt tone, as if the mere suggestion offends him. “And I’d never betray your confidence. Even if I don’t like keeping secrets, particularly from my boyfriend.”

“Duly noted. And appreciated.” James blows out a relieved breath. Regulus would never forgive him if the truth about them seeing each other, or worse, his pregnancy, got out, and it wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t technically James’ fault. 

Those precious safeguards of his aren’t as fail-proof as he’d like to think if one perceptive werewolf is able to bypass them this easily. Maybe I should mention it to Reg so he can take better precautions. 

“I only wanted to make sure you were okay,” Remus continues, his expression growing somber.

“What do you mean?”

“All this secrecy is unlike you. I’d expect you to shout from the rooftops that you finally got the man of your dreams. Instead, you’re sneaking around, lying to your best friends—lying to Sirius, for Morgana’s sake. I didn’t think it was possible for you two not to share every single detail of your lives.” 

“We’re not that bad,” James mutters into his pint, full again, after the server brought him a new one, glaring forlornly into the amber liquid. Remus’ frank assessment has struck a nerve. He despises the smoke and mirrors. His stomach lurches with guilt every time he gives Sirius a half-baked excuse before sneaking out. He hates lying to him. But he’d hate hurting Regulus more.

“I guess my main question is, why? Is Regulus forcing you to do this? Is he blackmailing you?” Remus presses.

“What? No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” James sputters, the beginning of a chuckle emerging from him, but dying fast when he registers the concern on Remus’ face. “Seriously, Remus. Everything I’m doing is very much consensual, voluntary, and based on a mutual agreement. A comprehensive mutual agreement, I might add. Look, I can’t share the details or anything, but he needed a favor, and I—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be with him.” James lets out a rueful laugh and waves away the objection he can see forming on Remus’ lips. “Pathetic, yeah, I’m aware, believe me. You don’t have to tell me. But you were right—I’ve had a crush on him for ages, and when he approached me, I couldn’t say no.”

The memory of Regulus from yesterday, seated in his lap and riding his cock, head thrown back in a quiet moan, elegant throat on display, his swollen belly pressing into James, enters his mind. Followed by another, an image of Regulus on the couch, his tongue peeking out as he assembles a jigsaw puzzle with James’ help. Or the afternoons spent sipping tea and trading gossip about their former classmates and laughing so hard James’ cheeks hurt. No, James certainly doesn’t regret his choice. Not for one second. But he didn’t realize his infatuation was so obvious.

“In any case, I hope you’re not gonna do anything rash.”

James huffs out a chuckle. “No promises.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“And I appreciate that you do, mate, but you don’t have to. The arrangement between Regulus and me is very much temporary.”

I’m keeping him company and helping him fuck the frustration out of his system until he gives birth. Temporarily. Casually. No matter how much I want to beg him for something more permanent.

“Temporary?” Remus’ voice brims with incredulity. “You’ve gotten yourself into a temporary arrangement with the bloke you’ve been in love with for years? Who are you and what have you done with James ‘I Heart Romance’ Potter?” 

“First, I said feelings. I didn’t say a word about love.”

Remus doesn’t outright dispute his statement, but the scoffing sound he makes speaks for itself. 

Heat spills into James’ cheeks. Yes, yes, they’ve already established he’s pathetic. No need to dwell on the matter. He ignores the blush creeping from his face to his throat and chest and soldiers on. “Second, even if that was the case, Regulus doesn’t feel the same about me, and I can hardly grab him by the shoulders and scream, ‘Love me back, Baby Black,’ until he reciprocates.”

“Kudos on the rhyme,” Remus says without twitching a single facial muscle.

“Thanks, that’s about the only thing I’ve got going for me at the moment,” James laughs ruefully. He wants to believe they cleared a hurdle with Regulus after their discussion about his motivations, but can he completely trust the mercurial Slytherin who keeps his feelings private and treats secrets like bargaining chips? 

The dissection of his love life managed to kill any buzz he built up earlier, so James finishes his drink in a pensive mood, listlessly tapping his finger against a coaster damp with condensation that’s accumulated there over the course of the evening.

“Don’t forget about your friends. You’ve got us, too, James. Sorry if I touched a nerve there. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

James lifts his eyes from the table and meets Remus’ amber gaze, so full of understanding it makes his throat constrict. “Afraid that ship has sailed, but I appreciate the concern.” 

Before Remus manages to reply, Sirius and Peter return, engrossed in a debate about the objective advantages of Muggle vehicles as means of transportation compared to the brooms and Portkeys. Despite the sudden gloom that has enveloped James like a wet blanket, he can’t stifle a laugh. No wonder Sirius took his time if Peter asked about his beloved motorcycles.

Once they reach the table, Sirius drops the subject, slips into the booth next to Remus, and loops his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders with a besotted expression.

“What are you discussing that has you looking so,” he flicks his thumbs at his chest, eliciting a chuckle from Remus, who suffers from a debilitating case of being smitten and finds everything Sirius says and does hilarious (which is his only excuse for laughing at the lame joke), and a massive eye-roll from James. 

“Nothing important. James was telling me about the new training program the coach has going to put them through in the next couple of weeks. Apparently, he needs to stock up on dittany since he’s going to be flying so much he’ll be chafing in places—his words, not mine,” Remus replies smoothly, staring at James as if to convey ‘this is how you lie.’ 

And damn, James has to admit, he’s witnessing a master at work. His respect for Remus skyrockets. Until now, he hasn’t fully appreciated how sly the old wolf could be. Not only did he bluff with nobody being the wiser about his deception, but he also subtly laid the groundwork so that James’ future disappearance wouldn’t rouse any more suspicion. 

‘I owe you one,’ he mouths at him when Sirius looks away, and Remus acknowledges the promise with a nod.

Unfortunately, James doesn’t have a lick of chance at emulating his friend’s easy manner, no matter how hard he tries, so he just shrugs and endures good-natured ribbing from Sirius and Peter about how glad they are Remus was the one who had to suffer through James’ Quidditch talk. 

The evening wraps up quickly after that. Needled by Remus’ questions, James itches to go back to the chalet, feeling every minute of his limited time with Regulus chafing against his skin as it slips away from him, disappearing in the abyss of wasted opportunities forever. ping away from him as his friends exchange promises, 

Outside, they all head for the nearest Apparation point, where they exchange brief hugs and long promises about doing this again soon before parting ways. Peter Disapparates home, and James reassures Sirius and Remus that he doesn’t mind if Remus spends the night again. He really doesn’t. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to hang around, but he keeps that information to himself. He only nods and assures Sirius that no, he ‘doesn’t have a problem with Remus staying over, for Merlin’s sake, the house is huge and Moony is my friend too.’ 

At one point, he almost blurts out that Sirius should spare them all the agony and ask Moony to move in with them already, but he tamps it down at the last second. His life is complicated enough without inserting himself into other people’s affairs. Sirius will have to solve this on his own. 

At home, James waits until he’s sure his friends won’t notice his disappearance (to be fair, they probably wouldn’t notice a dementor popping up in the corner of the room or the entire house falling on them based on the sounds coming from Sirius’ bedroom since they forgot to cast a silencing charm yet again), he throws on the cloak and sneaks out. 

He experiences a brief pang of guilt about the ruse, but his desire to be with Regulus, as unhealthy as it might be, trumps everything. Any pangs, any regrets. He craves his presence. Needs him in a primal, raw sense of the word. The sensation of skin on skin. The sound of his heart beating steadily as James presses his head to his chest and his hands cradle Regulus’ stomach while he waits for the signs of their son moving. His scent. His taste.

Merlin, Regulus’ taste. Elusive but oh-so-sweet, hiding in the crevices of his body, clinging to the inside of his mouth. Every time they kiss and hug and fuck, James tries to satisfy his craving for it by exploring each of those part as thoroughly as possible, but so far, he hasn’t succeeded. On the contrary. The craving grows worse by the day. By the freaking minute. 

Only thanks to a great deal of self-control does James suppress a moan that would appear extremely odd coming from a seemingly empty spot in the middle of a street devoid of people. He clears his mind and picks up his pace. Fueled by the urgency to hold Regulus in his arms, to launch yet another attempt at discovering the source of the sweetness that has him in a chokehold, he reaches the Apparition point in record time and Apparates to France without wasting precious seconds. He’s already lost enough time for one evening. 

And since he’ll never get it back, he’ll have to make the best of what’s left.

Even if it’s a lot less than he wants.

Then again, no less than forever with Regulus would satisfy him.

Unfortunately, beggars can’t be choosers, so James will take whatever Regulus is willing to give and be thankful for the opportunity.

Chapter Text

James

27 weeks along, October 7th

The sky is indigo blue and speckled with stars when James emerges on the French mountainside. He navigates Regulus’ maze of wards, searching for the chalet, which has become so familiar over the past months that he can make out the building’s outlines even in the dark, guided only by the scant light of his Lumos. The rush of emotion washing over him at the sight, however, takes him by surprise. Warmth and joy and affection. Belonging. Home.

And that home is a person.

James’ heart thumps heavily against his chest in confirmation.

Inside the chalet is a man who’s become more precious to James than he’s ever expected. And the feeling continues to grow with every snarky remark at his expense. With every smile. With every kiss and soft moan James coaxes out of Regulus. He’d wormed his way under his skin with his humor and sharp tongue, with his wit and quiet bravery. And once he was there, he refused to leave, putting down roots and firmly staking his claim on James’ heart. 

When Regulus approached him nearly eight months ago with his bizarre request, James never expected his presence to become so vital. So necessary. So precious. And each day spent in Regulus’ company adds to the growing sense of an impending fall he will never recover from, but which he marches toward willingly. And, with any luck, he can convince Regulus to fall with him.

James shakes his head at his foolishness. There will be no falling of any kind. No falling, no feelings. Regulus has made that abundantly clear. He stated his conditions and expectations plainly, and James is setting himself up for disappointment if he lets himself believe otherwise.

The interior of the chalet is completely bathed in darkness when he steps inside, forcing James to rely on the Lumos as he fumbles his way through the hallway. Regulus is probably asleep and won’t even rouse to say hello, but James doesn’t care. As long as he can climb into bed with him, tuck him close, and listen to his quiet snores (although he swears up and down he doesn’t snore, ‘say that again, Potter, and you’ll be looking at the business end of a Silencio,’ but James knows better), he’ll be content. 

Quietly, James tiptoes into the sitting room, about to head upstairs, when a shadowy figure bolts upright on the sofa, stopping him in his tracks.

“James? Is that you?” Regulus asks, his voice husky from sleep. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, I’m late. I tried to leave early, but my friends wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he offers an explanation, inadequate as it is. Too close to an apology, yet not close enough. 

James activates the magical lamps on the walls so they can actually see each other, but he sets them to a muted glow so they don’t end up blind from sudden glare. “Why are you sleeping on the couch, sweetheart?” Damn his stupid mouth and its tendency to spout endearments without James’ permission. Well, the damage is done, and there’s nothing he can do about it except try to hold his tongue in check next time.

He crosses the room and claims a seat next to Regulus, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His hair is sticking up in every direction, and there are creases on his face from the pillows. James has never seen anything more adorable. “Have you been waiting for me the whole evening?” 

Regulus’ groggy expression transforms into a scowl. Another sight that’s been growing on James. It’s endearing, really, the way his brows knit together, forming a tiny, annoyed V in the middle, like an arrow pointing at the source of Regulus’ irritation.

“Keep dreaming, Potter.” 

For once, James doesn’t protest the use of his last name. Regulus deserves to have his petty moment after he left him alone for the evening. Still. He can’t resist teasing a little.

“Actually, I’m wide awake. You’re the one who’s been sawing logs. Why aren’t you in bed? It’s a lot comfier than the couch. And you know. More space to accommodate your, um—”

“Yes, James, do finish that thought. My what?”

“Er. Can I take five to consider my options?”

“Only if one of those options is jumping off a cliff,” Regulus grumbles and begins fidgeting with the blanket. “And to answer your question, although it might shock you, I’m on the couch because I fell asleep here. That son of yours is sucking up all my energy.” 

“I see. He’s only my son when you want to guilt-trip me.”

“And they said you were slow, but look at you now, putting the pieces together all by yourself at record speed. Ouch.” Regulus winces, placing his hand on his stomach, the swell obvious despite being half covered by the fluffy blanket.

“What is it, love? Is something wrong?” James’s protective instincts roar to life so quickly it makes him dizzy. 

“I don’t know.” Regulus’s voice drifts off for a while as he rubs circles into the bump in an attempt to soothe whatever discomfort he’s experiencing, but based on the troubled expression on his face, the strategy fails. “I was a little under the weather the whole afternoon, so I thought I’d distract myself by doing a puzzle,” Regulus gestures at the half-assembled picture of two unicorns spread over the table. James bought it in a Muggle shop and gave it to Regulus so they both could have a good laugh at a Muggle idea of a unicorn. Apparently, they believe unicorns are pink with rainbow manes and clover-like spots on their buttocks. Ridiculous. 

But his amusement quickly dies when Regulus continues. “The next thing I remember is you slinking around like a burglar, and my stomach cramping. Ow.” He grimaces, hugging his belly in a protective gesture. 

A serrated blade made of ice slices James from his nape to his tailbone. This is no longer mere protectiveness. This is fear, dark and all-consuming.

“What’s going on? Is it the baby? Is he in trouble?” Fuck, he was right. His intuition, nagging at him, whispering in his ear the whole evening, proved correct. Regulus has been struggling while he was out there, having fun, letting out steam, and reminiscing about old times with his mates when he should’ve been here. With his—whatever Regulus is. Granted, Regulus most certainly didn’t ask for James’ company—he did his best to prevent it, truth being told—but that doesn’t absolve James of the responsibility for him. Or the tiny spark of life in his belly. 

And it’s not only responsibility crushing his lungs with an iron grip. It’s care. So deep and abiding it will be his undoing.

The rational part of his brain tells him that his presence wouldn’t have fixed the situation, but he can’t help feeling guilty. He should’ve been here for moral support if nothing else. And really, there is nothing else he can do since healing magic isn’t exactly his strong suit. He has no clue about giving first aid. Not to a pregnant person. Merlin, he barely learned how to set bones, and that’s something he actually needs quite often in his line of work, unlike dealing with a less-than-natural pregnancy. 

“I don’t know.” Regulus’ face is usually on the pale side, but right now it looks almost bloodless, shining white in the dim light. There are dark bags under his eyes, even though he should be well-rested after spending the better part of the day asleep, pointing to exhaustion beyond the scope of regular tiredness. “I’ve had these weird cramps off and on most afternoon, but now they’re getting a lot worse—” he doesn’t finish the sentence as a fresh wave of pain jerks his body again, squeezing a grunt out of him. 

“Reggie? Please, tell me what I can do to help? Is there a spell I can use?” James regains his composure and forces his tone into an approximation of calm, despite the pit of anxiety that has opened up in his stomach. 

They’ve spent over two months fucking and talking, cooking dinners, and doing puzzles, and never once did they discuss what to do in crisis. An oversight, in retrospect. A major one.

“Not sure. I’m not a bloody healer. Or a midwife,” Regulus snaps, clambering to his feet. 

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing? Sit down.” In a lightning-fast move, James stands up to prevent whatever Regulus is trying to do, but it’s too late. 

“A little walk will do me good,” the irrepressible, stubborn man says. Then his eyes roll up so far in his head that only the whites show, and his legs give out under him. A green light flashes on his finger, but it disappears in a blink, so James doesn’t have time to ponder the bizarre phenomenon. 

Not when Regulus begins to crumble to the ground, joint by joint, resembling a puppet with its strings cut. Ankles first, then knees, and that’s when James’ Quidditch-honed reflexes finally activate. His hands shoot out, grabbing Regulus under the armpits and saving him from toppling over. 

Almost seven months pregnant, he is no longer slight. James stumbles under his weight but regains his footing before they both come crashing down, then sets Regulus’ unconscious figure on the sofa with utmost care, his mind a jumble of overlapping thoughts.

What just happened? Did he pass out? Should I wake him up? Merlin, what if there’s something wrong with the baby? What if there’s something wrong with Reg? Please, Starling, you can’t leave me, not now, not when we were just getting used to not hating each other.  

Bitterly, James regrets never taking the Herbs and Healing elective at Hogwarts. He’s never felt more helpless in his life than at this moment, looking at Regulus’ limp figure, his arms dangling by his sides, eyes fixed on the ceiling without registering a thing. His belly juts out as if mocking James with the cruel reminder of how much he has at stake.

It’s that thought that spurs him into action again.

“Rennerverate!” 

If the spell can rouse people affected by Stupefy, it should do the trick here, too, no? Fuck, I bloody well hope so. After all, unconscious is unconscious.

To James’ relief, as soon as the spell connects with Regulus’ body, his eyes slot back into their place, restoring his usual appearance. He lets out a groan and stretches, slowly dragging himself into a sitting position. 

The noxious dread coating James’ insides melts a fraction, but doesn’t disappear completely. He’s fixed the symptom, not the cause. There’s still a chance Regulus—and their son—might be in danger.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks. So much for not spouting any more sweet nicknames. He hovers, scanning him for any obvious signs of distress but hesitating to touch him for fear he might worsen his condition. 

“Dizzy.”

James’ chest tightens with a convoluted mix of concern and sympathy as he brushes a lock of Regulus’ hair out of his face, the gesture more tender than he’d allow himself under normal circumstances. “Look, I know you’re all about keeping a low profile, but I really think we should call a Healer. Or better yet, go to St. Mungo’s, and have you and the baby properly looked at.”

Regulus holds up a hand, recovering a sliver of his usually bossy demeanor. “No. Not going to Mungo’s to be gawked at like I’m a circus freak, or worse, get spotted by my parents’ goons. Besides, it’s unnecessary.” 

James sends him an incredulous look. Unnecessary? Does he care that little about his own life—about their son’s life? What would qualify as necessary in his books if not losing consciousness? James bites his tongue before he can come off as accusing, which is bound to send Regulus on the defensive, and employs a more placatory approach instead.

“Reg, be reasonable. Healthy people don’t pass out all of a sudden. Who knows what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been here? You might’ve injured yourself. Or the baby. One bad fall is all it takes to end up in a coma with your partner sitting at your bedside, wondering if you’re ever going to regain consciousness. And I’m a Quidditch player. I should know. I do know. After all, I’ve seen enough similar cases with my own eyes. And I think I wouldn’t—no I know that I couldn’t—be able to survive if something happened to you or our little sprog, so please, please let me call someone. You have my word that I won’t let any harm come to you. I’ll guard you with my life. Please. I’m here for you. Both of you. Anything you need. Lean on me. Use me. Let me help. Tell me who to call—if you don’t want to go to Mungo’s, I’ll bring someone here. Pandora, maybe? Please, I don’t want to—” he cuts himself off before the truth spills out, vulnerable and pointless. 

I don’t want to lose you. Either of you.

“I don’t want to stand idly by while you suffer.”

Regulus snorts. “I’ve never realized you were so bloody dramatic. You Gryffindor lot and your ridiculous ideas of chivalry.”

 In a strange way, his snark acts as balm to James’ overwrought nerves. If Regulus has enough strength to snipe at him, he can’t be in any immediate distress. Then again, he wouldn’t put it past him to spout acerbic remarks on his deathbed. This is Regulus Black, after all. The very definition of the word ‘prickly.’ 

“This is not a joking matter, Reg.”

“Relax, James. What I meant is that it’s not necessary to bring me anywhere or call anyone because Axel should be here any minute. He’ll know what to do.”

“Axel? What is that? A French word for axe? How is an axe going to help? I’m not using it on you if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Regulus sputters out a laugh when the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace suddenly changes color, bursting into an acid green and casting the whole room in an eerie tinge. 

A man steps out, brushing ash off the lime-green robes that mark him as a Healer. He takes a quick stock of the situation, which James uses to study him in return. A bit on the short side, but carries himself with confidence that makes up for his lack of height. Soft brown hair falls into his forehead with a casual elegance so typical for French men that James couldn’t emulate to save his life. He’s got piercing blue eyes and a rather prominent nose, offset by delicate features. Overall, he’s surprisingly attractive and definitely not someone you’d invite into your home to spend time with your partner alone.

James dislikes the bloke on sight. 

Although he guesses Regulus would probably object to being called his partner.

He draws himself up to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. So yes, it’s a bit petty, emphasizing how much taller he is. He’s never claimed to be a paragon of virtue. “So. I’m guessing you’re Axel.” James doesn’t bother disguising the naked hostility in his tone. It doesn’t throw the man one bit.

“Oui. Axel Andrieux, at your service. Or Reg’s service, to be more specific. I have no clue who you are or what you’re doing here, and I mostly don’t care. Regulus hasn’t murdered you, so I assume you have his permission,” the man says in accented but clear English. He sweeps his gaze over James, then shakes his head, clearly unimpressed, and moves over to the couch, where Regulus sits hunched over, arms wrapped around his sizable midsection, his hair falling in tangles into his face but not covering his pained grimace. 

“I was hoping it was simply a drill when the ring went off, but it looks like a real emergency.” Axel comments dryly, examining Regulus with a lot more kindness than James would expect. 

“Not a drill,” Regulus’ reply comes out strained, as though talking requires too much strength. He shifts in his seat almost as if he intends to stand again, but James grabs his shoulder and holds him in place to prevent any sudden movements, not eager to repeat another fainting episode. 

Thankfully, Axel seems to be on James’ side when it comes to preventing Regulus from injuring himself. “Stay put and tell me what’s bothering you, Reggie.”

His pronunciation is soft, the ‘gg’ sound gliding smoothly from his mouth. They’re clearly familiar with each other, since Regulus lets the nickname slide. It awakens a niggle of irritation in James’ chest, but now is not the time or the for minor concerns like jealousy.

“Nothing.”

“Passing out is not nothing,” James points out.

“Is it true? Did you pass out?” Axel casts a more intense version of Lumos to check Regulus’ pupils. “No concussion, that’s good at least.” 

“I caught him in time,” James supplies.

Axel waves a hand at him without looking away from Regulus. James can’t tell if he’s being ironic or appreciative. “Great, we’ll erect a statue in Paris in your ‘onor.”

Okay, ironic then.

“It was just a little stumble, nothing more. A momentary weakness,” Regulus grumbles. “There’s no need for all the fuss. Seriously, Axou. I’m fine. You came, you checked me out, good job. Finally earning that outrageous pay you wheedled out of me, you snake.”

“We both know you’d lose your respect for me if I hadn’t,” Axel says with a smile tugging at his lips, hinting at an inside joke, which James doesn’t like in the slightest. Inside jokes suggest personal history. Friendship. Maybe more. He wasn’t aware Regulus had friends outside his Slytherin circle. Pandora was bad enough, but this bloke? Intolerable.

Sweet Godric, I really am jealous.

Thankfully, Axel and Regulus are too busy with their conversation to notice James’ internal freakout. 

“True. But my point stands. I’m doing fine, so you can run back to the hospital and resume delivering babies or whaterer it is you do to pass the time.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Axel frowns and presses his finger against Regulus’ neck to check his pulse while muttering under his breath. “In the meantime, tell me who’s the lurch hovering over my shoulder as if he’s afraid I’m going to abscond with his family silver? I was under the impression you lived alone in this charming abode. Is he allowed to be ‘ere? Is he ‘ouse trained? Aren’t you worried he’ll pee on the carpet?” Axel asks, jerking his thumb in James’ direction. 

Yep. James definitely hates the tosser. But he’ll keep his opinion to himself until he’s sure Regulus and the baby are safe.

“The lurch is tolerable. In small doses. He can stay.” Regulus shoots James a smile as if inviting him in on the joke, but his expression contorts under another wave of cramps racking his body, which ruins the effect. James interjects to provide an objective summary of his condition, as Regulus has proven to be an unreliable narrator.

“Regulus mentioned he hasn’t been feeling well all day; his stomach is cramping, and when he tried to take a walk, he collapsed. I managed to break his fall, settled him down on the sofa, and woke him with Rennerverate. That’s when you arrived.”

Axel acknowledges the account with a hum, then pulls out a wand. “I’m gonna run a quick diagnostic. D’accord, Reg?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation, launching straight into casting, and his hands become a blur as he invokes several charms in quick succession. 

The entire time, Regulus sits with his eyes closed, his chest rising with labored breaths, his hands fisted in the blanket. James doesn’t dare interrupt Axel or encroach on Regulus’ personal space, but his whole being vibrates with the frantic desire to hold him tight, bodies molding, their hearts beating in sync. Because Regulus’ heart can’t stop beating. Not now. Not when James came so close to softening it. Not when there’s a new life they created together growing underneath.

“I’d like to bring you in for observation,” the Healer announces when he finishes his assessment and casts a final charm that James doesn’t recognize. The effect is unmistakable, though. Tension leaves Regulus’ body in an instant, and he’s able to relax and settle into a more comfortable position, obviously no longer in pain. 

Axel doesn’t appear mollified by the development, a slight worry line creasing his forehead.

“Is the baby okay?” Regulus blurts out at the same time as James says, “What’s wrong with Regulus?” 

“As far as I can tell, there’s nothing immediately wrong with you or the baby,” Axel says, giving them both a look that Healers probably train in special courses. A look that says, ‘I’m going to be as vague as possible to not give you false hope instead of explaining the situation in layman’s terms that would actually explain what’s going on.’ 

“Then why is it necessary to move him? You’re aware of the risk of exposure, right? Something Regulus has been trying to avoid.” James says, stepping in front of Regulus, his arms crossed over his chest. Yes, it’s petty. Yes, Axel is here in the middle of the night to provide aid. No, James still doesn’t like him.

The Healer rolls his eyes. “Reg, call off your guard dog. Yes, dear Lurch, whose name I failed to learn, I am familiar with Regulus’ entire operation. But you’ll agree with me that the wellbeing of the baby he’s carrying, and his own, of course, takes priority. So while there’s nothing wrong—to my current knowledge—I can’t dismiss the possibility. Additional tests should rule out any potential problems. You’re both aware Regulus’ condition is rather, let’s go with unique, so I’d rather be over cautious than neglect something. Also, Regulus could do with an infusion of Strengthening Solution and Hydrating Potion to stabilize his system. This is my official recommendation as your Healer and friend, Reggie, but I’ll respect whatever you choose and attempt to provide adequate help.”

“Up to you, Reg,” James says, turning his back on the Healer who scored a couple of minor (very minor) points in his books by the whole reasonable and supportive spiel. “Your body, your decision.” 

“I mean, it’s not like I have a choice, right?” Regulus asks with a rueful smile, cradling his bump. “Not risking anything happening to our little sprog.” He reaches for James’ hand, entangling their fingers. “Will you come with me, Jamie? Please?” The slight quiver in Regulus’ voice betrays he’s more afraid than his detached expression suggests.

It’s probably become second nature to him to appear disinterested.

James squeezes his hand, hoping the gesture transfers a fraction of his health and strength to Regulus. “Of course, sweetheart.”

A loud scoff comes from behind. “How very touching, but please save it for later. We need to hurry. Lurch, help me bring Reg to the fireplace.”

“We’re not Apparating?” For some reason, James hasn’t considered the restriction of magic transportation on pregnant people. 

Axel gives him a stare that indicates he considers James only a step above a garden gnome intelligence-wise. “Apparating is too dangerous for the fetus, so we’re taking the Floo. Now get a move on, or you’ll have to get to the hospital on your own, and good luck finding us there.” 

That prods James into action. He installs himself by Regulus’ side, and together with Axel, they guide him to the fireplace. 

The healer throws Floo powder into the fire and shouts, “Hôpital de Revel, Axel Andrieux’s Office.” 

‘Everything is going to be alright,’ James wants to console Regulus, or possibly himself, but he barely has time to gulp in a deep breath before the green flames swallow them all.

Chapter Text

Regulus

27 weeks along, October 8th

Regulus awakens to a room that’s entirely dark except for the sliver of light shining underneath the door. For a blissful moment, he hangs in a liminal space between ignorance and consciousness, where no problems demand his attention. The pillow under his head is cold, the mattress on the right side of supportive, so he’s content to lie there completely unburdened, tucked under a blanket like a fluffy strudel. 

Nothing in his surroundings disturbs his peaceful floating in the void, except for the muted beep of monitoring spells and the pervasive scent of antiseptic. Which can only mean one thing. Hospital. Regulus must be in a hospital, and the realization breaks through his daze, sending him hurtling back into his body. Memories flood in, erasing any lingering serenity. 

Feeling miserable the whole afternoon. Passing time with the odd chore and doing puzzles. Waiting for James. Fainting like a maiden from a tawdry novel who constantly needs to be rescued by a strapping barbarian. His own savior arriving, not clad in a loincloth fashioned out of a tiger pelt, but no less strapping. 

Thank Merlin James can’t read minds, or he would lord it over him for the rest of his days. ‘So you think I’m strapping, Reggie. How flattering. I’ve always suspected you had a soft spot for me, and now I’ve got proof.’

After the frankly humiliating blackout, his recollection grows hazy, nothing but a smudge of anxiety. He remembers Axel, Flooing into the chalet at some point, following through on their deal. And the relief washing over him when the Healer stepped out of the fireplace, spreading ash everywhere and antagonizing James. 

Perhaps I should give him a raise.

He’d deserve it, if for nothing else, then for James’ sour grimace after being called ‘Lurch.’ It amused Regulus to no end and helped alleviate the stress he was feeling at the moment.

My poor, famous chaser, so used to being fawned over, met with such an utter indifference to his status. Must’ve been a novel experience for him.

Unfortunately, Axel also insisted on subjecting Regulus to various tests and ferrying him to a private suite in the hospital where he’s currently residing. It’s only accessible through a Disillusioned, heavily Warded door, which ensures Regulus’ safety. Perhaps excessive in terms of security, but he didn’t undergo all this hassle for someone from the medical staff to recognize him and snitch to his parents. 

Once they were all safely ensconced in the suite, James included, Axel ran additional diagnostics to assess Regulus and the baby’s vitals and condition, employing an endless score of charms and, unexpectedly, Muggle devices.

‘Their measurements are more precise,’ Axel shrugged when he noticed Regulus’ incredulity, and well, hard to argue with that. 

Regulus settled back into bed without a single objection and let Axel perform his magic (and whatever Muggle business he deemed necessary). The entire time, James stood by Regulus’ side, stroking his hair and murmuring nonsensical words of consolation in his ear, his presence an effective remedy for the keen sting of fear jabbing Regulus between his ribs. 

I doubt I’d be as calm without James holding my hand.

When Axel had finished, he announced that Regulus suffered from low blood pressure, and the cramps were likely nothing more serious than Braxton-Hicks contractions. Unpleasant, painful, yet another nasty shock in the line of surprises the pregnancy continued springing on Regulus, but ultimately not dangerous. At that point, James heaved out a loud breath of relief and squeezed Regulus’ fingers with unnecessary force. Clearly, he was more worried than he was letting on. To cap the night off, Axel plied Regulus with a whole cabinet of potions, each more vile than the other, and departed with the promise he was going to release him in the morning if his condition remained stable. 

Unfortunately, he insisted Regulus stay overnight. ‘To be on the safe side’ were his exact words. Regulus supposes he should be grateful for his thoroughness, but he’d prefer the comfort of familiar surroundings. Not to mention that the reminder of how vulnerable he’d become rankled.

It doesn’t matter. A night in the hospital is a small price to pay for a healthy baby. 

The conditions of his deal with his parents don’t allow for delays. Regulus can’t afford the setback of losing the child. But, more importantly, he can’t bear to imagine losing his little sprog. His hand gravitates to his belly under the blanket, gently rubbing the swell. His unborn son acknowledges his father’s touch with a gentle tap against the wall of his stomach. Regulus cherishes every single one of the baby’s kicks and taps more than he expected when he was planning this strange undertaking. Yes, the palpable evidence that a human being is growing inside him terrified him at first, but he’s grown to love his baby’s attempts at communication.

Their baby. 

He has two parents.

James was truly incredible tonight, a steady rock preventing Regulus from sinking into an ocean of panic. 

Speaking of which, where is James? Did he go home? Understandable. He must’ve been shattered after the match and dealing with the medical emergency. Regulus’ heart gives a sad little pang. Understandable, but disappointing. 

Something rustles in the room as a large shadow unfurls on a chair in the corner.

“Reggie? Are you asleep?” asks a familiar tenor, and Regulus’ mood instantly lifts.

I suppose I should’ve given him more credit instead of assuming he abandoned me in the hospital alone.

“What a nonsensical question. You can’t answer it with a ‘no,’ because in this case, negation equals confirmation.”

James chuckles, more loudly this time. “It’s a relief to see your brain operating at its full snarky capacity again.”

Regulus doesn’t bother denying the allegations. Knowing the sprog doesn’t face any immediate danger, he feels a lot more like his usual, apparently snarky, self. “What are you doing in the chair?” he demands.

“Sitting? It’s this position humans assume when they need to spend long periods of time waiting because it’s less exhausting than standing upright. Not gonna lie, I was feeling pretty wiped after tonight.” 

What a stupid, stupid man. “Merlin, I really do hope our son gets my intellect. I meant, why are you over there in a chair alone instead of here with me? In bed.”

“Because I figured the hospital would frown on that.”

“Since when do you follow the rules? Who are you, and what have you done with James Potter?”

“Alright, you got me. I didn’t want to disturb your rest. You looked like you needed it after today.” A note of unbearable gentleness filters into James’ voice as he reveals his true motivations. Only the understanding of how difficult it would be to scramble back up in his condition, and sluggish from tiredness, prevents Regulus from committing something foolish. For example, throwing himself at James for a thorough snogging session.

“Sounds like you need to rest as well. So, since you decided to inflict your presence on me for some unfathomable reason, at least stop being ridiculous and come here,” he says instead and edges over to the side, clearing a space for James. No reaction. Regulus heaves out a sigh. “What are you waiting for? An embossed invitation? Or do you want me to beg?” 

Because I will. I need someone to hold me. No, not someone. James Freaking Potter. I need James Potter to lock his thick arms around me and drown me in his embrace. 

The realization sluices over him like a cold shower.

How disconcerting. I really hope this neediness passes after I give birth.

“You never have to beg me for anything, Reggie.”

Regulus chokes up a little, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer. There’s a patter of footsteps as James stumbles through the dark room. Then he slips under the covers, arranging his long figure to lie beside Regulus without infringing on his personal space.

“Afraid the pregnancy is contagious?” Regulus quips. “Relax, I’m in no state to fuck you, and even if I were, you’d be safe since you didn’t perform the ritual.”

“That sounds like a proposition worth revisiting once you feel better, but no. Not afraid. Just don’t want to—”

“Disturb my rest, yes. Heard you the first time. At the risk of repeating myself, drop the chivalrous act, James, and hug me, for the love of Merlin.” 

He moves over to take the initiative, sick of waiting for James to get the hint. Although, does it count as a hint when Regulus is outright stating his wishes? Oh, how the mighty have fallen. To think he’s asking James Potter, the dullard who Regulus once considered his nemesis, to comfort him.

Finally, James abandons his ridiculous and unwelcome consideration and pulls Regulus as close to his forefront as Regulus’ belly allows. His arms, corded with those Quidditch-honed muscles, wrap around him, and he rests their foreheads together.

“Better?” James whispers, his lips so close Regulus swallows his breath, eager to absorb as much of James’ substance as possible.

He hums, unwilling to put the confirmation into words. There’s only so far he’s willing to debase himself in one day. For a moment, he expects James to call him on his bluff, to peel off his protective layers one by one with barbed remarks and leave him bleeding out in the open. It’s what Regulus would do if the roles were reversed. James, however, is made of more noble stock. He lets him preserve the illusion, trailing his fingers down his face until they reach his jaw and cradle it with aching, disconsolate tenderness.

Regulus has been touched by many people in his life. Different people with different intentions. He was touched for gain. Pleasure. In fits of rage. Gently, sometimes. With malice, more often. But never, not once, with such utter devotion.

His breath catches in his throat, but he holds it in for fear a single exhale might shatter the peace. Then James brings his hands to Regulus’ stomach and smashes the moment into smithereens with his comment, anyway. 

“I was so worried about him today.” 

Of course. Of course, it comes down to the baby. James doesn’t care about Regulus. No, that’s not fair. He probably cares—about his role as a living, breathing incubator for his son. Sleeping with Regulus might be a pleasant side benefit, but Saint Potter would never be interested in the Black Heir beyond the physical aspect. Which suits Regulus just fine. That’s what he wanted. That’s literally what he bargained for.

“Which turned out to be unnecessary.” Regulus’ voice comes out terse. He’s not prepared to face the dread that coiled through him when he thought their little one might be in peril. 

Somehow, James sees right through him, darkness or not. As though he’s reading the thoughts Regulus doesn’t admit even to himself. “It’s okay to be scared, Reg, alright? You don’t have to pretend. I was completely freaked out and had no idea what to do, and I—fuck, I feel so guilty. About not being here when you were feeling unwell. I should’ve Apparated straight back here after the match. I never should’ve gone to the pub, but the lads dragged me, and I’d been neglecting them lately—but that’s no excuse. You matter more to me. The sprog matters more.” James winces next to him as if he said more than he intended, the sheets rustling with the motion.

“As entertaining as your martyr act could be under certain circumstances, I’m afraid I’m going to put paid to it. Don’t beat yourself up for spending time with your friends. You’re not my keeper, and you didn’t promise me anything. No, in fact, I recall you mentioning you probably wouldn’t be around since the team usually drags you along to celebrate, so I didn’t count on you making an appearance and definitely don’t hold it against you. I’m an adult, capable of taking care of myself.”

“Appreciated, but still—I should’ve been there. I couldn’t forgive myself if something went wrong. If we lost him.” 

Regulus ignores a painful lurch in his chest at the reminder that James’ interest concerns only the baby and lays his fingers over James’. He’s a weak man, and he craves the reassurance, temporary as it might be. “Thankfully, according to Axel, he’s more resilient than the two of us combined.” 

“Strictly speaking, he is the two of us combined.” James must be smiling. Regulus can’t see it in the darkness, but he can hear the shape of his smile in the way his vowels soften around the edges. 

“A chilling concept. Let’s hope my genes will outweigh yours, then.” 

“Hey. Didn’t you pick me for my ‘genetic qualities?’ Something about me being magically gifted, athletic, and all-around wonderful.”

“You remember a random piece of conversation from eight months ago? Did you jot it down in your diary and re-read every evening before falling asleep?” Regulus snorts. 

“Who wouldn’t want to remember being complimented by the great Regulus Black,” James confesses cheerfully. The man apparently has no shame.

“True. It is a rare treat. Still, we’ll have to wait and see if I made the right choice.” A sharp poke under his ribs tells Regulus the sprog is listening in on the conversation. “Right now, I’m concerned your ‘genetic qualities’ might be winning. The sprog is already showing your subtlety.” He guides James’ hand to the spot on his belly, where he feels a tiny but insistent foot. “Here. He was just kicking.” 

This late at night, the hospital is bathed in silence, punctuated only by the occasional footsteps of a healer on call echoing faintly from outside. Nothing disturbs them as they lie together, their legs entwined, their breath mingling in the narrow gap that divides them, waiting for signs of life from the third participant in the conversation. 

“Maybe he’s got performance anxiety,” James quips when nothing happens for a long stretch of time.

“I already believe he takes after you. No need to convince me.” 

“Uncalled for, Reg. And untrue. I’m literally clutching the proof that every part of me performs just fine.” 

“Smug is not a good look on you.” 

James scoffs. “As if you can see me in this pitch-black room. Besides. I find it difficult not to feel smug about knocking up Regulus Black—oh!” A small foot, or possibly hand, taps against the precise spot on Regulus’ belly under their interlocked hands, interrupting James’ bragging.

Well done, sprog. Otherwise, I might consider strangling your father.

“He’s so strong. Those are kicks of a future Quidditch champion, mark my words. Perfect for a swift, powerful lift-off.”

“Don’t start picking brooms before he’s born. I have greater aspirations for our son than becoming a jock,” Regulus says, injecting the last word with as much poison as he can muster. Not that he minds Quidditch, and he wouldn’t stand in the way of his son’s happiness if he chose to pursue it as a career, but he’s had a long, exhausting day, and goading James never fails to improve his mood. 

“Better start adjusting those aspirations, pronto, because if my genes are winning, like you said, chances are our son is gonna be the best Quidditch player since, well, since me.”

“Please,” Regulus says, regretting James can’t see his massive eye roll. “The best Quidditch player? Really? Says who, the coach who benched you? Also, I’d like to remind you that you come from a long line of Potioneers, and I’m more than proficient in the area myself. Chances are, he’s going to become a potion master. Or a Minister of Magic.”

“I see you forgot to mention how lofty those ‘greater aspirations’ of yours are. Minister of Magic. You’re not setting the bar low for him, that’s for sure.” 

The baby kicks again, and James lets out a delighted whoop, nestling closer to Regulus and nuzzling his neck. “See, Prongslet disagrees. He doesn’t want to be stuck in a stuffy office. He wants to be out there, flying above the pitch and scoring goals, like his awesome dad.”

“First, veto on the nickname. That smacks of an induction into your Marauders band of misfits, so I’ll have to nip that in the bud. Second, if he has to play Quidditch, he’s going to be a Seeker. And since I’m the one carrying him, I get the deciding vote.”

“That’s not how this works, love,” James laughs, and Regulus’ heart gives a stupid little jolt at the endearment. 

He doesn’t mean it. That’s just what people say. It doesn’t mean anything , especially since the emotions are running a bit high tonight.

“But I’m gonna let you keep your delusions a while longer because you had a rough day, and you deserve it.” James uses his proximity to brush a line of kisses to Regulus’ throat, pulling a sigh from him. His fingers graze his stomach, drawing patterns as they travel across the fabric stretched over the mound. 

After Axel Flooed them to the hospital, he insisted on stuffing Regulus into a dreadfully frumpy gown issued to every patient. White with grey diamonds, it wouldn’t do his pale coloring any favors if anyone could see him, so he supposes he’s grateful for the darkness. 

The sin against fashion doesn’t seem to bother James as he continues to explore, his movements greedy and insistent. Cupping Regulus’ bump. Grazing his shoulders. Capturing his lips in a kiss that slowly grows heated, a gradual build-up of soft nips and flicking swipes of the tongue James doses with surgical precision, maintaining a low simmer until he lets the grip on his control slip and claims Regulus’ lips for real. 

Moaning into his mouth, James’ hands urge Regulus closer, closer, until their bodies are flush. They grind against each other without breaking the kiss, the hospital sheets rustling as they move.

To Regulus’ surprise, his cock fills despite the exhaustion sapping his strength not too long ago. There’s no way to mask his erection, horribly evident under the loose attire with no underwear. It strains upward, nudging the underside of his swollen belly and leaving wet dots of precum on his skin. How typical of his body to flush his system with a fresh batch of hormones, rendering him unbearably horny at the least suitable moment.

To complete his humiliation, his arousal doesn’t escape James’ notice. Of course, James notices. It’s impossible not to, flush against one another so tightly, there’s not a flicker of space left to separate them. 

“Reggie? Are you really hard right now?”

“No—I’m not—it’s the fucking hormones, okay? It’s not like I can control it.”

“Don’t be ashamed. It’s hot,” James pants, then presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against his neck as his fingers hitch the hideous gown up above Regulus’ hips, freeing his cock and the lower part of his belly. The blanket hides them in case anybody has the urge to rush in and check on him, but knowing he’s exposed underneath fills Regulus with a heady mix of shame and excitement. 

“Love how responsive you are,” James continues to heap praise on him, and Regulus struggles against releasing the instinctive keen building in his lungs.

“Save it—that’s not true,” he mutters, his body betraying him by arching into James. 

“Shhh, don’t deny it. Like I said, I love this side of you.”

As a younger man, Regulus could never resist a compliment and would go to incredible lengths to hear the three magic words ‘you did good.’ From his parents, from his teachers—the source didn’t matter. Over the years, he’d built his confidence and overcame his thirst for praise. Or so he thought. 

Then Potter came along, showered him with flattery, and proved him wrong. With his self-image shaken by the pregnancy, all his insecurities rose to the surface, and now Regulus laps every compliment like they’re water and he’s dying of thirst in the desert. 

“This is not—we shouldn’t—not here. What if somebody comes?” Regulus grits out, but his actions negate his words as he nestles into James, his bump pressing against James’ firm stomach, his fingers digging into James’ sides. He’s wearing the clothes he had on when he arrived, Muggle jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt smelling faintly of beer and smoke from the pub.

“That’s the hope,” James smirks.

Regulus can’t leave the remark stand. “I told you, smug doesn’t suit you. Neither does this.” With motions shaky from pent-up desire, he tugs at James’ t-shirt. Once James catches on to his intentions, he assists him by whipping the piece of clothing over his head. Then he shimmies out of his jeans and underwear and dumps them on the ground. 

The blanket he shares with Regulus becomes the last barrier standing between him and public indecency. In the inky darkness, Regulus doesn’t see a thing, but he feels James’ overheated skin glazed with sweat as he moves closer. He registers the slight rasp of his body hair as he pushes his thigh between Regulus’ legs. He notices James’ hard cock, nudging his erection.

Their mouths collide again, tongues rubbing against each other in hot slides. “You’re so perfect,” James heaves out between kisses, and every single one of Regulus’ nerve endings catches on fire, overloaded to the point of pain. 

“Merlin, you’re so incredibly beautiful.” James’ hands slide over his belly, mapping the curve and teasing the sensitive area with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

“You can’t actually see me,” Regulus moans. He can’t help being contrary, even half-naked, debauched, with his cock leaking precum all over a hospital bed.

“But I remember you. Your form. Your shape. The way you feel when I touch you.” A gentle scrape of blunt fingernails across the bump sends hot darts of ecstasy racing down Regulus’ skin. “When I taste you.” James moves lower, licking over Regulus’ pebbled nipples. Acute pleasure shoots through Regulus, turning his body into a bowstring crackling with pent-up energy. And like a bowstring, he only needs a skilled touch to release. “When I make you come.” 

With agonizing slowness, James’ fingers curl around Regulus’ shaft. Regulus bucks his hips, desperate to come now, seeking more friction, more force, anything that would relieve the dull pressure throbbing through his body. It starts at the base of his spine and unfurls forward in lazy beats, rendering him half-mad with want. Sweat pearls on his forehead, making his hair stick to his temples, and he’s grateful the darkness allows him to hide the true extent of his desire, no, his need, for James. 

Until his voice betrays him. “Then—then make me. Jamie. Please. Make me come. I need it. Need you. Need you so badly. Wish I could tell you, oh, darling, how much—oh—please, please, can’t take it anymore—” He cuts himself off before he descends into sobbing by sinking his teeth into his lower lip so hard he can taste blood. 

“Told you, Reggie. You don’t have to beg me.” James’ voice emerges wrecked, a sound drenched in hunger and breathless from strain. His hand, thank Merlin, finally starts moving, gliding up and down Regulus’ cock with just the right amount of pressure, if too slowly for his liking. 

Regulus thrusts up again despite the action being a challenge, with the belly impeding his movements. James ignores his blatant attempt at speeding things up and maintains his slow rhythm, adding a delicious twist over the crown with every upstroke, just the way Regulus likes. Yet another weakness of his James has discovered during the past months and doesn’t hesitate to abuse.

He’s always been a quick study.

