Hullo lovelies!

I am terrible, I know. It's been over a year since I last updated. In all fairness, this chapter gave me SO much trouble for some reason. Until I decided to go a different route and focus on other characters. I've also been super busy IRL, and didn't write much for a long stretch of time. Then, I focused on FTT as I really want to finish the first part of that story.

Regardless, so sorry, and I hope you enjoy this chapter x

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.


Wednesday, September 19th, 1979

Potter Manor

Hermione Granger's 19th Birthday

"Remus, where are we going?" Hermione asks, holding tightly on Remus's forearms, his hands over her eyes. They are easing their way forward, step-by-step. Hermione's heart is racing; she generally detests surprises.

"Almost there," Remus replies, breath hot on the side of her neck.

They round a corner—she thinks—and an assortment of smells slams her senses: flowery, bold, bright, sweet, tangy. They mix together until it makes her dizzy.

"Okay, we're here," Remus whispers against the shell of her ear. They come to a firm halt, and Hermione sways for a moment at the force as her far too high and strappy heels displace her centre of gravity. Remus's front is a warm presence as he settles himself behind her.

The werewolf removes his hands, and the room is violently white and harsh against her eyes for a moment as she takes a moment to adjust. Before she can see her surroundings properly, a cacophony erupts and bangs against her eardrums, "happy birthday!"

Hermione hates surprises, but as far as they go, this one isn't dreadful.

Practically everyone they know is here: The Malfoys, The Longbottoms, Andromeda and Ted, The Weasley brood, the Prewett brothers, Marlene, Dorcas, Minerva, and all the occupants of Potter Manor. Even Cassiopeia has made an appearance, although she is shadowing Dorea, and as everyone is distracted greeting the birthday girl, she whispers in her sister's ear. Dorea's smile falters.

Part way through the festivities and tomfoolery, Hermione realises that whilst this party has been thrown for her, it's also for all the attendees. Much like with Frank and Alice's wedding, they all need a bright spot amongst the grim war being waged in their society.

Ron can tell Hermione is a bit overwhelmed with the wix crowding around her, thrusting well wishes her way. Remus is protectively holding her into his side, and his presence stops anyone from getting too close to his mate. Ron is about to make his way over to his best mate, when Molly saddles up next to him, a fussing George squirming in her arms. The pregnant witch looks exhausted.

Ron wordlessly scoops the boy from his Mum's arms. George instantly quiets. Molly's face drops at that. She sighs. Haggardly she pats Ron's arm and retreats to find a seat to rest her aching feet.

George's face is scrunched up like a pug's as he silently fusses, tears rolling from his eyes, his face bright pink. He starts bumping his fists against Ron's head, his own head turning this way and that as he takes in the room's occupants.

"It's alright, mate," Ron says softly, holding the boy to his chest and bouncing him up and down. George sucks his thumbs, his feet wriggling, but otherwise the boy seems somewhat placated.

Ron wanders away from the majority of the crowd, heading towards the windows, humming a lullaby his Mum used to sing to him when he was little.

Ron settles down in the corner of the room, and he stares out the window at the browning grass and the trees in the distance. The leaves are shifting colours into robust reds, golden yellows and burning oranges, a few bold green ones remain. Ron can hear the wind whistling through the glass, and he leans against the wall.

George's wriggling has ceased, and his even breathing permeates into Ron's own chest and he knows the toddler is asleep.

The crowd around Hermione has dispersed, and it's just Remus, Lily and James conversing with her now. Ron's eyes rake around the room, assessing all the merry, little groups. Even Narcissa and Lucius appear to be enjoying themselves. They are talking with Dorea, Andromeda and Ted. Cassiopeia has disappeared.

Ron closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of merriment, of drink being shared, of boisterous laughter, of fickle teases. The smells swirling around the room are overloading his senses, but it can't be avoided.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," a smooth, deep voice says. Their scent cuts through the others. Rain, a whiff of citrus, and pine needles. The sensation of winter's first snowfall of the year.