Soon, the pressure rising in Regulus increases, and he is unable to suppress the string of moans and obscenities gushing from his lips. 

“Someone will—hear, Reggie, shhh,” James cautions, undone himself, but Regulus is too far gone for any semblance of control.

“James. James. Faster. Need to—please.” Lost in ecstasy, Regulus no longer possesses the ability to form coherent sentences, but James heeds the command this time, picking up the pace and jacking Regulus hard and fast. The electricity in him condenses into a single point and then explodes, curling through him in blazing whorls of pleasure that convulse his entire body as he spurts his release over James’ fist. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Reg. You’re incredible,” James moans while Regulus pants into his shoulder, too blissed out to twitch a muscle and only distantly registering that James takes himself in the hand slick with Regulus’ come and begins jerking himself off with quick, urgent strokes.

“Regulus,” James whispers, reverent. The awe in his voice pierces Regulus’ post-orgasmic lethargy. 

Shame I can’t see him right now. 

After the time they’ve spent together, he’s memorized how James looks close to his climax—vulnerable and without his habitual grin, hazel eyes turning bright green, mouth slack, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Regulus has memorized the expression, yes. Burned it into his neural pathways. That doesn’t mean he’s grown tired of seeing it and knowing he’s the one who put it there. That he affects James Potter this much, even in his pregnant state. 

But the room is cloaked in darkness, so Regulus can distinguish vague outlines and nothing more. Only James’ shocked gasp and the way his muscles coil tell Regulus he’s coming before the spray of warmth on his stomach confirms it. 

Moments later, James relaxes, and the mattress dips as he slumps into the bed, breathing fast. Then, he rolls over and loops his arm around Regulus’ shoulders, dropping a kiss to his nose.

“Fuck. That was—I’m not sure I have the proper words. I don’t remember coming that hard from a hand job in a while.”

Personally, Regulus agrees, but he’d rather expire on the spot than admit it. “Wank job, if we’re being accurate. I never touched you.”

“You were here. That was all I needed.”

Heat spills over Regulus’ cheeks. Thank Merlin the darkness hides him from James’ searching looks. He must be redder than a Gryffindor common room, which is humiliating enough without witnesses. “You’re an easy man to please,” is his only outward reaction. By some miracle, his voice remains unaffected.

“Never claimed otherwise. But,” James continues, unperturbed, “you seemed to have enjoyed yourself as well.” 

Regulus doesn’t have to see him to know he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. Unfortunately, he lied earlier. Smug absolutely is a good look on James. Years ago, it used to make Regulus’ blood boil. When they were younger and more foolish. Now, one quirk of his mouth and Regulus’ whole body turns to jelly.

“Blame it on the hormones.” Yes. It’s the hormones. He refuses to entertain the idea of anything else. Anything else wasn’t part of the plan. It’s bad enough he’s grown to rely on James’ presence more than he could’ve foreseen in his bleakest dreams.

“Blame? I’m going to thank them. Kiss them silly.”

James moves as though he intends to scoot lower on the bed and press his lips to his belly, which reminds Regulus that they’re both sticky and covered in bodily fluids.

“How about a cleaning spell first before any thanking and kissing can take place?” His wand is on the bedside table, but it might as well be on the moon because Regulus’ body is heavy and sated and refuses to make a single move. 

“Good idea. Give me a moment.” A giant yawn swallows the second half of the last word, but James shifts his position to fulfill Regulus’ command, moving closer to the edge of the bed. There’s a swish of air and a muttered ‘Tergeo,’ followed by a whisper of fabric when James probably puts his t-shirt and underwear back on.

The mess they created together vanishes in an instant, leaving Regulus clean, dry, and drowsy. And when James sets his wand aside and rearranges their position to spoon Regulus from behind, his warm breath tickling his nape, Regulus wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else in the world. Despite the antiseptic burning his nose, and the beeping from the monitoring spells, also known as the most obnoxious sound imaginable. Despite knowing he only gets this for a limited amount of time. Despite knowing that in the morning, James will Apparate home and Regulus will return to his chalet alone.

“Good night, Reggie,” James murmurs, and that’s all Regulus registers before sleep reclaims him. 

Chapter Text

James

27 weeks along, October 8th

“Well, aren’t you two positively adorable?” A cheerful voice with a French accent that darkens the Rs and gives the vowels a nasal quality interrupts James’ dreams and jolts him awake. 

He unglues his eyes to find Axel the Healer standing above the bed, smirking as though the world, specifically the scene in front of him, exists for his amusement only. Yep, he might’ve proved useful yesterday, but today, he still sucks.

“Morning,” Axel continues while James struggles to blink the remnants of sleep away. 

Sunlight pours inside the room through the window above the bed, stinging James’ retinas, which, if anyone asks him, borders on torture. He must’ve conked out hard, and no wonder. The match, the pub, and then the spike of fear about Regulus and their little sprog would defeat a hippogriff, let alone one poor Chaser. 

“If you could be so kind as to wake your boyfriend, I’d love to give him a quick check-up and send you on your way, so I can resume my rounds, with my superiors being none the wiser.” Axel lifts one of the Muggle devices he used yesterday to measure Regulus’—something, James missed the name, out of his mind with worry as he was—in demonstration.

James disregards the traitorous little skip his heart does over the word ‘boyfriend,’ and turns to Regulus, who remains fast asleep despite the noise. Poor baby, he must be even more exhausted than James. After all, he has two human bodies to maintain, and one of them he’s actively building, so he has a right to be tired. 

Regulus lies on the side, face pressed into a pillow, snoring softly. Only his head pokes above the hospital blanket, which is the same awful lime as the Healers’ robes. A little string of drool clings to his parted lips, and his black hair spills over the pillow, partly obscuring his features, but James can’t miss how relaxed he looks. It seems a shame to disturb him.

Axel clears his throat to hurry them along, but James ignores him, brushing Regulus’ locks away and caressing his cheek to wake him as gently as possible. “Morning, love.” 

Regulus’ eyes flutter open, impossibly green and full of unguarded affection. “Morning,” he whispers, voice husky from sleep.

James continues stroking his hair, ignoring Axel’s impatient huff.

“Ready to head out? Axel says you’re free to leave after he runs some tests.”

The news seems to light a fire under Regulus. “Yeah. The sooner we can go home, the better. I’m so sick of this place, no pun intended.”

 Home. There’s that word again.

I wonder if Regulus considers the chalet a home, too.

When the hell did that happen? When did James switch to applying the label to the mountainside cabin instead of the house he’s shared with Sirius since they left Hogwarts?

“Alright, princess, no time like the present, chop-chop.” Axel taps his foot, emanating restlessness, while Regulus shakes off the blanket and presents himself for examination. 

James would love nothing more than to whack Axel over the head for rushing, but he needs to respect his capacity as a Healer and Regulus’ friend and ally. So he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and trudges out, crossing the room and settling in the same chair where he spent a solid chunk of the night yesterday while Axel runs whatever tests he considers necessary to pronounce Regulus healthy. 

“Fit as dragons. Both of you,” he declares when he finishes. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong, and there’s not a single thing wrong with him or you, except for the hypotension. I mean, low blood pressure,” Axel graciously elaborates after they give him matching blank stares.

“That’s a relief,” Regulus mutters to himself, eyes downcast and cradling his belly. “Isn’t it, Sprog? You gave us such a scare yesterday.” 

No, not to himself. He’s talking to the baby. James just might die of a cuteness overdose. He tears his gaze away only with a great deal of effort and zeroes in on Axel.

“Are there any precautions we can take so Regulus doesn’t faint again?” he asks from his corner. 

Both Regulus and the Healer snap their heads in his direction to gape as if they forgot about his existence. Axel watches him with a knowing glint in his eyes, and Regulus, well, James has never excelled at reading the younger Black, but if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say he looks touched. Touched, and fond, and on the verge of tears. Which must be wrong, because why would Regulus cry after one innocuous remark? 

“Yes,” Axel says, his gaze fixed on James. “As a matter of fact, there are.” He swivels his head back to Regulus. “Take walks often, but only short ones. Nothing strenuous. Keep hydrated. Don’t spend too much time lying down. And whenever you get up, remember to do it slowly and gradually. No sudden jumping to your feet.”

“Is it normal? The low blood pressure thing? Or is it because Regulus is, well. A man? And won’t it put the baby at risk?” The sparse list doesn’t slake James’ thirst for knowledge, forcing him to press for more information. 

“I have to say, I didn’t like you at first, Lurch, because I couldn’t imagine you’d deserve Reg, but you’re growing on me. It’s nice to see Reg with such a supportive partner.”

“Not a partner,” Regulus bites out. “Co-parent.” 

Ouch. What a difference a couple of letters make. James winces, then hurries to cover his reaction by squaring his shoulders and meeting Axel’s gaze, refusing to let the reminder of their deal break his spirit. 

“A very involved co-parent. With benefits,” he says with pretend ease while a dragon is chewing through his chest on the inside. 

“Well, a mystery solved. In too much detail, in fact,” Axel snorts before adopting a lecture mode that must come as a second nature to every Healer. “Co-parent, then. Congratulations. To answer your questions, one at a time, low blood pressure is common during pregnancy. The circulatory system has to perform at a higher level to sustain the growing fetus. To achieve this, the vessels dilate, which causes the blood pressure to drop. It usually returns to its regular levels in the third trimester. Regulus being a man is not a factor, and no, it’s no danger to the baby.”

Regulus is safe. The sprog is safe. Their tampering with natural laws didn’t put either of them at risk. A weight lifts off James’ shoulders, and he gives a curt nod. “Okay, good. Thanks. But what about the cramping? Is that a common pregnancy symptom?”

“I see you won’t give up until you exhaust all the questions.”

“Well, you only gave us bare bones yesterday, and I want to be sure Reg’s going to be alright. And to know how to help him if necessary.”

Axel straightens the sleeves of his robes, not put out by James’ cross-examination in the slightest. Truth be told, he’s grinning from ear to ear like a lunatic. What in Merlin’s name is wrong with this man?

James still refuses to accept him. It doesn’t matter how handsome the smile renders him. In fact, he hates that particular feature. Regulus shouldn’t interact with anyone this handsome on a regular basis. If James could, he would forbid him, but he knows better than to dictate who Regulus can associate with. 

“Makes sense to ask now rather than scramble when there’s another problem,” James adds in a defensive tone. His eyes flit to Regulus before fixating on Axel’s face again. 

“You can rest easy, then. The contractions are common during pregnancy, although everyone perceives them differently. Some people don’t notice them, but to others, they’re a source of major discomfort. They are, however, harmless and natural—it’s the body preparing for birth. Think of it as a workout for the uterine muscles.”

“Ugh. I can’t stress enough how much I hate that description,” Regulus chimes in, his face screwed up in disgust. 

Caught up in his hunt for more information, James ignores him. “How can you tell them apart from actual labor, then?”

“Good question.” Axel spares James the kind of indulgent smile a teacher gives to their favorite pupil when they ask something particularly clever. “Pretty easily. Unlike labor, the Braxton-Hicks contractions are irregular and don’t progress over time. Meaning they don’t grow closer together. They also go away after a change in position. Lying on one’s side is particularly effective, and no, they don’t pose any risk to the fetus. Is that all, or is there something else you’d like to know?”

“I think James covered about everything,” Regulus says in a dry voice. 

“In that case, you have my official permission to leave this esteemed institution. Reg, you can put on your clothes and head out. Unless something changes, your next check-up is in two weeks. So, take care of yourself, or better yet, let Lurch take care of you. He seems like a decent support system.” Axel nods in appreciation, dulling the edge of James’ dislike.

He rises and crosses the room to offer the Healer his hand. “James. Not Lurch. Let me assure you that I’ll be constantly at Reg’s back and call, making sure he’s not overtaxing himself.”

Axel snorts. “Good luck with that. Knowing Reg, you have your work cut out for you, but I’m glad he has a voice of reason around.”

“He can hear you,” Regulus protests, standing up slowly. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

“Believe me, Reggie, you’re difficult to overlook. Well, I’ll be off. Like I said, take care, and if there’s a problem, you know the drill. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” Axel gives them a mock salute, sweeps his hair out of his face, and saunters out of the room, whistling a distinctly French melody in perfect pitch, completely at peace with himself and the world.

James waits for Regulus to get dressed so they can exit the hospital via Axel’s private Floo. They clamber out of the fireplace back at the chalet, dusting the soot off their clothes. Covertly, James shoots Regulus a glance, checking for signs of stress or discomfort, and sags with relief when he doesn’t find any. 

Reassured, he swamps him in a hug, pressing his nose into his dark locks and inhaling the familiar scent of him. Warm and sweet, suiting Regulus, his true nature, not the picture he broadcasts into the world, so well. For a while, they hold each other, surrounded by nothing but the mountain silence, interrupted by the occasional scrape of a leaf buffeted by the wind against the window. James lets the tranquility wash over him and drain away the tension generated by the previous night.

“Well, I guess you’ll be going.” Regulus breaks free of James’ hold and, by extension, his support. A blank mask slides over his face, not providing any hints whether the statement conveys regret or a command. “I need a cup of tea first and then to wash the hospital stink off me.” To confirm his words, he makes his way to the kitchen, but before he can put the kettle on, James grabs him by the shoulders and guides him to a chair, where he helps him take a seat.

“The antiseptic is a bit strong, right? You’d think magic would do the job well enough, but no. The healers have to go overboard with the herbs, too,” James agrees. “But you heard Axel. No overdoing it. I’m gonna make you tea and fix you a bite to eat since we left the hospital before breakfast. You need something other than the baby in your belly. In fact, you need to feed the baby in your belly, too.”

“While I agree with both those points, there’s no need to treat me like I’m about to fall apart. I’m perfectly capable of preparing my own food, so feel free to show yourself out.” Regulus makes an attempt to scramble out of his seat, but James pushes him back down, ignoring the glower his action earns him. 

The hat didn’t sort him into Gryffindor for nothing, so he’ll be damned if he accepts the sudden cold shoulder without putting up a fight. “Actually, I thought I’d stick around for a while. At least until you’re settled.”

Regulus blinks owlishly at him. “Why?” He sounds genuinely confused, as if James’ suggestion rivals a chocolate cauldron in its stupidity.

A bubble of mad laughter swells in James’ throat, but he pushes it back into his chest. 

Somehow, I doubt Regulus would appreciate if I laughed in his face right now.

“Couldn’t be because I enjoy your company, Merlin forbid,” James says with an exaggerated sigh, which Regulus rewards with his customary eye-roll.

“Don’t—despite my condition, I don’t need to be babied, James. Even you can’t be that much of a masochist.” 

“But I can be concerned about you, Reggie.” James grabs the chair opposite Regulus and drags it closer to him before sitting down, then takes his hand in both of his, squeezing gently to emphasize his words. “I can want to—” 

—look after you, fulfill your every whim, listen to you rant about obscure astronomy facts, argue about Quidditch with you, rub ointment into your belly, massage your feet when you’re tired, cook for you, dote on you, and adore you the way you deserve. The way I already do. Both of you.

But he can’t say any of that. Spilling his heart out like that would send Regulus bolting to the hills, and while they’re not that far, it can’t be advisable in his current state (or the current weather), so James holds his tongue.

“—keep an eye on you. At least until we’re sure there’s not gonna be a repeat.”

“Axel said I’m fine.” 

James hums noncommittally, running his thumb across Regulus’ knuckles. “He also said you should let me pamper you, so it’s official. Healer recommended.”

Yesterday’s events terrified James more than he cares to admit. He hasn’t had sufficient time to process everything yet, acting on instinct at the moment and then too woozy from relief to freak out, but he doesn’t doubt that once the dread of losing his baby, of losing Regulus, sinks in, he will have a bicorn-sized meltdown.

“Didn’t realize you put that much stock in Axel’s words. I got the impression you weren’t his biggest fan,” Regulus scoffs.

“While that might be true, I’m a big fan of ensuring you and the sprog are taken care of.” Reasonably certain Regulus won’t flee or chase James away, he pushes to his feet and busies himself with the stove.

Regulus needs something hearty and nourishing after yesterday. Oatmeal with dried apples and walnuts, and a generous portion of sugar and butter, a dusting of cinnamon sprinkled on top, should do the trick.

“How do you know Axel?” If this overly handsome Frenchman interacts with Reggie in a regular capacity, James intends to learn as much about him as he can. 

He brings a cup of steaming tea to the table and sets it in front of Regulus, who wraps his fingers around it and lets out a contented sigh after taking a sip.

“We met as kids.”

“Is that all there is to the story?” James prompts when Regulus continues drinking his tea, gently touching his belly in thought while gazing out the window with no indication of explaining further.

“Pretty much. My parents used to ship me off to France for the holidays. They were busy people and couldn’t be expected to waste their time on child rearing.” Regulus’ lips curl in derision. “I was rather lonely with only my governess for company, so I kept sneaking out to the local village. Axel noticed me roaming around and took me under his wing, so to speak. Introduced me to the locals, to his family—they adopted me, after a fashion. Showed me what it felt like to have actual, loving relatives.” 

“Reggie.” James’ chest constricts with sympathy. He abandons his oatmeal preparations for a moment and comes over to drop a soft kiss to Regulus’ hair. It won’t undo the damage his parents and, to an extent, brother inflicted on him, but hopefully it will convey how much James regrets the part he played in it. 

Regulus captures his hand and breathes a kiss into his palm before releasing it so James can return to his task. “Water under the bridge. But we kept in touch over the years with Axel, and when I needed help with ‘Project Sprog,’ he was the logical choice to ask for help. Especially since he’d become a highly skilled Healer specializing in obstetrics by then. You could say he was ready-made for me. I asked him for assistance, and we struck up a deal where I keep him on retainer. See this ring?” Regulus showcases the silver band inlaid with green stones on his ring finger. “It alerts Axel whenever I, or the baby, experience any threatening condition.”

“Hm. I should’ve assumed you’d have a contingency plan for your contingency plans,” James says, putting steaming plates on the table. “And I suppose he was helpful yesterday. But what about me, Reg? You could be in trouble, and I’ll be half the continent away, not having a clue. We should have a communication system in place. It’d make me feel a lot better.” 

“I’m not sure about that,” Regulus says, his voice clipped. 

James doesn’t let the curt response dissuade him. “Well, I am. And I have an idea how to make it work without the rings, too. We’ll be able to actually speak—I used the underlying principle, though—I’m guessing you went with Kelly’s Entaglement?”

Regulus nods. “With added Sympathetic and Alarm charms.” 

“Clever. I should consider adding the Alarm charm to mine as well.”

“Yours what?” Regulus asks around a mouthful of oatmeal.

“That’s a surprise,” James teases. 

Regulus flips him a V in a decidedly uncouth manner, proving James is a bad influence on him, then grows more serious. “I don’t know about this, James. Axel and I have a business arrangement. I pay him for services rendered. An astronomical sum, I might add, because that little French snake can haggle like a fishwife.” Count on the obstinate creature to turn everything into an argument. 

James scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m aware such disruption of someone’s life deserves compensation, and I don’t want to place the same burden on you.”

“Oh.” James slides his glasses up his nose and ruffles his hair in the gesture he always falls back on when he’s embarrassed. “If that’s the only reason you’re hesitating, love, you can put that worry to rest. You have to understand I’d—I’d do anything for you—two.” 

Something reminiscent of sorrow flickers in Regulus’ eyes, but it disappears too fast for James to be sure. His features smooth into a neutral mask as he inclines his head. 

“As you wish, then. It might be prudent to have a failsafe in place should a problem occur. But this surprise of yours better impress me.”

James lets out a relieved breath. Discreetly. Regulus doesn’t have to know how much the worry plagued him. “I promise it’ll knock your socks off.” Then he adopts a more genuine tone. “Seriously. Thank you, Starling. I’ll sleep better knowing you have a means of reaching me if there’s something wrong or strange going on. Or even when you’re just craving fresh muffins. Call me, and I’ll be here as fast as I can.” James pours as much meaning into the statement as possible before leaning in and dusting a feather-light kiss to Regulus’ cheek. 

“No need to thank me for what will benefit me in the end. Besides, experience has taught me that once you reach a decision, there’s no changing your mind, and I am, in fact, exhausted beyond measure and refuse to waste the precious reserves of my energy on the futile endeavor. ”

Familiar with Regulus’ tactics for saving face, James can’t help but grin. Regulus can grumble and pretend all he wants as long as James is the first person to call when he’s not feeling well. As long as he’s not left in the dark when something goes wrong again, he doesn’t care about any snark Regulus throws at him.

“Wipe that smug expression off your face, Potter. We’ve established it doesn’t become you.”

“I happen to have it on good authority that people find my smile charming.” He treats Regulus to a blinding flash of his teeth to prove his point. 

“Which only confirms my long-held belief that most people’s judgment is sorely lacking.” Regulus sets down a spoon on the plate he polished off. James, who until now forgot about the breakfast, follows his example and wolfs down the meal in seconds.

“Well, I’m off to take a shower,” Regulus announces.

“Okay.” James looks around, noting the dirty dishes, the books strewn on the floor, the crumpled blanket on the sofa they left behind in their rush to the hospital, and the general detritus of everyday life that has accumulated around the place. “I’ll tidy up a bit in the meantime, then hop in once you’re done.”

Regulus gives a long-suffering sigh. “Isn’t the point of you haunting the chalet monitoring me? How are you supposed to manage that if you stay downstairs, dusting? What if I faint in the bathroom, split my head open on the cold tile, and bleed out to death? That’s so thoughtless of you, James. Why would you take such a risk? Are you truly willing to burden your conscience in such a manner?”

Warmth spills in James’ chest at what equals a heartfelt invitation in Regulus speak. “If you want my company in the shower, all you have to do is ask, Reg,” James says with fake nonchalance.

“You said I never have to beg.” Regulus juts his chin out, his eyes glittering, his arms crossed over his stomach, and it takes most of James’ willpower not to lurch forward and press his kiss under the sharp ridge of his jaw.

“And I meant it. But you can be open about what you want. Unless you’d rather establish a Legilimency link with me. Which, for the record, I’m not opposed to.”

“Pass. You’re not getting free access to my thoughts.” 

“Worth a try.” 

“But since you insist, I’m going to humor you. Would you do me the honors of accompanying me to my daily ablutions, dear James?” Regulus contorts his face in a painful grimace as if stating his wishes physically hurts him. 

“Nothing would make me happier, my lord,” James agrees with a smile, and to his delight, Regulus responds in kind.

In the bathroom, James strips them both out of their clothes with an efficient spell, and without wasting any more time, he pulls Regulus with him under the warm spray of water. He doesn’t hold back, seizing every advantage to run his hands all over Regulus, mapping the constellations of freckles on his shoulders and trailing a line of kisses all over them. 

Regulus sighs and melts into his arms, eyes heavy-lidded and limbs lax with contentedness, giving James free rein, and he seizes the occasion to explore Regulus’ body, warm and loose from the shower, to the fullest. 

He squirts a dollop of Regulus’ cinnamon-scented soap that’s partly responsible for the scent James has begun associating with him into his palms and uses the excuse of washing him to map every ridge and valley of his body, every peak of bone and curve of muscle. When he reaches the bump, spreading foam all over the tight skin, an involuntary moan wrenches from Regulus. James presses his lips together to stop a smile from forming and continues his task until Regulus is properly soaped up, and James gets to rinse him clean. 

Then he gives himself the same treatment, if much faster, and focuses on Regulus’ hair, using his terribly posh shampoo. It comes in a crystal flagon that reminds James of a jewel rather than toiletry; it smells sweet and expensive and resembles liquid gold. 

“I don’t recognize this brand,” he comments as he pours a small amount which, nevertheless, probably costs more than the monthly income of a ministry worker into his palm.

“Probably because I have it imported from a tiny perfume shop in France, and no, before you ask, I didn’t bother running an analysis of the components.”

“How did you know that was going to be my next question?” No one outside James’ circle of his closest friends is aware of his interest in potion-making, specifically cosmetic potion-making.

“You’re a son of a cosmetic tycoon, a descendant of a long line of potioneers. Assuming professional curiosity didn’t seem like a stretch.” 

Regulus’ comment catches James off guard. Most people don’t expect he might have an interest beyond Quidditch. They dump him in a mental drawer labeled ‘stupid jock’ without a second thought about being prejudiced twats. Not Regulus, though. No, he has no such preconceived notions, at least not anymore, and nothing escapes his keen insight. 

Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he notices things about me—we practically spent the last two months attached at the hip. 

He shouldn’t be surprised, but he can’t help being impressed. And a little touched. It’s always an unbearable ordeal to be seen.

“Then you should also be able to deduce I’m borrowing this once we’re finished.” James works the shampoo into Regulus’ hair, massaging his scalp and relishing the smooth glide of the wet locks between his fingers.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll give you my firstborn,” Regulus moans.

James chuckles. “Yeah, but that’s kind of a given, isn’t it? That’s why we have the contract and all. Under the circumstances, I’d rather have the shampoo as my reward, please and thank you.” 

“Sometimes I forget what a contemptible pillock you can be.” 

“Yes, I can feel the hate,” James says, voice laced with laughter, when Regulus sinks into him with a whimper after he rakes his nails over his scalp. He pitches forward and dusts a kiss to Regulus’ shoulder. “The long hair suits you, sweetheart. And I’m absolutely mad about this.” He catches the white forelock and twirls it around his finger. “Do you think the sprog will inherit it?” 

“How would I know? I’m not a seer, James. But I hope not. I’ve always hated it.”

“Why?” 

Regulus shrugs, and James uses the pause to rinse the shampoo out of Regulus’ hair before applying it to his own unruly mane. Who knows, perhaps the expensive French cosmetics will manage what no product except for Sleekeazy’s has achieved so far and tame it.

“There’s a belief in my family that the white patch of hair denotes a wizard of an extraordinary talent, and, well. You’ve met my family. Being a Black comes with enough expectations attached when nothing special sets you apart. Add a unique trait marking you for greatness, and you get the picture. And once I became the heir, the pressure to perform, to fulfill a superstition that’s probably a mere genetic aberration, intensified tenfold.”

“I’m sorry about that, Reg. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but your family is a bunch of pompous wankers with an overblown sense of self-importance, present company and Sirius excluded, and they all deserve to be stomped on by trolls.”

“No. I don’t mind you saying that.” Regulus’ voice is so dry it could double as tinder in a pinch.

“And with that load off my mind, allow me to raise two counter-arguments for the white hair.”

“Pray tell, I’m all a dither.” With Regulus turned away from him, James can’t see his face, but he’s sure, sure with absolute, bone-deep certainty, that he’s rolling his eyes again. His heart squeezes with unbearable fondness. It’s ridiculous how adorable he finds every single one of Regulus’ quirks. Even when the quirks are all geared toward expressing his contempt for James. Especially when the quirks are all geared toward expressing his contempt for James.

I might have a problem here. 

To stop himself from pondering why Regulus affects him so, he switches gears and pastes on his best rakish grin. “First, I’d never put any extra demands on our little sprog because of a random genetic quirk. Second,” James pauses for dramatic effect, “it’s really fucking hot.” 

An inelegant snort escapes Regulus. He must|ve slapped a hand over his mouth, but it doesn’t stem the chortles punching out of him. Soon, James joins in, and the bathroom reverberates with their combined laughter.

“I forgot you see everything through horny glasses,” Regulus says when the last hiccups of his amusement fade, and he turns around to face James, pressing his palm to the side of James’ cheek. Water rushes down their bodies, draining away together with the swirls of sweet-smelling foam.

No point in denying that, is there? He is transparent, but at least he owns it. He jerks one shoulder in a universal ‘what are you gonna do’ gesture. “Correction, I only see you through horny glasses.” He jumps at the chance to nuzzle into Regulus’ neck and tickle his sides, drawing a giggle from him, and loses himself in the water sluicing over him and the company of the man who’s fast becoming the center of his universe.

Chapter Text

Regulus

29 weeks along, October 21st

Regulus wanders around the chalet, his steps echoing in the empty rooms as he looks for an activity that might occupy him. For a while, he stands at the window, listening to the wind howling outside and hurtling fat droplets mixed with snow against the glass. They cling to the panes for a bit before trickling away in swirling rivulets.

Eventually, he grows bored with the spectacle and takes a half-hearted stab at cleaning, but with James away at a training camp in Perth for the whole week, the house is pretty spotless. Sure, there’s the odd book lying around, a forgotten mug on his bedside table, and, for some reason, a pair of socks under the sofa, but a couple of quick spells fix everything without much effort. 

Regulus heaves out a long-suffering sigh as he overlooks his temporary shelter. It seems emptier without James somehow. Darker. As though his laughter infused the chalet with warmth that had nothing to do with spells or fire, turning it into a home. But with James gone, the walls have grown colder again, the rooms emptier and more ominous, reminding Regulus that he’s alone. That he can’t count on anyone. Counting on others invites hurt and betrayal, and dammit, he misses James with such intensity his throat constricts, but he can’t make demands on James’ time or forbid him from doing his job. No matter how much he wishes to do exactly that. 

There’s one aspect he failed to consider when choosing the father of his child. His occupation. Professional Quidditch requires a great deal of dedication. A great deal of time. Time spent in training camps, matches, and public outings. Away from, let’s say, a partner and a newborn son and—no. Regulus quickly cuts off this line of thought. He and James are not a family unit. It doesn’t matter how demanding James’ job is. Because once the baby is born, they’re going to dissolve this temporary set-up, as satisfying as it might’ve proven, and settle into the custody arrangement they both signed beforehand.

He shakes his head at his foolishness and continues to search for a distraction. The laundry keeps him busy for a while, and then he spends two hours cooking an elaborate lunch that he devours within minutes, but when the last crumb disappears and the dishes are clean, he’s at a loss again. Disquiet niggles at his skin from the inside, a persistent itch he can’t scratch unless he tears himself apart. For a while, he tries to entertain himself by playing the violin, but his bump gets in the way now, so he abandons the instrument with disgust as another reminder of how his life has changed in such a short span of time. 

Two months. Two more months, drowning in boredom thicker than honey. Regulus will grit his teeth and carry on, of course, but from his current standpoint, they seem fucking endless. Any diversion would be better than staring out the window at the rolling clouds, bringing soggy snowflakes that stick to the ground for a short while before melting away.

“Let’s hope your dad survives the wait with his mind intact,” Regulus says to his bulging abdomen, running his hand up and down the generous curve as he nestles deeper into the couch, where he hopes to while away the afternoon with a book. Ugh, he’s officially crossed the threshold from ‘showing’ to ‘walking blimp.’ Listlessly, he tugs at his shirt. It used to hang loose on him, but it’s become a tighter fit during the past two weeks, with his bump growing literally overnight. The contrast to the rest of his body is rendered starker by his figure remaining lean otherwise. His metabolism is working overtime, courtesy of the hungry fetus appropriating all the calories for himself. 

Thankfully, the morning sickness no longer plagues him, but there’s a gaggle of other issues making his life miserable on a daily basis. Aching back. Congested nose. Heartburn. And so on. Next time he hears someone gushing about pregnancy being a magical time (hopefully when he’s not pregnant himself and allowed out of his enclosure again), he’ll laugh in their face. 

But there are… compensations he’s never foreseen.

For example, the wave of love that floods him whenever he touches the bump and feels the baby kick in response. Like right now. The fetus reacts with such vigor, Regulus’ eyes well up with tears, but he’s beginning to figure out that’s part and parcel of being a parent. Everything nice comes at a price. The sprog is growing stronger with each day, so the initial gentle taps now feel more like getting curb-stomped by an angry Abraxan.

Despite his vicious round kick and his propensity for using Regulus’ bladder as a punching bag, and also making him fat, not to mention gassy (it bears repeating that pregnancy is a lot grosser and a lot less magical than advertised), Regulus feels connected to the little bugger already. Attached. That’s the expression he’s looking for. 

Of course, he’s attached. Through a freaking umbilical cord, no less, but Regulus means in the metaphysical sense, apart from the obvious physical connection.

Whatever it is, hormones or love, magic or biology, it’s more intense than he could’ve imagined, and Regulus doesn’t stand a chance against its raw power. Neither does James. 

He’s an atrocious liar, incapable of pretending, so his emotions are plain to see for everyone who cares to look. No Legilimency link necessary. 

James’ undiluted joy when his gaze drifts to Regulus’ belly. His lips cracking into a wide smile every time he strokes the bump or presses his ear to it, waiting for the baby to kick. He looks so dopey, grinning like a maniac while using Regulus’ stomach instead of a pillow, yet he doesn’t give the slightest damn. 

Regulus absolutely doesn’t find it endearing. He doesn’t. His chest doesn’t fill with golden bubbles of pure happiness during those moments of domestic bliss. His heart doesn’t beat in the rhythm of James’ name. No. That’d be preposterous.

But if it did, could anyone blame him? After all, a heart that’s half-James has been growing inside him for more than six months at this point. Would it be so surprising if Regulus’ own pulse synchronized to the same frequency?

Merlin preserve him. He can’t afford to grow maudlin now, so close to the finish line. Missing James is unacceptable. Missing someone means affection, and affection is not only inadvisable and unwise but also downright dangerous. Affection means disruption, and disruption leads to failure. Regulus can’t risk failure, not with the culmination of his plans almost within his grasp. So it’s decided. No more stupidity. No more daydreaming. No more pining after James. He can ignore his heart’s aching pangs. He’s had a lot of practice over the years.

The flames in the fireplace crackle green, interrupting his musing. Regulus has no clue why Axel has decided to drop him a visit without any looming crisis, but he’s so grateful for the distraction he doesn’t particularly care and, for once, decides not to reprimand him about the deviation from the schedule. 

His excitement quickly morphs into apprehension when a person wearing Regulus’ face steps out of the fireplace, dusting off the ash clinging to his exquisite silver robes with green accents and ruining the pristine surface of the chalet’s parquet floors. 

It’s a disturbing experience for Regulus to watch himself as he used to look before the ritual took place, slender and sharp like a blade, with a long chest tapering to a narrow waist where his own stomach now juts proudly outward.

A needle of cold terror stabs Regulus’ tailbone. Why is he here? Did something happen? Was he discovered? Does Regulus need to intervene? 

The man doesn’t seem in a rush or particularly anxious as he takes stock of the room and Regulus himself. Nothing urgent, then. Probably. Regulus’ panic slowly abates. 

“You’ve gotten fat,” the visitor announces before vanishing the mess he’s caused with a brisk flick of the wand he’s retrieved from his sleeve.

“True. But I’ll stop being fat once I give birth, while you’ll still be a rube,” Regulus sniffs, then sidles to the side of the sofa and pats the seat next to him. “Why are you here, Barty? Remember what we agreed on. Minimal contact. Only for necessary consultations and emergencies to minimize the risk of exposure.” 

Barty performs a quick scan of the kitchen without asking, confirming Regulus’ assessment of his lack of decorum, snatches a bottle of wine James stashed there during one of his visits, tosses him a cheeky “None for you, I’m guessing,” and then comes to plop down beside Regulus. He pours himself a glass and guzzles almost half in a deep swallow, instantly at ease. Regulus has always envied him the ability to fit effortlessly into any environment, but it’s what made him the perfect candidate for the role Regulus entrusted him with.

“So. How’s pregnancy treating you? It’s freaky to see you knocked up, by the way. You look like a whore in trouble.” 

Regulus grimaces. “Is that why you’re here? To antagonize me? Think about how I feel seeing you parading around while wearing my face.” 

“Hey, you begged me to plaster your ugly mug over my exquisite visage. The polyjuice should wear off soon, so I shouldn’t offend your delicate sensibilities much longer, don’t you worry. And yes, I’ll change into you again before returning to the crow’s nest.” Barty leans back, sipping on his wine. “This is unexpectedly decent. Kudos. Why do you have wine here, fatso? Somehow, I doubt you’re making little Blackling into a lush before he’s even born. I’m no expert on cooking up shitlings, but it seems mighty irresponsible.” 

“Of course, I’m not.” Regulus strokes his bump without considering the gesture, but once he notices Barty’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, he snatches his hand away. “James brought it.”

Barty’s eyebrows shoot up even higher—so high they meet his—Regulus’—hairline. “Don’t tell me the baby daddy pops by to visit when you were so precious about keeping your whereabouts a secret.” 

Regulus doesn’t dignify Barty’s jab with a response. 

Barty chuckles, his appearance changing as the effects of the polyjuice potion abate. In seconds, Regulus’ features melt and change into softer contours with blue eyes, an upturned nose, and a mop of straw-blond hair. The only feature that remains is the sprinkling of freckles across Barty’s face.

“Thank Merlin. Talking to you while you looked like me was about to plunge me into an identity crisis.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Reg, and tell me what’s going on with Potter. Are you sure it’s wise to let him sniff around? I thought the deal was hit it, breed it, quit it.”

“Charming, as per usual.” With a sigh, Regulus waddles into the kitchen, mostly to escape Barty’s scrutiny for a while rather than because he genuinely has to, makes a kettle of tea, arranges a selection of biscuits on a plate (but not the macarons—he saves those for welcome guests), and totters back, the charmed refreshments floating behind him and landing neatly on a table once he resumes his seat. 

“The deal has changed. I didn’t count on pregnancy being this—this—it fucking sucks, okay? I’m unable to fathom why people do this to themselves voluntarily. Multiple times. Don’t get me wrong, I actually—” he bites his tongue when he realizes his hand has drifted to his belly again, an automatic gesture he can’t seem to be able to control. “Let’s say I’ve realized Potter’s company has its benefits. He’s a decent cook and not completely useless in an emergency.”

Barty flashes him a wolfish grin. “Or in the sack, I’m betting.”

“No comment,” Regulus says curtly, hoping it cuts this topic short.

“Snore.” Barty closes his eyes, mimicking a snoring sound for a second before shooting back up. “But speaking of emergencies—that’s why I’m here, actually.” 

The statement has Regulus instantly on alert. Barty doesn’t seem particularly disturbed, but he never does, regardless of the circumstances. “Do they know about your true identity? Do we need to take countermeasures?”

“Hold ye hippogriffs and eat your biscuits, mister high-strung. Everything’s fine and nobody suspects a thing. Your family thinks you’re currently in Paris, preparing for the ball season and spending time in the company of many well-bred ladies from pureblood circles. Nobody has the foggiest you’re holed up here, doing some breeding yourself.” Barty follows his own advice, snatches a biscuit off the plate, and starts nibbling on it. “You can count on me. Anything to help mess with your relatives.”

“Appreciated.”

Barty jerks one shoulder. “Yeah, not doing it out of the goodness of my heart, am I? Totally worth it if I’ll be able to get my mum from under that asshole’s thumb thanks to your generous contribution.” 

“Yes. Of course. I will pay you as promised once this whole business,” Regulus waves at his belly, “is concluded and I have full access to the Black family vault.”

“No worries, Reg, I know you’re good for it.”

Regulus nods, switching to another issue. “What emergency did you mean, then?”

“You little hospital hiccup.” 

“And where did you happen to hear about that?” Regulus asks, a sharp note in his voice so cutting it’d have most people looking for escape routes. Or bandages.

To his regret, Barty is not most people. Utterly brazen, he swipes a second biscuit and studies it for a beat before popping it in his mouth whole. “A little bird told me,” he says through a spray of crumbs.

“Dora?” Regulus ventures a guess. He loves his friends, but Merlin, they are awful at keeping secrets. Worse gossips than the Hogwarts teachers, the lot of them.

“A gentleman never reveals his sources. Would’ve popped by sooner, but it took the aforementioned birdie a while to find its way to me. According to her, I mean, the birdie, you had to be wheeled off to the hospital with Potter weeping at your side like a war widow.”

Regulus scowls. “Your source,” he says, his voice thick with disdain, “wasn’t present at the scene and therefore can’t possibly know James was weeping. Which he wasn’t.”

The information doesn’t seem to change Barty’s assumptions. He’s never put much stock in truth. “Eh. It was an educated guess. He seems the type.”

The scowl on Regulus’ face deepens. He can feel the frown lines burrowing into his skull. “I’m telling the truth. No tears were shed. And you and Dora need to stop gossiping. The most important thing for all of us right now is to lie low. I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself.” 

“Please, Reg. Give us some credit. You can count on us being more discreet than a demiguise having a sordid affair with a krup.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, not mollified at all. “What a relief.” 

“We’re here to serve the allmighty Regulus,” Barty snickers, then grows more somber. “But seriously. You doing okay? Not running yourself ragged like always when you get caught up in a project?”

“I don’t do that.” Regulus plucks at the cuff of his sleeve to avoid Barty’s shrewd gaze. “Besides. There is no project.” 

“Sure there is.” Barty tilts his chin toward Regulus’ belly. “In Hogwarts, it was brewing the Felix under Sluggy’s nose. Now, it’s brewing a human in your belly. A distinction without a difference.” 

“I’d say there’s a pretty solid difference,” Regulus scoffs.

“Whatever. As long as you’re not overtaxing yourself.”

“Let me get this straight. You popped by to—to fuss over me? Barty, darling. I had no idea you cared so much.” Regulus’ irritation dissipates, smoothed out by a pulse of warmth spreading from his core throughout his body. 

“Shut up, it’s not because I give a fuck. Like you said, you owe me one, and I can hardly collect if you bite the dust. So, tell Uncle Barty. Is his honorary nephew okay? Are you?”

“We’re fine, all things considered,” Regulus says, nestling deeper into the cushions with a sigh. “It was scary at first, but we weren’t in danger. Axel said it was Braxton-Hicks contractions. They’re harmless but about as pleasant as getting squeezed by the Giant Squid. And I fainted for a second because of low blood pressure, but it hasn’t repeated since, so I assume we’re in the clear on that count as well.” 

“Makes me really grateful men don’t have to undergo this on the regular,” Barty says.

Regulus grimaces. “Not sure I would’ve gone through with it if I’d known all the specifics, but,” he shrugs, his belly heaving with the motion, “I’m committed now. I have no other choice but to carry this baby to term.” 

“Better you than me.” Barty shudders. “And you say Potter’s been good to you?”

Regulus reaches for his mug to mask how carefully he considers his next answer. “He’s been—unexpected.” 

“Unexpected, huh? Damn, his dick must be truly spectacular.” Barty pumps his eyebrows suggestively. 

“We don’t—that’s immaterial—how did you reach that conclusion?”

“What conclusion? That you’re sleeping together? Logic, dear Reg. Nothing else would make you go from ‘he’s the worst thing that’s happened to me and, by extension, to humanity’ to making googly eyes whenever his name is mentioned.”

“I make no eyes of any sort,” Regulus retorts. Such nonsense. Googly eyes over James. When salamanders turn into icicles. Fine, Regulus finds him passably attractive and not bad company, but his eyes remain unaffected. “And I’ll have you know his dick is nothing special. Bigger than average, but nothing to write home about.”

Barty howls with laughter. “You’re way too familiar with the cock of a bloke you claim not to be sleeping with. And no judgment. Good for you, I say. At least you’re getting something good out of this freaky deal.” 

“It goes without saying we had sex.” Regulus arches, sticking his bump out to illustrate his point. “But I don’t understand everyone’s obsession with Potter’s cock. What do you people think, that it’s made of gold or shoots rainbows instead of cum?”

“No, but making Regulus Cranky Black change his mind counts as a miracle in my books. And knowing you, nothing save for the power of a good boning could make you do a complete turnaround on a bloke’s character.” 

“Thanks for such a lovely evaluation of my character, but I don’t change my opinions because of one decent shag.” 

“How about countless excellent shags?” Another voice joins the conversation, coming from the doors, where James Potter leans against the doorjamb, lips tilted in a humorless smile and eyes shooting lightning. Wet snow drips off the dragonhide jacket that gives him the appearance of a hooligan instead of a respectable wizard. It also makes him unbearably hot, but Regulus won’t be sharing that observation in a hurry. He’s been humiliated quite enough for one day.

Regulus’ traitorous heart ignores his previous resolution about not caring and skips over so many beats that it almost sends him back to the hospital while the baby nudges him under the ribs. Hard. 

Yes, yes, you’re happy to see your dad. I’m aware, thank you.

He absentmindedly pats his belly as though the gesture has any chance of calming the restless inhabitant while arranging his features into a frown aimed to mask his stomach flip-flopping with delight at James’ sudden appearance. “What are you doing here, James? You were supposed to come back on Sunday. You know what, I don’t care. Just be a dear and dry yourself with a spell before you traipse inside. I’m in no mood to deal with all the filth you’re tracking in.”

“That makes two of us.” James charms the melting snow away and proceeds into the living room, his gaze trained on Barty and wand drawn. He exerts incredible control over every muscle group, moving with the sinuous grace of an athlete. Or a predator. Regulus should probably step in and defuse the tension quickly gathering in the atmosphere, but he’s too mesmerized by the power James exudes to lift a single finger. So he finds angry and combative James attractive. That’s not against the law, is it?

Barty bumps him with his elbow. “Close your mouth, Reg, you’re drooling.”

Regulus snaps his jaws shut, heat spilling over his shoulders. Is it the hormones, making him react to James and his sheer masculinity on such a visceral level? Or is there something more sinister at play? Something more akin to, perish the thought, affection?

Meanwhile, James has stalked closer and grinds to a halt in front of them, his brows drawn so low they touch the frames of his glasses.

“Care to explain what the fuck you are doing here, Crouch?” James asks, his voice pitched an octave lower than usual and carrying that rumbling quality that has Regulus going weak in the knees. Thank Merlin, he’s sat, or they’d have another fainting crisis on their hands. This time not caused by the pregnancy but by James Potter’s lethal sexiness.

“Wow. He’s growly. Has he always been this growly? I don’t remember him being this growly at Hogwarts. A bit excessive but not unattractive if you’re into the overprotective type. Kinda like Daddy Lion defending his Lioness. Or, in this case, another Daddy Lion? Reg, I declare your situation officially messed up,” Barty muses to Regulus, pointedly not looking in James’ direction. James must be seething with rage, judging by the red tinge his face has assumed during Barty’s speech.

“I asked you a question, Crouch. Answer me, or I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Oh, stand down, you tosser, before you hurt somebody. Or before your manly display causes Reg to embarrass himself. By coming in his pants like a teenager. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or appalled, Potter. You took a perfectly good, caustic twink and reduced him to a hormonal mess.”

In an instant, James vaults over the coffee table, yanks Barty upright, and jams his wand into the soft underside of his chin. “Watch your mouth when you speak about Regulus.” 

“Or what? Are you gonna teach me a lesson? Spank me? Oh yes. Please, do. Show me how expertly you can use your wand. Reg claims it’s nothing to write home about, but I have faith in you, Potty. I believe it’s magical.” Barty flutters his eyelashes in an exaggerated, typically Barty-like manner aimed at causing maximum mayhem. And based on the muscle ticking in James’ jaw and the color of his face now approximating an eggplant, his tactic is working.

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose.

Fucking idiots. He really needs to be more careful about what he wishes for. Earlier, when he asked for excitement, he didn’t mean breaking up a fight between a Gryffindor in full-on protector mode and five rabid ferrets masquerading as a human. Clearly, the universe decided to teach Regulus a lesson. A lesson about not disregarding old sayings, apparently.

“James. Darling. Be so kind and restrain your more violent, if noble, impulses. I need Barty. He’s essential to the success of my plan. Without him, the sprog and I could be in danger.” 

James’ expression grows tight with concern as his glance flickers to Regulus, but he doesn’t drop his battle stance, his wand still tilting Barty’s head at what appears to be an uncomfortable angle. 

“And Barty, do refrain from provoking the father of my child. I don’t want him arrested for murder and wheeled to Azkaban before our son is born,” Regulus adds in a bored voice, hiding the true depth of his concern. With Barty, the only thing he can be certain of is that he can’t be certain of anything. The troublemaker is more than capable of cursing James just because he feels like it.

“Truce?” Barty asks James, who nods and retreats slowly, an unfriendly expression still clouding his face. 

As though nothing strange had occurred, Barty dusts off his sleeves, recovers a flask from a pouch at his belt, and takes a sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, looks like you’ve got this under control, Reg, so I’ll be off. Holler if you need me. You know where I live for the time being.” His expression screws up as though he’s in pain, his features contorting into impossible shapes, melting and twisting until Regulus is looking into his own face again, thinner and unaffected by pregnancy. Exactly as it was over six weeks ago. 

Barty touches his forehead with two fingers in a mock salute, shoots James a wink, and disappears through the fireplace in a billow of elegant robes and green flames.

Silence falls in the wake of his exit. For a long while, James glares at the cooling embers, not uttering a word, which unfortunately gives Regulus plenty of time to dread his reaction.

The standstill continues for what seems like an eternity, and James stands rooted to the spot, not moving a muscle. Regulus can’t bear the suspense any longer. He takes a tentative step forward, then another, and in a couple more strides (or, technically speaking, waddles since his widening pelvis and the baby in his belly weighing more than a rock wraith don’t allow for strides anymore), he’s wrapping his arms around James’ neck. 

“I missed you. We missed you,” Regulus says with a meaningful glance at his stomach, then tugs James closer. Thank Merlin he’s almost as tall as James and can fuse their mouths together with a simple tilt of his head.

Caught off guard, James goes along with it, his lips soft against Regulus’ as they move in sync, pulling away and meeting in a sensual glide, again and again. The world disappears in a swirl of quiet sighs, and the tension clogging the air dissipates as the kiss catches fire. When Regulus breaks away, his lips are tingling, and the stern expression tightening James’ face has softened by a significant degree.

“I missed you too,” James says, his hands cupping Regulus’ swollen belly lovingly before he goes to his knees, pushes Regulus’ t-shirt up, and starts peppering the taut skin with kisses. 

Regulus has half a mind to tell him not to bother because the baby can’t feel anything, protected by all the layers of tissue, but the baby spites him by coming alive, kicking up a storm. Regulus shouldn’t feel anything either, so there’s no explanation for why his veins suddenly crackle with heat.

“Get up, you idiot,” Regulus hisses and grabs a fistful of untidy hair to give his words more weight. He tilts James’ head back, forcing him to look up. 

“I was just saying hello to Prongslet,” James pouts. “But fine. We should talk anyway.”

He scrambles to his feet, and after he dusts himself off, he levels Regulus with an assessing gaze. 

Dusk has arrived in the meantime, causing the magical candles to ignite and illuminate the place with an amber glow. It infuses the interior with an air of intimacy that would be more suitable for a date than for a confrontation.

A pang of regret twists in Regulus’ chest. If it weren’t for Barty’s ambush, he’d be rewarding James’ surprise return by fucking his lights out right now.

“What in Circe’s name was that, Reggie? I leave for a couple of days, and you have people over for a visit? And not any people, but Barty fucking Crouch? Where did the need for secrecy go? Or was it just an excuse you fed me to leave you alone? How many people have access to your Floo? You told me, and I quote, that ‘you couldn’t connect my place for risk of the wrong person wandering in by accident,’ and now I find out Axel, Crouch, and Merlin knows who else could barge in on us any time they bloody please? And, last but not least, would you mind explaining why he assumed your likeness before he left?”

As Regulus assesses James’ mouth set in a stubborn line, his eyes blazing gold like a lion’s in the candlelight, he gives himself an internal smack on the head. 

Yes. He’ll definitely never complain about boredom again.

Chapter Text

Regulus

29 weeks along, October 21st

This is what I get for craving excitement. All in all, I think I preferred boredom. 

Regulus waddles back with James on his heels and drops heavily onto the sofa. James refuses to sit, looming over him and forcing him to crane his neck as he speaks. He hates it. He’s always hated when people made him feel small, especially since he didn’t hit his growth spurt till year six, but he has to admit—it’s a solid power move. 

“I’m going to explain everything in a minute, but first, I’d like to know what you’re doing here. Wasn’t the camp supposed to end on Sunday? I wasn’t expecting you.”

James kisses his teeth. “Yeah. That much is obvious.”

“Believe it or not, Barty sprung the visit on me out of nowhere.”

“Hm.” James’ scoff suggests he doesn’t buy the explanation, but something in him relents, and he plops down next to Regulus, stretching his long legs in front of him even though he maintains a sliver of space between them and doesn’t press his thigh flush against him as is his custom. 

With a prolonged sigh, Regulus reclines against the cushions, resting his linked fingers on his belly. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here three days early?”

“This might come as a shock to you, but I’ve missed you, Reg. And our Sproglet. So I talked Coach into letting me cut the camp short on account of a family emergency. Which, ironically, I wasn’t even lying about. I mean, Crouch? Really? I’d expect you to have better judgment in picking hook-ups.”

“I picked you.” 

“What are you saying, Reg?”

“You can figure that out on your own since you’re so eager to jump to conclusions.”

Regulus angles away from him, refilling the cup he drained during Barty’s visit. He offers James one. Just because he’s being accosted in his own home doesn’t mean he has to be rude. Impeccable manners are a shield he can hide behind, even use to disarm his opponents. His mother taught him well. Too well, perhaps. 

But his tactic fails to soften James’ disposition.

“If I’d arrived half an hour later, would I have found you two fucking in the sitting room?”

“Jamie, darling. You know I don’t like to fuck on the couch. First, I’m too pregnant to find it comfortable, and second, I don’t fancy damaging the upholstery.”

The joke lands with all the subtlety of a falling troll.

“Answer the question, Regulus,” James commands, his nostrils flaring.

“And if we were? Would that make you jealous?” What a ridiculous notion, truly. If Regulus didn’t suspect it would give James’ already overblown ego too much of a boost, he’d surrender to his initial urge and deny the accusation with force. The only person Regulus wants lately is James. And not just to fuck, either. He craves his touch, true, but also his warmth. The hard planes of his body and his kisses, scalding and soothing on his lips, a delicious contradiction he’s growing addicted to, but also his gentleness and tender care. His soft breath before falling asleep and murmured greetings when they gaze into each other’s eyes first thing in the morning.

“Yes, it would make me bloody jealous, Reg. How can you even ask me that—you’re mine—of course I—I mean, you’re having my baby.” James splutters.

Ah, yes. Of course. James doesn’t give a rotten bubotuber about Regulus himself. It’s all about the baby. Which Regulus should be furious about, and he would be, normally—he can feel the anger forming in his chest, a curdled, ugly flame clumped together with coals of resentment and old hurts—but it dissipates before it can fully manifest.

Because how could Regulus hold James’ concern about the sprog against him? When the tiny occupant hijacking his body is slowly becoming the center of his universe? True, James isn’t the one carrying him, but he’s been there to see him grow in Regulus’ belly over the past couple of months. He felt him kick. Every evening, without fail, he read him fairy tales and dropped endless kisses on Regulus’ bump where he sensed motion a long while after the story ended. So yes, he has the same right to feel as protective of him as Regulus does.

“We never made a deal to be exclusive.”

James’ eyebrows draw so low they’re kissing the top rim of his glasses. “You and your deals. Fine. If that’s what you want, then at least do me the courtesy and tell me if you’re going to invite another bloke over for a quick shag.”

“Please.” Regulus waves a hand. The charade is spiraling out of control. Damn his tendency to go on the offensive instead of admitting the truth. “I’m in no mood to fuck anyone.” 

“That’s not what you said a week ago.” 

Memories of James pounding Regulus from behind, his cock unforgiving but his hands so careful, so gentle, treating him like a fragile vessel for rare and precious cargo, flood Regulus’ mind. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from whimpering. 

“Fine, then I’m in no mood to shag Barty. If you must know, he turned up unannounced because he’d heard about my hospital visit and wanted to check on me. Like a friend. Because that’s what we are and always have been. Friends. Nothing more.”

“Doesn’t explain why he looked like you.” 

“Not because he wanted a quickie, rest assured. I’m not that narcissistic. Unlike certain people.”

The frown lines on James’ forehead deepen, so the remark must’ve registered. Regulus wants to smooth them away, but doesn’t dare, in fear of losing a thumb, the way James is glaring daggers at him. 

“Then why?” 

Regulus audibly exhales through his nose. “Aren’t you the son of one of the most celebrated Potion Masters currently alive? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m operating under the assumption he provided you with a rudimentary education about the effects of Polyjuice Potion. And if not, then at the very least you should’ve acquired the knowledge from dear old Sluggy. Perhaps you should consider asking him for a quick remedial lesson if you didn’t manage to keep up with the curriculum in school. It would save you further embarrassment.”

James doesn’t utter a word; he just levels Regulus with a look that conveys he sees through his little deception, which is somehow more humbling than if he called him out on his farce out loud. 

Regulus’ cheeks catch on fire, and he rubs his shoulder in embarrassment. “Barty is doing me a favor. Happy? What, did you think my parents would be okay with me disappearing for nine months without a trace? No, they’d assume I was up to something, and with good reason.” He points at his protruding stomach. “So I asked Barty to move in with my distant relatives in France, where he keeps everyone potentially invested in my whereabouts off my scent by prancing around, sipping café au lait, munching on éclairs and macarons and pretending to be interested in marrying one of the many undoubtedly lovely Beauxbatons alumni courting his, and by that I mean my, favor.” When Regulus finishes, he refills his mug and takes a sip, his pinky aloft as he stares out the dark window, ostensibly not meeting James’ eye.

“Well. I’m relieved to hear that, I have to admit. And I’m glad you’re taking precautions. Although I’m not going to lie, the fact that Barty has access to your Floo while I have to Apparate half a mile away hurts my feelings.”

“Except he doesn’t. Do you honestly believe I’d risk hooking up my family’s estate to my private network? Think again. He went through Axel’s.”

“Well. That’s something, I guess.” 

“Glad we cleared that up.”

They sit in silence for a while. The stormy expression on James’ face hasn’t disappeared, but there might be a way of smoothing it out. Regulus clears his throat. This is going to hurt. His pride, mostly.

“I’m sorry about all the secrecy. It’s for a good cause, but I understand how it can grate. Trust me, I’d prefer you to have direct access to the chalet instead of Axel or Barty.”

James’ disposition brightens in an instant. “Thank you, Starling. That means a lot.” He leans over to brush a kiss to his cheek, then wraps his fingers over his jaw, turning his head to capture his mouth in a soft apology and heated claiming at once, both equally intoxicating. “I think you deserve the gift I’ve got for you, after all.” His voice is steeped in amusement. As though he knows Regulus won’t be able to resist the conversational bait he’s laid out for him. And he’s correct, the absolute pillock.

“What kind of gift?” Regulus asks, his eyes snapping to James, who is grinning from ear to ear, like a Kneazle that got into a pixie den. If Regulus weren’t so keyed up, he’d teach him a—he’d make him regret—well, he’d do something memorable and worthy of the reputation he’d worked so hard to build. The reputation that used to send blokes running away (or to him, depending on his intentions) with one heated look. 

But now? He’s pathetic. Completely helpless. Confronted with James’ smile, the gleam of his teeth so blinding, the pink tip of his tongue swiping across the carved lips so tempting, Regulus can’t muster the energy for a simple scowl. Even worse, the corners of his mouth tip upward in the beginning of a besotted smile.

Merlin spare him. Is Regulus actually growing fond of Jamie—James? No. No. Not possible. That wasn’t part of the plan. It must be the forced proximity combined with the hormones. They’re wreaking havoc on his system. Making his composure shatter, and his emotions act out. And as a result, he seeks out steadfastness and comfort, and the nearest source of both happens to be Jamie—James. Fucking Potter. But there’s nothing more to Regulus’ unhealthy attachment to Jamie than merely an exposure-triggered convenience.

“A gift and a surprise, actually, since I’m such a generous bloke. First, there’s this.” James reaches deep into his pocket and pulls out a small ornate mirror, offering it to Regulus. 

He accepts the item with a frown. “Is this a hint?”

“I wouldn’t dare. Besides, you’re perfect, so no hints needed.” 

“Well played, Potter.”

“Thanks, I think so too.” He offers Regulus a shameless grin, then tilts his chin toward the object in his hands. “Consider this me fulfilling the promise about finding a way for us to communicate. Go on, say my name while looking into it.”

Against his better judgment, Regulus can’t help being intrigued. “Salazar help you if you’re pulling my leg,” he says, then holds the mirror in front of his face and utters James’ name. 

A second later, James’ pocket vibrates. With a grin a siren wouldn’t be ashamed of, he pulls an identical mirror out, and Regulus’ reflection is replaced by a crisp rendering of James’ face. “Yes, love?”

Regulus won’t be impressed. Not by James inventing on a whim, apparently, a convenient, easy-to-carry-around means of communicating over long distances. A device the entire wizarding population would snap up like hungry dragons. The Floo calls are as impractical as they are uncomfortable, so this could be an absolute game-changer. But he won’t be blowing up James’ ego. He refuses on principle.

“So, this is your genius solution.”

“Pretty good, right? I asked Sirius if I could borrow his for a while. We came up with these back in school, when we were stuck in detention, and we still use them to catch up when we’re busy.” 

As usual, everything in James’ life comes down to Sirius. The mirror’s luster fades the second he learns he’s once again getting his brother’s sloppy seconds, but beggars can’t be choosers, and this presents a convenient solution to their problem. Plus. There could be other… benefits. The mirror transfers both image and sound. Regulus’ mind is already listing all the possibilities of employing the device to help him pass the long, lonely hours in the chalet while driving James a little crazy as an added bonus.

“You’re telling me you and Sirius invented an entirely new way of communicating while using an extremely advanced spell like core entanglement because you couldn’t bear not to speak to each other for an hour? James, has anyone ever told you that you and my brother are inordinately co-dependent?”

James shrugs, but he has the good grace to look sheepish. “Possibly. But it comes in handy now. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You’re not.” Regulus won’t be so petty as to not acknowledge the usefulness of the device. “How do you end the call?”

“Marauder out.”

Regulus does as advised, even though he doesn’t forgo an eye-roll at the ridiculous line, and sets the mirror on the table. 

“Thank you,” he forces himself to say before dusting a kiss over James’ lips. 

He means for it to be short and sweet, nothing more than a show of gratitude, but then James threads his fingers into Regulus’ hair, drawing him closer, and Regulus’ intentions fly out the window. He whines into his mouth and lets James’ tongue explore with liquid strokes and teasing licks that until time loses all meaning and Regulus can’t help begging for more.

When they break apart, he’s flushed all over, his lungs working overtime to recover, and James isn’t faring any better. 

“You can thank me like this whenever you want.”

“Only for rare and useful magical artifacts.” 

James laughs. “Fine, I’ll do a deep dive into our family vault for you. Who knows what my ancestors left there apart from the cloak?”

“That’s right. You do own a rather unique invisibility cloak,” Regulus says, tapping his chin suggestively. 

“Don’t get any ideas. But I might be persuaded to let you borrow it if you act like a good boy and always carry the mirror on you.” 

“I’m not taking it with me in the shower, James. Unless you ask really really nicely.” 

“I’m serious, Reg,” James implores. 

Under his breath, Regulus curses the day James figured out how weak he was for his sad doe eyes. 

“No, you’re not. If that were the case, I would not be expecting a baby with you, no matter how lenient the rest of my family might be to incest. In fact, I drew a line at exactly that when my mother suggested I marry my cousin.” 

A shocked laugh sputters out of James. “Did you just make a Sirius–serious joke?”

Regulus turns his nose up in the air. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He reaches for the mirror, rotating it in his fingers and admiring the craftsmanship before tucking it away. 

“There. I promise to always keep the mirror with me from now on. Happy?”

“The happiest.” 

“But if I catch you spying on me without my permission, I will rip out your eye bulbs and transfigure them into a pendant that I’ll glue to your neck with a permanent sticking charm,” Regulus says.

James shifts on the sofa, crossing his legs. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“That was hot.” 

“Your affinity for threats of physical violence against your person continues to confound me, my darling.”

“That’s because you’ve never seen how sexy you are when you threaten me. But we should hustle for surprise number two unless we want to be epically late. So. Come on, love. We’re going out.” James leaps to his feet with the kind of exuberant energy Regulus never possessed, even when he didn’t have a gargantuan fetus weighing him down and leeching all his life force. 

“I’m taking you out. On a date, to be more specific.”

“I’d prefer to be taken out with Avada.”

“That joke is not funny, Reg. I’d never hurt you.” 

Regulus heaves out a sigh. Heavens protect him from noble Gryffindors. “Be that as it may, Jamie, I don’t think a date is on the cards for tonight. While I appreciate your gesture, the reason behind the elaborate con we’re running with Barty is so I can avoid being discovered until the baby is born. I can’t afford to be out, and even if I could, this,” Regulus tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, emphasizing the heft of his expectant body, “is impossible to mask. And a pregnant man is bound to attract attention. Which brings me to my previous point and forces me to reiterate that I’m endeavoring to remain undetected, and accompanying you would effectively undermine my efforts.” 

“People spotting you isn’t going to be an issue. Promise.” James stretches out a hand toward him, and Regulus measures it with distrust for a while, then lifts his gaze to James’ face. His eyes crinkle behind his glasses, mingling shades of brown and green, reminding Regulus of pine trees in summer. Warm. Teasing. Enchanting.

When Regulus gives no indication of moving, James tosses his blanket away with one decisive movement, grabs his hands, and tugs him upright. Gently, Regulus has to concede. James always takes great pains to ensure he and the baby are safe. 

To add insult to injury and more fuel to the confused longing that fills Regulus’ chest too often lately, James looks good enough to eat. He discarded his jacket earlier, so now he’s showing off the maroon turtleneck underneath, soft and inviting by the looks of it, and black jeans accentuating his legs as though they’re getting paid an outrageous sum for the job. His hair defies gravity as usual, flopping upward and every which way. It makes him look like an idiot and not at all charming. And he smells, fuck, like snow and pine and deeply masculine, and if Regulus’ hormones hadn’t been in overdrive before (although, to be fair, they always are these days), they’re certainly rioting now. 

“Maybe we could find better entertainment staying in,” he breathes out suggestively into James’ ear. His action is rewarded by a very satisfying shiver, which only intensifies when Regulus flicks his tongue over the earlobe. His cock begins to swell, and boredom grows into a distant memory. 

“No. No, you menace. I worked hard on this.” James takes a step back, holding his hands up in defense.

“Oh, I can see how hard your… work is,” Regulus purrs, blatantly tracking his eyes over the outline of James’ erection. 

“Cut that out and don’t give me that look. I have some self-control.” 

“Oh, do you? Do you?” Regulus raises an eyebrow, stroking his bump in an exaggerated manner. “That’s news to me. Hear that, Sprog? Your dad says he has self-control, but I think that if he were telling the truth, I wouldn’t be so knocked up right now.” 

James’ gaze drops to Regulus’ pregnant belly, so obscenely emphasized by the t-shirt stretched over the generous curve. Transfixed, he maps every millimeter as though attempting to render the fabric see-through with the power of his vision, his throat working hard as he swallows. 

“Okay, maybe I’m just kidding myself. Actually, it seems likely. I’ve never had much self-control around you, and it’s only been getting weaker, but this surprise took way too much time and effort to organize, and it would be a shame to miss out on it. I promise you’re going to enjoy yourself, and then, once we go back, we can both enjoy ourselves. And each other,” James adds with a wink Regulus should find irritating, and he tries, he truly pushes himself, but to his displeasure, he can’t help being captivated by the overall effect and, what’s worse, his body flushes with a new wave of heat. 

Regulus swears the baby and his endocrine system are conspiring together to send him running straight into James’ arms. He wishes to arch his back as much as his current state allows, moan wantonly, and beg James to fuck him into oblivion.

I really hope these urges disappear after I give birth.

“And you have the audacity to tease me about self-control,” James chuckles, but his gaze is glassy and molten with heat as it fixates on the hard length straining against Regulus’ joggers. 

“You’d be surprised. I’m controlling myself right now. So I won’t throttle you,” Regulus grinds out.

James waggles his eyebrows. “I bet that’s not really how you’d like to use my throat.”

Regulus’ cock pulses with lust, tenting his sweatpants obscenely. Hex James thrice and curse him to eternity, but he’s right. Regulus can imagine a much better use for that sinful golden column with a smattering of dark stubble and the jut of an Adam’s apple peaking deliciously in the middle and tempting Regulus to test its sharpness with his tongue.

“Glass houses. Stones,” Regulus says, low and husky. He steps closer to James, who stands frozen in his tracks, eyeing him with hunger.

“No. Reg, please. Have mercy. We need to—we should head off.” 

“You started it. Are you going to cave now?” Regulus arches an eyebrow at the telltale bulge in James’ trousers. And what a satisfying sight it is. Regulus’ own cock is painfully stiff and leaking sticky precum into his joggers when he reaches James, chest heaving from the minor exertion mixed with the enormous surge of arousal rocking through him.

James watches him with a darkened gaze. “What are you doing?” 

“I think it should be clear from the context,” Regulus shoots back. “A little help here?” He extends his hands toward James, palms down. “This baby cargo is getting more and more difficult to maneuver.”

“Right.”

James assists Regulus in lowering his body, his heavy, unwieldy body, until his knees hit the ground with a soft thud.

“Reg, you don’t have to—” he begins again.

Regulus cuts him off before his undoubtedly stupid, considerate act of self-denial can gain traction. “Shut up. I know I don’t have to. I want to. So please, sit back and let me work.”

James mutters something along the lines of ‘you’re going to be the death of me, Regulus Black,’ but his fingers thread into Regulus’ hair, pulling him closer. 

Regulus follows without resistance, sliding his palms up James’ obscene thighs. Sweet Merlin. Those things could be used as pylons to stabilize structurally unsound buildings, or maybe instead of battering rams to demolish them. Fuck him, but the Quidditch practice yields fantastic results. Regulus spends more time worshipping James’ legs than he planned, nuzzling his face to the inner part of his thighs and the hard ridge straining to break free from his trousers. And all the while, James makes the sweetest sounds, quiet whimpers, and punched-out sighs, his eyes half-lidded and glassy with lust but always fixed on Regulus.

“You’re—unreal,” James says at one point, sending a current of embarrassment through Regulus. “So gorgeous with your round belly, on your knees for me. I feel like I could come just from watching you. That’s how hot you are.”

“Debatable,” he scoffs. The nonsense James spouts is sweet but patently untrue. Regulus isn’t good-looking. Not anymore. Not gigantic as he is, with stretch marks on his sides and swollen feet and—

“You’re hardly an objective judge.” 

“And you talk too much. Be a good, quiet boy, and enjoy yourself.” 

With that, mostly to shut James up, he undoes his fly, tugging his jeans down those obscene thighs, and takes out his cock. It springs free almost eagerly in Regulus’ grip, flushed red and glistening at the tip, long and hard and mouthwatering. 

Yes, James has a pretty cock. Figures. Long and straight, curving gently upward. There are two beauty marks near the base Regulus ghosts his lips over. James rewards the action with a tormented whine, so Regulus trails more kisses over the area, alternating between kitten licks and harsher sucks. 

Normally, this would be the part where Regulus would prefer to take his time. He’d give the head a lollipop treatment and devote his attention to the slit, teasing it with his tongue. He’d torment James until he was panting and begging for release with tears in his eyes. But they’re in a rush, apparently, plus the position with his stomach full of a rapidly growing baby is uncomfortable, especially since the little rascal decided this was the perfect occasion to kick up a storm. 

So, with an internal sigh of regret, Regulus swallows the whole length of James’ cock in one go. The regret that he has to rush dissipates almost instantly as the sensation hits him. The hot pulse. The solid weight. The salt tang of the skin and the salty-bitter bursts of precum that are dripping out already.

“Nnnngh, shit, Reggie,” James cries out. He fists a handful of his hair, yanking at the strands, and the sharp sting of pain sends a bolt of arousal through Regulus.

He hollows his cheeks, giving James a couple of hard sucks and reveling in the sight of his legs trembling from the effort to stay still. The poor man. He deserves Reg to take pity on him. He lifts off for a moment to free his mouth. “It’s okay, James. Fuck my mouth. Fuck my throat.” 

A brief battle wars on James’ face, but it’s over as soon as Regulus slides his lips over his hard length. He’s barely done taking him deeper when James starts rolling his hips, the first couple of thrusts experimental, but quickly gaining speed. 

And Regulus lets him. He keeps a tight seal on James’ cock, gulping down air through his nose when he can, and prays not to come in his pants like a bloody teenager. That would be a humiliation he’s not sure he could recover from, but the sight of James Potter falling apart, undone by Regulus’ mouth and tongue, proves almost too much to bear, the familiar heat coiling at the base of his spine like a spring wound tight before bursting free.

James tugs at his hair again, his movements jerky. Desperate. But still so considerate, giving Regulus the option to avoid a mouthful.

“‘m gonna come. Gonna come, sweetheart.”

As if Regulus would ever pass up the chance to get a taste of James Potter. He doesn’t budge an inch, meeting James’ eyes in an unspoken challenge. Or permission. He can’t tell which, and he doesn’t care.

“Reggie, love, ah, fuck!” James cries, his cock swelling on Regulus’ tongue that last final amount, and then his muscles seize up as he coats Regulus’ throat with his release. 

Hungrily, Regulus gulps down every drop of bitter saltiness until James begins to soften, and he releases him with a soft pop. 

“Help me back up,” he huffs when his attempt to scramble to his feet without assistance fails. “Who would’ve thought standing up would become my greatest athletic achievement? I blame you. And the gigantic fetus you fucked into me,” Regulus complains out of habit and a little to drown out the insistent pulse between his legs. Dammit, he’s one harsh breath away from shooting his load.

James still looks a little dazed, but he zips up his jeans and conjures up an insolent smile. “You begged me to breed you. I merely followed your orders.”

“A little too well,” Regulus grumbles.

With James’ help, he manages to heave himself back to an upright position and readjust his clothes.

“We’re not done here, Reg. Or did you really think I’d leave you high and dry?” James says, clearly recovered, judging by the wicked glint in his eyes as he sinks to his knees with the grace of someone who dedicated the majority of his life to perfecting control over his musculature. His hands flit to Regulus’ belly as if drawn by magnets. 

“You’re right. I bred you really fucking well. Should be punishable by Azkaban what seeing you this knocked up does to me.” James gets lost in caressing and nuzzling the bump, which only feeds the already raging flames of Regulus’ desire.

“You’re obsessed.”

“Guilty as charged, but can you blame me? You’re unbelievable, all round with my baby. Fuck, Starling, you’re so hot it’s actually getting me hard again.” James grinds the heel of his palm against his crotch to demonstrate.

The sight, paired with the knowledge that James finds him irresistible, whips through Regulus like a stinging hex and draws a whimper out of him. Granted, he’s received plenty of confirmation that James considers him attractive over the past months, but he’s a greedy bastard, and he’ll always crave more.

“Don’t worry, love; in a couple of seconds, I’m gonna make you feel so good.” 

“Y-yes. Please. Please, Jamie, need you,” Regulus whines, his composure breaking. He’s unable to pretend indifference anymore. All his shields are down, shattered by the potent combination of advanced pregnancy and James Freaking Potter.

“You’ll get me. In any way you want. I’ll give you everything I have and then more,” James mutters, feverish, before tugging down Regulus’ joggers so they pool down by his ankles. “Fuck, you’re fucking commando? Are you trying to kill me?”

Inwardly, Regulus congratulates himself on forgoing underwear this evening, but his thoughts sputter out when he feels a warm, wet mouth envelop his cock. James can’t take him too deep because of the bump getting in the way, but he curls his fingers around the shaft and jerks him as he sucks the head. Pleasure rises in Regulus, spreading through him in honey-thick, heated throbs. He wishes to ride the wave a while longer, but as keyed up as he was, he knew the game was over before it began.

“Jamie,” he wails, “oh—close—keep going—ah!” 

His orgasm cleaves through him, severing off his pleas. Any ability to speak Regulus has ever possessed is erased by blistering ecstasy as he leans forward, clutching James’ shoulders for stability, and comes and comes in endless spurts down James’ willing throat.

“Sorry,” he says when James releases him. 

“For what?”

“Coming so quickly. That’s embarrassing.”

“I beg to differ. It was insanely hot.” James, who climbed to his feet in the meantime—without the need for help, Regulus notes sourly—claims his mouth for a swift but thorough kiss. “Not to mention, convenient because we really need to hurry if we’re to arrive in London in, shit, thirty minutes. Get a move on, love, the evening isn’t getting any younger.”

“London,” Regulus sputters. “It’s as though you don’t hear a word of what I’m saying. Barty is currently doing his best to pretend I’m in France.” 

“And I’m saying it doesn’t matter. Nobody will see us. Promise. Don’t you trust me at all?” James says, his voice taking on a pleading quality. It doesn’t soften Regulus’ disposition in the slightest.

“Not as far as I can throw you.”

“Come on, that’s not fair. Haven’t I proven to be trustworthy? I’ve been a picture of responsibility from the start.” 

“You’ve just blown me in the middle of the living room when you claim to have made other commitments beforehand. But despite that, I have to concede that after you blatantly disregarded our previously confirmed agreement and sought me out despite my expressly prohibiting you from doing so, you’ve been very trustworthy. Still, given your propensity for recklessness, throwing yourself in danger to prove you’re deserving of the reputation your house boasts, and your rash decisions, I’d say that not putting blind faith in your plans is justified.” Regulus finishes, slightly out of breath, and shifts on his feet, rubbing his lower back. He’s no longer cut out for strenuous activities such as uttering more than two sentences in a row, impromptu blowjobs, or standing upright for a few minutes. Stupid pregnancy.

“Okay, okay, I hear you, loud and clear,” James says, raising his hands. “But please, give me the benefit of the doubt for tonight. Believe that I wouldn’t put you or our little Prongslet in danger. In fact, I went to extreme lengths to ensure your utter safety.” His voice grows more serious. “Humor me, Reg? Please? I just wanted to do something nice for you. The past month—let’s say I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit stir-crazy and thought a little outing might cheer you up.”

A surge of unfiltered emotion crashes over Regulus. He’s been unsettled and scraped raw before, but after this, after James went out of his way to cheer him up just because he’d picked up on how much Regulus had resented his voluntary imprisonment, his feelings are running amok, challenging him to do something extremely unwise. 

Like falling to his knees and worshiping James Potter. Like perhaps asking him to stay by his side, always. Now, tomorrow, after the baby comes. To be a tiny family, just the three of them, a unit of its own against the world. Even his ultimate goal to destroy the House of Black pales in comparison to the vision of James Potter smiling at him across a breakfast table, their son perched in James’ lap, his chubby arms outstretched toward Regulus. 

And it’s that thought, the realization he’s losing sight of what matters, that breaks through the haze of his fantasies. He has to remember what’s important. He can’t afford to waver. But, perhaps for a brief instant, he can grant himself a break from the constant vigilance. Perhaps, for a while, he can indulge himself and take pleasure in James Potter’s company—not as a stepping stone to achieving his objective, but purely because he wants to. After everything he’s already accomplished, doesn’t he deserve a respite? 

“Okay. Since you said please. I will allow you to take me out on a date. But James? You better make it worth my time.” 

A pleased smile lights up James’ face; one Regulus can’t help but return. “Trust me, Reg, that won’t be an issue. Prepare yourself to be impressed. Slip into something more formal and less comfortable, and we can be on our way.”

Regulus blows out a breath through his nose. “Fine. Considering it’s supposed to be a date, and I welcome the opportunity to get out of these,” he tugs at his joggers. “But don’t get used to bossing me around, James. That’s not how this works.” 

“We’ll see,” James announces with his trademark confidence, a grin playing on his lips.

Regulus beats a hasty retreat to his bedroom, where he searches for an outfit matching the occasion. He’s outgrown his favorite robes, so he’s forced to perform several tailoring spells to make them fit. Normally, he abhors using magic on clothes since it almost always causes the fabric to pile. But his other outfit choice is a bathrobe, and while he’s currently a pregnant shut-in, he hasn’t reached the point of wearing bathroom wear in public. 

When he emerges, James, who’s settled on the couch in the meantime and is idly leafing through Regulus’ books, looks up. He rakes his eyes over Regulus, lingering on his belly, which the cut of his attire does nothing to hide. On the contrary, the fabric clings to his midsection, flared in the sleeves and around his legs. James’ gaze grows heated as he finishes his examination, so the effect seems to be doing its job splendidly.

To Regulus’ credit, his self-control can’t be all gone because he doesn’t tackle James on his back and fuck him where he sits as a response to the naked want written all over his face. 

First, he probably lost the ability to tackle people when he started showing, although that’s always fixable with magic.

Second, he is itching with curiosity to learn what James has prepared for him.

“Ready?” James asks, snapping the book shut without breaking eye contact.

Regulus answers with a nod, suddenly shy. James steps closer, taking his hand in his. They are warm and strong, slightly roughened from the handle of the broomstick despite the gloves Regulus knows all the Quidditch players are required to wear. 

Then, he shocks Regulus by bowing his head and lifting Regulus’ hand to his lips for a kiss. The touch couldn’t be more fleeting and innocent, and yet. It pierces Regulus with a longing so acute his knees almost buckle.

Thankfully, James’ strong grip saves him from tumbling to the floor. Clearly aware of his struggle but too kind to comment on it, he wraps his arm around the small of Regulus’ back and gestures toward the fireplace. 

“Let’s go, then. Adventure awaits.”

Chapter Text

James

29 weeks along, October 21st

“I have to say, this is not what I expected,” Regulus quips, sarcasm thick in his voice as they step out of a shabby fireplace into a dark storage. 

The green flames sputter out, but James casts a quick Lumos to illuminate the space, instantly regretting his choice. Darkness would have been a better option. It could hide the sad graveyard of rusty buckets, worn-out brooms, and cobwebs hanging in the corners, for example. Not exactly an environment conducive to a romantic date.

Internally, James kicks himself for not clearing the area beforehand, but, focused as he was on pulling off this whole stunt, such details slipped his mind. Still. If nothing else, he should’ve blindfolded Regulus. Although Regulus would probably consider such a request a step too far. Convincing him to get on board with this outing proved challenging enough without introducing potential kinks into the mix. 

When he finally caved, James escorted him through the Floo straight to Axel’s office, where the Healer greeted them with a toothy smile and took great pleasure in mocking James about going overboard to win Reg’s approval. He did all that while calling him ‘Lurch,’ a nickname that irritated James as much as when he’d first heard it. But he endured the ridicule for Regulus’ sake. He’d endure a lot more than a smarmy French guy, whose Floo represented, regretably, the only way Regulus could travel long distances in his condition. 

“Have some faith in me, love. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Too late. I already do,” Regulus grumbles. 

“Now you’re just trying to hurt me.”

“Please. You should’ve learned by now that if I were trying to hurt you, there’d be no doubt about the fact because you’d be writhing on the floor in excruciating agony. It’s not my fault that this place looks like a serial killer’s dumping ground. Or hunting grounds. Either way works.”

“It looks nothing of the sort,” James says without conviction. “Also, why does your mind always immediately go to murder?”

“Force of habit, I suppose. Family legacy. Take your pick. Why? Does it bother you?”

James shrugs. “It should. Yeah, it definitely qualifies as disturbing, but for some reason, I find your macabre disposition attractive. Does it make me weird?”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Something is very wrong with you, darling,” Regulus retorts with a chuckle. 

“Fair enough. Regardless, this is, unfortunately, the only part of the facility with a working fireplace, so we have to endure the serial killer edition welcome before we reach our destination.” With a practiced swipe of his wand, James vanishes the worst of the grime and cobwebs and guides Reg out of the room before he can change his mind or express his displeasure in a more creative manner, such as hexing off certain parts of James’ anatomy.

Outside, they make their way through a narrow corridor until they reach a dead end in the form of a solid brick wall, cutting off their path forward. 

“It seems like my lack of faith was justified. Do you offer a refund policy?” Regulus snipes.

“Patience, love.” 

Regulus makes a choked sound, but James ignores him and taps bricks number four, five, eight, fifteen, sixteen, twenty-three, and forty-two in quick succession. As soon as he finishes the sequence, the wall shimmers and slides to the side, allowing them to proceed further. 

“Impressive,” Regulus says in a tone suggesting the direct opposite and steps through the newly materialized entrance, cupping the underside of his belly.

James’ stomach clenches when he notices how Regulus tries to lighten his growing body and rushes after him. Regulus sets his fingers on the crook of James’ elbow and leans against his side, resting his weight on him, but not without an irritated huff. As if conveying that he’ll permit himself to be supported, but he’s doing so under duress.

Huff all you want. As long as you let me assist you.

It’d be a shame for Regulus to overtax his strength before their date can truly begin.

As if on cue, Regulus finally begins to examine the new area they’ve entered. A soft gasp escapes him as he registers the view, and there’s the other reason James chased after him. He didn’t want to miss this reaction. 

They’re standing in the middle of an empty hallway lined by floor-to-ceiling, brightly lit tanks, in which shoals of rainbow-hued fish dart around, creating a mesmerizing spectacle of ever-changing shapes and colors. James himself only recognizes the orange-striped kind called clownfish, but there are vibrant yellow fish flitting among neon blue ones with yellow stripes, white fish with flowing fins and low snouts weaving through the chaos gracefully, and many more. There are plaques on the side of the tank describing each specimen in detail. Regulus immediately heads there and gets lost in reading up on the different species and their habitats. 

On occasion, an ominous shape of a shark emerges from deeper waters, cuts through the gathering of the smaller critters, and sends them flying in every direction. The bottom of the tank is covered with corals of all shapes and sizes, where the fish disappear when disrupted by the predators. 

But for James, the main attraction isn’t the fish, as beautiful as they might be with their iridescent hues and graceful movements. Today, like every other day, despite all the natural splendor, he only has eyes for the man by his side. Regulus has finished studying the description and is so fascinated by the aquatic performance that he seems to have forgotten James’ presence for the moment. 

James, however, doesn’t mind. On the contrary. He relishes the opportunity to study Regulus’ beauty without being caught in the act. Earlier, when he saw Barty wearing Regulus’ face as it looked seven months ago, slimmer, with short hair, each contour edged in haughty arrogance, it threw him for a loop. 

He had found Regulus beautiful back then. Of course he did. Only a blind man wouldn’t. But with everything that’s changed between them, he’s coming to realize he prefers the current version, softened by the pregnancy, with the fuller cheeks and mouth so often quirked in a smile. He appreciates the longer hair, too, pulled into a ponytail at the moment, the white streak shining like a beacon in a dark mass of water. 

Every single detail of Regulus Black’s appearance is precious to him. Every freckle on his face. The way his forest green robes cling to his shoulders and chest, a row of silver buttons running down from the collar to the top of Regulus’ stomach, where they stop so the fabric can flare to the sides, showcasing the flowing grey chemise underneath, clinging to the swell of his bump.

Yes, James had a weakness for Regulus when he’d known him only as self-possessed, slightly pompous and aloof, always looking as though he considered himself a touch above everyone else. Now, however? When he’s watched him grow and soften over the past months? When he caught him talking to the child developing in his belly, James’ child, with such unguarded affection? When he witnessed his moments of vulnerability, all shields removed, lost and untethered? When Regulus clutched him during emergencies and sought comfort from him? When they laughed together and cooked together and fell asleep in each other’s arms after spending quiet evenings on the sofa doing jigsaw puzzles? 

How can he describe the feeling weaving through his ribcage, golden tendrils invading each cell of his being and taking over his mental processes? It sounds frightening in theory, but in reality, James invites them, welcomes them, lets them take root and infest his lungs, so every breath he takes belongs to Regulus. 

Deep inside, he senses the shape of the word defining this emotion. It’s stuck in his heart, his throat, the edges pricking into his flesh until it weeps with happiness. He’s bursting with it, coming apart at the seams with fierce elation, and he wishes nothing more than to scream it into the world, loud and proud. 

“I am in love with Regulus Black. I’m in love with him more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and we’re having a child together, and fuck everyone who has a problem with that.” 

Or perhaps he doesn’t have to be loud. Maybe he should utter these words quietly at first, sharing them with the only person they concern. 

James opens his mouth as Regulus turns around, his face shining with excitement. All traces of his arrogance gone, wiped clean as though they had never existed to begin with. Despite being in an advanced stage of pregnancy, he resembles a child himself, full of wonder and excited about his next adventure. 

“What is this place? And how do you know about it?”

He snaps his mouth shut. The confession tickles at the back of his throat, but he swallows the temptation to blurt it out without warning. He wants Regulus to enjoy tonight, and if he surprises him with a love proclamation that isn’t reciprocated, the mood will sour fast, and the whole date will be ruined. 

So yes, he can wait a little longer. Meanwhile, he can figure out something tangible to offer Regulus besides empty sentiments. Plus, since his due date is in two months, give or take, James still has time to sweep him off his feet properly. Two months, give or take. With that in mind, he reins in his storming emotions and focuses on enjoying the present moment. 

“A Sea Life Aquarium in London.” He doesn’t mention Peter gave him the idea after his Muggle girlfriend, Olive, had brought him here on a date. Regulus would no doubt be concerned about people learning his secrets, when in truth, he went to Peter and not Remus or Sirius because he was the only Marauder who wouldn’t consider his request worth mentioning. 

“Well, it’s wonderful,” Regulus says, casting his gaze around once more. Giddiness shimmers through James. So far, his idea seems to be reaping success. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not this. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it, but I happen to love fish. They’re so elegant, and, more importantly, quiet,” he adds with a meaningful look in James’ direction.

He ignores the jab. It wouldn’t be Regulus if he didn’t retreat behind a mask of snark when he experiences an emotion. 

“Is it always this empty? I’d assume this place would be crawling with visitors, but it looks abandoned. Which can’t be true because someone has to feed the critters.” Regulus’ face scrunches with concern as he realizes the potential risk of being spotted by random onlookers. 

James moves closer to rub his arm in reassurance. “It’s usually pretty busy here, yes. But they close early on Fridays, so it’s after hours right now. I promised we’d stay out of sight. You don’t have to worry, Reg. The only thing you have to do is relax and enjoy this.”

The tension in Regulus’ frame eases but doesn’t completely disappear. “And what about the staff? I assume this is a Muggle-operated facility as I’ve never heard of it before, and I highly doubt Muggles use self-cleaning and feeding spells for the tanks. Which means people working here. Please tell me you didn’t murder them for the sake of my privacy?”

An elegant ray cuts across the tank with lazy flaps of its fins that resemble wings more than anything else during their talk, drawing their attention, so for a while, they fall silent and admire the creature, mesmerized by the fluidity of its motions. 

When it disappears from view, James shrugs, then wraps his arm around the small of Regulus’s back, escorting him further down the hall. “All the employees had the sudden urge to stay at home with their families, go to the movies, or otherwise make the best of their evening, far away from their workplace.” He shoots Regulus a wink. 

“Those poor sods. Deprived of their income,” Regulus mutters to himself, but his voice sounds amused rather than sympathetic.

They amble through the aquarium, marveling at the various specimens behind the glass. James has to match his steps to Regulus’ slower pace, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest, welcoming the chance to enjoy his closeness.

“Did I hear that right? Is Regulus Black concerned about the fate of Muggles?” he whispers in his ear.

“I’m mostly concerned about the fish. The upkeep of this place must require a lot of time and effort, and the poor animals don’t deserve to suffer just because you wanted to get into my pants.”

James scoffs. “Please. As if I need to rent a whole aquarium for that. We both know we’d be shagging right now back at home if I hadn’t proven impervious to your blatant advances.”

“A true gentleman would never comment on the desires of their partner, especially when said partner is not fully in control of his baser urges on account of being in a delicate condition,” Regulus announces, his expression neutral, but the red spots popping up on his cheeks hint at his embarrassment. “Then again, you’re not a gentleman, are you? So the crudeness is to be expected.” He strokes his belly meaningfully, not sparing James a glance.

Amusement mingling with shame twists through James. He has been enjoying Regulus’ unquenchable sex drive a little too much, so teasing him about it is pretty hypocritical of him. In the interest of smoothing the situation over, he switches back to their previous topic. “Well, to ease your mind, I took the liberty of asking our house-elf to provide the maintenance today, yes, paying them extra for the task, and I reimbursed everyone else for missing the day of work. Plus, an anonymous benefactor made a generous donation to the aquarium. Everyone’s going to come out of this unharmed and with a lot more gold than they had in the beginning.” 

“So much effort to impress little old me. Was it worth it?” 

“You tell me. Do you feel properly impressed?”

Regulus swipes his gaze over the giant octopus, waving his tentacles behind the glass of the tank they’re passing in a cheeky greeting, the suckers detaching from the glass and then attaching back as the creature moves, following their path as far as the span of his enclosure allows. “Yes, I dare say I do. You can count this as a success,” he says, looking at James, his eyes soft with an unspoken emotion. “I really appreciate this. You were right about my feeling cooped up. A couple of days more, and I’d start climbing the walls, so this is a lovely change of pace.” A smile begins to form on his lips, but then he winces, laying a hand on his belly. “The sprog must be impressed as well. Or, which might be more likely, he’s mad about not getting a proper look at the fishies.” 

“There’s an easy solution to this problem,” James says, flashing Regulus a grin. 

“Do share,” Regulus says primly, smoothing down his robes and brushing away a rogue lock of hair from his forehead.

“We’ll come back here when he’s born and show him everything he’s missing out on right now,” he blurts out without forethought.. 

He expects Regulus to shoot his suggestion down, but he surprises him by linking their fingers together instead. “That would be lovely. But I refuse to mingle with crowds, so please, same arrangement next time, yes, darling?” 

A pleasant shiver cascades down James’ spine. The confirmation Regulus intends to continue his relationship with James after he gives birth, as indirect as it might be, fills James with hope. His heart is doing cartwheels around his ribcage, and he feels a wide smile forming on his face, stretching his lips so taut they ache. 

“Count on it. Anything for my King and our little Kingslet.” 

Regulus snorts. “I see you’re still fond of those silly nicknames your gang was so proud of at Hogwarts.”

James presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You take that back. They were not silly.” 

“The silliest. I hate to break the news to you, but we all considered them ridiculous and trying too hard to be edgy.”

“Who? Who considered them ridiculous? I’m going to need names.”

Regulus shakes his head. “No. This secret dies with me.” 

They laugh as they pass through an exhibition designed to resemble an Amazonian river, complete with trees growing everywhere and piranhas darting through the flowing water they have to pass over in several places. The crossings are styled either as fords constructed from flat stones, or carved wooden bridges. James steers Regulus through any areas that appear the least bit treacherous, and even though it’s probably just his protective mode acting out, Regulus doesn’t protest once, nestling into him at every opportunity. 