Ron's eyes flutter open, and he is blessed with Regulus Black's visage. A smile tugs at the corners of Ron's lips. Regulus is adjusting the neck of his sky blue turtleneck jumper. Ron's eyes shift downwards at his well-fitted black trousers, and polished, italian leather dress shoes. The trouser legs are cropped just above his ankles, exposing a glimpse of his socks (they match his jumper).

Of course they do, Ron muses. He straightens out, ensuring he doesn't jostle George in the process.

"You want to hold him?" Ron asks. The question appears out of thin air, and Ron isn't sure why he asks it, but the panicked expression that invades Regulus's cool composure is worth it.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"Scared of babies, Black?" Ron teases, his canines exposed as he closes the distance between them. George's foot twitches in his sleep, and almost hits Regulus's chest.

Ice shards shoot through the cool clouds of grey. Regulus's gaze evenly meets Ron's, his jaw taut as he rises defiantly to the challenge. "No. I'm not scared of babies. Besides, isn't the little runt asleep? Wouldn't moving him too much wake him up?"

"Once he goes down, it's pretty hard to wake him. Fred is the light sleeper," Ron responds cavalierly. One hand is under George's bum, the other is rubbing soothing circles across his back.

"Regardless. I'll pass," Regulus says. There's something about the way that Regulus is looking at him that burrows into his chest, tightening around his heart. Ron doesn't entirely hate it.

"He won't bite…much," Ron murmurs pensively, edging closer to Regulus. A spark of electricity crackles in between them. George stirs. Ron swears mentally. George's head pops up suddenly, a hair's breadth away from colliding with Ron's chin. The boy's hands are on Ron's chest to keep himself propped up, and he groggily peers at Regulus with his big eyes.

The panic threads back into Regulus's stance, and he anxiously chews on his bottom lip. "I thought you said it's pretty hard to wake him up."

George raises a hand towards Regulus, a sleepy smile on his face. "That may be so, but it appears he wants you to hold him," Ron says. Regulus adamantly shakes his head in refusal.

"I don't think that's what that means." Regulus pauses, swallowing thickly. "He doesn't actually bite does he?" Curiosity is ebbing into his panic, and he isn't as stiff as before.

"No, but he might pull on your hair, or start using all the new words he's learnt," Ron shrugs, bouncing the boy twice. A happy giggle leaves George's mouth. He's fully awake now, sitting up properly, and one hand is curling around Ron's short hair.

George waves at Regulus, babbling a greeting.

"Can you say bye-bye? George?" Ron asks the boy. Ron knows he can, but whether George will say it or not is another story. George stops waving, blinks blankly at Ron for a moment, his free hand reaching out to play with Ron's nose. Bashfully, the boy grins, showing off his bottom two teeth (a few others were crowning now, and the pain was one of the reasons George had started fussing more and more).

"No," George says.

"Cheeky boy," Ron smirks. Ron peers around George at Regulus. "See, nothing to be afraid of." He partially holds the boy out to Regulus. The panic swiftly returns, his grey eyes widening exponentially.

"I don't know if—"

"I promise I'll take him back the moment you get uncomfortable," Ron swears. Regulus awkwardly holds his hands out, features pinched. Ron carefully transfers George into Regulus's arms, politely guiding him on how to hold the young boy.

"I'm uncomfortable now," Regulus states, breathing harshly in and out of his nostrils. Not even five seconds had passed. George reaches up to tug on Regulus's ear. He accurately names the piece of anatomy several times aloud in a delighted screech.

Regulus winces at the sharp noise. George makes a soft sound, releasing the body part before laying his head on Regulus's shoulder. He opens and closes his hand against Regulus's jumper, as if he likes the feeling of it.

"Still uncomfortable?" Ron asks kindly, putting a hand on Regulus's other shoulder. Regulus is staring at George in muted wonder.

"Partly…but this isn't terrible."

A frightfully vast feeling wells up in Ron's chest as he observes the two together. It scorches a path through him; it's indescribable. Ron knows what it is, but he doesn't dare name it.

The moment is broken as Arthur appears with a tired, but jolly smile. Ron was so enraptured by Regulus and George, he hadn't even noticed the man beside him until he spoke. "May I?" Arthur asks, extending his hands out to his son.