“Speaking of names,” James begins, bringing up the subject he’s been itching to discuss for quite a while. He feared being shut down without mercy when he’d finally bring it up, so he wanted Regulus to be in a good mood and open to suggestions. “Have you decided on one? For the baby,” he clarifies, but judging by Regulus’ snort, the addendum was unnecessary. “I mean, I assume the last name will be Black, but what about the first name? Somehow, I can’t imagine posh and proper Regulus Black naming his son ‘Sprog?” James soldiers on, determined to obtain the answers he craves.

“Don’t underestimate me, James. Perhaps I’ll do it just to spite you,” Regulus muses as they enter a new area of the complex.

“I’m fully aware of your vicious streak, but I know you wouldn’t be so petty as to take your annoyance with me out on your son.”

“Our son,” Regulus corrects him reflexively, then blushes and averts his gaze, examining their surroundings. This section of the aquarium is modeled after a lagoon with waters full of different species of rays floating gracefully around. A portion of the fake shore is accessible to visitors, letting them interact with the fish by petting and feeding them. After closing time, the vending machine selling the chow is empty, but when James sees Regulus’ crestfallen face, he scours the space and recovers a forgotten cup from a corner, where a careless visitor, possibly a child, must’ve discarded it instead of throwing it in a bin. 

Thankfully, there are still pungent leftovers of chopped squid smeared at the bottom, which James cleans and replenishes with a simple spell. Then he kneels in front of Regulus, presenting the smelly cup of fish bits like a precious offering in his lifted hands. Regulus accepts with a grave nod, but when he sniffs the contents, his composure cracks, and he dissolves into a burst of laughter, which James immediately joins.

“Possibly the most disgusting courting gift I’ve ever received. It’s perfect. Thank you, Jamie.”

James looks into Regulus’ face, aglow with happiness, and his heart gives a heavy thud. Since he realized how hopelessly, desperately in love he is with this man, it’s growing impossible to contain. But he does his best, ignoring the storm brewing inside him, and focuses on feeding the rays alongside Regulus. The fish leap out of the water and snag the treats from their fingers with surprisingly loud grunts. Their flat bodies are silky smooth and not slimy, as James expected. Regulus, in particular, seems to relish the contact, stroking their backs over and over, his eyes wide with delight.

“They’re so friendly. I didn’t expect fish to be so affectionate.”

“That’s because these are not fish. They are pits. Marine bottomless pits. Or discs? Majestic sea flap-flaps? Either way. They’re only friendly because they hope to wheedle more food out of you.”

“You’re just jealous they like me better,” Regulus announces, running his hand over the back of a particularly huge specimen, brown with dark rings.

“No. No, I very much relate to that sentiment,” James says without thinking, then cringes inwardly. 

Maybe I should get this over with. Tell Reg how I feel. Roll the dice and see what happens. And if he rejects me, well. At least I’ll know where I stand.

Except. He doesn’t want to blurt the confession like a smitten fool. Yes, admittedly, he is one, but Regulus would probably assume an ulterior motive, and James couldn’t blame him. As complicated as their situation is, he would suspect James of trying to worm his way into his good graces to stay close to the baby. 

Regulus continues to gaze into the water churning with grey bodies, not indicating he’s even heard him. Perhaps he was so entranced by the display he missed his slip-up. Fingers crossed.

James’ hopes prove false when Regulus peels off the low wall separating the basin from the guests and sidles next to him, his expression unreadable. He’s cupping his belly again, but he extends his other hand, trailing his fingertips down James’ face. Stroking his cheek. Tracing his jaw. When he reaches the chin, he tilts his head gently and leans forward to brush an achingly tender kiss to James’ lips. 

James lets out a startled gasp, which Regulus uses to slide his tongue into his mouth. His hand wraps around James’ nape, almost like an insurance in case he wishes to flee, which is ludicrous. Fleeing is the last thing on James’ mind. If he could, he’d grow roots in this spot and stay here forever, letting Regulus explore his mouth, fingers buried in the tangle of James’ hair. With each movement, each puff of air Regulus exhales against his lips, it’s as though he’s spelling out all the things James is too afraid to say. 

The kiss goes on and on, neither of them willing to pull back first, but it never crosses the boundary of too much. Instead, it remains unexpectedly soft and tender. Unlike most of their previous encounters. Normally, they’re heat and passion, kissing and fucking like they’re running out of time. Because, in a way, they are. Their relationship has a ticking clock attached to it, a calendar counting down the days to Regulus’ due date.

This kiss, however, feels different. This kiss feels like a promise. Like the beginning of something new. Something hopeful.

“I was considering Potter-Black, as a matter of fact. For the last name,” Regulus says softly when he pulls back, resting his forehead against James’. His pupils are so dilated that the green of his irises has all but disappeared. 

Unshed tears spill down the back of James’ throat. “Thank you, Reggie. That’s—that’s—I don’t deserve this.”

“Well. It’s more about what the baby deserves, no? And he deserves to have a legacy he can be proud of, apart from getting burdened with mine. But also, you do deserve this, James. You might not be the one carrying him,” at that point, Regulus seizes James’ hand and puts it on his stomach, “but you’re here despite my bans and prohibitions and against my better judgment, and I couldn’t be more grateful for your utter disregard of what you promised me. I couldn’t be more grateful for your presence. You’re so—unexpected. You drive me round the bend sometimes, but you make this ordeal bearable. So yes. He’s going to be a Potter-Black, and that’s final,” Regulus finishes, lifting his chin defiantly as if daring James to protest.

“Don’t expect an argument from me because nothing would make me happier. Except maybe if you considered my idea for the first name.”

“That depends on what the idea is going to be.” Regulus sounds a little wary, but he doesn’t dismiss James outright. “For the record, I am not naming our son Elvendork, James; I thought we cleared that up.” 

Following an unspoken agreement, they leave the ray exhibition and head out for the next one. 

“Well. That’s a shame. I still maintain that name has gravitas, and it’s wonderfully universal.” 

“The name has the word ‘dork’ in it, James. Imagine sending off a precocious eleven-year-old called ‘Dork’ to Hogwarts. He’d be a laughingstock.”

“If he takes after you the least bit, he’ll hex anyone who’ll look at him funny.”

“Me?” Regulus’ voice brims with incredulity. “I wasn’t the one hexing people in the corridors because I woke up on the wrong side of the bed or lost a Quidditch match to Slytherin.” 

“We only lost to you once,” James grumbles.

“Five times, every single win being the merit of the brilliant Slytherin Seeker.” 

“You counted?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t?” Regulus cocks his brow at him.

“Fine, fine, you’re right. I was a bit out of line back then, wasn’t I?” James scratches his nape, grimacing. He doesn’t enjoy remembering some of his less palatable actions at Hogwarts. 

“If by ‘bit out of line’ you mean thoroughly unbearable, then yes. But we were discussing names.” 

Grateful for the olive branch, James jumps at the change of topic. “Yeah. It’s just a suggestion, mind, and you’ll probably want to name the baby after a star or a constellation—Padfoot, Sirius, that is, told me all about your tradition going back centuries—but I’ve been thinking—Henry. After my grandfather. Or Harry, for an alternative.”

They come to a stop at the entrance to the next attraction, an ocean tunnel. It’s the part that sold James on the idea of an aquarium date when Peter first described it to him, and he’s been looking forward to seeing Regulus’ reaction ever since. Now, however, he finds he’s more invested in their conversation.

“I was thinking Draco. It’s a strong name,” Regulus confesses in low undertones. Like a secret.

I suppose it counts as one. A little pretentious, but it could’ve been worse. Could’ve been Cygnus.

“It’s a lovely name,” he says out loud. 

“But it doesn’t really go with Potter. Draco Potter-Black. Henry Potter-Black. Harry Potter-Black.” Regulus utters each variation with great care as if tasting the names between his teeth. “Harry. Haz. Mm. I might be convinced to consider this one,” he announces his verdict, trying to sound unaffected, but the crimson splotches covering his throat betray him.

James leans in to caress his face, then breathes a soft kiss to his cheek. Too choked up to form words, he props his chin on Regulus’ shoulder. His hand floats to rest on the curve of his belly, and when Regulus reaches down to cover it with his palm, James’ heart grows wings and soars so high in his chest he worries about lifting them both off the ground. 

“Our son. Our little Harry,” Regulus says in a soft voice.

“Thank you,” James says and then promptly snaps his mouth shut, afraid that if he continues talking, he’s going to vomit the feelings crawling up his throat all over Regulus and ruin their lovely date.

“Yes. Well. You’re welcome. It’s a good name.” Regulus takes a step back, adjusting his robes and looking everywhere but at James. The red tinge, contained in small blotches before, has grown and taken over his entire face so he resembles a firecrab in color.

A very cute firecrab who struggles with revealing his soft underbelly.

Now, this is a thought James doesn’t share with the audience. He doubts it would be well received, and he has no desire to shatter the understanding infusing the air between them, as well as James’ whole body, with tingly warmth. Understanding that they’re moving past business arrangements. Past benefits. Past casual.

It doesn’t get less casual than choosing baby names together.

And judging by the watery smile Regulus aims at him, he’s on the same page. 

After a beat, James takes Regulus’ hand and leads him inside the tunnel, where a mass of indigo water surrounds them on all sides, colorful fish trail through the depths like the tail of a sentient comet, and elegant rays soar above their heads with more grace than dragons. 

They admire the view together, James’ arm draped around Regulus’ shoulders, Regulus nestling into James’ side, marveling at the beauty of the scenery. Silence blankets them, but neither of them relishes the idea of shattering it. They’ve already said all the words that needed to be said today, so they’ve earned the right to enjoy the quiet reprieve.

For now, James has everything he needs.

The company of the man he loves.

And the tiny spark of life they created together. 

Soon. I’m going to tell him soon.

A smile appears on James’ lips and doesn’t disappear for the rest of their date.

Chapter Text

Regulus

30,5 weeks along, October 30th

“Do you intend to keep me in suspense much longer?” Pandora asks. 

She’s here on Regulus’ invitation, folded in his kitchen chair in a complicated knot that shouldn’t be humanly possible. A rare winter sun sets her hair aglow as she sips tea from a red mug with white dots and gives him a probing look over the rim. Her tone is overly crisp and posh, a not-so-subtle dig at Regulus. Even the way she holds the cup daintily, with her little finger sticking out, is a mockery of his prim mannerisms. She’s his best friend in the whole world. Of course she’s be a sassy menace. He has a type, after all.

“Patience, my dear.” Regulus retrieves his wand from the holster on his forearm while resting his other hand on his belly and casts a quick Tempus. “He should be here any minute.” 

Pandora visibly perks up.

“Oh, are you finally going to introduce me to the boyfriend?”

Regulus sniffs, feigning disinterest and not acknowledging the furious jolt his heart gave at the word boyfriend. Neither he nor James has acknowledged the recent shift in their relationship. Despite Regulus trusting James with more and more each day, and James treating the chalet like his home away from home, they haven’t officially put a label on what they are to each other. 

James has been quite busy with practice since their fateful date, but every evening, without fail, he arrives to make dinner in a display of domesticity that has Regulus melting on the inside. Then they snuggle on the couch and they listen to the Wireless while doing puzzles, reading, or lazily making out. 

More often than not, James reads fairytales to the baby or regales him with funny stories about Messers Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail. The quiet evenings usually end with James fucking Regulus into a state of blissed-out stupor while calling him ‘my love’ and ‘Starling’ and pressing kisses full of heart-breaking tenderness to every inch of Regulus’ skin, only to curl protectively around him afterwards and whisper a stream of besotted nonsense in his ear that Regulus laps up with bated breath until they fall asleep by each other’s side. 

In the morning, James gets up long before Regulus wakes, but he always leaves breakfast on the table for him, preserved under a stasis spell with a sickly sweet love note attached to it. Regulus pretends to ignore these silly messages, but he collects every single one of them with a fierceness that would rival any sphinx guarding her domain.

So yes, Regulus would have to be blind—and stupid to boot—to miss the fact his relationship with James has evolved beyond a business deal. Beyond casual. And if he’s being honest, he’d love a verbal confirmation that James is on the same page. That he returns the sentiment. The only problem is, Regulus has no clue how to broach the topic. 

Outlining a convoluted legal document about sexual intercourse, impregnation, and custody arrangements? Simple enough. It wasn’t personal, so Regulus had no qualms about striding into James’ life and stating his demands. That was business. But telling James that Regulus has fallen for him, and he’d be interested in moving from the no-man’s territory they’ve been stuck in for months, to something more genuine? That he wouldn’t mind making things official? Perhaps not just with words, but also by sharing a home? And maybe, in time, a name? The prospect terrifies him. 

Which is why he invited his friends over today. Three heads are better than one, even if one belongs to Regulus, who is, if he says so himself, brilliant. In most cases. But he also possesses enough self-awareness to concede his brilliance doesn’t extend to romance. When feelings are involved, he needs all the help available, and he counts on his friends to provide it. Even if it means serving as Pandora’s midday entertainment while they wait for the second party to arrive. 

With deliberate slowness, Regulus tucks the wand away and helps himself to one of the cookies he laid out. Macarons from his private stash this time, not like when Barty dropped in unannounced. He needs everyone in a good mood before he ambushes them with his request.

“You see James at work all the time,” he says with a shake of his head.

“But not in an official capacity. And not in your company. I’m curious about how the two of you interact. Especially how James handles you being mean. Nobody’s ever mean to our Sunshine, so this must be a novel experience for him. Does he take it or does he fight back? Maybe I should give him some pointers on managing you.”

Regulus scowls at Pandora’s remark, smoothing out the robes over his bump. It’s gotten so ridiculously big over the past month. Sometimes, he still has trouble believing a human belly can reach such a size. And he still has almost two months to go.

At least James seems to be enjoying his, eh, let’s go with bulk. He’s been absolutely insatiable lately, and that’s saying something, considering his already more than healthy sexual appetite. Not that Regulus complains about this development—far from it. He’s been more than delighted to indulge James, especially since his own libido is still in overdrive thanks to his raging hormones. 

They have to employ a bit more creativity to find comfortable positions that accommodate the advanced stage of Regulus’ pregnancy, but they both enjoy the challenge. 

“James doesn’t need to manage me.” Regulus cuts himself off before he blurts out how embarrassingly gone he is for the messy-haired chaser. 

Of course, Pandora sees right through him. “Oh, that’s cute. He’s got you already whipped. I have to say, as interesting as it’d be to watch you snark at James, I’d prefer to see you being sweet to him. Are you? Sweet? I bet you’re adorable together.”

“You’ve known me for years, Dora. When have I ever been ‘sweet?’ To anyone?” Regulus puts his nose in the air, but he can feel heat steadily creeping into his cheeks. Unfortunately, Pandora is correct in her assessment. No surprise there. Not many things escape her sharp gaze. 

James has worn down Regulus’ defenses with his infinite kindness. He won his trust, so now Regulus feels comfortable enough to return his affection without masking it as derision.

In Pandora’s words, he is sweet to him. What a mortifying realization.

“Never. That’s why I’m so intrigued by your being smitten with our Jamie.” 

“Mind what you’re saying,” Regulus bites out before he can think better of it. “He’s not yours. He’s mine.” 

“Hm. Sounds like the first honest thing you’ve said since I arrived, if we don’t count the greetings,” Pandora laughs. “So who’s the other guest if not James?”

As if on cue, the fireplace bursts into life with green flames, saving Regulus from answering. Axel steps out, dusting Floo powder off his scrubs and making a beeline for the kitchen, where Regulus is reaching for another macaron. 

“What’s the emergency, Reg?” he cuts straight to the chase without bothering with social niceties.

“Nothing. You can leave the healer act on the mantle, Axel, I’m perfectly fine. Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Tea?” Regulus lifts the kettle.

Axel blows out a long-suffering, and, in Regulus’ opinion, overly dramatic breath. “Sure, then go ahead, call me to your heel as though I’m nothing more than a mangy dog. It’s not like I have patients or bosses. I live to please and serve the almighty Regulus.” 

“Ooooh that’s very accurate. Regulus lives under the impression that he’s royalty and the rest of us are at his disposal,” Pandora giggles.

“Stop ganging up on me. You don’t even know each other!” 

Axel whips around to assess the other participant in the conversation, but once his gaze lands on Pandora, he stops in his tracks, his expression transfixed. 

Not an unpleasant surprise, then. 

In the name of peace, Regulus suppresses a snicker.

“Yes. That is true. I don’t believe we’ve met,” the healer says in his lightly accented voice. “I would’ve remembered such a rare beauty.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Spare us the pathetic come-ons, I’m begging you.”

“It’s called charm, my charisma-challenged mate, something you woefully lack,” Axel fires back, then turns to Pandora. “I am Axel, this one’s,” he jerks his thumb at Regulus, “friend and personal healer. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance; you must be the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld.” 

“At least try to be original instead of copying poor Jane Austen.” Regulus scoffs, but Pandora bats her eyes at Axel, obviously flattered by his trite compliments.

“Thank you, and the pleasure is mine. I’ve actually heard a lot about you. Pandora, physical therapist for the Appleby Arrows and one of Reg’s best friends,” she says, putting her hand forward.

“My deepest condolences,” Axel murmurs, taking Pandora’s hand and kissing it before settling down next to Regulus. She flushes with obvious delight, which forces Regulus, who’s all too familiar with Axel’s tricks, to contain another eye-roll. That man would try to flirt a smile out of a dragon purely for the challenge. 

Once he’s seated, Axel helps himself to a cup of tea and a lemon macaron. “What’s the reason for this gathering, Reg, if you and the baby are doing fine?”

Regulus draws in a deep breath to steel himself before explaining himself. The two of them are among his closest friends. They might tease him mercilessly, but they’ve always had his back without a moment of hesitation. Opening up to others, no matter how much he likes — tolerates — them, showing his vulnerable underbelly, still doesn’t come naturally to him. Opening up means exposing the chinks in your armor. Chinks other people can exploit. Walburga and Orion drilled that lesson into him with harsh words and harsher actions, and old habits die hard. 

“I need your advice,” he admits, switching his gaze between Pandora and Axel, who both stare at him with identical incredulous expressions.

“Perhaps I should check your temperature, to be on the safe side,” Axel says. “Regulus Black asking for other people’s opinions? C’est impossible. Must be the fever talking.”

“Give it a rest. I’m not sick,” Regulus snaps. “Actually, it might be preferable to what’s going on.”

“Well, then, tell us, Reggie. What seems to be the matter?” Pandora invites.

Regulus takes another steadying beat. “I think I might be… in love,” he squeezes out in a rush, biting his lip after the last word to prevent any more emotions from breaking free. The situation is mortifying enough as it is.

“Oh. That’s um, well, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Reg, but is that supposed to be new information?” Pandora asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Of course. Why would I need to share it otherwise?”

“Regulus, darling,” She pats his hand. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve known for months.”

“No. Not possible. I’ve only recently reached the conclusion myself. It must be your frankly disconcerting gift of the Inner Eye, or some Seer weirdness, but you couldn’t have known. Axel didn’t. Tell her, Axou.” 

“Deepest apologies, mon ami, but the looks you’re giving your Lurch every time I see you two together are not subtle. So yes, I’ve known. Or suspected, at least. Is this why I’m missing half my shift at the hospital? To dissect the patently apparent state of your heart? If the chief catches wind of this, he’ll have my head, and then you can find yourself a new healer to deliver your love child.”

“No. You’re both lying. How could you have known when I only realized it a week and a half ago?”

“Come on, Reg. It’s so obvious. You look at James as though he holds the answer to all your questions,” Pandora says in a gentle voice, which only nettles Regulus further.

“Do not,” he retorts, striving to sound dignified but only achieving petulance.

“Reggie, chéri, I’m afraid I’ll have to side with the beautiful lady here,” Axel says, blowing Pandora a kiss. 

Regulus expects his level-headed friend, who sees through everyone’s rubbish, to scoff at his antics, but to his astonishment, she blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl. For several heartbeats, they gaze into each other’s eyes until Regulus runs out of patience with their flirting and clears his throat, breaking them out of their trance. Pandora flushes bright red, and Axel straightens in his chair with a wince, but he returns to the previous topic. “You’ve been taken with Lurch since I met him, and likely before that.” He nods at Regulus’ protruding belly. 

Irritated, Regulus crosses his arms over the bump, an action Harry rewards with a sharp kick to his ribs. 

You too, Harry?

A succession of pokes and more kicking swiftly follows.

Fine. Message received, little one. You think I’m being obvious as well, don’t you?

Another kick.

Guess there’s my answer.

He throws his arms out in frustration. “Okay, fine. I’m the idiot who took forever to recognize he’s in love with the father of his child.”

“Praise Merlin, the fog of delusion has lifted,” Axel quips. 

“In my defense, how was I supposed to know?” 

“You choosing him to be the father of your child might’ve been your first clue,” Pandora says, a beatific smile lighting up her face. Regulus dearly wishes to hex it off. 

“That had nothing to do with it. My choice of the baby’s father was purely rational and based on objective merits.” 

“Right. Because James is the only good-looking pureblood willing to sleep with you. Please, Reg. You could’ve chosen anyone. Drag an unsuspecting queer wizard into your chambers, have your way with him, and ditch him in the morning.”

“Classy,” Regulus mutters, but Pandora ignores him. 

“You never had to tell them about the pregnancy, either. But you went straight to James, your brother’s best friend, possibly the worst choice under the circumstances, and had him sign an elaborate contract that essentially guaranteed him parental rights, binding him to you forever. Why else would you do that if you hadn’t had feelings for him?”

“No. You’ve got it all wrong. My motivation was practical. I chose James because he was the one person sure to incense my parents the most. The bloke who stole their precious firstborn, siring the new rightful heir? Delicious. And getting back at Sirius by snatching his best friend? Icing on the already delicious cake.”

Pandora shrugs. “I believe that’s what you believe. You were always great at justifying your actions to yourself.”

Regulus sucks in a sharp breath to launch a defense because how dare she? How dare she liken him to his parents, indirectly as it might be? He’s never deliberately hurt anyone, and then excused his deeds by his birthright. Sure, he might’ve taken some measures to teach certain slow-on-the-uptake people that he was not a person to be crossed, but he’s always owned his actions. 

Axel, not that well-versed in the complicated Potter-Black dynamic, stays out of their argument, but Pandora must sense Regulus’ righteous indignation and waves a hand before the discussion spirals out of control. “I suppose your motivations don’t matter at this point, not really, and I’d love more details about your epiphany, anyway. What finally sparked it?”

Regulus, all too grateful for the subject change, switches gears in an instant. “James took me out on a date.” He’s aware his expression is growing dreamy as he remembers the trip to the aquarium. The goofy smile splitting his face is humiliating and not like him at all, yet he’s powerless to prevent it. James has well and truly broken him. 

“Oh yes, he was quite persistent in begging me for access to my Floo,” Axel rejoins the conversation, leaning back in the chair with a devious glint in his eye.

Regulus groans. “How much did you scam out of him?” 

“Why is your first instinct to assume the worst of me?”

“Because I’m familiar with your tactics.”

“I’ll have you know, not everything is about lining my pockets.”

“But it is about something,” Regulus presses. “Spill it, Andrieux. What did you ask for if not money?”

“Well,” Axel grins, resting his interlaced fingers on his stomach. “You’re aware that hospitals are always underfunded and struggling to find a decent potions supplier?” 

“I’ve heard some unsettling rumors about St. Mungo’s, yes,” Regulus confirms.

“And you’re also aware that the Potter family owns one of the biggest potion-making companies in the UK?”

“This might shock you, but yes, I’m intimately acquainted with my partner’s family estate.” 

Pandora cocks her brow. “Does your partner know about your ‘intimate’ relationship with his fortune? Merlin, does he know he’s your partner?”

“Not the point, Dora. Axel, stop beating around the wand tree and tell me what horrors you had James commit.”

“Calm your hippogriffs, Reg. I wouldn’t abuse your precious Lurch too much. I simply asked him for a donation. A generous one. Anonymously, of course. Don’t worry, your secret is safe. Nobody can connect you to Lurch or Lurch to the hospital.”

“While I’m delighted to hear you extort people with caution, I’m having difficulty believing James caved in to your blackmail without putting up a fight,” Regulus says, incredulous. Axel’s revelation caught him off guard—he’s never considered the hoops James jumped through to make the date happen. Or that his friend was such an opportunist. 

“Ah. But you underestimate my power of persuasion and the depth of his devotion to you. Or is it just plain desperation? The man is pathetic. He didn’t bat an eye. And I’d like to stress that the donation I asked for was very generous. The Potters are the only manufacturer of the Pepper-up potion, you know.”

“You would’ve made a great Slytherin,” Regulus says, half-exasperated, half-amused. There’s a reason they get along so well with Axel. Birds of a feather and all that.

“Such a barbaric system, dividing the students into different houses and pitting them against each other. In Beauxbatons, we believe in equality. Everyone’s fair game when it comes to sabotage.” 

“So, the date,” Pandora interjects. “I want the deets. Gimme, Reg.”

“He rented the entire London Aquarium just for the two of us,” Regulus says, his voice breathy despite his best efforts.

“What a monster,” Axel snorts.

“That’s lovely. Did you thoroughly scandalize the ocean denizens?” Pandora waggles her eyebrows suggestively. 

“You’re worse than Barty, Dora.”

“And you’re a prude.”

“Hardly.” Regulus points at his belly.

“You shagged once and got yourself pregnant. Not exactly proof of your wild ways.”

“I shagged before.” A migraine begins pulsing behind his left eye. What in Merlin possessed him to ask Pandora and Axel for romantic advice? Granted, he couldn’t anticipate they would get along so well and conspire against him, but still.

He takes a dainty sip of his tea to calm his nerves. Herbal, of course, Merlin forbid he have a decent cuppa since he’s so bloody pregnant. “If you must know, the scandalizing occurred before. Right there in the middle of the sitting room,” Regulus says, enjoying his friends’ traumatized grimaces.

“Suddenly, I’m grateful we’re not on the sofa,” Axel mumbles into his mug.

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Not a prude. You’re a slag. So, what happened after that?” Pandora prompts. 

“Afterward, James dragged me through Axel’s Floo to the aquarium, where we were on our best behavior, walked around a bit, and admired the fish and stingrays.” Regulus adjusts his outfit over his—let’s not mince words, breasts. At this stage of his pregnancy, his previously flat pecs have become swollen and more tender in preparation for breastfeeding, a prospect that seems more daunting than giving birth. But he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

“And the fish made you realize you’re in love?” Pandora asks, incredulity loud in her voice.

“Not the fish, no. The lengths James went to in order to make the whole thing happen just because he noticed I was a little stir-crazy.”

Axel coughs, but it sounds a lot like ‘a little, right.’ Regulus chooses to overlook his transgression against good manners.

“And that was before I learned about Axel’s extortion scheme. Seriously, as though you’ve not been squeezing me dry already.”

Axel only shrugs, finishing the rest of his tea. “No reason the hospital can’t benefit as well. Since you’re wasting my professional time by regaling me with your love story.” He stands up and begins raiding the kitchen cabinets. 

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for something stronger to get me through this.” He flicks his wand. “Accio wine!” A bottle floats out of the pantry into Axel’s outstretched hand. After a quick scan of the label, he deems it acceptable and pours himself and Pandora a generous glass.

“Why do all my guests insist on drinking my, and by my I mean James’, wine supply?”

“Perhaps because they need to dull their senses with alcohol to survive the blade of your wit, Reggie,” Pandora says after taking a sip.

“Beautifully put, my dear Pandora. I’d just assume they want to drown out your waxing poetic about Lurch. So, where were we? Aquarium, romantic epiphanies, yes?” 

Regulus nods, biting his lips. His body flushes with heat, reacting to the memory of looking into James’ eyes, warm and honest, and watching him with unrestrained adoration. Regulus fell into their amber depths and never emerged. And when he agreed to James’ request to name the baby currently doing his best to gouge out Regulus’ kidney Harry, his fate was pretty much sealed. The fate of a man desperately in love with James Potter.

“Yes. Then we discussed baby names, and I realized – Merlin, this is mortifying – but I realized I wouldn’t mind if we stayed together after our son was born.” 

“How perfectly… well, ordinary, to tell the truth. What exactly is the hold-up? I don’t see a problem here.” Axel shrugs. “You’re into Lurch, and he’s obviously besotted with you, for reasons that elude me, but I’m not the one who matters in this scenario, so stay together. Let yourself be happy.”

“What are you really afraid of, Reggie?” Pandora, too insightful by half, asks in a hushed voice, reaching over to stroke Regulus’ arm.

“Don’t you see? It’s humiliating.” He heaves out a sigh, then pushes to his feet, unwieldy body and heavy bump and all, and begins pacing the kitchen, his hands propping his aching back. Although, pacing might be too generous a word. Shambling would be a more accurate description. 

“My falling for James was not part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan.”

Not loving the baby in his belly so fiercely – he’d die for him without hesitation. Not developing genuine feelings for his father. Not being so helpless all the time. This was supposed to be his way of regaining control, not relinquishing the last vestiges of it. The fact that it was not to his parents, but to a kind, decent person, offers little consolation. 

“Plus, the contract doesn’t cover such an eventuality, so I have no idea how to proceed from here. How do I tell James? Do I tell him? Or do I have my solicitor draw up an addendum and present James with the revisions for a signature?”

Pandora and Axel stare at him as though he’s transformed into a giant squid, then share a meaning-laden look and dissolve in fits of laughter. Vultures. That’s what they are. He’s bared his heart to them, and they poke at the bleeding organ for giggles.

“I’m sorry, do you find something amusing about my dilemma?” Regulus glares at both of them in turn.

“Yeah, it’s hilarious,” Pandora says, wiping her eyes. “Only you would consider a legally binding contract an ideal way to tell a bloke you’re into him.”

Axel doesn’t let himself be outwitted. “Does your family truly hail from France? Because no Frenchman worth his salt would commit such an atrocity.” 

“Fine, since you’re both so clever, have at it. Make yourself useful and help me figure out how I’m supposed to tell James. That’s why I invited you over, after all.”

Axel claps his shoulder in an overly chummy manner, which Regulus dislikes but allows for the time being since he’s desperate. “Reggie, my dear boy, it’s actually quite straightforward. You sit him down and use your mouth to send words in his general direction. The method has been thoroughly tested over the centuries and proven very effective by many participants.” 

Pandora chuckles, but slaps a hand over her lips when Regulus throws a nasty glare her way. “My apologies, Reg, but I have to agree with Axel. The simplest way is usually the right one. You’re just looking for excuses to stall.”

A dull ache blooms in Regulus’ feet and hips, protesting the extra load he’s carrying, so he sags into the chair, propping his elbows on the table, head bowed to avoid facing Pandora and prevent her from noticing her remark had struck a nerve.

Yes, Regulus is procrastinating. Because he has too much to lose now. Mainly hope. A single sentence, and the silly dreams he’s been entertaining lately, dreams involving James standing by Regulus’ side as they raise their son together, possibly in a pretty cottage somewhere far away from the bustle of London, next to a meadow where Harry could run around and play with his friends, will be blown to dust. And he’s grown rather attached to those dreams and doesn’t want to give them up. At the same time, if he doesn’t say anything, that’s all they’re going to remain. Nothing but dreams.

“What if he doesn’t want me?” Regulus asks in a small voice he hates. Suspicious dampness in the corners of his eyes tells him a couple of tears must’ve escaped him, adding to his humiliation. What’s worse, he can’t even blame the hormones. No, he’s genuinely distraught by the idea of James refusing him.

“Then he’s an idiot,” Pandora reassures him with a solemnity more befitting an oracle than someone comforting a pregnant friend currently in the throes of a world-class meltdown. “But I don’t think that’s a concern. Every time I mention your name during his mandated therapy sessions, he lights up. Literally. One time, magic poured out of him so hard he illuminated my entire office without using lamps.” 

“There’s your proof, Reg. Lurch’s feelings for you are quite literally gushing out of him,” Axel comments with the clinical detachment of a healer.

Pandora gives a dreamy sigh. “That’s so romantic.”

“Or it’s just proof James is bad at controlling his magic. I hate to rain on your parade of unfounded sentimental conjecture, but if James is so in love with me, why hasn’t he said anything? We’re on a bit of a deadline here.” Regulus says with a meaningful glance at his sizable bump.

“He might be giving you space to show initiative,” Pandora shrugs. “After all, he’s a Gryffindor, and love is only for the brave. Maybe he’s offering you a chance to prove that you have that courage.”

“Truly beautiful insight, but if my suspicion is correct, that’s not why Lurch is taking his time. Knowing him, he’ll want to win you over with some over-the-top grand romantic gesture,” Axel offers.

“Oooh, I love this for Regulus. He won’t know what hit him,” Pandora beams as though Axel announced Christmas came early, and it’s going to last a month. She goes as far as clapping with excitement. 

Regulus would roll his eyes, but he has to admit to a certain degree of curiosity about any potential surprise James might have in store for him. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Axel ignores him, turning to Pandora. “James is not the only one capable of romantic gestures. I’d be more than happy to show you over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Perhaps in Paris? I know a beautiful bistro with canelés that melt in your mouth, and it offers an incredible view of the Eiffel Tower. ”

“That would be a no from Dora, as she has a terrible allergy.”

“Oh non. To gluten?”

“To clichés,” Regulus deadpans before Pandora squeezes a word in.

“I’d love to get a coffee with you, Axel, though Paris sounds a little too crowded,” Pandora says with a reproachful look at Regulus. 

“Say no more, ma chérie. There’s a very charming place right here in Revel. The best cassoulet you’ll ever taste, and tarte aux pommes to die for. And, of course, if you agree to the invitation, it’ll have the most stunning guest in all of France, too.” 

“We’ve solved my problem, then, I take it?” Regulus asks sourly.

“You have no problem, Reggie,” Axel laughs, but his eyes don’t leave Pandora’s face, forcing Regulus to recognize he might’ve become a third wheel in this conversation. “You have a man who worships the ground you walk on. So, to parrot Pandora’s advice, grow some balls and tell him.” 

“I believe I used slightly different words, but that about sums up my opinion, yes,” Pandora agrees.

“Wonderful. Crude and offensive. I need better friends.” 

“Possibly,” Axel agrees, then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he adds, “shame none of those better friends could bear with your attitude, ego, waspishness—shall I go on?”

“Yes. If you don’t value your entrails safely tucked inside your body, then by all means, continue.” 

“Now, Reggie, let’s not resort to threats. Axel is only trying to be helpful.”

Regulus grinds his teeth in frustration. To think he asked Axel over instead of Barty, assuming he was more likely to provide a voice of reason. At least Barty wouldn’t hit on Pandora, since all he could talk about on those rare occasions when he Floo-called or visited was some French Marquis named Rosier, forcing Regulus to remind him he was supposed to feign interest in Witches on Regulus’ behalf, not get all tangled up in a French noble.

“I’ve had enough of his help for one day, so I think I’m going to take a nap, and you two can find your way out. Go on your horribly heterosexual date. And if you end up getting married, I want credit and a front-row seat at the ceremony.”

“Technically, the credit would go to the little one,” Axel says with a nod at Regulus’ belly. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll have coffee first and see where things go from there. And you, tell James, and don’t forget to keep us in the loop.” Pandora stands from her seat, then bends down and drops a kiss to the crown of Regulus’ head. “Think of it this way, Reg. If things work out, we can go on a double date.” 

“I’d rather swallow a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Regulus groans.

Pandora and Axel head out not long after that, leaving behind their mingled laughter like a mockery of Regulus’ delusions. It takes a long while for it to fade away. 

Chapter Text

James

31 weeks along, November 4th

James’ steps crunch on the path leading to the Manor, which is nestled further away from the gate between immense walnut trees. When the house comes into view, sprawling and elegant, built from pale yellow stone and with two large bay windows in front, the familiar sight warms James’ heart more reliably than the chocolate his mother will no doubt force on him the second she sees him.

He feels the familiar tingle of wards as he enters, yelling, “Mum? Dad? Anybody home?” while taking off his shoes.

“In the kitchen, love,” comes Effie’s response from deeper inside the house.

In a matter of seconds, James sweeps her into a hug, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Smells good in here. Are you making scones?”

“Yes. If you let go of your poor old mother and settle down, you can have some. And I’ll bring you something to warm you up, too. Your face is made of icicles, Jamie. How does hot chocolate sound?” Effie asks, peering at him expectantly. She is wearing a blue apron with a daisy pattern over casual robes. Her hair is now more silver than black, braided into a long plait and coiled neatly around her head. As always, her eyes twinkle with mischief, a trait James inherited from her, despite looking like the spitting image of his father.

“You’re neither poor nor old,” he laughs, kissing her forehead, “but a scone and something warm to drink sounds bloody great.” He follows Effie’s suggestion and plonks down into the nearest chair, his mouth already watering. One mug can’t hurt his strict training regimen, even if he has the match with the Magpies coming up and he needs to be at his best.

“Is Dad around? I have something to ask him. Both of you, actually.”

“What’s going on, Jamie?” his mom asks, half-teasing, but grows more serious when James doesn’t respond immediately. 

She sends a plate of scones, jars of jam and clotted cream, a big pot of tea, and a mug of hot chocolate through the air until it lands right under James’ nose, filling his senses with all sorts of delectable aromas.

“Nothing, um. Nothing bad, I’d say. Actually, I’d say it’s good. It might even make you happy. It definitely makes me happy,” he blabs, then rallies. “But if you don’t mind, I’d rather talk to you and Dad at once.”

“Mysterious,” she laughs. “Monty is tinkering with a new formula downstairs in the workshop. You know how he gets.” They share a knowing smile. Monty’s single-minded focus has been both legendary and a source of gentle family teasing ever since James can remember. 

“Okay. I don’t mind waiting a bit.” James drums his fingers on the table, his legs bouncing. 

“Are you sure, hon? Patience has never been your strong suit.”

Trust his mother to see right through him. To James’ relief, Effie doesn’t let him suffer and calls for Hopsy, dispatching their cheerful elf to fetch Monty. She takes a seat opposite him, and they enjoy the scones. Fresh from the oven, they’re crispy and fluffy as only his mom can make. To pass the time while they wait for Monty to appear, they chatter about what’s new in their lives. James tells his mum about the next match the Arrows are currently preparing for, and Effie picks his brain about what Sirius might want for Christmas. They only pause their discussion to help themselves to more scones. 

James is currently reaching for his third one (blast the stupid diet the Arrows have him on) when Monty comes trudging into the kitchen, wearing his work robes, forest green and covered with a collection of stains and the occasional burned patch of fabric. Effie fixes the singed areas when she spots them with a flick of her wand while tutting and shaking her head fondly.

People frequently remark on how much James resembles his dad, and the comparison always warms his heart. Monty is a great man and an incredible father, one James hopes to emulate once Harry is born. Plus, if James ages half as well, he’ll have no reason to complain, and hopefully, Regulus won’t either. Monty is stouter than James but not overtly so, and his hair, the infamous Potter locks, is threaded with a lot more silver. There are more lines etched into his face, particularly around the eyes and the mouth, suggesting he laughs often enough for it to leave a permanent mark on his skin. Otherwise, it’s like staring at himself in the mirror, forty or so years in the future.

“Jamie! What a pleasant surprise. We didn’t expect you until Christmas, what with your busy schedule.” Monty crosses the room to drop a quick kiss on Effie’s hair, then eases himself into a chair next to her. “So what brings you by? Not that we’re not happy to have you, of course.” The delighted gleam in his eyes confirms his words. 

Warmth squirms in James’ chest, part delight, part guilt. He should visit more often, but his job keeps him more than occupied under regular circumstances. This year has been even more packed thanks to spending most of his free time with Regulus, and while he doesn’t regret his choice, he can’t suppress a twinge of guilt at his dad’s words. He’s been neglecting his parents, no doubt about it, and he should do better going forward.

Neither Monty nor Effie seem to hold his frequent absences against him, both of them beaming at him across the table.

James rubs the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. 

Let’s hope they take the announcement well.

“Okay, so. I’ve got some news, and then I have a huge favor to ask. But first, you need to swear you won’t pry for details, since I can’t give you any. Not yet. The situation is a bit complicated, but I can promise you it’s not bad. No. The opposite. It’s good.” He can’t stop a goofy smile from stretching his lips wide. “Very good.”

Monty and Effie share an amused look. “Well, quit building the suspense and tell us.”

Okay. Here goes nothing. Let’s see how many of Regulus’ safeguards I can circumvent.

“So, the first thing you should know is that I met someone.” 

So far, so good. The hexes haven’t been triggered.

His parents exchange another look, this one a great deal more pleased but also self-satisfied, which grates on James. This is supposed to be surprising, dammit.

“We’ve been wondering if the reason you’ve been so absent this year might be a new boyfriend,” Effie says, beaming. “Or, to be more accurate, I’ve been wondering. Monty’s as blind as a Baleful Bat, but a mother’s intuition is never wrong. Which means your father owes me ten Galleons.”

Monty grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, but Effie is too invested in doing exactly what James begged her not to do, pestering him for more information, to pay him any mind. “So? What’s his name? How did the two of you meet? When are you planning to bring him around and introduce us?”

James goes over his first meeting with Regulus in his head—himself, semi-nude in the locker room, Regulus gorgeous and poised and propositioning him to father his baby. Yeah, that’s not a story he’s eager to share with his grandchildren. Or his parents, for that matter.

“We met at Hogwarts.” Technically, true. Plus, inoffensive and vague enough that the curses remain inactive.

“Do we know him?” Monty asks.

“No—not really. Of him, I suppose. We didn’t associate at Hogwarts, and I never thought he might—but now we’re together, and I’d love to tell you more, really, but I can’t. Except for one thing. The reason I’m here, and why I need the favor. We’re going to have a—” family, James wants to finish, but magic slams his mouth shut. Familiar with the effects, he relaxes and forces himself to think of something else while his parents stare at him with concern written on their faces.

“There’s going to be a—” he tries, but once again, Regulus’ spell work flares to life and thwarts his attempts before they can take form. 

Once his jaw unlocks, he grinds his teeth in frustration. 

If only his boyfriend and the father of his child weren’t so brilliant at magic, James’ life would be a lot simpler.

And this explanation much easier.

“Look, like I said, I can’t really tell you. Not now. Not yet. But soon, I promise. In six weeks, to be precise. Which brings me to the reason for my visit. Dad, what happened to Granddad Henry’s house? Does it still belong to us? You know, the cottage near the edge of Hollow?”

“As far as I’m aware, it should still be there. Although I haven’t checked on it in years, so I can’t vouch for its state.” 

James’ heart makes a happy little skip. 

If his parents give their blessing and, of course, if Regulus agrees, Harry will grow up in the house that used to belong to his namesake and ancestor. A house with an apple orchard in the back and a garden where they can grow vegetables, and which opens to rolling meadows speckled with birch groves. The perfect place for a child to run around with his friends and drive his parents mental with their antics.

“Well, then, if you have no objections, I would love to take it off your hands.”

The plan solidified in his mind over the week after his date with Regulus at the aquarium. He needed to prove he was serious about him. About them. About their family. About being there for him and Harry, always, taking care of them, providing for them. And what’s the most important thing a family needs? A home. Preferably, an old, wizarding home soaked with magic. 

The reality is, James is certain his parents would welcome him and Regulus, along with their son, with open arms if they decided to live in the manor. At the same time, he assumes Regulus would prefer to have his own place, and if James were honest, so would he. Three generations under one roof would provide too much fertile soil for conflict, which was something James would rather avoid. 

But Henry’s house ticks every box on James’ mental checklist. It has the advantage of being nearby, allowing his parents to babysit any time they needed, but not close enough that they’d butt heads daily, and strong ties to his family as a bonus.

Apart from standing abandoned for a couple of decades, but what’s the point in being a Wizard if you can’t use magic to renovate a house for your secret pregnant boyfriend in the hopes he will be so overcome by the gesture he agrees to move in with you?

“Does Sirius know you plan to leave?” Effie asks, her eyebrow creased in thought. It warms James that she worries about her adoptive son. In his eyes, it’s proof that Sirius is, and always will be, part of the family.

Especially now, when we’re going to be actually bound by blood, in a sense.

“Not yet. I wanted to ask you first, but I intend to tell him as soon as possible. To be honest, I think he’ll welcome having the place to himself—and Remus,” James laughs. “I’m afraid I’ve been cramping their style a bit. And in return, they’ve been traumatizing me.” 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Monty chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re such a shrinking violet an eyeful fazes you after sharing a dorm with them for seven years. But yes, the house is yours if you want.”

James didn’t really expect his parents to refuse him—it’d be a first, okay, second, technically, after talking him out of a dragon for his sixth birthday—but he still can’t help feeling an immense gratitude for the matter-of-course generosity they have always shown him.

He has to swallow several times before he can continue. “Um. Thanks. Thank you both. That’s—that’s great. There’s one more issue I need to mention. I’m going to change one of the rooms into—” James hesitates, waiting for the telltale tingle of magic in his throat or the hinges of his jaws, but when nothing happens, he exhales from relief and continues, “into a nursery.” Apparently, when he doesn’t mention anything specific about Regulus or Harry, the enchantments give him a pass. Thank Merlin. He’s not fond of fighting for breath in the middle of a conversation.

Silence follows his statement. With apprehension, James examines his parents’ faces, checking for their reactions. A shine uncomfortably similar to tears appears in Effie’s eyes as she covers her mouth with her hand. Monty, less expressive in general, clears his throat several times and cleans his glasses, the same kind James wears, down to the color of the frames and the number of diopters, on his robes, then puts them back on. 

When he speaks up again, his voice sounds gruffer than normal. “After Grandpa Henry died, we cleared out his things and put the house under preservation enchantments. It’s been empty ever since, but Henry didn’t bother with upkeep much in his golden years. You might need to put in some work to make it habitable, not to mention chasing out some boggarts and other critters, but it should have solid bones. A lick of paint and magic and maybe tearing down a wall or two to open the floor plan will do it good, I reckon. Do you want to go take a look?” The expression on Monty’s face betrays nothing, as stoic as usual, but his voice trembles with emotion. 

Still, neither he nor Effie pries about the specifics or overreacts in any other way to the bombshell James has dropped on them. They accept the news of becoming grandparents, as indirect as it was, in their stride, despite wishing for a little one to spoil for ages. 

“Yeah,” James replies with a smile. He’s pretty sure several tears escape out of the corner of his eyes, but his parents pretend to overlook those, too. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good,” Monty slaps his thighs. “Just give me a moment to finish my chocolate.”

The trip from the Manor to the outskirts of Hollow is short, but even caught up in his excitement, James can’t once again help but marvel at how beautiful the village is.

It looks like it belongs on a postcard.

All the houses are built from honey-hued stone and draped with ivy, showcasing a myriad of yellow and blue colors in the fall. The winding streets are lined with trees and evergreen bushes, and the frost glittering on the dark rooftops and smoke curling out from the chimneys lend the whole scene a touch of fairy-tale charm. 

Henry’s old home appears a bit neglected in comparison when it emerges after they reach the end of the street and continue along a narrow road for a while. No lights glow in the windows, no flowers grow in the front garden. Only a gate hanging off its hinges, rusty, the paint mostly peeled off, offers them a raspy greeting.

 Just as James remembers, the ancient manor is partly isolated on the outskirts, constructed from the same pale stone as most buildings in the village, with towering windows and a slate roof. The garden is overrun with weeds, but James recognizes what used to be an herb patch, hiding under the nettles and chickweed.

And it can become one again. Regulus will love growing the ingredients for his potions.

There’s a dilapidated wooden fence in the back, separating the grounds from a meadow with a running stream, flanked by a grove of birches and maples. 

Despite the slight air of neglect, the scene emanates a sense of peace. A sense of belonging. James’ heart gives a powerful thump. Home. This could be home for him, Regulus, and Harry. For their family. If Regulus consents to his proposition.

“So, Jamie. What do you think?” Monty, until now standing quietly by James’ side, interrupts his reverie.

“I think it’s perfect,” he answers with a grin.

Monty lets out a good-natured chuckle. “Let’s hope you don’t change your mind when we inspect it more closely.”

“Nothing short of a Dementor lurking in the toilet would spoil my impression at this point,” James laughs, giving free way to his delight as he heads inside.

And he’s right. The interior looks more run-down than he expected, with peeling wallpaper, suspicious rust stains running from the ceiling down the walls, and creaking floorboards that have succumbed to rot in places, but nothing can dampen his spirits. Not even the nest of ghouls in the attic that sends them shooting hexes backward as they flee downstairs.

“A perfect death trap,” Effie mutters, dusting off her skirt when they head back after a thorough exploration. “Are you positive this is a good idea? Perhaps you could build a lovely new house from the ground up. Make sure it has everything you need and none of the airborne diseases.”

James shakes his head. “We’d never manage in time, and I’m on a bit of a deadline here. Besides, I like this place. It has solid bones.” As if on cue, a doxy shoots out from behind a curtain and whips through the air straight for his face. 

With a lazy flick of his wand, he immobilizes the creature, and the tiny dark body hits the floor with a much heavier thunk than one would expect based on its size. “And character,” he amends. “Don’t worry, Mum, it’s like Dad said. Nothing a lick of magic won’t fix.” 

“Jamie’s right, my love. Besides, I’ll lend him a hand with the remodel, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Monty says, pressing a kiss to Effie’s temple. The stern expression on her face melts a fraction.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” she says with a sigh. “But I can see you boys are decided, and I suppose it would be nice if the old house were alive with pitter-patter of tiny feet instead of ghoul wails. I assume you’ll bring Sirius around to help out?” 

“Well.” James shuffles on his feet, avoiding his mother’s penetrating gaze. She could always read him like an open book, and Merlin knows he’s got plenty to hide. “Yeah. Maybe. He might not have the time to spare. The hospital keeps him on a tight leash, especially this time of year.”

“Knowing Sirius, he will find a way. The boy would move heaven and earth for you, James. Unless there’s something else at play here. Something you’re not telling us.” Effie measures him through narrowed eyes, hands resting on her hips. Clearly, she’s not falling for James’ act.

Sweat breaks out on his forehead. 

So much is going on. So much that Sirius will probably never forgive him. Asking him to participate in restoring the future home for his estranged brother might be the last straw. Of course, James can hardly share this information with his mother.

Thankfully, his father takes pity on him and comes to his rescue.

“Cut him some slack, Effie. You’re familiar with how James and Sirius are, attached at the hip since they were eleven. They’re more than capable of settling their problems between themselves. Now, let’s head to ours to make a plan of action for the renovations. I suggest we start with the bathroom.”

“Very much in favor of that,” James agrees and rushes out after his father. Anything to get the ball rolling. And to avoid his mother’s all-knowing gaze. He can feel it burning into his back all the way to Potter Manor, where they spend the rest of the day planning the refurbishment of the Potter-Black family’s future home. 

James

31 weeks along, November 5th

The next morning finds James manning the stove in the house he shares with Sirius. 

“Look who the Kneazle finally dragged in,” Sirius says after emerging from his bedroom as he drops into a chair and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

The bastard still manages to look better than most people after several hours of careful grooming despite an imprint of a pillow on his cheek, his hair tangled into a messy knot on top of his head, and yawning so hugely his jaw lets out an honest-to-Merlin click.

In all the years James has known him, Sirius has never been a morning person, and no amount of early shifts made a dent in his disgust for rolling out of bed before nine. The only thing that changed over the years was his caffeine preferences. A devoted tea drinker, he switched to coffee after becoming a Healer at St. Mungo’s, a career that, in his own words, is just as rewarding as it is fucking exhausting, and tea no longer does the trick, Prongsie.

James’ stomach clenches, and a lump forms in his throat, forcing him to swallow convulsively, and when he does, he tastes salt on his tongue.

I’m gonna miss living with him so bloody much. 

The intensity of his reaction catches James off guard, but really, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, should it? Sirius has been his roommate since he was eleven. It started with sharing a dorm at Hogwarts. After graduation, they bought a house together and never looked back. Until today. 

Today, James is bringing the arrangement to an end. Granted, he’s excited about the reason for moving out, but that doesn’t mean he can’t mourn the fact that for the first time in fifteen years, he’s going to live apart from Sirius.

One could even say it’s the end of an era.

“You’re one to talk,” James says, taking great pains to keep his tone light as he resumes finishing breakfast. He pretends to be fascinated by what’s happening on the stove to hide his expression from Sirius, who is too perceptive for his own good—for James’ good too, in fact—and who will definitely notice something is wrong if James starts sobbing into eggs and bacon. “Moony’s not joining us today?”

“Nah.” A blissed-out sigh tells James that Sirius has finished his coffee. “Visiting his folks this week.”

“And you’re not there for emotional support?” Since they started dating, Remus and Sirius have been attached at the hip, sometimes to James’ annoyance because he wasn’t used to sharing his best friend, so Sirius sitting the visit out is unusual.

“I’ve been banished.” 

James doesn’t have to see his friend’s face to hear his grimace in the shape of his words, and he makes an appropriate sympathetic clucking sound with his tongue.

“I sense a story there.”

“No story if you don’t count Lyall being a bloody hypocrite. Can’t stand the bloke, but he’s a package deal if Remus wants to stay in touch with his mum, and he loves Hope. As he should. She’s wonderful. But I’ve been apparently causing tension just because I pointed out that the fucking restrictions Lyall’s pushing are complicating life for his only son and that he’s had twenty-one fucking years to witness firsthand not all werewolves were savage beasts—” 

When Sirius’ voice takes on a growling quality, James hurries to cut him off. He needs his friend to be in a good mood today, not working himself up into a fit. “I get the picture. And at any rate, it worked out perfectly because I have you to myself.”

“Always happy to spend one-on-one time with you, my deer.” Sirius bats his eyelashes at him.

“That’s great, but I’ve actually got news to share.” 

Sirius drops the jokes, his face growing pensive. “Alright. What’s going on, James?”

“We should eat first,” he dodges the question.

The breakfast looks about ready, the bacon sizzling and crispy, the eggs done to runny perfection, and the beans—well, they’re beans, so they look the same regardless of what anyone does to them. With a couple of hurried spells, James arranges the food on the plates, toasts a mountain of bread in an instant thanks to a charm Effie taught him when he was ten and so badly wanted to help with cooking, and sends everything floating to the table, where it joins a pitcher of orange juice and the kettle of coffee, adding to the mouth-watering aromas filling the air. 

“You can tell me while we eat. Let’s have it, Prongs. I’d rather get the bad news out of the way first. What’s the matter? Effie and Monty alright? You were there yesterday, weren’t you? Don’t leave me stewing in uncertainty,” Sirius says as he spreads butter on a slice of toast with relish.

“How do you figure it’s bad news? Could be good. Could be neutral. There’s no way to tell.” 

Sirius makes a vague gesture encompassing the spread before him. “You only go house elf and treat me to a full fry-up when you’re trying to butter me up. Case in point.” He waves the knife he’s clutching in the air like a convicted murderer, spraying a mix of melted butter and toast crumbs everywhere.

Yep, James called it. Way too perceptive. 

I guess that’s the disadvantage of sharing living quarters with someone for over a decade. Living quarters—and a brain cell. 

The lump in James’ throat returns with a vengeance, as though determined to prevent him from speaking up. But there’s no postponing the announcement, not with Regulus’ due date looming so close. Not with Henry’s cottage waiting for refurbishment and, hopefully, a new family to make it their own. Hastily, he gulps down some juice to wash down the tightness in his vocal cords and jumps straight in before he loses his nerve.

“I’m moving out.”

“Merlin, Prongs. Can’t a bloke make a joke around here? I was just kidding. No reason to get your knickers in a twist.” Sirius barely lifts his eyes as he carries on stuffing his face.

James groans. “No, you wanker. That was my news. I’m moving out.”

“What? No. You can’t be serious.” Sirius sets the knife aside and wiggles his forefinger. “Nuh-uh. No wisecracks. You’re better than that, Jamesie.”

“We’re both fully aware I am very much not,” he quips back, infusing his voice with an amusement he doesn’t feel, but hey, fake it till you make it. And the prospect of moving in with Regulus fills him with an ocean of joy, so he has at least something to cushion the blow of losing the constant presence of his best friend.

Sirius’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What brought this on? Is Moony staying over so often bothering you? We can kip at his more if it’s an issue.” 

The suggestion causes James to snort. “At his? You mean the craphole he shares with three other blokes? I would never put you through that. Plus, we both know ‘kip’ is code for ‘shag,’ so Moony’s roommates would probably have you thrown in Azkaban for public indecency after your first ‘sleepover.’”

Sirius shrugs, then leans back in the chair, studying James with an unnerving intensity. “His roommates are Muggles, so a Muggle prison seems more likely, which could be an educational experience, but you’re not entirely wrong.” 

“Fine, for your next birthday, I’m getting you arrested,” James snorts. “But no, I don’t care about Moony spending the night. It’s not you, it’s—”
“If you say ‘me,’ I’m gonna hex you into next week.” 

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s another cliché straight off the list of breakup lines. Are we, James? Breaking up? If that’s the case, at least do me the courtesy of being honest with me.”

“Pipe down; I’m not breaking up with you. Merlin. What a ludicrous idea.” Every drop in James’ body balks at the suggestion. No matter what changes in his life, Sirius remains his constant. His certainty. Unless Sirius drops him like a salamander after he discovers he knocked up the brother he despises. 

“Fine, then. If you must know, I—well, the truth is—fuck, I should’ve written this down—”

“Stop hem-hawing worse than Peter in Transfig and spill,” Sirius snaps, his patience clearly at its end.

James takes a deep breath to settle his nerves, counts to three, and cuts straight to the point. “I met someone, and I want to ask him to move in with me. Plus, I kinda figured you and Moony would enjoy having the place to yourselves. No need for noise-cancelling spells. The option to shag against the bathroom wall whenever your hearts desire without an unsuspecting roommate walking in on you when he needs to take a leak.”

“That’s a good option to have,” Sirius agrees, but his expression remains unreadable. “So. I assume this ‘someone’ is behind all those extra training sessions you’ve been logging in. Or rather, he is the training sessions.” 

Mutely, James nods. For one thing, he can’t deny the accusation since it’s the bloody truth, and for another, he’d rather not provoke Regulus’ jinxes into a choking episode. 

“Well, I appreciate you coming clean and no longer treating me like an idiot. Come on, Prongs. You didn’t think for a minute I bought those ridiculous stories about the coach forcing you to train overnight.”

“Then why didn’t you call my bluff?” For as long as James has known Sirius, he’s never suffered fools gladly. He’s also never allowed anyone to make a fool out of him, so his accepting the excuses when he recognized them for what they were—nothing but feebly constructed fabrications—seems out of character. 

Sirius shrugs before piercing a shred of bacon and egg with a fork and piling some mushrooms and beans on top for that perfect blend of flavors. “Figured you must’ve had a reason for keeping it to yourself and you’d tell me when you felt ready. Took you longer than I expected,” he says without inflection.

James can read the reprimand between the lines of the statement anyway, and for the millionth time in eight months, he kicks himself for his momentary lapse of judgment, fueled by lust, that led him to go behind Sirius’s back. What sounded like a thrilling adventure in theory turned out to be a painful experience in practice. Still, he doesn’t regret what he built with Regulus. He can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he offers lamely, extending his hand across the table.

Sirius eyes it for a while, then briefly squeezes it. “Bygones,” he says, and just like that, the matter is settled.

I have to hope it goes as smoothly when he learns who is moving in with me.

But as terrifying as the thought sounds, it’s a battle for another day. Right now, James decides to enjoy the momentary truce and digs into his untouched pile of food with a renewed appetite.

 “I am going to miss you, though,” Sirius pronounces wistfully through a mouthful of toast. “It will be an adjustment, that’s for sure. I don’t think I remember a time when we weren’t under the same roof except for the holidays at Grimmauld, which I’m doing my damnedest to repress because I wouldn’t wish living with my parents or Reg on my worst enemy.” 

“He’s not so bad,” James mutters absently, his mind elsewhere, already cataloging the tasks he’ll need to tackle first in Henry’s—his—new house. There’s the bathroom, which means plumbing, and he has zero knowledge on the subject—does his dad know what’s necessary for pipe installation? Or perhaps he’s got Muggle or Muggleborn friends they could ask for help. And then they have to fix the floors and exterminate the ghouls and check for rot and—

“And how would you know?” The sudden suspicion in Sirius’ voice breaks through James’ imaginary lists, gaining his attention. 

He lifts his gaze from his plate and finds Sirius measuring him with narrowed eyes, the perfect slashes of his eyebrows pulled together with a thoughtful wrinkle forming between them. “When have you ever talked to my brother, Prongs?”

“Ugh, never? What kind of question is that? Me, talking to Regulus. Don’t be daft.” 

“I just find the coincidence curious.” Sirius taps his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “You have a mysterious boyfriend you’re sneaking around with, you intend to move in with him without ever introducing him to me, and now you have opinions on my brother’s character when, according to your own words, you two never exchanged more than greetings at Flourish and Blotts.”

James begins to sweat, desperately wishing he were somewhere else. In France, for example. Where he’d ask Reg to tape his stupid mouth shut forever before it spouts more dumb stuff, revealing all his secrets by accident. “You can tell a lot from a greeting. Don’t put much stock in it, Pads. It was just a thing you say. You know, stuff like, ‘Some weather we’re having,’ or ‘He’s not a bad bloke,’ when the fella is clearly an unhinged lunatic who tortures Krups for fun, but he’s your aunt Mildred’s favorite, so you can never say that out loud.” 

“I’m not your aunt Mildred, though. And Regulus is definitely not my favorite.”

The discussion is veering off track too fast. Desperate, James holds up his hands in a peaceful gesture, hoping to regain a measure of control. “Of course. Sorry, Pads. I don’t know what came over me.”

“If you say so.” The tone of Sirius’ voice suggests his doubts remain, but either he isn’t in the mood to discuss Regulus further or refuses to ruin one of their rare moments together that have been growing increasingly further and further apart because he switches the topic entirely.

“You never told me where your new place is. How far will I need to Apparate when I fancy you making me breakfast?” 

Relieved, James accepts the peace offering. “Hollow, actually. Remember Grandpa Henry’s house? I asked Dad if it’s okay for me to renovate it, and he said yes.”

Sirius barks out his signature laugh. “And you have the nerve to call Remus’ flat a craphole. That house is a health hazard if I’ve ever seen one.”

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper,” James agrees.

“Understatement of the year. Nothing against old Henry, but he was not all there by the end, and that place is gonna require some serious elbow grease if you want to make it livable again.”

“You sound just like Mum.”

“Which proves I’m right because Mum is a very wise woman.”

“No need to suck up to her, she can’t hear you.” James throws a piece of toast at Sirius, but he tilts to the side with careless elegance, ducking the bread projectile.

“For a person who’s paid to throw stuff around, you’re rubbish at this.”

“Hey, your head hardly counts as a regulation goalpost. Open that big trap of yours and let me try again. I bet I can get a piece inside then,” James laughs, grateful they’ve managed to restore their usual light-hearted way of communication. Treating each other with suspicion and analyzing each remark like a hex that might go off at any second has never been them. Their typical mode of operation has always been complete openness. Two minds operating on the same frequency, often so fast that others have no chance of keeping up with them. 

“That’s what he said,” Sirius quips, but then his expression grows more somber. “You know you can count on me to help. Provided you want it,” he says casually, but James hears the question behind the words.

He gets off his chair, pulls Sirius up, and brings him into a rough hug, breathing in the familiar scent of his friend. Leather and ozone and the faintest whiff of wet dog. “I would bloody appreciate that so much. You have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” Sirius says, squeezing him back. “I’ve seen the house.”

“And you don’t mind doing this for someone you’ve never met?”

“I’m not doing it for him, am I? I’m doing it for you. Besides, I reckon he’s gonna move in soon, and you’ll introduce us then. Unless you decide to stash him in the basement every time we visit.”

“Pretty sure he’s not the stashable kind.”

Although it’d simplify James’ life significantly if he were. Just thinking about introducing Sirius to his new boyfriend, meaning his younger brother, causes him to break out in hives.

“See? All good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah. I’ll take your word for it.” James is a hundred percent sure Sirius will have a change of heart about what constitutes a ‘good thing’ when he introduces Regulus and their son to him. 

Harry. His son. The concept never fails to amaze James. He’s going to have a son with the man he loves. With the man he’s fancied for years. Let’s hope little Harry is cute enough to melt the contempt Sirius holds for his brother because he really wants Uncle Sirius to be in Harry’s life.

“I do, and I know I’m never wrong.”

“Debatable,” James laughs into Sirius’ shoulder, then pulls back a bit. “Thanks, Pads. For understanding. For having my back, always. For being the best friend I could’ve asked for.” 

“Please, don’t go all mushy on me, Prongs,” Sirius retorts with disdain, which would fool most people into thinking he’s an aloof bastard, unaffected by his best mate leaving. James, however, is painfully familiar with the inner workings of Sirius Black and all the tricks and strategies to prove he’s a heartless cynic, so he takes it in stride. And he doesn’t call Sirius on his bluff, either. He deserves to retain his dignity, especially considering the news James is about to unleash on him in a month.

“It’s just getting to me a little, is all.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, but they look suspiciously shiny doing so. Then he claps James’ shoulder one last time before stepping back. 

 “Neither of us is dying. Moony and I will be over at yours all the time. You know we can’t bake for shit.” 

“I’m familiar. And you’ll always be welcome.” A niggle of insecurity prickles between his ribs since he can’t promise that—not with certainty. Not on Regulus’ behalf. However, he hopes the brothers will eventually mend fences. They have to. Because James can’t imagine losing either one of them. 

If I have to lock them in a room for a week until they hash their old grievances out, I’m gonna do it and chill with Harry in the meantime.

Acting on an unspoken agreement, both James and Sirius abandon the heavy discussion and, with the breakfast finished, proceed to tackle the dishes together with the effectiveness that comes from long years of cohabitation and, yes, two minds working in sync. 

“Do you think you’re gonna ask Moony to move in?” James swallows the ‘finally’ on the tip of his tongue before he tacks it to the end of the sentence. While Sirius and Remus have only been dating for a year, they have technically known each other their whole lives. But given his situation, James doesn’t feel comfortable passing judgment, so he refrains from voicing any personal observations. Instead, he focuses on floating the dishes into their designated slots after they’ve been thoroughly scrubbed and dried.

“I might,” Sirius hedges. He sounds more hesitant than James is used to hearing from his proud, self-assured to the point of arrogance, friend.

“What’s the hold-up?”

“Don’t you think it’s too soon?” 

“Mate. You’ve known him since you were eleven, you get along great, his place is not fit for human or werewolf habitation, and you’re essentially living together already.” James points at Remus’ novelty mug saying, ‘I’m gonna love you for oolong time,’ sitting on the table, at the book of Muggle stories about a veterinarian Remus re-reads every time he’s feeling down, lying on the window sill, then proceeds to open the pantry and shows Sirius Remus’ favorite brand of toast bread and cereal occupying the shelves.

“I rest my case.”

“You have a point.” Sirius scrubs his hand through his hair.

“Bet your bike I have.” 

After all, I’m moving in together with someone after only nine months—if he agrees. 

“In my opinion, it makes no sense to wait. Unless you think there’s no future.”

Sirius shakes his head so fast his face blurs for a second. “No. That’s not what I think. I love him so fucking much, Prongs. I never expected it—never saw it coming, not in school, not for years later, but when we started dating, it was like, like…” Sirius’ voice fades out as a dreamy expression settles on his face. He’s propped against the kitchen counter, eyes hazy with a memory James isn’t privy to, the sharp, striking features of his face outlined by the morning sun, lost in his own private world.

“Like finding the last puzzle piece, slotting it into place and completing the whole picture. Everything suddenly—fits,” James finishes, the image of Regulus blazing in his mind.

“Speaking from experience, loverboy?” Sirius asks with a smirk.

“Yes,” James smiles, returning to the dishes. “And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. So you should take my advice and let yourself be happy.”

Sirius hums, not acknowledging his words otherwise, but a smile appears on his face and doesn’t fade the whole time they continue the clean-up.

When they finish, James is itching to head to the Hollow and kick off the remodel because he’s on a tight deadline, but he feels too guilty for abandoning Sirius on their rare day together. 

Which, of course, doesn’t slip past Sirius’ notice. They can both read each other with ridiculous ease. Everyone used to joke back in school, and Moony and Peter occasionally still do, that they were hit by a misfired Legilimency spell as children, granting them the ability to hear each other’s thoughts. An ability that helped them out of a tight spot as often as it got them into one. 

“Come on. Let’s take a look at your new house to see what we’re dealing with,” Sirius announces after a while. “Before you drive me mental with that leg bouncing.” 

James glances at the offending limbs and freezes mid-motion, blushing, then jumps from his seat and tackles Sirius into a hug. “Thanks, Pads,” he screams into his face, giving free rein to the joy coursing through his veins. “Last to arrive is a giant toad!” he shouts before speeding off.

Never one to resist a challenge, Sirius instantly matches his frantic pace, so they appear in the Hollow at the same time.

From then on, they launch into fixing the house in earnest. James spends his every free moment between training sessions and sleeping over at Regulus’ place tearing down walls, repairing floors, and laying pipes under the supervision of a Muggleborn friend of Monty’s. Thankfully, he’s got plenty of helpers. Monty and Effie provide as much support as they can. And since they’re both powerful wizards in their own right, familiar with each nook and cranny of the property, it’s quite a lot. 

Effie has a knack for interior design and recognizing which adjustments will help turn the somewhat stuffy old building into an open, welcoming space, while Monty excels at keeping everyone’s spirits up and baking fresh treats for them every day—to maintain energy levels, in his words, but in James’ opinion, he simply wants to make their days a little sweeter.

In short, everyone pitches in as much as they can, with James having the final say, but it’s Sirius who does most of the heavy lifting, outpacing everyone. His job doesn’t leave him with much spare time, but every chance he has, every break between shifts, no matter how brief, he arrives without fail and works tirelessly until he has to return to St. Mungo’s again. 

James is certain Sirius has never used construction magic before, not to such an extent, and yet he casts spell after spell with ease, transforming entire rooms with a single word, changing the foundations with a flick of his hand. James overflows with gratitude for his best friend’s support, and his mood is only slightly spoiled by the knowledge he hasn’t been completely honest with him. Hopefully, Sirius will find it in himself to forgive him once he learns the truth behind the identity of James’ partner.

Sometimes, Remus comes to join them, but the strenuous tasks combined with cold weather wreak havoc on his constitution, plus his job at Hogwarts always hits its busiest peak right before Christmas, so his appearances are a rare treat. James appreciates the gesture regardless, especially when Remus shoots him a knowing look and a smile, letting him know he’s not alone with his secret.

Remus and Sirius raise their collective eyebrows when James transforms the room on the first floor in the southeast corner with a view of the garden into a nursery. He decorates the walls with pictures of deer, black dogs, wolves, and rats frolicking among flowers and deflects all questions about the future inhabitant of the room with a secretive smile and the word ‘soon,’ which drives everyone up the wall, but no one more than Effie.

Hopefully, after several more weeks of unrelenting work, the old house will have undergone such a transformation that it will be unrecognizable. James, the hopeless romantic, aims at finishing the renovations before Christmas, both because he loves the symbolism of giving Regulus a home as a Christmas present, but more importantly, because December 22nd is Regulus’ due date.

And thanks to the combined effort of his family and friends, they’re right on track to meet the deadline, remaking the ramshackle structure into a luxurious but cozy home, one spell at a time. If they continue like this, the house will soon stand ready to be filled with conversations and laughter, with shared meals and occasional arguments. With hope. With love.

And then, only one task will remain.

The most daunting task of them all.

Asking Regulus the most important question James has ever asked anyone.

Chapter Text

James

35 weeks along, December 2nd 

When James arrives in Revel at the beginning of December, the scenery greeting him looks stolen straight out of an old Christmas postcard. The trees are blanketed with frost glitter in the setting sun; squirrels are hopping among the branches, the grass is covered with a fresh dusting of snow, crunching under his step, and his breath mists in the frosty air with each exhale.

The work on the cottage in Hollow wrapped up a week ago, but he was too busy with training to pop by the chalet earlier. They called each other through the mirror every day, but it’s a poor substitute for holding Regulus in his arms, enveloped in his warmth and breathing in his sweet scent. Hopefully, his schedule should be less hectic now, at least until the baby comes. His lips curve in a smile. Yes, taking care of an infant will be mayhem of its own, but one he can’t wait to experience.

Today, James finally got some time off, and he intends to use it to spring the surprise on Regulus. He’s even carrying a small velvet box containing a key to the property tucked safely in the breast pocket of his winter robes. Well, technically, he’s carrying two boxes, but he doubts he’ll use the second one anytime soon. But should the opportunity present itself… No. He mustn’t get his hopes up. First, he’ll show Regulus the cottage, and he’ll see how things unfold from there.

When he enters, he finds the sitting room and kitchen are empty, meaning Regulus is probably napping upstairs. The end stage of pregnancy has been taking a toll on him. Unable to find a comfortable position due to the size of his stomach and the baby’s constant kicking, Regulus has had trouble sleeping and has taken to sneaking in brief naps during the day.

With that in mind, James opens the bedroom door as quietly as possible so as not to wake him, but once he takes a scan of the scene in front of him, he stops dead in his tracks, powerless to do anything more than gape. 

Regulus isn’t asleep. Far from it. He’s leaning against the headboard, his back propped up with a pillow, wide awake and naked as the day he was born. James’ eyes roam his nude form, spread out on the grey satin sheets like a filthy feast, ready to be devoured. His creamy white skin glows as the honeyed fingers of winter sun glide over his body with an adoring touch. Worshipping him. James has never been jealous of the sun, given it’s an inanimate celestial object, but right now, he fights the urge to swat the rays away and replace them with his hands. Nobody but him is allowed to touch Regulus. 

A red satin ribbon is tied around Regulus’ midsection with a neat bow on the top, begging to be untied. James’ hand twitches with a reflexive motion, but after employing a great deal of restraint, he brings his impulses under control and doesn’t reach out to unwrap Regulus like the most incredible present he’s received since he got a Silver Arrow for Christmas when he was thirteen. 

“Well?” Regulus asks, tossing his head, which makes his hair, long after the months with no scissors touching them, whip around his face and then gently cascade down his shoulders in jet-black streams with the one white lock shining between them brighter than his namesake star. “Are you just going to stand there as though someone put the body-bind hex on you?” he says, eyes glinting with challenge.

“Um.” James came here with a clear goal. An important goal. If only he could remember what it was. Every intention, Merlin, every word he’s ever learned, evaporated from his head the second his gaze landed on Regulus. 

Heavily pregnant and completely nude Regulus. No glamour in the world could mask his condition now, with only three weeks left until his due date. His belly is round like a Quaffle but quite a bit larger. Enormous, in fact, and James loves every inch. He loves the silken skin stretched taut over the firm globe. He loves rubbing a tincture he developed specifically against stretch marks into it. He loves how it ripples and undulates under his palm when the baby inside moves. 

Regulus occasionally whinges about how big he is, but James is always quick to dispel his concerns with heartfelt words and heated kisses that end up with them fucking more often than not. Although lately, with Regulus’ about to pop, James has begun employing other methods of proving his attraction as well. Ones less likely to induce premature labor. Regulus doesn’t seem to mind James getting creative, several times on certain days, and James doesn’t mind either. The opposite, in fact. Making Regulus Black fall apart with nothing but his mouth and hands is a privilege he thoroughly enjoys and wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“At least close the door behind you if you’re not going to talk. You’re letting the draft in,” Regulus instructs him with a long-suffering sigh. 

James obeys without a word, as his language unit remains woefully out of commission. The sound of the latch clicking shut sounds like a firework going off, making him wince. 

“What’s the matter, Jamie? Don’t like your present? I figured I’d give you an early one since I’ll probably be in the hospital over Christmas, but you don’t look all that pleased,” Regulus pouts, his elegant hands sliding over the curve of his belly and lower, to his cock. It’s not jutting up as usual, thanks to the weight pressing on it, but it’s fully hard, the head swollen and weeping. Regulus’ graceful fingers wrap around the shaft, their paleness an almost obscene contrast with a shade of red so dark it’s verging on purple. James has to force himself to swallow, but his throat is so dry that it proves almost impossible. He can’t tear his eyes away from the show Regulus is putting on for him, certain the visual will forever remain seared into his memory. But as a small mercy, his power of speech finally returns. 

“No, I like it. Trust me. If I liked it a slightest bit more, I’d probably come.” He gives a rueful chuckle and takes a step forward, his body moving on instinct, desperate to erase the distance separating him from Regulus. 

So what if he’s barely three strides of his long legs away? It’s three strides too many. James is burning with the need to be as close to Regulus as possible. To unravel the maddening ribbon slowly, oh so slowly, letting the silk whisper down Regulus’ creamy skin. To run his hands all over Regulus’ body once it’s free of all constraints. To fasten his lips to the fragile expanse of Regulus’ throat. To replace Regulus’ fingers around his cock with his own, pumping slowly and bringing Regulus to the edge, only to stop at the last possible moment. And again, and again and again until he’d reduce Regulus to nothing more than a sweaty mess, writhing between the sheets, his skin glistening with sweat, his body arching as much as his condition allows, so beautiful, yearning for a release James continues to deny him until he can’t take it anymore. Only then would he grant him relief. 

The picture is so clear in his mind that he stumbles when Regulus halts him with a glare and an imperious shake of his head. 

“Stay where you are.” 

“What? Why? Am I being punished?” James whines. Merlin, he sounds pathetic, but he’s going to combust if he doesn’t touch Regulus in the next few seconds.

“Not at all. If anything, I’m rewarding you.” Regulus points at the comfy armchair opposite the bed. “Sit back. Relax. And enjoy your gift.” He winks. Sweet heavens. That man will be the death of James. 

“Anything for you, my love.” James plonks down, his eyes trained on Regulus so he doesn’t miss a second of anything he might have planned. He’s already rock-hard and aching, only from trading barbs with Regulus—granted, Regulus without a stitch of clothing—but still. Chances are, he’s going to embarrass himself today if he doesn’t get his libido under control.

“On the contrary, darling. This is all for you. Tell me. Are you comfortable?”

James gives a thready laugh. “Parts of me.” His cock is straining under his robes, tenting them in a painfully obvious fashion. Of all the days to forgo wearing trousers. Or underwear. Every time the fabric rubs against the oversensitive head, it adds more fuel to his suffering.

Regulus zeroes in on the, eh, let’s call it situation, and a pink flush spills over his chest. “I see.” Then he snaps his head back up, not acknowledging James’ pathetic state any further. “Before we can begin, we should go over the ground rules.”

“Rules? Why do we need rules?”

Regulus disregards the question. “Rule number one. You’re allowed to watch, but you’re forbidden to lay a finger on me.”

“No. Hard disagree. I have so many objections.”

“Rule number two,” Regulus continues, once more turning a deaf ear to James’ protests, or doing a good job pretending, “you can make sounds and even talk to me, but you can’t touch yourself.”

“Regulus.” The name comes out in the form of a whine. “That’s inhuman. It’s—it’s torture. You can’t possibly be this cruel.”

“I’ve never been known for my kindness. Rule number three. The most important one. You can’t come until I give you permission.” 

“Ugh.” James’ cock gives a massive pulse at Reg’s imperious tone. “Yeah, that might be a problem.” He lifts his hand, about to grind its heel into the base for a shred of relief, when Regulus retrieves his wand from the nightstand and freezes James’ action with a lazy flick. Wordlessly. The indifferent show of power does nothing to douse the raging flames of James’ lust. If anything, it stokes them higher.

“Nuh-uh. What did I say? No touching. You’ll have to employ a hands-off approach to self-control, Jamie.” Regulus puts the wand away and takes himself in hand, giving himself a long, sensuous stroke. His eyes are heavy-lidded, gleaming with a dark amusement like two cinders smoldering with heat that’s about to be rekindled into an inferno. “I suggest trying to solve arithmancy equations in your head. That always worked for me.” Regulus moves his hand with excruciating slowness, dragging it lazily up and down his shaft until he squeezes out a fat pearl of precum. He gathers it on his forefinger and pauses for a beat to study it before he wraps his tongue around his digit and licks it clean.

James bucks in the chair as an intense shot of desire tears through him. His cock jumps violently, gushing out such a thick spurt of precum he actually thinks he might’ve come already. But once the moment passes, he realizes he’s still harder than he’s ever been in his life, so when Regulus hikes up an eyebrow in question, he’s able to shake his head without it being a lie.

The incident, however, didn’t inspire much faith in his endurance. “What if I fail to comply?”

“Then I’ll have to punish you,” Regulus replies, unperturbed, still jacking himself slowly.

How does he manage to look so collected? 

Clearly, Regulus has a much better hold on his urges compared to James. Yes, he’s obviously hard, but the way he maintains conversation, cool and unbothered, as if they’re discussing the weather, as if he’s not currently driving James absolutely mad with desire, would never suggest he’s the least bit aroused.

“Punish how?” James asks, his eyes riveted on Regulus. 

Meanwhile, Regulus brings his other hand into play, drawing idle circles on his belly, which of course immediately snatches James’ attention. He adores the bump and what it symbolizes. The knowledge that it’s his baby in there awakens something deeply primal and possessive inside him. Besides Regulus, gorgeous, haughty Regulus with a big, pregnant belly, is a visual that would render most people incoherent, and James is no exception. 

“However I choose. Body-bind, likely, but maybe an inspiration strikes me and I’ll get more creative,” Regulus all but purrs, his movements picking up pace. “But if I remember correctly from our first—union,” he infuses his voice with meaning, “you boasted not having any endurance issues, so this shouldn’t pose a challenge.” 

“I might’ve overestimated my resilience. Or underestimated the lengths to which you’d go to prove a point.”

“So suspicious, Jamie. When all I wanted to do was give you a little Christmas treat.” 

Merlin, the pout is back. Paired with the petulant tone of voice, the red tinge climbing from Regulus’ throat into his cheeks, and his elegant fingers toying with his crown, it’s reducing James into a puddle of lust.

I wonder if it’s possible to die from being inordinately turned on.

Regulus smirks as if he hears James’ thoughts, and his hand begins to move with greater urgency. Every once in a while, he abandons his cock to tease his pecks a little. The area that used to be nothing but flat muscles and modest buds of nipples is now gently raised, the nipples obscenely pink and sweating drops of white liquid. A bit of an unexpected development that took Regulus a while to accept, but it seems as though he’s learned to embrace it. James is not complaining. In fact, he’s so not complaining that his approval escapes as a loud moan. 

“I’ll be good. I promise to be good.” He swallows thickly, his fingers digging into the armrests so they don’t do any unapproved wandering.

“That’s how I like you. Meek. Obedient. See, I might be knocked-up, and I might want you every waking moment, but I’m not completely helpless. I’ve got some tricks at my disposal yet.” 

“I’ve never doubted, Starling. Never meant to suggest otherwise. You have to know I’m desperate for you. You have me under your spell—had since the moment you waltzed into my locker room, all poised and elegant and fuck.”

Regulus slides his hand under his sack, throwing his back with a hoarse groan, and James loses the thread of his thought. 

“No, keep going. Keep telling me how much you wanted me. How much you still want me.” Regulus’ hand is a blur now, his movements losing their fluidity and becoming quick and choppy.

“Starling. I want you so much it’s almost killing me. So much you need a threat of a body-binding curse to keep me in place because all I want to do right is swallow you down and feel that beautiful cock of yours pulse as you come down my throat.” 

Regulus tilts his head up with a loud moan, the tendons in his neck a sharp relief under his skin, glazed with a fine sheen of perspiration. He’s jerking himself fast now, too absorbed in his pleasure to continue torturing James. Regulus looks like he’s caught in his own snare, losing control of the situation and desperate to come. At least James thinks so until his own hand wanders downward with every intention of stroking himself through the fabric. 

Regulus, seemingly ignorant of his surroundings, snaps his gaze up to him. “Don’t,” he warns. Yes, his voice is hoarse and husky with pleasure, but the meaning is clear. “Unless you want to be punished.” 

“Watching you and being unable to do anything is punishment enough. This is agony, Reg, I need to, damn it, I need to come or to touch you and see you come, anything, please, love, I’ll do anything,” James all but sobs, all his dignity forsaken, but he can no longer find enough energy to care. His world has shrunk to the view of Regulus Black on the brink of an orgasm and his own cock throbbing without pause in sync with Regulus’ movements.

“I love it when you’re so pathetic for me.” 

“Reggie, did you miss what I said before? I’ve always been pathetic for you. And I always will be.”

“Ah—shit—can’t last with you being so bloody earnest,” Regulus curses, throwing his head back again. 

“So don’t. Let go, baby.”

“Jamie,” he moans James’ names as his cock erupts, shooting rope after rope of white all over the smooth skin on the underside of his belly. Regulus’ eyes remain screwed tight as he rides his climax to the finish, chest flushed red and heaving from exertion. 

The entire time, James drinks in every detail, etching it in his memory for safekeeping. The way Regulus’ hair clings to his temples, glossy and damp with sweat. The way his freckles stand out in stark contrast against his flushed skin. The way the sun at dusk burnishes his form with molten gold. The way his cum drips from his belly back onto his cock, his thighs, and even the sheets. They were so pristine in the beginning, and now they are bunched and wrinkled from the intensity of it all.

For a stretch, the image sears away James’ physical sensations, making him forget about his cock, about his desperate craving for release, but the second Regulus opens his eyes and the corner of his mouth curls into a knowing smirk, his body’s demands remind him of their existence with loud, insistent voices he’s unable to drown out. 

“Please tell me I’m allowed to move now.” 

“Hm. Let me think about that.” Regulus taps his chin, pretending to consider James’ request, somehow haughty despite being pregnant and sweaty and covered in cum. Or precisely because of that. 

“Sure, take all the time you need while I’m here, hanging by a fucking thread.” 

“So impatient, but I’ve yet to hear the magic word.”

“What word? Expelliarmus? Finite incantatem?” James asks, bewildered. What in Merlin’s name is Regulus on about right now? “Please, Reg, tell me what I should do.”

“Ah. So you do know it. Very well then. Since you asked so nicely.”

James swallows a bout of unhinged laughter. “Thank you.”

“Are you planning to return the favor and show off for me now?”

“No. I’ve got a better idea.” He gets off the chair, stretching like a cat before stalking to the bed where Regulus is still sprawled out, watching James with wide eyes. 

With utmost care, James tugs at the loose end of the ribbon, and it unravels like a dream, sliding down Regulus’ belly with a hiss, the quiet sound so erotic James has to screw his eyes shut for a moment and calm himself down through a series of deep breaths.

He disrobes with a spell and kicks the clothes aside. Once he sets his wand down on the bedside table, he climbs after Regulus, not waiting a second longer to claim his mouth in a kiss while cupping his belly. 

“So close now,” he murmurs, stroking Regulus’ stomach, his fingers tracing patterns into the skin and lingering when he discerns motion underneath.

“You’re obsessed with the bump,” Regulus says in a petulant tone, almost as though he’s jealous of James directing his attention elsewhere.

“False. I’m obsessed with you.”

“Yeah, right,” Regulus sneers.

“You don’t believe me? Sweetheart, I adore you,” James says, peppering the area surrounding his belly button with kisses. When Regulus doesn’t respond, he draws himself higher to lick into his mouth until the silence gives way to choked-out moans. 

“Although I have to admit that pregnancy suits you.” He slides lower, flicking his tongue over Regulus’ engorged nipples, savoring the echo of sweetness clinging to them. Cherry-red heat arcs through James as his cock, tested to the brink and further, gushes out another squirt of precum. It drips from the tip onto the sheets, adding to the mess Regulus’ climax left there. “Being so far along looks good on you. You’re perfect like this, so heavy with my child. Bred to the limits.” 

“Who says these are the limits?” Regulus writhes on the bed, curving his body toward James as much as his pregnant state allows him. For a moment, James’ vision blacks out, and when he glances up to meet Regulus’ eyes, he finds them at half-mast and darkened with arousal.

“Do I hear a challenge?”

No answer arrives, except for ragged breathing.

He can’t resist pressing on what clearly is a weak spot, as much as Regulus loves to deny it. “Would you like me to fuck another child into you, Reggie? Or perhaps twins next time?”

“No,” Regulus huffs out. “Maybe. We’ll see. First, fuck this one out of me so I resemble a human again instead of a puffer mushroom about to explode.” 

“Now that’s a picture,” James laughs, although in the privacy of his mind, he concedes he can see the similarity. Poor Regulus does look like he’s going to pop if James only breathes near him. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to hold on a while longer, sweetheart. But I promise to make it as easy on you as possible. To absolutely spoil you. Be at your beck and call twenty-four seven.” 

“Except you haven’t been. Not lately. You’ve been away on some mysterious business you refuse to tell me about.” Regulus’ mouth turns downward, and James brushes their lips together in the hopes of chasing the expression from his face.

“That’s going to change, starting today. I promise to be around more. Additionally, I plan to explain what has been taking up most of my time lately. That’s why I came by today, in fact, but your surprise derailed my plans—not that I’m complaining. So first, let me make you feel good.” He continues to kiss him between words, his tongue spearing in and out of Regulus’ hot mouth. Usually, he’d also grind into him, but that’s no longer an option without endangering the baby.

“Please. You just want to come,” Regulus says, probably aiming for scornful but only achieving pitiful.

“Guilty. But I also want to make you feel good in the process.”

Despite his lust growing claws and tearing him apart from the inside, James guides Regulus over to his side with the gentlest touch. 

“Oh. Jamie. Are you going to fuck me?” The question sounds gravelly, Regulus’ breath catching in his throat. His hands reach backward, searching for James. He lets him drag his body closer, molding to him in a way that’s become familiar over the months of sharing a bed. 

“No. I’ve got something else in mind,” James whispers, brushing Regulus’ hair aside and kissing down his neck. To his delight, a moan escapes him as he bows his back, pressing into James more firmly. 

“Why not?” he demands, grouchy and commanding at the same time.

“First, you’ve just come, so you might be oversensitive.” James kisses Regulus’ shoulder, reveling in the tang of sweat on his tongue. “Second, you’re a little too far along for anything strenuous.”

“I’m not too pregnant to take you.”

“Beg to differ. Let’s not take any chances here, hm? I don’t like the idea of sending you into premature labor. And I bet you’d like to carry our little Prongslet to term so he can be born big and strong. Like his awesome daddy,” James whispers into Regulus’ ear while running his hand up and down the side of his bump.

“Okay, point made. What did you have in mind, then?”

James responds by lifting Regulus’ upper leg slightly and sliding his cock between Regulus’ thighs before easing it back down. He pulls back slowly, letting his length drag against Regulus’ taint until his head catches on his rim. Once he’s satisfied everything is slick from the residue of Regulus’ orgasms and James’ precum, streaming thickly from him now that his own climax is imminent, he thrusts forward with just the right amount of force to nudge Regulus’ balls.

“Oh. Oh. Fuck. This actually—this feels good. Why does this feel so good?”

“Told you. Over-sensitive,” James pants out with effort. The ecstasy of finally touching Regulus, of being so close to him, of feeling his body, hot and keen against him, messes with his ability to think. Or produce coherent sentences.

“Do it again. Please, Jamie.” Regulus’ hips give a stuttered jolt, emphasizing his plea.

But Regulus doesn’t have to beg, since James is already moving, his body rocking into Regulus of its own accord, guided by the urgency he can’t keep in check anymore. Every time his cock rubs against Regulus’ skin, showers of stars explode behind his eyelids. He’s been so riled up from Regulus’ performance before he even started that this will be over pitifully fast. No matter how much he tries to hold on for as long as he can, he’s barreling toward his climax at breakneck speed.

Next to him, Regulus is making quiet, mewling sounds as he undulates against James to make their bodies as flush as possible. If he could melt into James, he probably would, and the thought sends James further down the road to the point of no return.

Experimentally, he reaches under the mound of Regulus’ belly and finds his cock halfway hard, growing fully erect once he wraps his fingers around it and rubs the slit.

“That’s some refractory period,” he squeezes in before thrusting forcefully while doing his best to jerk Regulus in sync with his movements.

“It’s you. You bring it out in me. I want you, I need you so much,” Regulus sobs, his voice a hoarse rasp.

The confession is so startling that it breaks through the horny fog enveloping James’ brain. “I thought it was the hormones.”

“That too. Maybe. A little. But mostly you. Shit. Don’t stop, Jamie. Jamie, love, don’t you dare. Keep going. Keep going. I’m so, so close.”

“Me too, Reggie. Almost there. I want to feel you come when I do.”

“Yes. Please. Yes.” Regulus’ body tenses, and his cock swells a fraction more in James’ grip, alerting him to the fact that he’s run out of time. Thankfully, seeing how he affects Regulus, how the aloof, distant man he used to fantasize about comes undone under his touch, sends James hurtling over the edge in a second flat. 

The two heat points of pleasure at the base of his spine and his gut connect, as if linked by a tether, two explosive substances reacting and causing a tempest to detonate in James’ body. In a haze, he feels Regulus pulse in his hand, his cum dripping over James’ fingers as his orgasm wrings every drop of pleasure out of him with such force it’s almost painful. 

His vision blacks out for a while, leaving only blazing cartwheels behind, and all James can focus on is the immense pleasure raging through his veins. Once the intensity abates, his muscles turn ragged and limp, weighed down by fatigue. He remains awake and doesn’t drift off immediately only because his strict athletic conditioning has made him used to dealing with extreme levels of exhaustion.

“Doing alright there, love?” he asks, looping a possessive arm around Regulus’ chest from behind.

“Depends. On whether you think a person can survive without a brain because I’m sure you fucked mine out.”

James has to swallow a chuckle as he’s sure Regulus would not appreciate his amusement in his clearly vulnerable state. He’d never admit such a thing under normal circumstances.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“As you should.” There’s a hint of Regulus’ usual imperious edge, which sends relief coursing through James. He doesn’t wish to strip him of his snark. It’s one of the things he loves about him.

In the pause that follows, James spells them both clean and then settles behind him again so they can recover while resting snuggled together in silence. Their legs are tangled in a complicated knot, and Regulus brings James’ hand to his chest, linking their fingers. From time to time, James breathes a kiss to the back of Regulus’ head or neck, and for a long stretch of time, they’re content to bask in each other’s presence without uttering a word. 

It’s only when the night arrives that James realizes it’s too late to bring Regulus to the house. Not to mention they’re both knackered and he can’t speak for Regulus, but he’s not overjoyed at the idea of leaving their cozy den.

Tomorrow.

James’ heart leaps into his throat at the prospect.

I’ll show him the house tomorrow.

And then I’ll confess I’m in love with him.

Regulus carefully rolls himself over and snuggles closer, as close as his belly allows. 

“Night, Jamie,” he mutters and drifts off before James gets a chance to reply. 

It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow. 

With a quiet chuckle, James tugs the blanket over them to ensure they’re both fully covered and falls asleep with a broad smile on his lips and the man he loves in his arms.

Chapter Text

Regulus

35 weeks, December 3rd

Regulus wakes up slowly, his body aching from the uncomfortable position he sleeps in to accommodate his pregnancy. For a while, he takes stock of any new developments since he can’t be too careful this close to giving birth. 

Harry seems restless today, fidgeting and poking his insides with surprising force, but that’s not a cause for concern. A lack of movement would be worrying, but not Harry being his usual, active self. Honestly, given who his father is, Regulus wouldn’t expect him to be anything but a spitfire.

According to Axel, the baby assumed the head-down position, which should be ideal for labor, two weeks ago, but that doesn’t at all prevent him from exercising his hands and legs by using Regulus’ bladder as a punching bag and turning his lungs into a trampoline. 

When James wakes, they take their time rolling out of bed and then enjoy a luxurious shower, where they spend ages soaping each other up while trading lazy kisses. The whole affair is disgustingly sweet and domestic, and Regulus wouldn’t trade it for all the gold from the Gringotts vault.

Refreshed and fully alert, they prepare breakfast, or rather, James prepares breakfast while Regulus offers valuable insights, or, in James’ words, ‘bosses him around.’ Once it’s finished, they settle down to eat it together, savoring delicious food, each other’s company, the mountain silence, and the view of sunlight transforming the landscape outside the windows into a painting comprised of millions of bright diamonds.

When they finish eating, Regulus saunters off to the sitting room, leaving James to deal with the dishes. He entertains a hazy dream of completing his current book and then maybe napping in the rare winter sun. That is, until James utters a simple phrase, blowing his fantasies into smithereens. “Put some warm clothes on, love, we’re going out.”

Regulus, who’s made a comfortable nest of blankets for himself on the sofa in the meantime, crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Not really. My jokes tend to be funny. This is not.”

“No argument there. It’s decidedly mental. Because where exactly do you think I’m going in this state?” 

“That’s a Christmas surprise, Reggie. So don’t be a grouch and throw on something warmer so we can head out.”

“It’s not Christmas yet.” Regulus levels James with a stern glare. Over the past few months, he has perfected it into a fine art. Unfortunately, the exposure must have rendered James immune. There’s a lesson in there somewhere about abusing one’s power, but Regulus refuses to learn it.

“Yeah, but it’s your due date before Christmas, and I have that game—please, Reggie? Do this for me?” James hits him with puppy-dog eyes, which prove effective because Regulus’ heart gives a forceful thump, and Harry pokes into a tender spot between his ribs.

Can’t wait for you to get out, you tiny menace.

Under the combined offensive, he lets out a defeated sigh. 

“Fine. But you’d better not take me anywhere public,” he says before retreating into his bedroom, where he puts on a set of winter robes and a dark blue travel cloak before he joins James in front of the fireplace. “So. Here I am. Dressed warmly and humoring you. But make no mistake, you owe me for subjecting me to squeezing through these bloody narrow Floo corridors. I swear they shrink every time I use them.”

“Love, please don’t take this the wrong way, but isn’t it more likely you’ve, um, grown a bit, ugh, bulkier because of the pregnancy? Not that I’m complaining. I love every inch of you. More to worship,” James adds, the smooth bastard. He knows just how to smooth the jagged edges of Regulus’ aggravation, which is why he refuses to play along. Someone needs to keep him on his toes. 

“No. It’s the Floo, and if you recognize what’s good for you, you’ll hold your tongue, or I’ll hold it for you. Permanently.”

“Tempting.”

Regulus assumes the most threatening scowl in his arsenal. “Don’t test me, Potter.

Seemingly chastised, James quits his teasing and mimics zipping his lips, but Regulus refuses to be charmed. “Remember, we need to keep a low profile.” 

Nothing. No response. James is looking upward, whistling casually. Berk. 

“Fine. You can un-shut your mouth. This once.”

Faithful to his act, James unzips his lips. “I promise we’ll be so low gnomes will look like giants.”

Regulus sighs. “This surprise had better be worth putting up with your rubbish.”

“It is, promise. No, I swear it. On Sirius’ life.” 

“You know what? I’ll allow it. Because in that case, I win either way.”

James chokes out a surprised laugh. “Damn, Starling. That was dark even by your standards.”

“You have only yourself to blame. You’re the one who’s dragging me out into the cold when I’m very pregnant and very cranky.”

“Your sacrifice has been noted and appreciated,” James says, taking Regulus’ hand and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. Then, without further warning, he drags him into the fireplace, so Regulus has no choice but to follow.

They emerge in Axel’s office, where, to Regulus’ astonishment, James greets Axel like an old friend, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, Axel. Everything ready for us?”

“As requested, Lurch. One vanishing cabinet, installed and waiting to take you on an adventure.”

Regulus frowns. Until now, they’ve taken the Floo, even for their long trip to the Aquarium. True, it has gotten uncomfortable lately, and he doesn’t rejoice at the prospect of being squished in there for a prolonged time, but a vanishing cabinet seems extravagant for a simple outing.

“I thought we were taking the Floo? Isn’t that why we’re here, enjoying Axel’s inimitable company?”

Axel waves at him. “As you Brits say, ‘cheers.’”

James drops a swift kiss to Regulus’ cheek. “You said yourself how cramped the Floo network has become. It’s okay for a short nip from the chalet to the hospital, but nothing else. So, considering your si-, ugh, delicate condition, and the length of our journey, I came up with an alternative solution, which Axel graciously helped me realize.”

“Nice save with the size, Lurch. Incredibly smooth,” Axel snorts, not bothering to hide his amusement.

For once, Regulus lets the dig at his mass slide, focusing on more important matters. “I bet his ‘services’ came at a price. How much did he take you for this time?” 

Before James gets a word in, Axel pipes up. 

“You hurt me, Reggie, to think I’d prioritize profit instead of aiding my dear friend,” he exclaims in pretend affront, his arm over his chest for dramatic effect.

“Yeah, well, you were the one boasting about squeezing donations out of Jamie when—actually, never mind. Not my business, what you two cooked up together. I’d rather get this over with so I can return to my comfy sofa and unfinished book.” 

“He’s not exactly brimming with excitement,” Axel observes, patting James consolingly on the back. “But that’s Reg for you. He’d rather die than have you think he’s invested. Just you wait, he’ll warm up once he sees the—”

James’ eyes grow wide, and sweat breaks out along his hairline as he hastily elbows him. “Not another word before you wreck everything.” 

“Desoleé,” Axel says, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, but the expression on his face is anything but, stuck someplace between entertainment and malice. “I merely wanted to ensure you won’t change your mind because you thought him uninterested.”

“Please stop helping,” James and Regulus both groan in unison, then exchange a look and bust into laughter. 

Warmth floods Regulus from head to toe. This is what he treasures more than having sex with James—even though he has to admit it’s scorching—the connection. The intimacy. The shared laughs and small pockets of time spent with each other, enjoying peaceful silence, not because they can’t think of topics to discuss, but because they’re content and don’t feel the need to fill it with blather. Regulus would do a lot to keep that. He would do anything and sacrifice everything if it meant keeping James forever.

“Ungrateful sods,” Axel mutters under his breath. “Since you don’t appreciate me enough, get out of my office this instant. Don’t want to see either of you ever again. Except for you, Reg, chéri, I will see you next Wednesday for your appointment and every week afterward until your due date on the 22nd.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Regulus deadpans.

“Yeah, but I am going to. Can’t believe the League scheduled a match right before Christmas. When I find the person responsible, they’ll be in a world of pain. Blasted job. Blasted Tornadoes. Blasted Quidditch,” James grumbles as they trot (well, James trots, Regulus waddles, his hands propping his aching back) to the cabinet, where he opens the door for Regulus in true gentleman fashion.

“Darling, what did you expect? That the British Quidditch League would organize the games around the impending birth of your illegitimate child?” Regulus arches an eyebrow at James.

“He’s not illegitimate. Don’t you have a whole long ass contract detailing his legitimacy? And since you’ve asked, yes, in fact, that would be lovely. I want to be there for emotional support. Or any kind of support you might need. Plus, I wouldn’t mind seeing Harry on the illugram one last time before you give birth.”

“You’ll see him soon enough. I’m pushing this bugger out the second my term is officially complete.” Regulus winces, unsure whether it’s caused by the prospect of actually pushing a melon-sized object out of a grape-sized hole, or by the twinge of pain in his abdomen. There are so many these days, from Harry’s kicks, the Braxton hick’s, his cervix changing its position (a notion disturbing on countless levels), to random aches as his ligaments loosen and his body realigns to accommodate the nearly fully grown fetus, he doesn’t pay them any heed unless they cross the threshold from ‘inconvenient’ to ‘debilitating.’ 

“It’s not the same,” James pouts.

“Well, unless you plan on skipping the match, you’ll have to come to terms with it.” Would Regulus prefer to have James present during the exam to hold his hand and whisper encouragement before the big day? Without a single doubt. But James looks so upset at the idea of abandoning him that he finds it hard to add to his misery. “And you can always make it up to us afterward,” he adds.

“Count on it. Consider the surprise ahead a sort of—prepayment,” James says, motioning for him to enter the cabinet.

The feeling of being vanished is a unique sensation, unlike anything experienced through Floo or Apparition. There’s no sickening pull, no hook behind his navel yanking him through space. Only a jerk, as though instead of a solid floor, Regulus stepped into a void, and he’s already tumbling out on the other side into an unfamiliar building. Aware of James’ imminent arrival, he steps aside to clear a path for him while taking a quick scan of the surroundings.

Clearly, he’s in a sitting room, and a beautifully appointed one at that. A massive, comfortably looking sofa, upholstered with buttery-looking leather, dominates the space, contrasting nicely with a plush green carpet and a hardwood floor that is polished to such a high gleam Regulus can glimpse his reflection in it. The room opens onto a patio through large French doors. Further behind, a stream winds through a meadow dusted with fresh snow, and the outline of a forest towers in the distance. The whole scene exudes a cozy, soothing ambiance, and Regulus can easily imagine spending hours reading curled up in the armchair next to the tiled fireplace, fully stoked but currently inert.

For a moment, he gets so lost in fantasies about living in a house like this, he forgets about James and almost jumps out of his skin when he winds an arm around his back, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“So? How do you like it?”

“It’s lovely, but I would like it a lot more if I knew why we’re here. Have you brought me here to have your way with me?”

“Love, we’ve been over this. I’m afraid you'll pop if I so much as sneeze near you, let alone risk any sort of way-having activities.”

“You weren’t afraid yesterday.”

“What can I say? I’m a weak man, so when I found you as naked as the day you were born, all my noble resolutions evacuated my body faster than the students leaving Hogwarts before Christmas. And if you remember, I still refused to fuck you, which I think I deserve more credit for because you looked sinful. Today, however, we have a different program. Plus, I’d rather not have to wipe amniotic fluid off these floors, mind you.” 

“Rude,” Regulus mutters to himself, but he can’t suppress his curiosity. “What are we doing here if sex is off the table, then? Because if I’m not getting an orgasm out of this trip, I’d like to restate my preference for staying at home. With a book. The enemies just checked into a hotel that had only one bed, James. One bed. You know what that means.”

James chuckles. “They’re about to become lovers?”

“Correct. And instead of living vicariously through other people getting their brains fucked out, I’m in the middle of nowhere without a single clue of what I’m doing there. As far as surprise presents go, this has been underwhelming.”

“I hear your concerns, and I’m going to address them in a jiffy, sweetheart. Let’s see if you improve your rating after I give you a proper tour. Here, allow me,” James takes off Regulus’ coat, then kindles the prepared fire with a quick snap of his wand. Another flick, and myriads of tiny, colorful lights adorning the Christmas tree in the corner spark to life. 

The warm glow of the flames, combined with the gentle rainbow effect of the holiday decorations, renders the room possibly even more inviting than before. They transform it into a home. Regulus finds himself reluctant to depart, but James is already leading him away, so he gives up and follows. After all, the sooner they finish, the sooner he can return to the chalet and forget about this strange adventure.

Although as they continue their tour, Regulus discovers he wouldn’t mind sticking around for a bit. The house gives the impression of being designed to suit his every whim and need. He brushes his stomach. Not only his needs, either, no. Harry’s, too. However, the mysterious nature of the estate bothers him. Is it a rental, like the chalet? A property of one of James’ friends he’s taking care of in their absence? But why is it so clean, with no signs of anyone else’s presence? 

The questions niggle at him as they continue their inspection. Every room is welcoming and pleasant, fashioned in a unique way but always keeping with the theme of warm tones, dark wood, and either deep or spring green for accent walls. There’s a space Regulus wouldn’t mind using as an office, with an elegant desk, an emerald tapestry depicting a silver stag hanging on the wall, and an apple orchard visible through the window. 

The trees are barren at the moment, but Regulus is certain they look wonderful when they bloom in the spring. He fancies that he can smell the aroma of apple blossoms drifting through the air and indulges in a little daydream of watching Harry frolicking under falling white petals as he walks behind him with James, who’d have his arm thrown casually around Regulus’ shoulders in this scenario, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

The kitchen is somewhat narrow, but it features cabinets in a glossy vanilla finish on both sides, a massive stove and an oven, and, most importantly, a cute eating nook. It doesn’t escape Regulus’ notice that the table is set up for three—there are two regular-sized chairs and a high one, ideal for a fussy toddler. 

In the basement, Regulus is overjoyed to discover a fully equipped potions lab, not only with state-of-the-art self-stirring cauldrons but also with an array of ingredients ranging from common stock such as beetle eyes, to the rare and coveted like dragon’s blood. He shoots a questioning glance at James, but he merely shrugs.

“In case somebody wanted to indulge in a spot of brewing.” 

“Mm-hm.”

“Let’s check out the outside now, and then we’ll finish upstairs.”

Regulus digs his heels in. “No. Not risking anyone catching sight of me.”

“Don’t worry, love, I come prepared.” James laughs. He follows his words by pulling the Invisibility Cloak off a coat rack near the exit.

“You just leave this, your priceless family heirloom, hanging around in strange places?”

“When did I claim this was a strange place?” James replies with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Clearly, he’s enjoying himself, playing a game with rules he forgot to share with Regulus. 

Not giving him the satisfaction of begging for an explanation yet again, Regulus drapes both his travel cloak and James’ magical one around himself before slipping out. Rendered completely invisible, he can walk around without the threat of discovery, and he immediately jumps at the chance to inspect his surroundings.

He’s at the dead end of a street, or rather a bit apart, the houses lining the road paved with cobblestones beginning several yards from his current location. With Christmas approaching, all the cottages have colorful lights hanging from the rafters, and the roofs are sprinkled with snow. The smoke from the chimneys rises into the sky in white curls, filling the air with a woodsy scent.

James sidles up to him. “Don’t run away from me, Reg. What if you slip and I’m not there to catch you?”

“Then I recover my balance since I’m pregnant and not an invalid. There’s no need to fuss. Or use my name in public. Low profile, remember,” Regulus scolds. 

James’ shoulders sag, and his lips pull down, giving him such a thoroughly guilty appearance, Regulus’ aggravation vanishes in an instant.

I’ve grown soft. And I can’t blame it on the pregnancy anymore. I am soft for James Potter. I am in love with James Potter. With the father of my child. I can’t wait to see his expression when I tell him.

“So, where are we exactly?” Regulus asks quietly, mindful of heeding his own words and not giving away his position to a random onlooker.

“Godric’s Hollow. You don’t recognize it?”

“No, but in my defense, I’ve never been here. I grew up in London and France. My parents considered living in a tiny English village, quote ‘too rustic’ and not in line with how the noble members of House Black should present themselves.”

“Oh. Well, that tracks, I suppose. What about you?”

For a moment, Regulus bemoans his invisible state because he can’t relay his confusion to James by scrunching his eyebrows. “What about me what?” 

“Could you see yourself living here? Or do you share your parents’ opinion that it’s beneath you?” James asks, and his voice is so earnest, laced with anxiety, and his gaze flicks to where he must suspect Regulus’ eyes are. 

Regulus drinks in the sight of the peaceful settlement, with the dusting of snow glittering in the sun, and the Christmas decorations lending the houses a festive charm. 

“I think I could be persuaded.”

Then he turns around to examine the house. To his surprise, the building reminds him of the idle musings he entertained in the lonely afternoons he whiled away in the chalet. Built from dark brown stone with pale trimmings, it rises proudly from the ground, separated from the meadows by a literal white picket fence. They take a stroll around, so Regulus gets a pleasant revelation in the form of a neat patch of herb garden hidden out of view, and, to his eternal delight, a greenhouse for growing more delicate plants unsuited to harsh English weather. 

“Yes, I could imagine setting roots down here.”

James beams in his general direction. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

They circle back inside, where Regulus shakes both cloaks and lets James lead him upstairs. They walk through a spacious hallway past a mysterious door he refuses to open, stating, ‘all in good time’ before showing Regulus several comfortable and well-lit chambers devoid of any furniture or other hints at their purpose.

“Guest rooms or children’s bedrooms, depending,” James says, refusing to elaborate on what.

In contrast, the master bedroom leaves no space for doubt about its function, courtesy of the massive four-poster bed from polished walnut, and a ceiling charmed to resemble the night sky.

“Is that—Jamie, is that the Leo constellation?” Regulus asks with a growing suspicion about whose house he’s visiting. 

“No clue. I’ve always been pants at astronomy.” The answer sounds too innocent to be true, but Regulus’ curiosity about the room they skipped doesn’t let him fish for more information.

“A show of modesty. How not at all typical of you.”

“You’ve finally humbled me, sweetheart.” James offers him a besotted smile, pure and full of affection. A true James Potter staple. Every time Regulus sees it directed his way, his heart begins to flutter faster than a snitch, and this time is no exception. 

“Tell me the truth, Reggie. Do you like the place?” James asks in a light voice, but it doesn’t fool Regulus. He’s faked not caring often enough himself to recognize the sign. 

“It’s lovely,” he concedes, but continues, before James’ ego grows out of control, “but before I can give my final verdict, we need to complete the tour. Presuming now is a good time to visit the room you left for last in a transparent attempt to build expectations.”

“Not very nice of you to clock my intentions like that.”

Regulus shrugs. “I’m not a very nice person.”

“Yes, that’s what you’d have everyone think, but over those past four months, I’ve got to know well enough to see through that front. You’re a kind man, Regulus. A good man. Regardless of what impression you’re trying to project. But I understand you had to grow a thick skin to survive in Grimmauld since your family understands only strength and considers kindness a flaw,” James says.

Such a load of tosh. Regulus is not good. He’s not kind. A kind person wouldn’t concoct an elaborate scheme to wreak revenge on his parents. He wouldn’t use his brother’s best friend to enact it, fully cognizant of the fact that it would hurt him. 

And yes, his decision to exact retribution was driven by his parents abusing him and his brother for years, and fine, his main motivators might’ve been restoring Sirius’ rightful place in their family and overhauling what the name Black stands for, but that’s all purely coincidental. It’s not a reason to believe he’s some paragon of goodness, or that he deserves the devotion written in broad strokes across James’ face. 

Regulus needs to correct his assessment of Regulus’ character.

Right now.

Or soon.

Once he learns what’s behind the final door.

“Ready?” James asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer as he turns the knob and gestures for him to step inside.

Regulus takes one look around and his resolve to set James straight flees his mind.

This… this might be worth letting James keep his delusions for a while longer.

Chapter Text

Regulus

37 weeks, December 16th

When Regulus steps inside, the sight roots him to the spot. 

He’s standing in a nursery. 

The walls are painted a soft, buttery yellow, with cute illustrations of trees and a mismatched group of woodland animals frolicking around. Like most Wix paintings, they are moving, but their range of motion seems to be limited to flicking ears and wagging tails. 

Regulus squints, his suspicion about the house confirmed. This must be James’ new home, and he brought Regulus here to ask for his seal of approval. Who else would decorate a nursery with the animagus forms of the Marauders? Low on subtlety but not lacking in ego, his beloved isn’t. He probably hopes to indoctrinate his son into their ridiculous gang straight from the crib. 

Regulus steps to the wall to study the illustrations more closely, and his throat closes up the moment he spots a lion with a white streak in its mane, accompanied by the cutest cub among the group. A dog, wolf, and rat are running ahead, with a deer bringing up the rear as if all of them are protecting the pair of lions.

When Regulus sneaks a covert glance at James, he finds him returning his gaze with a steady interest, as though waiting for the final judgment. Flustered, Regulus resumes his examinations.

The ceiling is enchanted to resemble the sky, but unlike the bedroom’s perpetual starry night, it reflects the current time of day. Bright blue at the moment, with a gentle sun pouring warm light over everything. 

A bassinet stands in the corner with a solar system mobile hanging above. There’s a changing table next to the large window overlooking the orchard that Regulus admired before, and a closet with toys laid out in order of age progression on the shelves. It’s a lovely, sunny room that seems to be thrumming with eagerness to welcome a tiny occupant.

Now that Regulus thinks about it, the whole house is infused with welcoming energy that makes him feel as though he’s floating in a warm bath, suspended in a pleasant weightlessness, his mind relaxed and drifting. He’s lived for too long in a house with the exact opposite ambiance not to recognize a building longing to embrace new inhabitants and become a home for them.

Quietly, James walks up to him and, as is his custom, wraps Regulus close until he’s nestled securely against his side. 

“So, what do you think, Reg? Does it meet the criteria?”

“I couldn’t say,” he admits quietly, feeling James’ involuntary wince. “I couldn’t say because I have no clue what the criteria were. I only have a vague notion of why you’re showing me this. You promised me a surprise, James. A present. And this—this is a nursery.” 

“Well spotted, Mister Black. But then, what else is there to be expected from a brilliant Seeker such as yourself? Twenty points for Slytherin.”

“That must’ve been painful to say,” Regulus smirks, propping his back to stave off the pain building at the bottom of his spine. He’s walked more in the past hour than in the entire last week, and his body is reminding him in no uncertain terms that his pregnant state doesn’t tolerate prolonged activity.

“Agony. But who knows, maybe Harry will be sorted into Slytherin, so I figured I’d better start building up immunity.” 

“I should hope so,” Regulus rubs circles into his belly lovingly. “He’ll belong in the superior house, just like his Papa.”

“Is that what you want him to call you? Papa?” James asks, his voice oddly husky, and when Regulus cranes his head to look at him, he discovers a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

“Maybe. I haven’t really given it much thought. It just came out.” 

“It suits you.” 

“What would you like to be called?” Regulus asks, seized by a sudden curiosity. They’ve spent months secluded in their little bubble, but they rarely discussed what their lives would be like after Harry’s arrival. By an agreement—an unspoken one, not the kind outlined on paper that Regulus would have them both sign and subsequently notarize—they stuck to topics relevant to their present situation. Topics that didn’t veer too far into the future. In other words, safe topics.

“Dad. I’d want him to call me Dad. Unless you have a different opinion?”James asks, clearly insecure and seeking reassurance. As though he didn’t already know Regulus would grant him any wish if it meant keeping him forever.

“Like what?”

“Like maybe you’d prefer Harry to call me Uncle James.” James scratches the back of his neck.

“Don’t be daft. You’re Harry’s father, so it makes perfect sense that your epithet should reflect your relationship.”

“Okay. Good. That’s a relief, not gonna lie.”

With considerable effort, Regulus wriggles free from James’ hold. “Do you think so little of me as to assume I would forbid your own son from calling you Dad?”

James shrugs. “Not little, love, but I was, how shall I put it? Uncertain? Concerned? I mean, you had a whole legal document drawn, describing how I am and how I am not allowed to interact with you, and, after he’s born, Harry. Under the circumstances, can you blame me for double-checking?”

Regulus can’t honestly say whether he’s more irritated by the implied reprimand or by his previous behavior. When put in those words and paired with James’ despondent expression and his sad doe eyes, Regulus sounds like a right prick. 

“Yes, but that was before.”

Before I spent months getting to know you. Before you brought me breakfast in bed. Before you dealt with my complaints and volatile mood. Before you trailed kisses down my belly and whispered fairy tales to our baby growing inside. Before you spent months supporting me without a single objection. Before you played with my hair and charmed me with your jigsaw puzzles and stupid jokes. Before you baked for me and read to me and consoled me when I felt scared and miserable. Before I counted your wrinkles and before you made me snort with laughter so hard I almost choked.

The coward Regulus is, he pushes these thoughts back without voicing any of them. He devised grand plans to tell James how he feels. He intended to ask, no, beg him, to become a permanent fixture in his and Harry’s life. To become a family. And now James presented him with the perfect opportunity. He brought him to a house Regulus strongly suspects he bought in preparation for Harry’s arrival—because let’s face it, no one in their right mind would consider an environment shared with Sirius on a regular basis appropriate for a small child—and at the last possible moment, instead of growing a spine and telling James the truth, Regulus balks. 

Cunning he possesses in spades. Bravery is a different story. The Hat was correct all those years ago to sort him into Slytherin. Regulus fancied himself courageous when he conceived the plan to conceive with the sole purpose of enacting justice on his parents, but it was merely another display of his cowardice. A truly brave person would face them head-on and accept the consequences.

He turns in the other direction, but James spots his intent from a mile away and halts him with a gentle hand placed on his hip. James is the opposite of a coward. Worse, by now, he knows Regulus well enough to pierce through his feints and deceptions and refuses to let him withdraw into his shell.

“Before what, Regulus?” He takes his hands, peering into his eyes. Arresting his gaze in exchange for an honest reply. And Regulus is lost. He’s lost his advantage, if he’s ever had any, to moss-tinted amber and lashes better suited to a doe.

“You know,” he manages a defense, but it sounds feeble to his own ears.

“Perhaps. Or, to be more precise, I think I do. I hope I do. But perhaps I’d like you to say the actual words. Perhaps I’d prefer not to guess.” 

Regulus can’t resist goading, throwing James off his scent. A last-gasp attempt to protect his cowardly hide. “How very Slytherin of you, abusing the effect you have on me to extract the answers you want.”

James shrugs. “Maybe you Slytherins are onto something. Now, stop dodging the question, Reggie, and tell me. Before what, exactly?”

A lump has sprung in Regulus’ throat, but he forces himself to swallow around it.

Perhaps I need to learn how to be brave. Just this once. For James. For Harry.

“Before I fell in love with you.” It comes out as a strangled whisper. A tiny rustle of a sound, cracking along the edges, but the impact it has on James is anything but faint. His whole disposition changes in an instant, and he conjures a smile so radiant it’s almost blinding. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sweeps Regulus into a hug, ghosting soft kisses over his forehead, cheeks, and lips, his fingers sliding down Regulus’ sides. But he remains utterly quiet, setting Regulus on edge.

“Well? You don’t have anything to add? It’s customary to acknowledge a love confession in some way, if only with a polite thanks,” he sneers, falling back on the safety net of his snark.

“Sorry, yeah, that’s such a wanker move of me. It’s just—I’m just floating on air, Reggie. Of course, I’m in love with you. I’ve been waiting for months to tell you, waiting for the right occasion, and then I figured, I didn’t want to tell you without offering you something, proof of how serious I was about you and Harry, about providing for you, keeping you safe, and what’s the best way to prove you can provide for someone? A house. So I asked my parents for Henry’s cottage because I love the idea of living in an old family property, and I reckoned you hate Grimmauld and might prefer something less grand and oppressive, plus Harry can play outside here and there are plenty of other wizarding families around. But the house needed a ton of work, so it took a while to get everything up to scratch because I really wanted you to like it as much as I do, and that’s why it took me such a long time to confess.” 

When James finishes his monologue, he’s out of breath, and Regulus is biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Happiness is flooding him in waves, each greater than the other, until he’s almost fit to burst. The sensation of pure, unadulterated joy, mixed with a touch of gratitude and humility, is unfamiliar, but he should probably get used to it. He has a strong suspicion he’ll have no other choice but to adjust, because his life is about to become much happier than Regulus could’ve predicted ten months ago.

“Jamie, my darling, my love,” he savors the word in his mouth now that it’s infused with meaning, “father of my only child, that’s all well and good, but we have a lot more to discuss regarding our shared future, and my feet are absolutely killing me. Could we, per chance, continue this discourse elsewhere?”

Regulus’ words have an immediate effect. James’ face tightens with concern, and he springs into action, inviting Regulus to lean on him and supporting his weight as they descend the stairs. 

Regulus groans with relief when he sinks into the sofa, not abusing his poor joints anymore by forcing them to carry twenty extra pounds. The cushions mold to his body as he leans back, stretching his legs out. And to make the whole setup even better, James procures two mugs of hot chocolate and a large plate laden with biscuits, including an assortment of macarons.

“So,” he ventures after he devours one, and then another, and has a generous gulp of tea, “it turns out we love each other.” He waits for James’ nod, paired with a radiant smile, before he continues. “But what does that mean for our future? Love is fine and all, but you can’t build a relationship on a mere sentiment. Although you might disagree on principle, what with you being a Gryffindor.” His lips curl in disdain.

“This will probably come as a shock, Reg, but I agree with you. Especially with a baby on the way. Actually, that’s why I brought you here.” James rummages through his pockets until he pulls out a small, velvet box. 

Regulus’ heart stutters, then begins drumming a frantic beat in his chest. Is James about to propose? A wedding has never been on his agenda. The opposite, in fact. He went to extreme lengths to avoid it. But would it be so bad, getting married to James? He’s not some passionless match set up by his parents. He’s James. His love. 

Besides, they are already bound together by the small human gestating in Regulus’ belly, and Regulus is more than ready to share his life with him. His trepidation lasts only a handful of seconds before melting away, and genuine excitement takes its place.

“Don’t worry, Reg, it’s not what you think,” James laughs, incorrectly guessing his misgivings. “Go ahead, open it.” 

Regulus banishes the disappointment cratering his heart (he didn’t give any serious consideration to getting married ten minutes ago, Merlin blast it, he has no business feeling disappointed), takes a deep breath, and pops the box open.

Okay. Inside is an item he didn’t expect, but one that makes a lot more sense given the circumstances.

“It’s a key.”

“Brilliantly observed, again.”

“You were right. I thought it’d be—something else.” Regulus traces the shape with the pad of his finger, the metal teeth biting softly into his skin.

“I’ve also taken the liberty of adding you to the incredibly heavy-duty wards, and once the baby is born and you don’t have to hide anymore, I plan on connecting the house to the Floo. Neither of those things is going to change, no matter what you decide.”

Regulus’ head is reeling. “Hang on, back up a bit. Decide what?”

“I thought Slytherins were supposed to be cunning,” James smirks, but Regulus doesn’t miss the tight set of his mouth or how he’s gripping his mug so hard his knuckles have turned white. He’s not as confident as he’s trying to project, which restores some of Regulus’ composure.

“Jamie, are you asking me—asking us—to move in? Here?” 

He shrugs. “What gave it away? The tour? The fact that I had the house remodeled and decorated to your taste? The nursery for our baby? Or that I just gifted you the key to the property?” 

“Probably all of these combined,” Regulus replies on autopilot, more than a little jinx-shocked by the series of events. First, James professed his love, and now, he’s asking him to build a home together. A life. If he ever needed tangible proof of his investment, he’s received it on a silver platter.

Or rather, in a velvet box.

When he remains speechless for a long stretch, James’ face falls, but he attempts to power through with a smile. “Did I cross a line right now? I love you, Regulus, and I want to be with you. I’ll do anything to make that happen, but like I said, I’ll respect your decision. If you don’t want to move in, if you prefer to stay in the chalet, or in Grimmauld, or anywhere but here, that’s fine too. We’ll make it work.” James squeezes Regulus’ knee with one hand, running the other through his hair and messing it up terribly. 

Once upon a time, Regulus assumed it was just a gimmick. Something James would do to make himself look cool. And it might’ve been. But now, he recognizes it for the nervous tick it has become and lifts his hand up as he gathers his thoughts. “Love, please, quit fretting.”

At his words, James shoots up as though pulled by an invisible string, eyeing him hopefully.

“I would love nothing more than to move in with you,” Regulus adds to ensure everything is out in the open, with no room for misunderstanding.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He wrinkles his nose in fake disgust. “According to my information, taking care of an infant is hard work, and I’m not opposed to offloading the main bulk of the child-rearing duties to someone else.” 

James lets out a loud whoop and punches the air, looking for a moment as though he intends to tackle Regulus, but then he wrestles himself under control with apparent effort and merely leans in to ghost his fingers over Regulus’ jaw as he brushes a soft kiss to his lips. He withdraws too soon, leaving Regulus flustered and panting and craving more. Warmth tingles through his body as if the butterflies normally confined to his stomach decided to branch out and roam through his extremities as well. Or perhaps it’s a hot flush triggered by hormones. He can’t tell anymore.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. It’s unbecoming,” he frowns, eager to reestablish his usual slightly detached air. “I’m only agreeing to your proposal because the house is pretty much perfect.” 

“Sure, Reg. If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” James chuckles.

Regulus casts his eyes around the interior, pretending he didn’t hear the dig. “Very tasteful. I’m surprised it doesn’t look as if Godric Gryffindor threw up all over the place.”

“I wanted you to like it. Plus, you should know by now that I prefer green,” James says, all his amusement gone as he peers into his eyes. 

Regulus’ breath hitches.

“Also, Sirius helped with decorating.”

“Now you’ve gone and ruined it.”

James inches closer, pressing their thighs firmly together while his hand comes to its favorite resting place on Regulus’ bump. “Apologies, love, but it’s true. Sirius’ contribution proved indispensable. The place wouldn’t be the same without him.”

Regulus snuggles into James, but not before he snatches another macaron. “Fine, I forgive you. In fact, it’s another good argument for moving here. Sirius is going to despise his best friend living with, well, me.” 

“I thought you wanted to help him. Restore his rightful place in the line of succession. That it was one of your reasons for doing this.” James traces circles into Regulus’ belly as he speaks. As usual, Harry reacts to his father’s touch with a strong kick, making Regulus’ eyes water.

“Sure. Doesn’t mean I can’t delight in his misery,” he shrugs.

Truth be told, the whole revenge aspect, even proving his brother was wrong about Regulus, pales in comparison to the prospect of the future with James. Of their family. Of Regulus teaching Harry the noble art of potion making, and James buying him a toy broomstick the second he learns to walk. Harry cheering for his father during Quidditch matches, sitting on Regulus’ shoulders and wearing a miniature version of James’ Quidditch outfit, complete with his name and number.

Better keep these thoughts to myself. Or I’ll never live down being such an impossible sap. Merlin, I’m worse than James. Let’s hope it passes after I deliver the little bugger.

Unfortunately, he suspects his new, sentimental disposition is a permanent condition, brought on by James Potter and his unapologetic mushiness.

James chuckles, jerking him out of his contemplation. “You’re a complicated man, Regulus Black.”

“But you seem to love me anyway. What does that make you?”

“The luckiest man in the world,” James answers without missing a beat.

“The most sentimental man, more like it.”

“And yet, you love me,” James laughs, throwing his words back at him.

He could always keep up with Regulus, enduring his jabs and snark with dignity, but putting him in place when he crossed a line. For all his silliness, James Potter is a proud man, self-assured and secure in his own worth. Which makes him attractive beyond his appearance. 

Regulus never stood a chance. No one would. “I really do,” he confesses with a sigh, half defeated and half fond. Unbidden, he covers James’ hand, still resting on his belly, with his own. “So incredibly much.”

James beams at him. “We’re going to be so happy, you know? I have it all planned out. Gonna introduce you to my parents as soon as possible, if you’re agreeable—after baby Harry arrives, of course.”

The idea fills Regulus with an inordinate amount of dread. “Um. Certainly. I failed to consider—well, your parents live around here, don’t they?”

“Yeah, down the road and then to the left, and you reach the entrance to their property. They helped renovate the cottage, too. But you don’t have to—I mean, if you’re having second thoughts, you don’t have to meet them. Or we can move somewhere else. There’s still time.”

“To what, run out and order yourself a wizarding dwelling with ancient magic and connection to the land? I don’t think so. No. I can already feel kinship with this house, and I know it will love having us here. Yes, on the one hand, the prospect of living near your parents is daunting, but on the other, having potential babysitters on hand might come in useful in the future.” Regulus bites his lip. The next part will be more challenging to force out of his mouth, but he should begin acclimating to the terrifying ordeal of being seen. Being known. “Besides. I don’t completely detest the chance at having in-laws living nearby. Of belonging. Provided they’re not appalled at your choice of a partner. Or the way Harry came to be.”

“You’re amazing. Have I told you today?” James sends Regulus a besotted smile, making him squirm with delight. “My parents are pretty open-minded, especially considering they’re both from old families. They don’t care I’m gay, so I’m fairly sure they assume that one day, I’ll bring home a male partner. And they’ll be too busy doting on Harry to worry about anything else. For one thing, they always wanted a big family, and for another, they just want me to be happy.”

“Yeah, what’s that like?” Regulus murmurs under his breath, prompting James to squeeze his hand in consolation. 

“They’re going to adore you just as I do, and I can already foresee them spoiling Harry absolutely rotten.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You can trust me, Reg. But hey, you said in-laws earlier. Does this mean you’d be open to marrying me? You know, somewhere down the line.”

Regulus repositions his heavy body so he can look James directly in the eye, every remnant of his previous doubt wiped clean.

 “Love, I’d marry you in an instant. Here, just with two witnesses and nothing more. With paper rings. This might sound strange coming from me, perhaps, but I don’t care about pomp or ceremony.” 

James arches an eyebrow at him, his disbelief palpable.

“Fine, I don’t always care about pomp and ceremony,” Regulus amends with a chuckle. “More importantly, I don’t wish for our son to be a bastard. When you showed me the box with the key, I actually thought you were gearing toward a proposal, and I was disappointed when it turned out you weren’t. But I have to hand it to you, this house is a pretty decent consolation prize,” he says to lighten the mood, gazing around appreciatively.

A whole slew of emotions crosses James’ face in quick succession, settling on an almost grim resolve. 

“Well, in that case.” In a fluid motion, he slides off the couch to his knees, holding another velvet box that came out of nowhere in his outstretched palm. 

Every word in Regulus’ head evaporates, and his hands begin to tremble so hard he couldn’t sign his own name to save his life. James. James Potter is kneeling in front of him, his expression so earnest, so precious, his intentions so painfully obvious, and Regulus’ heart flutters somewhere between his chest and his throat, caught there during its attempt to leap straight into James’ arms.

This can’t be another false alarm with a key, can it? 

This has to be the real thing.

Harry kicks him sharply in the ribs as if trying to voice his agreement.

“Regulus Arcturus Black. When you approached me with your unusual proposition, I never dared dream we’d be here today. But life can be wilder, and sometimes a lot kinder, than our most outlandish dreams. Would you do me the incredible honor of marrying me?” James finishes by snapping the box open, revealing a platinum ring with an emerald in the center, glittering against black velvet. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to draft a complicated legal document outlining our assets and delineating our union?” 

Regulus shakes his head. He has to swallow a couple of times to recover his ability to speak. His words come out strangled anyway, but he doesn’t care at all. “No. I’d say we’re well past that stage. My answer is yes, James. It will be an incredible honor to become your spouse. To marry you and raise our child with you.” 

With bated breath, Regulus lets James slip the ring on his left ring finger, admiring the contrast of silvery metal against his pale skin. 

“Tell me one thing, though. Have you been carrying this around just in case the opportunity to propose occurs?” Regulus chokes out, his voice blubbery with a mix of laughter and sobs.

“Only for the past couple of weeks,” James says without batting an eye. As if he hasn’t made the world tilt on its axis. 

Regulus tips downward, mindful of his belly, to seal the proposal in a traditional manner. At the same time, James surges up, and they meet in the middle for a tender kiss that goes on forever as neither seems inclined to release the other. Eventually, though, Regulus has to draw in some breath due to his limited lung capacity, and James’ legs are cramping in the uncomfortable position. They fall back on the sofa, curled into each other side by side, their heads resting together.

“I stand by my word,” Regulus says after a moment of quiet. “You’re a sap. But you’re also right. We are going to be so happy. You, me, and Harry.”

“Yes. Our little family.” James reaches over and brings Regulus’ hand into his lap, squeezing it gently. “And now, for the important matter. Are you taking my name, or am I taking yours?”

“I haven’t put myself through reclaiming my heritage to relinquish my last name. Which leaves you becoming James Black as the only viable option.” 

“I do love you more than the moon and stars, sweetheart, but I’m not going to be James Black. What would you think about joining them, like you already planned for Harry? Potter-Blacks?”

A thrill surges through Regulus when he hears the two words binding them together in a legal capacity. “It’s not the worst idea. Oh, Merlin.” An uncontrolled laugh tumbles out of him.

“What’s so funny?” 

Regulus flashes James a sly grin. “Nothing. It’s just. I’m going to be an official Potter. Sirius is really going to hate this.”

James winces. “I did not think this through.”

“Too late. No take-backs.” 

“I would never. Love you too much for that. Sirius will have to deal,” James says.

“Given how codependent you and my brother are, this must be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Really? I literally proposed five minutes ago.”

Regulus sends him a wicked grin. “And yet.” He twists in his seat as much as his swollen belly allows, and tugs James in for a kiss. “Now, what would you say to going upstairs and testing how sturdy the bed is? Unless you’re still afraid of me popping before my due date.”

James throws his head back, groaning. “Yes, I’m still afraid. But I’m also so weak for you it isn’t even funny.” He climbs to his feet and assists Regulus, who needs more time to leave his seat, to stand up. “Besides, it’d be irresponsible to move in without knowing if the bed is properly load-bearing.”

“So irresponsible. I have a feeling we’re going to abuse that poor piece of furniture to a ridiculous degree once Harry is born and I’m back in shape.”

“I like the way you think, Mister future Potter-Black.” 

“A sentiment I very much share, Mister future Potter-Black.”

They come to a stop in front of the bedroom door. James raises his hand, tugging an errant strand of hair behind Regulus’ ear. “I love you so much, Regulus. Can’t wait to live with you. Can’t wait to meet our son.”

“Me neither,” Regulus admits quietly, then straightens. “Soon. We’ll meet him soon, Jamie. Now, however, we have some testing to do.”

He grabs James’ hand and drags him inside for the first time of hopefully many to follow.

Chapter Text

Regulus

38 weeks, December 22nd

“So, Reg. How are we feeling? All ready for your final exam? Or almost final, depending on how today goes,” Axel greets Regulus as he steps out of the fireplace in Axel’s office, dusting off the Floo powder. 

Regulus takes a moment to activate the wards he had Axel install for this exact purpose before easing himself into a chair across from his friend. 

“Final. Let it be final, please,” he groans. His entire body, his sleek, carefully honed instrument, sharp and absolutely lethal on a broomstick, has turned into nothing but a bloated collection of aches and complaints. 

“I’m bloody sore all over.”

At least he’s almost at the finish line. He did it. He successfully fooled his parents. If everything goes according to plan, he’ll welcome Harry into the world soon, assume his rightful seat as Lord Black, enjoy shattering Walburga and Orion’s lives to smithereens, and finally, finally, put this chapter of his life behind him. Perhaps one day, he’ll look back with a nostalgic tear in his eye, but in the present, he’s dying to move past the discomfort and the unease twisting his guts and focus on the future with James and their son.

Axel chuckles. “Sentiment most people share at this point.” 

“You would too if you had a twenty-pound backpack strapped to your midriff.”

“Twenty? Who do you think you’re fooling, Reg? Don’t forget I track your weight gains.”

“Shut up and humor the poor pregnant person.”

“Fine. Twenty it is, and not an ounce more,” Axel says in a placating tone of voice. Then he pushes himself off his desk and points Regulus toward the exam room. “You know the drill. Strip, lie down on the cot, and I’ll be with you in a second.” 

“I hope your bedside manner is better when you’re with Dora,” Regulus snorts, but hurries to follow Axel’s suggestion, mostly to relieve his abused feet. They’ve grown at least a size during the pregnancy, and swelled up another two. None of his regular shoes fit anymore. All his gorgeous boots, handmade from supple leather or dragon hide, are virtually useless (Regulus would rather throw himself off a cliff than ruin them with enlarging spells), and he’s been reduced to wearing slippers. Tragedy of the highest caliber. 

James laughed (the bloody prat) when Regulus burst into tears over the loss, but then redeemed himself by buying him five pairs of lovely new shoes, all equipped with adjustable and cushioning charms. The show of kindness sent Regulus into another weeping fit because his brain had reached a state of pure hormonal goo.

“Of course. I am a complete gentleman. Dora has no cause for complaints,” Axel calls from the other room. “Are you indecent? Can I come in?”

“Yes. Although I believe the expression you’re looking for is ‘are you decent?’”

“Yes, but I need you nude, which certain prudish cultures classify as indecent. Hence, my question.” 

Regulus throws his head back, staring at the ceiling. Merlin protect him from snarky Frenchmen. “I’m too pregnant for this.” 

“No argument there.”

“Rude.”

“I’m going to play the French card,” Axes says with a shrug. He saunters over and positions the instrument he uses to generate renderings of Regulus’ womb right above his belly and plops into a low revolving chair next to the cot, looking every inch the professional Healer but acting nothing like it.

“As long as you treat Dora well. Because if you don’t, you’ll have to deal with me.” 

Axel gives an exaggerated shiver. “I’m overcome with sudden ‘orror. Was that supposed to be your version of shovel talk?”

Regulus lifts himself on one elbow, gazing at his bump mournfully. “I’m afraid you’ve robbed me of my intimidating aura, Harry. One more reason for you to pop out.”

“Harry? Is that what you settled on?”

“Yes, and we both love the name, so if you disagree, keep it to yourself.” Regulus settles back down. “Let’s get this over with. I’m dying to know if it’s going to happen today, although it’d mean James missing it, and I’d like for him to be here during labor.” 

Axel hums, focused on setting the instrument just right, smearing a cold potion on Regulus’ skin, and attaching bronze cathodes to his rotund belly. 

“What, no comeback? No comment about how James is bound to complicate the process instead of helping?”

“My dear friend, in my years as a Healer, I’ve learned two things. To pick my battles, and that there is no accounting for taste. That being said, your Lurch, as much as he will never be my personal favorite, is good for you. He takes care of you and seems to have a skin thicker than an erumpent, which is necessary when dealing with your acerbic tongue and prickly attitude. Now tell me. When are you moving into the new house?”

“Right after Harry arrives, and I get rid of my parents.” Regulus still can’t believe he’s survived this mad gambit without running into major obstacles (not counting James muscling his way in because that turned out to be a blessing in disguise) while his parents remain none the wiser. The victory is nearly within his grasp, so close he can taste it. 

“I have to hand it to James, there’s no courting gift like a brand new mansion. Now, let’s see how Harry is doing today.” 

With that, Axel presses several buttons in quick succession, then taps the Illu-gram machine with his wand. It sparks to life, whirring quietly, and a picture of the inside of Regulus’ magical womb, complete with the tiny—or not so tiny anymore—occupant, slowly crystallizes above him.

“Perfect. Everything seems to be in order. And here’s the star of the show, Harry himself, all snug in there as—what’s the expression? A beetle in a rug?” Axel says, but Regulus hardly hears him, eyes fixed on the grainy likeness of his unborn son. 

“Bug in a rug. Beetle doesn’t rhyme.”

“Nonsense either way,” Axel laughs. “Excited to meet him?”

Regulus tears his gaze away from the rendering with tremendous difficulty. “You have no idea. I mean, it’s funny. Before I got pregnant, when I was planning all this, I thought I would be looking forward most to settling the account with my parents, to witnessing the devastation on their faces when they realized I outsmarted them. Now, I don’t really care anymore. It’s become an afterthought. All I can focus on is holding my son in my arms. The look on James’ face when he sees him for the first time.” 

For a moment, Axel turns more serious. “It makes me happy to hear that, Reggie. That child of yours might’ve been conceived in an unorthodox way, but I have no doubt you and Lurch will be great parents to him. Yes, regardless of your family history. Now, I’m going to run some tests, so relax and try not to move, okay?”

“Okay.” Regulus has become familiar with the procedure after enduring it so many times over the past months, so he sinks deeper into the cot and disengages. Axel hums under his breath, performing various measurements and sticking his long fingers in places where Regulus prefers to be touched exclusively by James. 

He draws comfort from the fact that, with some luck, he shouldn’t be subjected to the indignity for much longer. No matter how professional Axel is, the position is demeaning, and Regulus is not fond of being prodded like an animal in Transfiguration class. 

Not to mention that his pulse always races as he awaits the results. As he worries that this time, there will be something wrong with Harry. That instead of the quick tap-tap-tap of his little heart, there will be only dead silence. He’d love nothing more than skipping ahead to the period when Harry’s safely born, so Regulus could focus on planning a wedding with the man he loves.

Unfortunately, real life is less straightforward than a story. The hero—or, more precisely, the protagonist—has to overcome obstacles before reaching his happy ending. In Regulus’ case, the obstacles mean defeating a pair of evil warlocks and giving birth. Both prospects hang above him like dark clouds and cause his chest to constrict with dread whenever his thoughts wander in that direction.

He can’t decide what’s more terrifying—squeezing a fully developed infant out of an opening nature did not intend for such a purpose, or facing Walburga and Orion in a direct confrontation.

“Don’t just hum and tell me the verdict,” Regulus snaps after several minutes of waiting, taking his nerves out on the closest target available. Thankfully, Axel takes his temper in stride. Or perhaps he’s used to overwrought prospective parents en général.

“Putain, someone’s impatient.”

“Can you blame me? I’d love for you to confirm that everything is alright, the baby is healthy, and I’m giving birth today or at least very soon.”

Axel, planted in his chair, rolls back to his office desk, waving at Regulus to leave the torture cot and put on his clothes. 

“I’ve got good news and bad news on that account,” Axel declares when Regulus is fully dressed again, easing himself into a seat opposite him. The Healer doesn’t spare him a glance, peering into the folder dedicated to Regulus and his unique pregnancy. 

“Both you and the baby are in perfect health. Heart action is strong—that goes for both of you—the baby’s in a head-down position, which is ideal for a natural birth—you still intend to go ahead with a natural birth?” 

Regulus nods, resolutely not letting his mind conjure up any graphic images. And he definitely doesn’t let his eyes stray to the diagrams and illustrations decorating the walls. “Natural might be a stretch in my case.” He leans back, stroking his bump meaningfully. 

Axel shrugs. “There are other routes you might want to consider. As I mentioned during your previous appointment, Muggles have developed a procedure—”

“You can forget about gutting me like a fish,” Regulus interjects with a scowl. The idea of Axel slicing him open and pulling the baby out like some sort of deranged butcher sounds as outlandish now as when he first brought it up.

“It could prove less traumatizing, considering.” Axel’s gaze wanders to his belly with a pointed expression, clearly trying to send the message, ‘your body is not cut out for this.’ 

“No. I’m not a Muggle. The baby is not a Muggle. This whole affair is magical. Who knows how this ‘surgerical’ procedure,” he wrinkles his nose and ignores Axel’s snort, “would interfere with the process? The ritual should ensure the birth will imitate that of a naturally born female, and I’m not to tamper with it. Let magic take its course.”

“As you wish. It’s your body, so I’ll respect your choice. And I can promise you that I will do my best to deliver your baby safely. I just had to offer my objective, unbiased recommendation as your Healer.”

“Consider the recommendation offered. Now tell me the bad news.”

“You’re not giving birth today.” 

Regulus groans. 

“Yes, yes, very disappointing, I know how much you adore my company, but based on the position and length of your cervix, I don’t think you’ll be giving birth in the next couple of days either.”

“And in your objective, unbiased opinion as my Healer, when do you expect the joyful event to commence?”

Axel shrugs. “Impossible to say. Human bodies tend to move at their own pace. Sometimes they drag on; sometimes they happen in the blink of an eye. In the meantime, we’ll monitor your progress and the baby’s vitals carefully to ensure neither of you is in any distress, or, Merlin forbid, danger.”

“So you’re saying I should be looking forward to several more days or even a week or two of lugging this heavy load around?” Regulus flicks his forefingers toward his belly.

“Unfortunately.” At least Axel has the decency to look apologetic.

Regulus draws in a breath to disagree, argue, or plain beg for Axel to perform his magic and induce labor somehow, right this second, ideally, when the door creaks open. 

“Just a second, I’m with a patient right now,” Axel says without lifting his head to check the visitor’s identity, but Regulus is instantly on alert. 

Nobody should be able to bypass the wards he activated on his arrival.

“I’m afraid this is an urgent matter that requires utmost haste,” the newcomer says in a posh drawl, each vowel clear, each consonant sharp. An awfully familiar enunciation Regulus used to admire, then grew to loathe.

His blood runs cold.

He turns in his chair, already drawing his wand, but he’s too slow. Sluggish and heavy with a child, his reflexes dulled by the pregnancy and the months spent lazing around the chalet. They’re hardly a match for Walburga Black, who stands in the doorway, ramrod straight, wearing a ridiculous feathered collar. Combined with her long neck, it gives her the appearance of a vulture. She’s clutching a wand in her skeletal hand, already slicing it through the air.

No. This can’t be happening. Not her. Not right now. Not when Regulus has come so close to reaching his goals. Those he expected to achieve and those he never dreamed might be accessible to him.

Not when he’s so close to meeting his son. Not when he’s about to start his life with James. 

“Accio wands.”

Before Regulus has a chance to react, both his and Axel’s wands yank free from their holds and hurtle toward Walburga. She snatches them from the air with a movement worthy of elite Seekers and tucks them into her robes.

A wave of misery washes over Regulus. Icy tendrils crush his chest into a pulp while his leg muscles seize up, unable to move. The only thing Regulus manages on sheer instinct is to wrap his arms around his distended stomach in a defensive gesture. Hardly a useful course of action. It won’t help a lick against his mother. Walburga looms in the doorway, radiating power and cold fury as though she stepped right out of Regulus’ worst nightmares.

Lost.

He lost he lost he lost.

In his cockiness, he underestimated his parents. His gamble crashed and burned, and now he’s about to face the consequences. 

In the end, Regulus is not clever. Not even brave. He’s—frozen. Useless. A waste of space. Just as his mother always said. Unable to stand up for himself. Or worse, his baby. His hold on his belly tightens. Poor unborn Harry, innocent of every crime except for one. Being Regulus’ son. He’ll wind up being a sacrifice in the war that Regulus declared on his family. And isn’t that usually the case? Children paying the price for the sins of their parents?

A flood of despair washes over Regulus, squeezing his lungs in a vise. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He’s nothing more than a useless lump. A failure. Only ever a spare, and a pathetic one at that. Frozen in desperation, all he can do is watch as the scene unfolds in front of him like ink tendrils unfurling in water.

Axel, bless him, refuses to give up. Wandless but determined, he charges ahead, throwing himself at Walburga. She doesn’t bat an eye, incapacitating him with a perfect Expulso. The force sends the Healer flying across the room. He hits the wall with a sickening crack and crumples to the floor. 

Regulus’ stomach bottoms out at the sight of his energetic friend who lies so awfully still.

Walburga takes a step forward, shooting Axel a disgusted glare as she evades his motionless form. For a split second, she comes to a halt, inspecting his motionless form as though she’s running different elimination scenarios through her head, then utters a single word. 

“Obliviate.” 

A clinically precise swish of her wand seals Axel’s fate. He remains nothing but a pathetic heap on the floor, and there’s no telling in what state he’ll wake up.

If he wakes up.

Bile churns in Regulus’ stomach. He swallows convulsively to stop himself from gagging. 

There’s no way to tell if his friend is alive.

And Regulus and his child might soon follow his fate.

Lost. Everything is lost.

Lost lost lost.

The litany of defeat pulses through Regulus’ temples in a panicked rhythm, and it ratchets up to eleven when Walburga binds him with a spell, then steps closer to him. So much for all his grandiose speeches about settling accounts. When the chips are down, he’s not able to do anything but cower, but he’ll be thrice cursed if he lets Walburga glean the depth of his wretchedness.

Despite the burning ice that replaced his blood, he squares his shoulders and looks his mother in the eye.

Give. Her. Nothing.

“Mother. How did you find me?”

She lowers her right hand to her side, but doesn’t relinquish her hold on her wand.

“Regulus. I’m delighted to see you opted for civil discourse, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances under which we had to meet.”

“If by ‘unfortunate circumstances’ you mean barging in on a private medical appointment, stealing my wand, and assaulting my Healer, then I have to agree. Extremely unfortunate.” He shoots a worried glance at Axel, who shows no signs of regaining consciousness. 

Fuck, I hope he’s alright. Merlin, don’t let him suffer the consequences of my stupidity.

Walburga heaves out a long-suffering sigh. “Please, son. Let’s dispense with the dramatics.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“My dear Regulus. Did you really think we wouldn’t discover your foolish ploy? Arrogance. It’s always been your greatest flaw. I blame myself. I indulged you too much, especially after that ungrateful brat chose the blood traitors over his own family. No matter. There’s still time for you to return to the fold if you come willingly. We’ll devise a suitable story for the unnatural child of yours and raise him as a true Black.”

“I’d rather die than let you lay one finger on Harry.” Regulus winces when he realizes he gave away his son’s name and, worse, his emotional attachment to the baby. Walburga has always had this impact on him, making him act without forethought, but he thought he’d outgrown the easily rattled boy he used to be. 

“You know what they say, Regulus. Be careful what you wish for,” Walburga states with a predatory gleam in her eyes. 

Regulus scoffs, faking more confidence than he feels. “We’re both aware you’re bluffing. You’re too invested in preserving our noble and pure line to risk any harm coming to me. Especially when I’m your last hope for a successor.” 

“Not for long,” Walburga nods at his belly. “Since you went to such extreme measures to avoid a betrothal. Really, Regulus. Couldn’t you have just married an obedient heiress, gritted your teeth, and bedded her until she conceived an heir? Then you would’ve been free to indulge in whatever perversions stir your blood. Instead, you turned yourself into a broodmare. How awfully dramatic. I expected better of you, but then I suppose you always were a perverse little creature. Better at hiding it than Sirius, but no less deviant. Merlin knows who you take after—certainly not me or your father.”

“I’ll consider that a compliment,” Regulus grits out through his clenched teeth. He might be rattled to his core, but he won’t give Walburga the satisfaction of having the last word. 

She ignores him. “Here’s my final offer. Return of your own accord, and I’m sure we’ll be able to reach a compromise. We’ll forget about that ridiculous contract of yours since it was signed in bad faith—this child is hardly legitimate, is it? When it was conceived out of a marital bed. And by unnatural means, no less.”

“I am a Black heir carrying his own offspring. It’s impossible for a child to be any more legitimate,” Regulus challenges.

“Well. I suppose in a few days, it’ll become clear whether you produced a little bastard or a trueborn descendant of the Black line,” Walburga says, lingering on the swell of Regulus’ belly. “Unfortunately, since you don’t seem receptive to our generosity, I’ll have to insist you spend those days under our supervision. In case you get any more ridiculous ideas about rebelling against your parents.” 

Ice shards sprout in Regulus’ heart. 

He was so close.

And now everything is falling apart.

“Over my dead body,” he growls, despite the dread spreading through him like cancer.

“All in good time, Regulus.” Walburga absentmindedly dusts off her skirt. “First, let’s find out the truth about the nature of your offspring, hm? Should this child prove to be the genuine article, it could become a real asset. Merlin knows the Black line is in desperate need of new blood since you and Sirius failed to live up to our expectations.”

“You mean since we dared to be our own people, not your mindless pawns.”

“I grow tired of your empty posturing.” Walburga snaps his mouth shut with a wordless Silencio, then leans into his personal space. Her scent, a cloyingly sweet perfume she’s been wearing ever since he was a child, invades his senses and floods his mind with unpleasant memories.

“You have been very naughty, Regulus. And you know what happens to boys who disobey their mothers?”

Regulus’ lungs burn with a scream he’s unable to release. 

Sod off! You won’t get away with this! Once James learns of this, he will raze Grimmauld Place to the ground! He’d never abandon me or his son!

But the spell holds his vocal cords in an iron grip, preventing him from making a peep. Out of other options, he uses the only course of action available to him and spits in Walburga’s face. The gob of saliva lands on her alabaster cheek, a nasty blemish disrupting her makeup. She wipes it away with a grimace.

“Like I said. Naughty. And naughty boys who are mean to their mothers need to be disciplined.”

When Regulus was fourteen, his mother incinerated his stuffed Niffler to teach him a lesson, and he vowed that one day, he’d repay her abuse of him and his brother with interest.

Which proves that a wizard makes plans, and the fates laugh. Because today, Regulus isn’t in a position to make anyone pay. Quite the opposite. He’s back to being fourteen, helpless, and dying on the inside as his mother is about to set fire not to his toy this time, but his entire life. His gaze lands on Axel, who remains dead to the world. Another casualty of Regulus’ arrogance.

A malignant smile blooms on Walburga’s lips as she raises her wand. 

Regret cleaves through Regulus in the last moments before the spell hits.

Please forgive me, Harry.

You deserved so much better.

And James. 

James would’ve so loved to meet his son.

Now he never might.

Hot tears roll down Regulus’ cheeks.

“Stupefy.” Walburga’s spell cracks through the air. 

The magic crashes square into Regulus’ chest, and the entire world goes dark. 

Chapter Text

Regulus

38 weeks, December 22nd

Regulus awakens to a damp chill and the sound of water dripping nearby. For a moment, he’s suspended in blissful ignorance, mind weightless and unburdened by worries. He can make out walls constructed from roughly hewn stones, barely visible in the murky gloom. The only source of light seems to be an enchanted candle, fighting for its life in a sconce near a low-slung ceiling.

Regulus registers these facts and sets them aside, unwilling to draw any conclusion from them. Then someone sticks his face right in front of his field of vision, and reality crashes down on him with all the gentleness of a speeding dragon.

“Are you awake?”

“Um, yeah? Is that you, Barty?”

“He speaks! Thank Merlin and his saggy ballsack, it worked! For a while there, I thought you were a goner.”

Barty’s unhinged cackle wipes away the residue of Regulus’ drowsiness, his mind catching up to the newest development where his best friend, who’s supposed to be posing as him in France, is with Regulus in what appears to be a dank, chilly cellar. 

Well, fuck.

“What worked, exactly?” he asks, dreading the answer.

“Bringing you back to the land of the living with the power of my bloody mind, that’s what, you ungrateful sod. I thought you’d kicked the bucket for sure.”

“Why would you think I was dead?”

“Because you were lying there like a big fat lump without moving a muscle, and I had no clue if Wally and Ori hadn’t done you in.” 

Regulus drags himself upright on what he discovers to be a narrow cot, hugging his belly for reassurance. He can’t tell if he’s attempting to comfort himself or Harry as he runs his hand down his bump. It appears unharmed and not painful. He blows out a relieved breath. Thank Merlin. If his parents moved him by Apparating or Portkey, the baby would’ve—no. Best not to contemplate such a scenario. 

Based on what he learned from Axel, fetuses don’t have a stable enough form yet to survive such means of travel. Their little bodies would disperse into the non-being where all instant travelers lacking the knowledge of how to reassemble, and the pregnant person would come out on the other end without any trace of ever carrying a child. 

So yes, the fact that the bump is still present and accounted for, pressing into Regulus’ thighs and forcing them slightly apart, instantly calms his fears. It looks like his parents are so desperate for a successor that they can’t let the prospect of gaining one slip through their fingers.

Not desperate enough to provide decent accommodation, though.

They’re rolling the dice, and whichever way they fall, they’ll come out of this gamble as winners.

Regulus giving birth to a healthy baby, a true-born Black? They’ll snatch his son away and leave Regulus to his fate, if they don’t dispose of him outright.

Regulus not surviving the labor? Problem solved.

No. I won’t be staying here until I go into labor. I’m getting out of here. The question is, how?

The sprog isn’t moving around much, but when Regulus presses his palm to his stomach, he can feel a soft kick. He’s still in there, heavy and solid. Probably sound asleep and unaware of the crisis. 

Lucky little sod.

Regulus can’t help but envy him somewhat. A further quick check confirms Regulus himself is largely unharmed, save for a couple of minor scrapes he must’ve sustained during the transport, presumably via the Floo network.

Reassured, he swivels his head around to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He reassesses his initial impression of a basement. The lack of windows, caked dirt on the floor covered with moldy straw, two narrow cots, and a bucket exuding a foul odor standing in a corner force him to downgrade the label to a prison cell.

Well, fuck. It bears repeating.

He turns his attention to Barty. His friend hovers above Regulus, his features drawn in a way Regulus doesn’t remember ever seeing, and looking like he’s been through hell since their last meeting at the chalet. Regulus studies him through narrowed eyes, contemplating the unfamiliar expression on his friend’s face. Or is he truly Regulus’ friend? He wouldn’t put it past Walburga and Orion to employ a Polyjuiced doppelgänger to gain his trust.

Barty’s skin is waxy, his cheeks sunken. There’s a spectacular shiner high on his left cheek, and a deep gash running down his face, starting at his brow, biting through his eye, closed and swollen, and ending at his chin. His robes, while elegant, are torn and filthy as though he’s spent the last several nights sleeping in them. 

“Barty,” Regulus begins.

“Yep. In the flesh. Alive and pissed off,” the man jumps in, which Regulus has to concede, is very Barty of him. 

“How did you—you should be—what are you doing here?”

“Hm, let’s see. There I was, minding my own business, when your mother barged into my room, Petrified me, and tossed me into this dungeon. Didn’t even have the decency to offer me refreshments. Gotta say, if this is what passes for hospitality in your family, I’m not impressed. And yes, in case you’re wondering, you can bet your pasty white ass that I’m furious.”

The monologue bears all the signs of Barty’s trademark snark, but Regulus would be a fool to accept his word with no verification. “What’s my favorite book?” he presses.

Barty, or impostor Barty snorts. “In the mood for a spot of light reading, are we? Personally, I think that’s overdoing it with the bookish persona, but I’ll bite. You tell everyone your favorite book is Aqua Allegoria Flora by Florence Benedict to look smart and not like someone who enjoys trashy romances because your actual favorite is Ravaged by the Dragon Prince.”

Regulus’ shoulders slump. Nobody else, apart from James, is familiar with his taste in literature—his real taste in literature. Aside from his pregnancy, this is a secret he keeps closest to his chest, confirming the identity of his unwilling cellmate as Barty Crouch Junior.

“Fuck,” is the only thing Regulus says, the gravity of the situation fully hitting him. Barty’s presence explains how his parents located him, but not why they chose to hold him captive rather than eliminate him with Obliviate or one of the Unforgivables. Taking prisoners is not his parents’ style. Too crude, too inelegant. But Regulus is painfully aware that they don’t do anything without a reason. He just worries he won’t like what the reason is.

“Fuck indeed,” Barty agrees. “Look, Reg, we can discuss whatever you want, books, Potter’s cock, how it feels to embody a human blimp, but later, alright? Right now, we should focus on finding a way out of this hellhole. I’m counting on you, mate. You have a plan, right? Please tell me you have a plan.”

Regulus massages his temples, praying he won’t develop a migraine. That’s the last thing he needs to round off this debacle. Migraine—or going into labor.

“Not as of now. I’ve only just woken up and need a moment to get my bearings.” 

Barty flashes him a concerned look. “It’s gonna be a real quick moment, mate, cause I don’t imagine Wally and Ori will wait for you to get all comfortable, and I’d rather not stick around for when they’re tired of waiting and do us in.”

Pain lurches through Regulus in a sickening wave, forcing him to swallow a groan.

“Are you going to be sick? You’ve gone all pale.” 

Regulus manages a chuckle. “I’m always pale.”

“Fine. Paler. You’re so white you’re literally see-through.” Barty waves his hand in front of Regulus’ face. Regulus bats it away. 

“See through, maybe, but not pass-through.” 

What’s happening to him? Is he alright? Now that’s the million-galleon question. To be honest, he can no longer tell, but probably not. Not even close. His head is reeling, unable to settle, and there’s a scream caught in his throat he fights with all his might against releasing. One second he’s chatting with his friend in his office, the next he’s transported into his worst nightmare. 

Safe to say he’s not alright.

If only he had never thought of this scheme. But then he’d never gotten to know James. He’d never have Harry. 

Besides, what-ifs won’t help him escape. And escape he must for a shot at the future with James. More importantly, he has to escape to protect his son. There’s no chance he’s letting Walburga and Orion lay their grubby, abusive fingers on Harry. 

“Do you at least know where we are?” he levels Barty with a question.

“No clue. They snatched me from one of your fancy French villas and threw me in here while I was out cold. Didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of the outside. You don’t recognize it either? I figured it might be Grimmauld.”

Regulus shakes his head, scanning the cell for any distinguishing features. A carving in the wall. A strangely shaped stone, a piece of antique furniture, a torture device, anything. But his search yields nothing, and he doesn’t sense anything from the house itself. No familiar tingle of magic, no oppressive power emanating from the building.

Grimmauld Place, as stifling as it was, soaked up laughter and tears and joy and sorrow of countless Blacks going back generations, absorbing them into wood and stone until they became a constant presence thrumming through the walls and whispering into Regulus’ ears at night. Whether he likes it or not, he is a Black. Magic as old as the land from which it sprang courses through his veins, and Grimmauld Place is the ancestral seat of his family. He’d recognize it anywhere, deaf and blind, by the echo of history in its halls.

“It’s not Grimmauld. Possibly one of our countryside estates? But I don’t think I’ve ever been here. Definitely not in this part of the house.”

Another cramp tightens his insides, and Regulus pats his stomach absently, waiting for the sensation to recede. He doesn’t have the luxury of letting the Braxton-Hicks derail his focus. The baby surprises him with a gentle tap as if reacting to Regulus’ distress and trying to reassure him.

Hold tight, little one. I’ll solve this mess, one way or another. Please, just hang on inside a little while longer. 

What would he do if he went into labor right this second? Somehow, he can’t imagine Walburga or Orion would play Healer to deliver his baby safely. Based on Walburga’s earlier suggestion to conceal the baby’s parentage, Regulus doubts they’d bring him to a hospital where he could receive proper care. No, they wouldn’t let their precious family name become tarnished by their son’s unsavory actions. 

“Well, ain’t that swell. So we have no clue where we are and no way out.” Barty plops down on his cot, from where he stares grimly at Regulus. 

“I’m sorry.” Regulus offers lamely. 

Barty shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I knew the risks. Feels like I should be the one apologizing for spoiling your elaborate plan.” 

“Speaking of which, how did they recognize you? I thought your disguise was solid.”

“Me too. Believed I had your mannerisms down pat, but your relatives are terrifying, mate. One evening, I complimented your cousin’s ratatouille, and that’s all it took to set off alarm bells in her pretty, unhinged head. No, make that just pretty unhinged.”

“I don’t eat ratatouille. Because I hate eggplant.” 

His distaste for the dish has been a running joke among his family. There’s something deeply ironic about Regulus’ intricate scheme being thwarted by a vegetable.

“Yeah, I know that now. It would’ve been helpful if you’d mentioned it when you coached me because I didn’t know that you were famous for it, so I gorged myself on the stuff. Your cousin dearest became suspicious and spiked my tea with Veritaserum when I wasn’t looking. The next thing I remember is spilling my guts about our ruse to her and then just darkness until I woke up here, in Ori and Wally’s tender loving care.” 

More cramping tightens Regulus’ belly, shooting into his back. He tries to relax his tense muscles as much as possible under the circumstances, while rubbing his bump idly and hoping the unpleasant sensation passes quickly.

“How long was I out?” 

“It’s anyone’s guess without a Tempus or a window, but my estimate would be a couple hours. Why?” 

“Just checking when James might notice I’m missing.”

“And?” Hope leaks into Barty’s voice despite him probably doing his best to suppress the emotion. He never liked appearing desperate. Or weak. 

“Not anytime soon. He’s playing a match in Manchester today and promised to pop by tomorrow to check on me. But even so, he won’t know where I’ve gone.”

“Well, that’s useless then. Do we have any other option than sitting on our asses, twiddling our thumbs and waiting for a big, strong Potter to put two and two together and figure out your unhinged family has taken you?” 

“No. I’m not sure. Let me think for a minute,” Regulus snaps. His belly keeps spasming, and his back continues to ache, no matter how he shifts on the cot. He probably has those two to three hours of being out cold without moving to thank for all these random spasms. Somehow, he can’t imagine his parents took his pregnancy into account and arranged him into a comfortable resting position.

“Come on, Reg. You must have some backup plan, no?”

“No. I don’t.” He tries to wheedle a solution out of his overwrought brain, but it’s refusing to cooperate. The brief surge of adrenaline that hit his system after he’d woken up has long faded, leaving him groggy and unfocused.

“But you’re Regulus Black. You always have a backup.”

“This baby was the backup,” he hisses, the hold on his temper slipping. “I never expected my parents would find out, not really, okay? I was full of myself and cocky about the failsafe I installed precisely so this wouldn’t happen, so I never made the contingencies. It was short-sighted and stupid, and now it’s come back to bite us both in the ass, and I need a second to regroup.”

“Then regroup fast because someone is coming.” 

As if to confirm Barty’s words, there’s a clatter of footsteps and then a door on top of the stairs that Regulus hasn’t noticed before opens. A swath of light spills inside, outlining the silhouettes of his parents. They stand side by side, perched on the landing and overlooking the scene below, once again reminding Regulus of a pair of vultures. His mother’s robes with that ridiculous feathered ruff she loves so much drive the point home with no subtlety whatsoever. 

“So the reports were true,” Orion says without preamble, his voice drenched in revulsion. He flicks his gaze over Regulus, pointedly lingering on his stomach. “And you call yourself my son? Bred like a common whore. I can’t believe you would allow yourself to become such an unnatural freak, but then I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You truly are a disgrace. A stain on the name Black.”

How many times during Regulus’ childhood did his parents loom above him like this, radiating displeasure, their faces wearing identical expressions of scorn? Too many to count. This scene reminds Regulus of every humiliating instance. Every reprimand, every tongue-lashing, every punishment devised to break his spirit while depriving his body. When he grew up, he swore he wouldn’t let them put him in this position. Not once more. Yet here he sits, his oh-so-clever plan in tatters, subjected to his parents’ derision. 

A tiny foot pokes into his ribs, reminding him of the stakes.

Freak or not, he’s not going to permit the monster who raised him to get their hands on Harry.

“Funny,” he replies with a feigned confidence, “because I found the ritual that enabled me to become a ‘freak,’ as you call it, in our family archives. It was our ancestors who developed it, terrified of the Black lineage dying out. I’d say good riddance, but they had a different opinion, and here we are. Products of inbreeding and tampering with the natural order. You might say that, contrary to being an embarrassment, I’m upholding the esteemed tradition of the Noble House of Black.”

Somewhere behind him, Barty lets out an appreciative chuckle. He always did enjoy a good bit of cheek.

“Don’t sully the name of our great house with such nasty lies,” Walburga spits, a lot less fond of Regulus’ brazenness than Barty. She towers above him, regal in her formal robes, her face contorted with fury.

The visual would strike fear in the hearts of most people with a shred of self-preservation instinct. Regulus definitely counts among them. Not so long ago, he would be frightened, and he would withdraw, licking his wounds and biding his time. Today? Today, he is still frightened. But he’s coming to realize that bravery isn’t necessarily a lack of fear. Bravery means standing up for oneself despite fear. 

He heaves himself off the cot, ignoring the twinge of pain in his abdomen. He imagined the final showdown with his parents a lot differently, but damn if he won’t face them standing tall.

“Notice the pronoun, Mother. Our. How very fitting, considering you married your cousin in order to preserve the sanctity of our lineage. You call me a freak, but it’s this house, this family, obsessed with the ideal of blood purity, enforced no matter the cost, that became a perversion of itself.” 

Regulus doesn’t have any cards left up his sleeve. There are no contingencies, no fallbacks. All he has is a case of fake bravado and a vague hope that if he manages to stall enough, James might come looking for him. Feigning nonchalance that he most certainly doesn’t feel, Regulus slides his hands into his pockets and just barely suppresses a jerk when he comes in contact with something cold and hard—the mirror. 

The mirror James insisted he carry with him at all times, ‘for emergencies.’ Well, if being kidnapped by one’s deranged parents doesn’t count as an emergency, Regulus has no idea what does. 

He’s found a ticket out of here. All he has to do is get his parents off his back, contact James, and survive until the cavalry arrives. Because Regulus doesn’t doubt for a second that James, his Jamie, the love of his life, won’t leave a single stone unturned to find him.

But to contact him, Regulus needs to remove his parents from the scene. Fast.

Unfortunately, that’s the moment Barty chooses to stand up and applaud his speech while hollering loudly.

Walburga whips her head in Barty’s direction. Regulus can’t read her expression, but he doesn’t have to. He has it memorized from all the instances where he was on the receiving end, so he can picture how her lips have thinned in annoyance. How an irritated V has formed between her brows. How her eyes have narrowed, measuring her next victim before she pounces.

“Your father should’ve taught you to stay quiet when your betters are speaking,” she says, casually silencing Barty with a wordless spell. 

“Quite. Well done, my dear,” Orion croons at his wife, and Regulus wants to hurl despite his morning sickness long being a thing of the past. 

The cramps in his stomach, on the other hand, are turning into a real nuisance, tightening his belly when he needs to concentrate.

Walburga preens under the compliment. Meanwhile, Orion takes a step forward, pointing at Regulus with his wand. “Enough of this charade. Whatever excuses you make for yourself, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re no longer worthy of your noble name.” 

Regulus spits under his feet. “Keep that bloody name with everything it symbolizes. I have a new one waiting for me.” 

“Manners, Regulus.” Orion’s lips curl in distaste, and he tugs down the hems of his sleeves as though protecting himself from the filth. Not that he needs to. No, it’s Regulus standing in the rotten straw while his parents perch safely above, pristine and untouchable, casting judgment on their imperfect child. 

“Although, I suppose we shouldn’t expect better from you, considering the rabble you associate with.” He shoots a disgusted glare at Barty, who waves at him cheerfully from where he’s settled after being silenced, his legs crossed as he watches the scene unfolding in front of him. Trust Barty to find entertainment in every scenario, muted or not. 

“Oh, Father. If only you knew what kind of ‘rabble’ fathered the child I’m carrying.” 

“We’re aware it’s the Potter boy,” Orion says with a dismissive wave of his hand. At his side, Walburga nods, wrinkling her nose but staying quiet.

“Unfortunate given his corruption of Sirius, but no one can deny the Potters are an old dynasty with powerful magic, and when being molded with the right intentions from the start, I believe we will be able to overcome any regrettable tendencies the child might’ve inherited.” 

Regulus’ arms close protectively over his belly. “This child is not yours to mold.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, son,” Walburga inserts herself smoothly into the conversation. “You promised a new heir to our bloodline, and while you haven’t quite… delivered,” there’s a glint in her eyes Regulus would call humor in anyone else, but this is his mother. Pompous crow, she wouldn’t recognize humor if it laughed in her face. “And your way of putting your words into action is unorthodox and distasteful, it doesn’t mean we’d let your efforts go to waste. If this child proves a trueborn heir, we will adopt him and conceal the truth of his origin. He’ll know us as his parents, his guardians, as we shape him into the perfect Black. An ideal heir who will lead our House into a new, brighter future. And if he’s nothing but a bastard, or should he not survive,” she sweeps her gaze over Regulus’ belly, “that’s a wrinkle ironed.”

“You’re raving, Mother. And you’re out of your mind if you think I’ll let you lay a finger on Harry. I’d rather die.” Another bolt of pain surges through Regulus, forcing him to abandon all remnants of his dignity and sink back onto the soiled cot. In a flash, Barty stands next to him, placing his hand on his shoulder. He must be channeling his magic again in a similar way he did when he woke Regulus from his jinx-induced coma because a ripple of blissful numbness spreads through his body, wiping the pain away. 

“That can be arranged,” Walburga inclines her head thoughtfully. “First, let’s find out if we can’t secure your cooperation in a more civilized manner.” Bored, as if she’s doing nothing more than rearranging her collection of mugs, Walburga points her wand at Barty. “Levicorpus,” she utters, the consonants precise and crisp. 

The spell yanks Barty up by his foot, leaving him hanging upside down, and his face turning purple quickly as his blood rushes downward. 

“Crucio,” Orion continues where Walburga left off. 

A scream rends the air as Barty’s suspended form contorts in agony, scraping down Regulus’ spine with razor-like claws. 

Suddenly, bringing his friend along instead of disposing of him begins to make sense.

He’s here as leverage against Regulus.

After all, a Black never gives up an advantage. A Black also uses physical violence and murder as a last resort. Not because of the inherent evil of such acts, but because of their primitiveness. 

If there’s something Regulus’ family cherishes, it’s elegant solutions.

“Promise you’ll behave, that you’ll surrender the child into our care and never interfere in our family matters, and his suffering can end,” Walburga says, her voice dripping with sweet poison. Like juices of overripe fruit, cloying to the point of rot and luring in unsuspecting victims with its scent, and then clogging their throats after a single bite.

The very idea of his parents, the very people who made his and his brother’s lives a living hell, the people whom he wanted to escape with his final act of defiance, playing any role in raising his child turns Regulus’ stomach. He’d loathe for them to interact with Harry in their capacity as grandparents, but being his sole caregivers? 

Unthinkable.

James would certainly agree with him. James. Jamie. How Regulus wishes he could throw himself into his arms, inhale his scent and listen to his promises that everything will turn out okay. That he’ll protect them both. That he won’t let anything bad ever happen to Regulus or Harry. That they’re going to be a family.

Lazily, Orion swishes his wand again, drawing another tormented scream out of Barty. 

Regulus can’t quite suppress a shudder. It unfurls at the base of his spine, climbing higher and higher, and like a tremor at the beginning of an earthquake that eventually grows into a cataclysm powerful enough to tear down cities, it begins eroding Regulus’ defenses. 

His fingers curl around the mirror, the hard edges biting into the flesh of his palm, grounding him.

He has to last a little longer so he can reach out to James. James will have a solution. He always does. Brave and strong, he’s capable of protecting Regulus from everything. Even the consequences of his actions.

“You have a choice, Son,” Orion says before he casually sends Barty into repeated throes of agony. 

A new dose of pain courses through Regulus. 

Yes. He has to hold on for several extra minutes without giving anything away.

“Cease the dramatics,” he says, feigning aloofness he doesn’t feel in the slightest, not daring so much as a glance at Barty for fear of his resolve crumbling. “Leave Crouch alone so we can negotiate like civilized people.” 

When Regulus set out on this journey, he thought he held all the cards. Now, he’s absolutely sure he has nothing. 

But with Merlin’s help, he should be able to bluff for a while longer.

He has to.

His life, Barty’s life, and the life of his unborn child depend on his ability to lie through his teeth.

His father lowers his wand. “Glad you saw reason.” 

With a casual air, he leans back on the disgusting cot as though it’s the most luxurious bed, pasting a smile on his face. 

Thankfully, Regulus has always been a great liar. He doesn’t flinch a muscle as another contraction clenches his belly like a vise.

“Let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

James

38 weeks, December 22nd

“Sneaking out, Jimbo?” Frank Longbottom asks in his captain’s voice as he positions himself in the doorway, essentially blocking James’ exit route.

James hisses out a curse under his breath. So much for escaping undetected. He almost made it. When the match ended with a decisive victory for the Arrows, he headed straight for the locker room, evading the public and press alike. 

On any other day, he would gladly entertain his fans and analyze every second of the game at the press junket. Today, however, he has only one thing on his mind. One person. His fiancé. The novelty of his new status hasn’t worn off yet. James’ heart gives a little thrill whenever he thinks of Regulus becoming his husband-to-be, but the excitement is overshadowed by worry right now. It’s Regulus’ due date today, and a prickly disquiet has invaded James’ chest and refuses to leave him alone. He had experienced a similar feeling once before—on the day that ended with him bringing Regulus to the hospital.

Yes, Regulus has the mirror on him. He can contact James whenever he needs to. And if he couldn’t for whatever terrible reason, he’s got the ring to alert Axel about any potential crisis. So, by all accounts, he should be safe. The contingencies are in place, and Regulus shouldn’t be in any danger. 

And yet. James can’t shake off the strange itch crawling under his skin, thousands of fiery ants burrowing deeper and deeper, whispering that something is wrong, wrong, wrong, and he won’t rest easy until he confirms with his own two eyes, as faulty as they might be, that Regulus and the baby are safe. 

Which is why he sprinted away from the pitch the second the game concluded, threw on his civvies without bothering to wash up, ignoring the glaze of sweat covering his body and the dust caked onto his face. There will be time to shower later. Marginally more civilized, he was about to sneak out of the locker room and head directly to the chalet a day early, when Frank’s voice froze him in his tracks.

Normally, James gets along great with him. Frank’s a straight shooter and all-round great chap. Today, James will catapult him into the sun if he’s going to insist on getting in his way. With a tenuous hold on his frustration, he squares his shoulders and looks Frank in the eye.

“Yeah. Gotta pop off. Urgent family matter.” 

And thank Merlin for Regulus’ spell letting him say that.

Frank raises his eyebrows. “More urgent than celebrating the victory with the lads?” 

“You could say that.” James shuffles on his feet but keeps his voice restrained. Noncommital.

Frank gives him a pointed once-over. “You’ve been kind of absent throughout the season.”

Not this again. James has already gone through this with Kent. Don’t they understand—no, the problem is, they don’t, because James can’t tell them. Because his relationship with Regulus isn’t normal. It’s clandestine, and some people might even call it unnatural, and it’s strange and wonderful and the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

“Do you have any reason to be dissatisfied with my performance?” James taps his foot. He’s holding a grip on his temper, but his unspoken ‘Is this going to take long?’ hangs in the air between them.

Frank heaves out a sigh. “No, of course not. After the rocky start, your stats has been impressive, and you absolutely crushed it today. Your dedication is beyond reproach. But I shouldn’t have to explain to you that Quidditch is about more than the final score, James. We’re a team, on the pitch—and off. A family. That’s what makes us work so well. By distancing yourself from everyone, you risk losing the sense of your place with us.”

James lets out a sigh, aware that Frank has already won. “Had no idea you were so sentimental, Captain. Or so manipulative.”

“I can crank it up when necessary,” Frank grins. “So. Is it working?”

“Unfortunately,” James grimaces. He has to admit that Frank is making some good points. He needs to be more present for the team if he wants to maintain morale. After all, what harm can an hour in the pub do? 

Regulus has the mirror. 

And the ring.

He would call if he needed anything. 

“So can I count on you gracing us with your presence today?” Frank asks.

“Yeah. Just let me hop back for a shower. I’m not going out in public this ripe, and the cleaning spells make my skin itch.”

“Glad you didn’t force me to say it,” Frank wrinkles his nose, then laughs and slaps James’ shoulder. “The Nag’s Head, in thirty minutes. First round’s on me.” 

It takes James a long while to extricate himself from the rowdy party his teammates wind up having. The pub is teeming with Arrows fans, and everyone’s over the moon about the results. With the Magpies out of the way, the championship is as good as theirs, and the celebration is boisterous enough to match it. 

Contrary to his expectations, James enjoys himself until the itchy sensation from before reappears, scraping against his bones again and reminding him it’s time to head out. Nobody tries to stop him in this instance, although Frank sends a questioning look his way. James only nods, not losing any more time, and Disapparates the second he steps out of the pub. He’s pretty sure a couple of Muggles spotted him, but he counts on them being drunk enough to chalk the strange phenomenon to their inebriation. 

In France, he immediately lets himself into the chalet. The house is dark, which is not surprising this late, but the unease in James’ chest grows claws, piercing them through his flesh. He gives a cursory glance to the sofa, and when he confirms it to be unoccupied, he flies up the stairs and tiptoes into the bedroom, ready to climb into bed with Regulus to hold him and mutter sweet nonsense in his ear. Or beg forgiveness for his delayed arrival, depending on Regulus’ mood. 

It’s so dark inside that James can’t see two steps ahead. He doesn’t dare to cast a Lumos for fear of waking Regulus, but as he’s tiptoeing across the floor, he begins to realize the room is filled with the silence of an empty space. And sure enough, the bed is empty. The blankets are neatly folded as Regulus left them in the morning, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen. 

A sickening dread blossoms in James’ stomach, spreading outward from his core to his limbs, rendering him numb, his blood turning to ice. 

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Maybe he fell asleep somewhere weird. In the tub, perhaps.

Sanity crumbling into dust, he casts ‘Homenum Revelio’ with a shaky hand. 

The spell detects no human presence. 

Meaning Regulus is not here.

James’ body gives out under him, and he half-sits, half collapses on the bed, on the still-made bed that has no quietly snoring Reggie in it, and scrubs a hand over his face. His body is going through the motions while his mind feels miles away. Disconnected. As though his reality is being filtered through a thick layer of cotton and denial.

As an afterthought, he casts Lumos to orient himself, then pulls out the mirror from his pocket, hesitating before uttering Regulus’ name. 

Because if he makes the call and Regulus doesn’t pick up, the last piece of hope he’s clinging to will wither and crumble to dust. Right now, he can still believe that Regulus went into labor while in the hospital and didn’t have the time to contact James. Or that he called him in the middle of the match when James couldn’t respond, and now he’s exhausted after giving birth, fast asleep.

But if James calls him and Regulus doesn’t answer, he’ll have to face a very real possibility that something went terribly wrong. 

Idiot. If something did go wrong, you’re wasting valuable time.

Time he could spend gathering a search party or storming Grimmauld Place or doing anything, really. Anything would be more useful than sitting on a bed like a miserable lump.

He shakes himself out of his stupor. 

“Regulus.”

No reaction.

But that’s okay. That’s okay. It might take Regulus a while to react if he’s in a deep sleep.

“Reggie. Wake up, sweetheart.” 

Still nothing. James’ blood rushes through his ears, hissing and swishing against his veins more loudly than an ocean tide.

“Regulus. Please answer, love. Please.” 

The itch from earlier corrodes the last thread of optimism James was desperately hanging on to, and really, it was nothing more than lying to himself instead of acknowledging what his gut seemed to have known, or at least suspected. 

Regulus and his unborn child are in danger. 

In a swift move, James gets to his feet and heads downstairs to the fireplace without a single backward glance.

There’s nothing here for him anymore.

When James emerges from a fireplace at Axel’s office, doubts assault him. What was he thinking, coming here when it’s almost midnight? Axel is probably at home, dreaming sweet dreams, unaware of Regulus’ whereabouts. And James can’t exactly wander the corridor and pester random Healers, asking them about a pregnant man. That would get him confined to a psych ward faster than you can spell ‘lunatic.’

Then again, what other choice does he have? 

Regulus was so isolated, so secretive, that only a couple of people knew about his plan. Axel and Barty, to James’ knowledge, and since he has no means of reaching Barty, Axel represents his only option.

To James’ surprise, he discovers the office still lit and occupied. Axel is sitting by the window, staring dreamily outside. Whether he actually sees anything remains unclear, but if James had to guess, he’d bet on no. There’s something hazy and unfocused in the Healer’s expression, suggesting he might not be all there. The beatific smile he’s wearing for no good reason, along with the way his eyes don’t seem to focus on any specific point, is definitely a cause for concern. 

The hairs on the back of James’ neck prickle. He can tell something sinister is at play here, despite not being able to determine the precise cause yet.

He waves a hand in front of Axel’s face. No reaction.

“Axel. Hey, mate. I need your help.” 

Saying the name does the trick, bringing the Healer out of his trance. 

Axel blinks in confusion, then zeroes in on James. “Yes? Do I know you?” 

Fuck. James has encountered enough Obliviated people, Muggles and Wizards alike, to recognize the symptoms. 

“It’s me. J—Lurch? Don’t you remember me?” James tries anyway, even though he doesn’t believe he’ll have much luck.

“I don’t know any Lurch.” Axel drags his gaze up and down James’ body. “Unfortunate name, that. Fitting, though.”

James suppresses a scream. “How about Regulus? Can you recall Regulus? Tall, black hair, white forelock, green eyes, slender build, pregnant? You’ve been his OB/GYN for the past nine months?” 

“Regulus. Regulus. Rings a bell. Prickly but lovable. Like a hedgehog.” Axel scowls. “But he’s not pregnant. You’re pulling my leg, mate. Everyone knows men can’t get pregnant.”

James runs a tired hand through his hair. Not that he expected Axel to provide concrete information, but a foolish, optimistic part of him hoped for—something. A fragment of a memory. Crumbs left behind to mark the way, similar to a flood sweeping through the countryside and scattering debris around. But of course, life doesn’t work like this. It’s evident that whoever attacked Axel—and James has a pretty solid suspicion about the identity of the attacker—was no amateur, so he won’t discover anything useful here. 

“Axel, listen to me. I have reasons to assume someone has tampered with your memory. We’re in a hospital, and there should be Healers around able to reverse the spell if you act fast enough. Go outside and ask the first person you encounter to point you in the direction of a Mind Ward, and when you get there, tell the people inside you’ve been Obliviated.”

Despite the urgency of the situation, James can’t bear the idea of letting the poor, confused Healer sit in his office and stare out the window until he dies of thirst and malnourishment because the spell caused him to forget that a human body requires sustenance.

“Okay,” Axel complies cheerfully, scrambling to his feet, which further confirms his pitiful state. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t let anybody boss him around, least of all James. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you take me there? You seem like you know what you’re doing.” 

Oh, if only.

“I’m in a rush to find someone. But you should be in safe hands here,” James adds when he notices the sad pout forming on Axel’s face. “I have to run now.”

“D’accord. Vole mon petit oiseau, vole comme le vent.”

Axel slips into his native tongue and continues spouting words James doesn’t understand. Not that he stays around to listen. He shoots out of the room as soon as he finishes his recommendation, and by some miracle escapes the labyrinth of intersecting corridors without anyone questioning his presence in the hospital at such a late hour.

When the entrance doors hiss shut behind him, and the chilly December air bites his cheeks, despair crashes over him. Until now, he’s been running on instinct and adrenaline, but they both decide to vanish at once, replaced by a debilitating fatigue. The exhaustion so common post-matches, paired with the dread about Regulus’ well-being, sucks every drop of energy out of his system. 

Before he has a chance to brace himself, his body betrays him, and he slides into a crouch against a hospital wall, head in hands and gulping down air in short, gasping bursts. His lungs are seizing up, his blood is roaring in his ears, and he recognizes with a sort of detached clarity that he’s about to have a panic attack. On the heels of the realization, a memory arrives. Regulus, trembling in his arms, seeking comfort from him. Regulus, trusting him. Actually trusting him for the first time. Not demanding favors from him or using him to further his vengeance agenda, but being vulnerable and open and letting his walls down. Counting on James to help.

He counted on him then, and James is sure as hell that he’s counting on him now. Wherever Regulus is, in whatever state, he’s relying on James to be there for him. And their son. So James can’t afford to fall apart next to a hospital building with crackling walls and matted windows, courtesy of the illusion charm covering its true purpose. 

I shouldn’t have gone to the stupid match, let alone the pub. So Frank would’ve thought I’m an arrogant prick. So what?

His captain’s opinion doesn’t matter—not compared to Regulus’ safety. James should’ve excused himself and stayed with Reggie. He should’ve protected him at any cost.

How could I have been so careless?

No. ‘Should haves’ never helped anyone. He can kick himself later. Right now, he needs to pull himself together and save the man he loves. 

Save Regulus from whoever dared steal him.

Limb by limb, muscle by muscle, James drags himself up. 

The winter chill fades away as he is ablaze with a new purpose. 

He’s going to teach the people who took Regulus a lesson.

Regulus Black belongs to one person, and one person only.

And his name is James Fucking Potter.

With a soft crack, he Disapparates.

Chapter Text

James

38 weeks, December 23rd

After striking out at the hospital, James goes where he always goes when he finds himself in a bind. Home. To his best friend. To the one person he can count on to have his back no matter what.

He materializes on the doorstep of their house, determined to tell Sirius everything—or as much as Regulus’ spell will allow him—and beg for help. 

There’s no love lost between the brothers, but James has to believe Sirius will be the bigger man and set their differences aside for James’ sake, even if his request comes on the heels of his betrayal.

I’ll be lucky if Sirius doesn’t beat the crap out of me, let alone help.

And I have no one else to blame for this mess but myself. I should’ve come clean ages ago. 

With a dejected sigh, he pushes the door open and barrels through the hallway decorated with floating Yule lights into the living room, hoping Sirius is at home and not serving a shift at St. Mungo’s. James couldn’t stomach another hospital visit. Not tonight. Not when it reminds him how much he has at stake.

For once, luck is on his side. James finds Sirius sprawled on the sofa, but in his haste, he forgot that he might not be alone. Remus is draped all over him, and based on the frantic way they grind into each other and the gasped out moans James overhears before he clamps his hands over his ears, they seem to be taking advantage of having the house to themselves.

James stalls in the doorway, clearing his throat. “Mm. Hey. Hi. Don’t mean to interrupt, but I need to have a word with Sirius. Actually. Come to think of it, I might need to talk with both of you.”

Remus and Sirius jump apart as if electrocuted and arrange themselves on the opposite sides of the sofa with an identical mix of guilt and feigned innocence on their faces. Any other day, James would jump at the chance to tease them for their inability to preserve the sanctity of the communal area. He’d suggest getting a room, using the one they already have, or, his personal favorite, he’d traumatize them by suggesting a threesome. Today, he’s in no mood for jokes.

“Sorry, we didn’t expect you tonight, not after the beating you gave to the Magpies. We listened to the match on the Wireless—well done, mate. But what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating the win?” Sirius asks, sliding over to Remus to entwine their hands, apparently finding the distance between them unbearable. 

James feels his features crumple at the sight of their simple domesticity. 

“Is something wrong, James?” Remus asks, his soft voice brimming with kindness. Clearly, James is rubbish at hiding his distress.

“Yeah, Prongsie. What’s going on? Did someone die?” Sirius joins, his brows creased with concern.

“I don’t actually know. It’s—it’s possible.” The words catch in James’ throat, and he has to pull them out, ugly lump after ugly lump, tearing bloody gashes into his flesh. 

Dead. At this very moment, his fiancé and his child might be dead. Somehow, he’s failed to consider—or rather, he carefully avoided considering—this option before. It’s too awful to entertain, but now that the notion has entered his brain, it won’t leave, burrowing deeper and deeper and deeper. His stomach roils with acid. Dear Merlin. He’s about to throw up right on the fluffy rug they bought with Sirius as one of the first things when they moved in together. 

Lost in his misery, James has failed to notice that Sirius has come over to him to loop his arm around his back to prop him up and steer him to the couch. 

“You looked like you were gonna keel over,” Sirius says once they’re both seated. “Now tell us what’s the matter. Who do we need to murder?” 

“I’d also like to know. Getting all the details straight before going on a homicidal rampage is crucial,” Remus adds dryly.

Tears prickle the back of James’ eyelids, but for a different reason this time. His friends. His amazing friends, whom he was so afraid to share his secret with, are here, ready to go to war on his behalf.

Of course, they might change their minds yet once they hear the specifics, but he has no choice. Not with Regulus’ life at stake.

He wipes his eyes before he can speak. “This might be a little difficult to explain. It concerns—well, the thing is—I’ve been kind of—”

“Does it have anything to do with the mystery bloke you had us remodel Henry’s house for?” Sirius asks without inflection.

Remus heaves out a sigh, shaking his head. “You’re the light of my life, but you have the subtlety of a raging erumpent.”

“What? James told me himself he was involved with someone, even if he was acting all dodgy about this identity. I only meant to speed things up. We’d be here forever otherwise.” Sirius pats Remus’ knee and refocuses on James. “So? Did I guess right, Prongsie?”

James nods, relieved that Sirius seems to be taking the news in stride. “Yes. Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more, but in my defense, it’s complicated because the person I’ve been seeing is R—” He barely utters the first consonant, and his throat constricts, his lungs squeezing tight and cutting his air supply in an instant.

Fuck. He never asked Regulus to lift the jinx. It didn’t seem necessary, ensconced as they were in their little bubble, but it seems like a hell of an oversight at the moment.

James continues to choke, his raspy breath the only sound in the room. Sirius grows worried and pulls out a wand, ready to step in, but it’s Remus who saves the situation. 

“Is it alright if I tell him?” he asks, worry sitting in his tawny eyes as he observes James’ struggle to inhale.

Unable to speak, James nods frantically. Sirius might kill him when he learns the truth about James’ boyfriend, but if he doesn’t, James will suffocate anyway. His urgency to share the details is apparently fooling the spell, making it think he intends to divulge the information at any cost, which triggers the safeguard over and over, robbing him of the ability to breathe. Dark spots bloom in his vision, and he urgently waves his hand to indicate that Remus should provide the explanation. Right bloody now.

“James has been seeing Regulus on the down-low for the last couple of months. He’s the reason behind everything. James sneaking around, moving out—he’s been spending time with your brother.” 

“Thank fuck,” James gets out when the pressure crushing his windpipe into a flat object disappears, sucking down as much air as possible. “I mean. I’m sorry,” he adds, trying for apologetic but coming out as wheezy.

When he chances a glance at Sirius, he discovers his friend studying him as though he’s an unknown specimen of a fantastic beast. Otherwise, his face remains stoic, not betraying a single emotion. With his trademark dark humor, Sirius always joked that at least all the childhood abuse had gifted him an incredible poker face. James found it funny, in a bleak, twisted way. Until now. Now, he finds it terrifying.

“What was that about? The choking?” Sirius asks after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence.

“Regulus has James under some kind of binding spell that triggers whenever he tries to reveal his identity, whereabouts, or any details about his person. Sounds about right, James?” Remus explains in his stead when James’ vocal cords malfunction yet again. He’d love to blame the sudden lack of cooperation on curse damage, but he fears a case of guilty conscience is more likely.

“Yes. Remus is correct. I’ve been together with—ugh, this person—for the last six months, and now he’s disappeared, and I have reason to believe he’s been taken because he’s—because of certain aspects I’m forbidden to divulge, and I realize that I went behind your back, Si, and you’re probably furious with me, as you should, but I’m afraid R—this person might be in danger and I can’t save him alone. So please, yell at me as much as you want, or punch me in the face, break my nose for all I care, but later. First, help me save him. I can’t tell you all the facts yet, but unless I’m very mistaken, there are more lives at stake than one.” James finishes out of breath and hunches up his shoulders to block a hit that he can already feel coming.

Remus shifts closer to Sirius, placing a conciliatory hand on his thigh. The air in the room swells with suspense. Anticipation hangs over them, heavy and oppressive, promising an explosion of cataclysmic proportions. 

Then, to everyone’s surprise—definitely James’—but Remus isn’t faring any better if the slack expression on his face is anything to go by—Sirius shrugs. “Okay. What do you need from us? I’m volunteering Moony as well, because I’m assuming you won’t want to sit this one out, darling?”

So both Black Brothers call their partners ‘darling.’ Must be their posh upbringing. And why in Morgana’s name is James fixating on such trivialities in a crisis?

“Of course. Happy to lend a hand. Merlin knows James helped me out of a tough spot more times than I can count. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

As touching as James finds Remus’ offer, he can’t stop gaping at Sirius. “I’m sorry, but what the what?”

“You came here asking for help. We agreed to give it to you, so I assume there’s nothing else to discuss. Unless you shagged more members of my family?”

Still dumbstruck, James shakes his head. 

“Brilliant. That’d make me seriously doubt whether you had any common sense left in your body. We can discuss your involvement with Regulus later, but right now, you need to explain what happened. Why do you think Regulus was taken?”

“So that’s your whole reaction. ‘Okay,’ and ‘Brilliant,’ and then it’s back to business? I expected you to beat me to a pulp, and instead you’re just… going along with it?”

“Would you rather I throw a fit? Give me some credit, James. I’m an adult. You are too, by the way, and so is Regulus. You’re both free to date whomever you want. And yes, that includes one another, although choosing Reg raises some questions about your judgment. Also, I feel like I should warn you about what an unpleasant git he can be, but since you’re already in way too deep, it’d be pretty pointless.”

“So you’re not mad at all?” James asks, unable to trust his ears. It can’t possibly go over this smoothly.

“Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong, I’m furious. Probably not for the reason you might think, though.”

“Why, then?”

Sirius lets out a sigh. “Like I said, not because you and Reg are an item. I can’t fathom what you see in him, but if anyone’s going to be a good influence on him, it’s you. Besides, if you two get married, we’re going to be an actual family.”

The unwitting remark pierces James’ heart with searing agony. They already are a family, connected by the tiny human growing inside Regulus. Sirius might be surprisingly accepting about their relationship, but he probably won’t be as understanding about James impregnating his brother.

“No, I’m pissed because you lied to me. Because you assumed I’d be a selfish prat and stop you from seeing a person you care about, even if the person is a prissy blood purist with terrible hair.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I was afraid of losing you. Or R-my partner. I expected you’d give me an ultimatum once I confessed, and I was trying to—”

Sirius cuts in with a snort, “—have your cake and eat it too? Not your smartest decision, mate. You should know, this shit never pans out well. Look, once this is over, we’re gonna have a discussion, but right now, we have more urgent matters to solve, so just remember that I’m not going anywhere because you let your dick get the better of you. At the risk of sounding gross and sappy, ever since I fell in love, I understand how it can make a person lose their head.” Sirius sends Remus a smile smitten enough to match his words. Focused on his boyfriend, he’s unprepared for James tackling him into a hug. 

James wraps his arms around him, ignoring his surprised yelp as he buries his face in Sirius’ shoulder. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much the fear of Sirius’ reaction weighed on him. How much he needed to hear the reassurance that he wouldn’t lose Sirius despite the damage he did to their friendship.

“Only you could mention a dick during a heartfelt friendship confession,” Remus pipes from the right.

Sirius shrugs, his muscles shifting under James’ cheek. “What can I say? I’m a wordsmith.”

“You’re something, alright,” Remus teases, but there’s too much fondness in his voice to confuse the remark for anything other than deep affection. “I’m glad you two cleared the air, but it doesn’t bring us closer to solving this Regulus situation. If we presume Regulus was indeed kidnapped, the identity of his abductors could give us a clue about our next steps. Any ideas you can share, James?” 

James detaches from Sirius, giving up the familiar warmth and comfort only with reluctance. He’s about to open his mouth and speak up when his thigh vibrates.

“Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see us?” Sirius cocks a brow at him, but James barely hears him over the rush of blood into his ears. 

Regulus, it must be Regulus calling. Who else? Nobody else has access to the mirror. Thank Merlin he begged him to carry it on his person, always. James shoots up from the sofa, pulling the mirror out in one swift motion, so as not to waste a single second. When Regulus’ face pops up, pale and drawn, with hair matted with sweat to his forehead, but otherwise unharmed in any discernible way, an ocean of relief washes over James.

Alive. The love of his life is alive. 

A bolt of fierce joy electrocutes James from head to toe, and his heart beats against his ribs with frantic, painful thuds. His hand begins to shake so hard he almost loses his grip on the handle and recovers at the last possible moment. 

There’s a rustle of movement behind him as Sirius and Remus move closer to peer over his shoulder, but James pays them no mind, his concentration fully consumed by the haggard expression carved into Regulus’ beloved face.

“Reggie. Reggie, where are you? Are you alright?”

 “For the moment. James, you have to listen carefully—” Regulus’ voice cuts off as his gaze moves from James’ face to the side of the view where he must’ve glimpsed James’ companions. “Is that Sirius with you?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Sirius makes a gagging noise at the endearment, which James pretends not to hear. “Remus is here, too. And I told them. About us. When I found the chalet empty and Axel Obliviated, I was desperate. Didn’t know where else to go. Please don’t be too mad.”

“I have bigger problems right now, darling.” Regulus’ eyes soften, looking at James with an unbearable amount of affection, and his voice fills with the same longing flowing through James’ veins. To hold the other in his arms. To kiss his worries away. To promise everything will be alright. James swipes his thumb over the mirror in a similar gesture he used countless times to swipe the unique white forelock away from Regulus’ forehead. He would give everything, all the gold from his vault, his kidney, his heart, to be able to do it in person right now.

“I’m just so glad you’re alive, Reggie. You have no idea how terrified I was that something happened to you.” 

To you both. James bites his tongue before adding the rest. 

Behind him, there’s more gagging, followed by a swatting sound as Remus must’ve whacked Sirius on the shoulder. Bless him. 

“As touching and not at all nausea-inducing as your lovey-dovey act is, we have more pressing issues to tackle, so rein it in and focus.” Sirius shoves James to the side so he occupies more space in the mirror, inserting himself into the conversation without preamble. “Regulus, do you have any idea who took you or where you are?” 

“Our dear parents, of course. Who else.” 

“That makes no sense. Why—what reason would they have to take you? Aren’t you their precious beloved heir, poised to inherit everything?”

“Let’s say the situation has changed since your name was burned off the tapestry.”

“Okay, setting that aside for the time being. Where are they holding you? We can’t break you out if you don’t give us your location.”

“This might come as a surprise to you, brother, but Mother didn’t bother sharing the coordinates when she snatched me, so I have no clue what or where this place is. I can only tell it’s not Grimmauld.” Regulus’ face contorts into a grimace, and he winces and sucks in a sharp breath.

James pushes Sirius out of the view, searching Regulus for signs of distress. “Is something wrong? Are you and the—is everything alright?”

Regulus waves a hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. A mild spasm, nothing more. Look, for once, Sirius is right. You’ll need to find my location, and since I’m in a windowless cell, there’s not much information I can give you. But there’s a spell that should work. You know which one I mean, Sirius.”

James has no clue what Regulus is talking about. He’s never heard of a spell that would allow tracking an adult Wix who is no longer under the trace. Then again, he’d never heard of a spell that would allow a man to become pregnant, so it must be another gift from the Black family archives of ancient and often forbidden magic. 

His hunch is further confirmed by Sirius’ sharp nod. “Sanguini vocare. I remember. But I can’t cast it off the top of my head, and last I saw that grimoire, it was hidden in the library in Grimmauld behind the portrait of Cygnus I. Retrieving it is gonna take time.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Regulus asks through gritted teeth. “Didn’t think so. Look on the bright side, brother,” Regulus chuckles dryly. “You don’t have to worry about running into Mum and Dad. I promised them to cooperate and let them know when I go into—” he cuts himself off, clearly unwilling to disclose more about his condition than necessary. “Not important. The point is, I bought us some time, so head to Grimmauld, find the tome, cast the spell, and please, for the love of Morgana, hurry.”

Regulus hisses again, and by the way the image in the mirror wobbles, he must’ve moved his hand. Possibly to his belly. His very pregnant, about-to-pop belly. Which remains out of sight but not out of James’ mind. His thoughts are rattling like a snitch trapped in a cauldron, bouncing around but never calming. 

Poor Regulus, so close to giving birth, his body exhausted to the limit by the task of carrying a child. A task it wasn’t designed for. Regulus, who’s so alone out there but so brave despite the pain, which James dearly hopes isn’t labor. Please, Merlin, don’t let it be labor. Not yet. Let Harry wait until Regulus is out of danger and resting in the hospital, not in what appears to be a filthy, unpleasant cell. Their son deserves to be born in a clean room and welcomed into the world by his loving parents. Both of his parents. 

“Wrap it up, buttercup.” Another voice on Regulus’ end of the conversation chimes in, but its owner remains unseen. “I can hear someone coming.” 

“Bloody hell,” Regulus curses, scrambling to hide the mirror in his robes. “They promised to leave us alone.” 

“Reg? Who’s that with you? What’s going on?” James demands an answer, but none comes. 

The disembodied voice reminded him of someone. Someone he ran into recently, an encounter as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Barty Crouch, sitting on the sofa in their chalet and mocking James, as though it was his given right to manspread on Regulus’ property and try to get a rise out of the father of his child. But what is he doing with Regulus? 

At least he’s not alone. At least he’s not alone.

James repeats the words like a mantra, clinging to the hope that the anonymous voice in the mirror truly belongs to one of Regulus’ friends.

Of course, without any confirmation, James can’t be sure, and none is coming through the mirror. Only the rustle of fabric and a swirl of varying shades of black, alternating with flashes of stone walls covered in slimy lichen, illuminated by a sickly light emanating from the flickering candles placed in the sconces on the wall. The view spins and tumbles in a quick, disjointed rhythm but never fades completely. 

An agonized wail tears from Regulus’ side, freezing the blood in James’ veins into tendrils of ice. This voice, he’d recognize anywhere. Regulus. Regulus, who must’ve lost the mirror to whoever the new arrival on the scene is. The thought has barely crossed his mind when his worst suspicions are confirmed. 

The picture blurs into a dark smudge for a moment, then reforms into a face James hoped he’d never see in his life again. It has delicate, aristocratic features, speaking of years of breeding for good looks and power. In fact, if James’ squints, he can see Regulus’ echo in them, but while his Regulus’ angular features are softened by plush lips so often curved in a smile (exasperated as it might be) and the warm spark of green eyes, the face staring back at James’ is severe and devoid of kindness with no flicker of compassion to offset its severe beauty.

“Potter,” Walburga Black spits. “I see you can’t take a hint, so I’ll spell it out for you. Stay out of our family matters. You did enough damage already.” 

The sight rouses James out of his stupor. Fury rises in his chest, spreading through the ice now running in his veins, and transforming it into a flame burning with the sole purpose of wiping Walburga and Orion Black off the face of the Earth. 

When he addresses Walburga, he doesn’t recognize his own voice, harsh and chilling and brimming with the promise of future suffering. “Release Regulus this instant, or suffer the consequences.” 

“Look at you, trying to be intimidating. It’s like watching a puppy that’s learning to bark. And speaking of ungrateful bitches and disappointing half-breeds. Hello, son. Won’t you introduce me to your—I assume pet? Or did you take a leaf out of Potter’s book, and congratulations are in order?” Walburga’s gaze moves to his friends, who stand behind him, emanating steadfast warmth. Sirius’ arm wraps around James’ waist while Remus links his arm with James’, both stepping forward to present a united front. A wave of gratitude so intense it’s almost dizzying sweeps through James. And thankfully, they’re both too furious after Walburga’s taunts to pay much attention to her oblique hints at Regulus’ pregnancy. 

“Burn in hell, you nasty old hag,” Sirius spits. “You won’t get away with this.”

Walburga makes a tutting sound. “Ah, but you’re quite mistaken, my dear. I already have. Frankly, I’m a little disappointed in your lack of creativity when it comes to credible threats. Then again, that’s the only area where you’d ever truly excelled. Disappointing your parents. I have to say, son, neither of you boys fulfilled the high hopes your father and I had for you.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m no son of yours,” Sirius growls, but as much as James appreciates the show of support, he needs to regain control of the situation before it spins too far away from him.

“Where are you keeping Regulus? Tell me right now, or—” 

“Or else? Tired and trite, Potter. I grow bored of your theatrics.” Walburga purses her lips and taps her chin as if in thought. 

James strains his ears for a sign of Regulus, but all he can hear is silence, and it’s deafening.

Meanwhile, in the mirror, Walburga brushes an invisible lint off her robes and straightens as though she’s reached a decision. “But since I’m not heartless, let me tell you that Regulus is back where he belongs. With his doting parents.”

“You’re doting the same way a lion eating its cubs is doting,” Sirius can’t help needling Walburga, but Remus moves to his side, murmuring a reassurance or a rebuke—James can’t tell. But he falls silent afterward, only squeezing James’ waist more firmly as if to confirm he still has his back.

Bolstered, he rallies and challenges Walburga again. “Let Regulus go. Let him go, and we might spare you.”

“Empty threats. You’re a disgrace, much like that ungrateful brat of mine you call a friend. All spark, no jinx.” She lifts her hand to inspect her nails casually, like a parody of every villainous character James has ever seen. It’d be ridiculous if he weren’t frantic with worry about Regulus, who remains absent from the conversation. Probably muted by a spell. Hopefully. James refuses to consider any other alternatives.

“Well. I hope you took the opportunity to say your farewells, because you won’t see Regulus again.” She doesn’t utter the word ‘alive’ out loud. It hangs in the air anyway, heavy and ominous, as Walburga curls her lips into a mirthless smile, fully aware of the effect the silence she wields with precise cruelty inflicts on James.

“Goodbye, James Potter. Son,” she nods at Sirius. “And don’t bother trying to use this anymore.” 

In a swirl of robes, she disappears. Then the picture in the mirror lurches—there’s no other way to describe it, and the world turns upside down. Walburga must’ve tossed it down on the floor, so it now displays what must be a ceiling. Similar to other parts of the cell, it’s dank and murky. Except for one element that stands out from the filth, catching James’ attention. 

There’s a flat tile in the center, a great deal cleaner than the rest, depicting a relief of three birds. Crows, unless James is very much mistaken. But he doesn’t get enough time to study the view more closely, as a heel suddenly descends on the mirrored surface and smashes it into shards. The picture fractures, turning into a mosaic before fading completely as the magic embedded in the enchanted object evaporates. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck!” James hurls his now useless counterpart of the ruined mirror against the wall, and it clatters down to the floor with the clink of broken glass. The sound is the only thing audible in the room as Sirius and Remus gape, stunned and speechless. Right. They’re not used to his outbursts of anger. When he’s in a bad mood, he’s more likely to sulk. Flowing into a rage is more of Sirius’ habit.

Well, they can take their expectations and shove them. The man he loves has been kidnapped, and James doesn’t know where he is, except he’s being held by freaking psychopaths masquerading as his parents, oh, and the cherry on the top of this horror sundae is that Regulus is pregnant and vulnerable, and while Regulus is generally formidable, he’s in no state to defend himself from his unhinged family. 

“Fuck. What are we supposed to do? We can’t go breaking into Grimmauld to search for some obscure spell, but we have no chance of finding him otherwise, and we definitely can’t afford to scour the whole of England for him. There’s no time. Merlin knows what they are doing to him right now. Not to mention he’s about to—he doesn’t have much time.” 

Sirius frowns. “Is he injured? He seemed fine to me before Mother Dearest made her entrance. No subtlety, that woman.” 

James stops his pacing. His arms hang limp at his sides, heavy and useless. What does he normally do with them? That’s not something he spends a long time contemplating, but today, he’s at a loss. A stranger in his own body. Eventually, he settles on raising them so he can tug at his hair listlessly. 

“No. Not injured. Well. Kind of. But not. Look, I can’t explain, okay? The binding prevents me from divulging details. All I can say is the clock is running out.” 

“Okay,” Sirius says, calm as you please, and crosses his arms over his chest. Huh. Also a solid option. Why didn’t it occur to James earlier? That’s right, because he’s freaking out about Regulus’ fate. 

“Then it’s a good thing we don’t have to waste time with the blood-seeking spell. I recognized the place where they’re holding him. It was the crows on the ceiling,” he adds an explanation, probably after noticing James’ blank stare. “I spent hours staring at them when they took me there to, eh, let’s go with ‘teach me the error of my ways.’ It was the summer I ran away. They’re holding him at Le Manor des Corbeaux—don’t let the name fool you—it’s in Cornwall, but my family has to go the extra mile to sound like real pricks.”

James remembers that summer. He still has nightmares about that summer. About Sirius turning up at his door with haunted eyes and a broken spirit. With curses lurking so deep in his blood, he had to spend a whole month under the Healers’ supervision at St. Mungo’s as they slowly worked on untangling them.

Remus must be remembering, too. He steps closer to Sirius, touching his arm gently without saying a word. 

“Why didn’t Regulus recognize it?” James asks.

Sirius shrugs. “I doubt he’s ever been there in his life. Golden child Regulus. Obedient Regulus. No, he wouldn’t need to be ‘fixed.’ He was probably on hols in France, stuffing his face with macarons.” 

James’ face crumples at the memory of Regulus popping the colorful cookies in his mouth in the dappled light of a late summer day.

Sirius breaks apart from Remus and crosses the room in several steps to engulf him in a hug for a beat. “Look, I don’t understand why you like the little swot, but I swear we’ll get him out, okay? Promise. Besides. You’re a good judge of character; otherwise, you wouldn’t have me as your best mate. If you say Regulus is alright now, I trust you. So pull yourself together, there’s a good lad.” He slaps James’ shoulder and straightens, looking at him with the same glint in the eye he used to have before devising the latest Marauders prank. 

“We have a rescue mission to plan.”

Chapter Text

Regulus

38 weeks, December 23rd

Walburga is barely out the door, taking the effects of the nasty binding spell she cast on Regulus with her, and Regulus is already throwing himself on the floor to search for the mirror she dumped there. Like it was nothing. Unimportant. No more than a piece of trash. 

He bites back a scream. The confrontation sapped every single drop of his energy, but he refuses to give his parents, especially his mother, the satisfaction. Screaming won’t fix anything. Not the situation, and definitely not the mirror. The last connection Regulus had to the outside world—and James—lies shattered in bits and pieces on the floor, along with his resolve. 

He tries to collect the shards and will them back together, but without his wand, it proves an exercise in futility. The only thing he achieves is cutting himself, so now his blood is dripping down his fingers, in part splattering against the reflective surface, in part getting swallowed by the disgusting floor, just like his last foolish hope that James would arrive and rescue him and his unborn son. And Barty. Regulus wouldn’t leave his friend behind, even though it’s technically because of him they’re in this mess. 

Except it isn’t. If Regulus is being honest, he’s the one at fault here. He required too much of Barty, so he can’t blame him for slipping. 

Now they’re all going to pay the price. 

True, Regulus has made a deal with his parents. He promised to cooperate during the birth and relinquish Harry to them. In exchange, they agreed to release him and Barty afterward and not to harm James in any way. The problem is, Regulus has no faith that they will honor it. He certainly won’t. There’s no reality in which he’d ever let them lay a finger on Harry, but he doesn’t have many tricks left. 

Regulus finds he doesn’t care as much about his life being in jeopardy as he does about what’s going to happen to his son, growing up in the clutches of Walburga and Orion. To James, who will lose Regulus and Harry in one fell swoop of a great, big tragedy. And then he’ll probably get himself killed by trying to bring his parents to justice. Or maybe they’ll tie up this one loose end just to be safe, and Regulus won’t be able to stop it. Either he’ll be rotting at the bottom of a lake, where the Blacks have always disposed of the unfortunate souls who hampered their plans, or he’ll be bound and helpless and forced to watch as they torment his darling Jamie. 

Merlin, the whole charade Walburga just played for James was probably a setup meant to lure James and Sirius into a trap, eliminating all their adversaries at once and emerging from the confrontation victorious with a brand-new heir. Why else would they let him hang onto the mirror when they undoubtedly frisked him after bringing him in? In his hubris, Regulus served everyone to his parents on a silver platter, and now they’re all fucked. His marvelous, elegant plan collapsed because of eggplant and pride.

In another life, it’d make a great book title.

Hysteria edges in, forcing Regulus to tamp down an unhinged cackle. 

Barty watches him with frightened eyes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. His hair is messy, his face streaked with dust, and his posture exudes dejection. This is a bloke who once faced a manticore on a dare, and he’s too afraid to ask for confirmation of how doomed they are. 

 Unless, by some miracle, James happens to reach them, they’re at the mercy of the Blacks. And with the fresh realization that this might be a setup, Regulus is no longer certain he should want James to find him. 

No, their best chance of survival lies in Regulus giving birth in secret and becoming Lord Black. Once Harry is born, the stipulations of the contract should take effect, safeguarding him and his bloodline. True, it doesn’t include Barty, but the boost of ancestral magic should allow Regulus to defeat Walburga and Orion before they attempt to hurt him, even weakened as he’s probably going to be after labor.

Provided both he and Harry prevail and, most importantly, stay alive.

A torrent of pain surges through Regulus, squeezing his belly and forcing him to breathe in rapid, shallow gasps. He tries to shift on the cot, but it doesn’t help; the misery is constant, unrelenting, coming and coming and coming, and then cuts off abruptly.

A dark suspicion invades his mind and refuses to leave, growing through him in noxious tendrils. A suspicion he tried to deny, but he can’t anymore, not with the remnants of the contraction still twinging in his abdomen. The lies he spun around himself to preserve his sanity have crumbled into dust, revealing the ugly truth, and there’s no going back. No matter how much Regulus wishes this weren’t happening. Not here, in this dank cell; not now, with his parents lying in wait. Not like this, without James witnessing the birth of his child. 

A fresh wave of pain builds at the base of his spine, rising and rising until Regulus breaks and clutches his back from both sides, biting his lips bloody so the agonized howl he’d love to release escapes as a muffled whimper.

“Fuck, Reg, what’s wrong with you?” 

During Regulus’ struggle, Barty has crossed the floor, and he looms above him, his fingers gripping the side of the cot, fear tightening his features and dotting his temples with beads of sweat. 

Regulus lets out a laugh, past caring about how deranged he must appear. Barty Crouch, scared. The bloke who once climbed into a dragon’s mouth on a dare. Nobody will believe him. If he gets the chance to tell people, that is.

“You’re freaking me out, man. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

The tremor in Barty’s voice sobers Regulus right up.

“I think—no, I don’t think, I’m one hundred percent sure, actually—that I’m going into labor.”

“Are you joking? You’re having the baby? Here? Now? You can’t do that! Look at how filthy this place is! It’s so unsanitary! Not to mention gross.” Barry’s eyes widen in horror as though he can’t imagine anything more terrifying than giving birth surrounded by filth.

Regulus has to bark out another laugh. Out of the million problems they’re facing, Barty chose to focus on the lack of hygiene standards. Strange how the human mind works in a crisis.

“Sure, I’ll tell the baby to wait until we score some wands and Tergeo up to House Elf standards,” he snaps. 

“Perfect. That would be great. Let’s do that.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think the little bugger will listen to reason,” Regulus grits out through clenched teeth. Another contraction is crushing his stomach like a vice, rendering speech nearly impossible. To find some relief, he curls into a fetal position and discovers it helps. By the tiniest fraction, but at this point, he’ll take anything. 

Fuck Axel for saying he won’t give birth any time soon. Fuck James for fucking this baby into him and fuck his parents for fucking kidnapping him, the fuckers. And fuck labor. It hurts. It hurts so fucking badly he can’t think straight. He can’t even come up with creative profanities; that’s how much it hurts. He thought that women were exaggerating when describing their experience of giving birth. Turns out, they were sugarcoating the whole ordeal.

“Yeah, maybe let’s call back dear old bitch Wally so she can bring in a Healer or two. I can’t be the one delivering your baby, Reg. First, I don’t know shit about babies and placentas and whatnot, and second, more importantly, our friendship will never recover if I see you inside out.” 

“No. That’s not an option, so you’ll have to suck it up and help me, Bartemius.”

Barty’s expression remains dubious. “I get why you don’t want your parents involved, but you could deliver safely without risking your life. Or the baby’s life. Face it, Reg, they won this round.”

“Never,” he hisses. “I’m not giving up. There should still be time to prepare. Four to eight hours, according to my estimation.” 

“Time for what, exactly? Becoming a doula? I don’t have my wand, so I can’t do magic, and I know fuck all about the birthing process. I’m bloody queer! I stay as far away from this animal kingdom nonsense as possible.”

“Not anymore. You’re about to witness it from bloody up close.” 

Regulus climbs down from the cot as slowly and carefully as possible and squats to test if the position would prove more comfortable, as he can already feel the onset of another contraction building. Fuck. He’s not ready. He’s so not ready. He thought he was, but that was back in the clean hospital, under Axel’s care and with the knowledge of James waiting for him. Back then, the prospect of bringing his baby into the world intimidated him, yes, but it was also thrilling. He’d finally meet the tiny roommate who shared his body for nine months. The creature who is half him and half the man he loves more than he could’ve imagined. 

Now, with only Barty for company and with the threat of his parents looming so close, he wishes he could postpone Harry’s arrival forever. But he can’t do anything to stop it any more than he can pluck the sun from the sky. The baby is coming, and he’s powerless to prevent it.

Agony shoots from his stomach into his limbs and back, into his throat, up and down his spine and chest. For a long while, he’s not able to speak or do anything except whimper and cry, clutching the cot in his squatting position for balance as his body prepares itself for the challenge ahead.

Once the contraction relents, Regulus climbs back up and clasps Barty’s forearm to stop him from leaving or just to have something to hold and squeeze when the pain overwhelms him again. His mind is so fried from the misery that he’s unable to tell anymore.

“Regulus, come on. I didn’t sign up for this! Becoming an obstetrics Healer was not in the job description! I don’t have the foggiest about vaginas, or whatever in Salazar’s name your deal is. Are you gonna shoot the baby out of your dick, or do you have a cloaca situation going on?” 

“No. I don’t have a bloody cloaca,” Regulus growls. Is it unfair to demand this of Barty? Of course. But life isn’t fair. If it were, he’d be lying in a comfortable bed with his loving fiancé by his side and experiencing one of the happiest, if incredibly painful, moments of his existence. “It’s a birth canal running along my intestine.”

“So, your ass. You’re gonna squeeze the baby out of your ass. Look, Reg, I really want to stress that none of this shit—and we might be talking actual shit here—was part of the deal.” Barty’s eyes are darting around the cell, and he tugs his arm listlessly, trying to shake himself free, but Regulus’ fingers are a vice, holding him in place and thwarting his escape. 

“Barty, please. I need your help.” Regulus bites his lips, and the sharp sting distracts him for a moment from the dull pain that has settled over his entire body. “They can’t find out I’m in labor.”

“But why? Isn’t that what your whole agreement was about? Them letting you deliver safely.”

“Yes,” Regulus hisses. “They let me deliver safely if I give up my parental rights. Did that sound like something I was ever going to do?” 

“Yeah, it seemed a bit out of character, but they’re going to realize it anyway, Reg. It’s not like there’s a hidey-hole where we can stash an infant around here.”

“The spells. In the contract,” he grits out through another contraction. “Should prevent them from attacking me—or him—once he’s born. But if they knock me out before that comes into effect and steal him from me…” his voice trails off. The thought is too awful to finish. 

“Okay, let’s say the baby’s born. What then? Are you gonna cradle an infant in one hand and fight your parents with the lack of your wand in another? Because they’re not gonna go down without a fight. Tell me you understand that. There won’t be any well-wishes and crumpets for the road. No, I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. They’re gonna torture me, and you’ll have to decide between giving up your child anyway or letting your parents kill your friend. Might be easier to jump on the jinx sooner rather than later.” 

“I’m not giving up my son,” Regulus roars and shoots up on the cot, immediately regretting the action. While he doesn’t experience a new contraction, he’s sore all over, and his body reminds him of every scrape and tender muscle. 

“Okay. You know what, fair. Protective baby daddy and so on. But where does that leave us on the whole ‘let’s not Barty get tortured?’”

“No idea. I haven’t planned for this. I haven’t planned for any of this.” Regulus throws his arms around, blinking away the tears that have welled up in his eyes without him noticing. Bloody hormones. “I just know I have to fight—for him. For our little Harry,” Regulus whispers, stroking his bump urgently with both hands in turn. He needs the palpable evidence that he hasn’t lost the battle yet. He hasn’t lost the baby. “Please. It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault, and I know it’s not fair to ask this of you; none of this is fucking fair, but I need you, Barty. I need your help. My son needs your help. Please, help me save him.” 

“Talk about fair. You don’t play that way, Reg. Of course I’m gonna help you—what kind of monster would I be if I didn’t? What kind of friend?” 

Regulus grits his teeth against a new contraction ravaging his body, breathing in rapid puffs. “Thanks,” he manages when the pain abates.

“Yeah, well.” Barty fidgets and pretends to be interested in his nails, clearly uncomfortable. “You better make me a godfather.”

“I was going to ask Sirius. To soften the blow of shagging his best friend behind his back.”

“Gonna need a lot more softening, I reckon, but it’s a solid start. And I changed my mind anyway—if I never have to interact with this child of yours ever again, I’ll count myself lucky. Don’t think this doesn’t mean you don’t owe me favors up the wazoo for as long as you breathe.” 

“Anything you ask. It’s yours.” As if there’s anything in the world Regulus wouldn’t gladly exchange for Harry’s life. “Except for James. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Please,” Barty scoffs. “I’m not into Potter. Too straight and narrow for my taste.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing straight about James,” Regulus snorts, and for a moment, they both smile, ignoring the gravity of the situation.

“Not interested anyway,” Barty laughs, then grows more serious, “but you have yourself a deal.” 

Regulus blows out a relieved breath, searching his memory for any of the techniques Axel mentioned that should provide relief during active labor. Fast, shallow breathing. Warm bath—well, that’s out of the question for obvious reasons. Bouncing up and down on one of those silly gymnastic balls Pandora keeps at her office. Also not an option. His current accommodation runs low on hot tubs or sports equipment. 

Suppose that leaves slow pacing around the room and squatting. 

Regulus grimaces to himself. How generous of his parents not to shackle him to the wall. He’s free to roam. Why, he has the whole cell with its staggering five square metres at his disposal. But he can do this. He can be strong. And brave. He can make James proud. He will make James proud. Tears prickle at his eyelids. What he wouldn’t give to have James with him instead of Barty.

No. This kind of thinking isn’t productive. He’d better concentrate on the positives. Such as being alive and about to hold his son for the first time. The tiny human he created together with the person he loves. Regulus might’ve planned on merely using James, but over the course of the pregnancy, he and Harry have become his entire world. His sole focus. So yes, he can do this. Step by step. Pacing isn’t frightening. And squatting isn’t either, plus it does help, somewhat. For the sake of his sanity, he won’t consider the next part, the pushing objects out of holes part. Melon-sized objects out of grape-sized holes nature did not designate for this task. 

Nope. He pulls an emergency brake on this train of thought and flees. He has to believe that matters will sort themselves out. The ritual will take care of everything. It has already proven beyond effective, the current events being indisputable proof, so Regulus has every reason to assume everything will work out fine. All he has to do now is… endure.

“What do you need me to do?” Barty draws himself up and squares his shoulders, jutting his chin out a fraction as he braces himself for the next step. 

Right. Regulus ought to give Barty instructions. This is going to be awkward and unpleasant, but there’s no postponing it. Barty was right about one thing, though. Their friendship will never be the same.

“Okay, so first you have to,” Regulus gulps, rolling over to his back and spreading his legs apart, “take my trousers off and check how dilated I am.” 

“Dilated,” Barty repeats, his eyes bigger than the fancy teacup saucers with lilacs Walburga saved for special guests. According to her, they used to belong to Slytherin himself. At least that’s what she used to claim, usually in front of her audience consisting of Purebloods and Half-Blood sycophants. Somehow, Regulus doubted the famed founder of the Slytherin house had a penchant for flowers, but he never dared to contradict his mother. Neither did any of Walburga’s guests.

“Yes. Essentially, how, ugh, far along I am. My opening. How wide it is.” 

His face erupts in flames, which is, frankly, ridiculous. Here he is, captive to his psychotic parents, about to give birth as an adult male whose body was altered by magic to sustain pregnancy. This is not the time to feel ashamed of a natural biological process. Well, natural with an asterisk in his case, but still. The logic applies.

“So basically, I’m supposed to get you naked and shove my hand up your ass.” Barty wrinkles his nose, darting his gaze around. Possibly searching for escape routes. “Not gonna lie about never entertaining this scenario, but the circumstances were much more steamy and much less psycho-murdery.” 

“For the love of Merlin, just shut up and get it over with.” 

“Is that what you say to Potter?” Barty retorts.

“Not at all. And speaking of James, let’s not mention this to him, okay? If you enjoy having your internal organs on the inside of your body.” As soon as Regulus finishes talking, a contraction overtakes him, and he has to focus on breathing properly while attempting to tune out as much pain as possible. His belly squeezes, a dull pressure radiating into his back and thighs, strangely enough, forcing him to rub his legs for relief. It’s not unbearable yet, but it’s nearing the threshold faster than he’d like, and he lets out a shaky breath when the sensation fades.

In the meantime, Barty steps away from him and circles the cell, looking for something. His intentions become clearer when he returns with an earthen jug that makes a sloshing sound when Barty sets it on the ground. 

“There’s not much more we can do for hygiene here,” he explains with a casual shrug. “I’ll try to purify the water with whatever bits of wandless I can scrounge up.” 

“Hand it to me,” Regulus commands.

The container is cold and solid in his hands. Regulus empties his mind and focuses on the feeling and shape, on the contents inside. Wandless magic has always been his specialty, although he’d never describe it as particularly easy. But with stakes through the roof, there’s no room for self-doubt.

With utmost concentration, he generates a spark of energy, sending it forth in a cleansing burst. The mug in his grip glows and heats up, confirming the spell worked. Then, he grabs Barty’s hands and sends another shot of cleaning magic his way.

“Okay. Ready.”

What follows is uncomfortable for both of them, humiliating for Regulus, and probably traumatizing for Barty. 

“So, how are we going to measure this? It’s not like I brought my ruler along for the kidnapping jaunt. Are we going by how many dicks I think would fit in? Because we’d first have to establish the diameter of an average cock, and I have a feeling we’re bound to run into a disagreement here, especially since the last cock you saw was Potter’s.”

“Fingers,” Regulus bites out, the leash on his temper slipping. Only the edge of hysteria in Barty’s voice, the fact that he’s dependent on him for help, and knowing his friend uses humor to deflect and possibly to maintain his fraying sanity, dissuade him from tearing his head off. 

“Boring, but I guess it’ll work. Four—no, five. You’re open for five. Does this mean you’re ready to pop this bugger out?”

“It means I’m about halfway through.”

Then, because the universe hates him or because he’s a Black and deserves to be punished for his lineage, or because he tampered with the laws of nature and biology, or because there’s a spiteful deity out there hell-bent on tormenting him, there’s a rush of something warm and wet between his legs. Barty jerks his hand away and shoots up with a horrified expression. 

“What in tarnation was that, Black? Bad enough I had to give you a prostate exam from hell. I didn’t consent to random watersports.”

“Do you think I pissed on you? That was my water breaking, you idiot,” Regulus hisses. Barty flinches as if slapped.

“Yeah, okay. Makes more sense.” 

“Thank you.”

“So this is really happening.”

“Afraid so. And for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry I’m putting you through this. Believe me, I had a very different idea about how all of this would go down,” Regulus says, his voice wistful. Poor Harry. Not even outside the womb, and he’s already suffering for being part of the cursed Black family.

I’ll make it up to you, Sprog. Papa’s promise.

“Nah, it’s alright. Beats my original evening plans of treating myself to a nice Bordeaux and wanking myself raw while picturing that cute Marquis who’s been driving me mental for months. It would’ve been nice, but kind of predictable. And predictable equals boring. This is anything but.”

At least Barty has recovered some of his usual equanimity. Regulus appreciates his attempt at humor with a chuckle before yanking his robes down and climbing off the cot carefully since he doesn’t fancy sitting on the wet spot left behind by his amniotic fluid.

 Barty catches onto his intentions and assists him until he’s back on his two feet. He doesn’t bother putting the trousers on. There’s no point, not when Barty will need to continue to monitor his progress, and then he’ll, of course, need an unobstructed view for when the baby arrives.

Time marches on, slowly but surely. Barty launches a valiant attempt at drying the cot, with low success, but Regulus won’t be the one to discourage him from trying. Anything to keep his mind off the hopelessness of their situation. 

Walburga and Orion remain absent, suspiciously so. He’d still expect them to keep tabs on their ‘investment,’ but perhaps they find the sight of their son in such a bizarre condition off-putting. They never liked unduly displays of emotions or reminders that their sons were human, prone to human failings and transgressions. Or they assume Regulus is far from giving birth yet. Either way, while their absence is disconcerting, Regulus won’t look a gift hippogriff in the mouth.

Thankful for the meager blessing, he passes the time between contractions by alternating between crouching and waddling around the perimeter of the cell. He discovers that moving, albeit slowly, is the most effective method (out of those he has available) of keeping the pain at bay. And all the while, the contractions arrive in quickly shortening intervals, the pain growing more and more intense with each one, transforming from pressure into a feral beast with claws and teeth, tearing his insides apart. 

Finally, it reaches a point where Regulus can’t take it anymore. His suffering becomes white hot and blinding, so overwhelming that it blots out the whole world. Barty notices his struggle and guides him to lie down on the cleaner, dryer cot, and if Regulus had the presence of mind, he’d appreciate his friend’s generosity. Unfortunately, he can barely remember his own name, drowning in agony without beginning or end. The only thing helping him preserve crumbs of sanity is the knowledge that his son is about to be born.

I’m going to meet him. I’m going to meet him. I have to hold on. For Harry. For James.

There are almost no breaks between the contractions now, and when Barty emerges from between his legs wearing a grim expression, Regulus already knows what he’s going to announce.

“It’s time.”

He doesn’t have the strength to speak, so he only nods.

Barty hands him a rag. “You’re gonna want to bite on this,” he says in a no-nonsense manner.

Regulus whimpers but does as suggested, not stopping to protest the questionable origin of the preferred piece of fabric, or its cleanliness (dubious at best).

“Okay, Reg. Time to push. You can do this.”

I don’t believe you, is what Regulus wishes he could say, but he’s already too tired to argue, and he needs to conserve his energy.

So takes a deep breath and follows Barty’s order.

White-hot torment crushes his bones and scorches him from his stomach to his tailbone.

His son is coming.

Regulus unleashes an agonized wail, but the dingy rag in his mouth acts as an effective muffler, and the thick stone walls block all the sound from escaping, so nobody in the outside world can hear him. Nobody except his friend, who continues to encourage him as he screams. 

And screams and screams and screams.