Reluctantly, Ron gives them space, backing away slowly. He tucks his hands behind his back. Regulus nervously hands George over. George is excited to see his Father, his syllables blurring together as he tries to speak.

"You like spending time with Uncle Ron and Uncle Regulus? Don't you?" Arthur says, eyes widening with an open mouthed smile. Regulus blinks rapidly at his new title. Arthur carries on, turning to them, naÏve to Regulus's shock. "Thank you, Ron. Sorry to impose on you all the time."

"No problem, it's my pleasure," Ron says, dismissing Arthur's concerns.

"I would stay and chat, but it's lunch time for him and Fred…though, I'm not sure where the other little tyke has gotten off to." Ron isn't surprised. Fred, charming, cheeky thing he is already, had captured the hearts of many witches present, and he'd been passed from one group of doting witches to the next.

Ron peers around the room, and catches sight of three witches (Hermione, Dorea and Lily) showering the other twin in affection, cooing at him and making silly faces. Ron points Arthur in their direction.

They exchange a few more words, and then Arthur leaves the pair alone. The intensity in Regulus's gaze has returned, but he doesn't speak.

Regulus twists the silver signet ring on his index finger as he takes cautious steps towards the ginger. His house symbol is engraved on it. Regulus effortlessly enters Ron's personal space bubble, popping it. Regulus leaves a thin space between them, and his head tilts back to look up at Ron.

A silky lock of hair has escaped his loose, low ponytail and Ron's hand moves of its own accord. He twirls the luscious strands between his fingers. "Hi," Ron says.

"Hello," Regulus replies. A conflicted smile contorts his features. "What is it about you, Weasley?" The question is vague, it doesn't point in any logical direction.

"Regulus?" The name is a soft promise that rolls off his tongue. A return question, gently prompting the other man for more information.

Regulus blinks twice, his smile fading. He steps back, the silken strands slipping from Ron's fingers. Regulus's hands are stiff at his sides, his knuckles white.

"Regulus—"

"I'll see you later, Weasley." Regulus retreats hastily, ducking into the crowd. The background noise that had bled away sweeps against Ron's eardrums, hitting him all at once. He catches Harry's eye across the room, and the wizard must see something on Ron's face because he excuses himself from his conversation with Emmeline and James.

Ron wants to go after Regulus, to ask him what just happened, but he feels like that will only push the man further away. If he stayed any longer, I probably would have kissed him, Ron thinks.

During Ron's bewildered traipse through his thoughts, Harry reached his friend. He jolts the ginger boy back to reality when his hand touches his shoulder.

"I—I like him, mate." It's the first time he's spoken the words aloud.

"I know," Harry says, squeezing Ron's shoulder.

Today is not about him pining after Regulus Black, so Ron slams the floodgates closed on his affection for the man. Today is about Hermione, it's her birthday. Her nineteenth birthday. Although they had joked that she was closer to twenty now because of all the time travel, the witch's lips had wryly turned into a smile, and she said, "either way, I never got to celebrate my nineteenth birthday, so that's how old I'll be."

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asks, his own hand moving to cover Harry's. "I think it's time we cut her cake."

"That sounds like a brilliant idea, mate." Harry slides an arm around Ron's shoulder and guides him into the throng of wix in search of their best mate.

Regulus mysteriously managed to escape Ron's gaze for the rest of the evening, but he was too busy ensuring that Hermione enjoyed her day to really notice. Which included her smushing a piece of cake into his face. It was juvenile, but soon all of their friends were hurling cake at each other; it was rich, dark chocolate cake with a buttercream frosting. The 'adults' stood back—out of the line of fire—laughing. Dorea asked Mipsy to take pictures before she yelled, "sod it!" and dove into the fray.

Ron didn't allow himself to linger on earnest grey eyes, or how Regulus's edges had softened. Ron ignored the fact that the scent of pine, citrus and rain clung to him.

The golden trio ended up in the middle, backs to each other, throwing cake expertly and landing all of their targets. All that is left of the cake is crumbs when they are done, and they are all covered in it. Hermione, Ron and Harry slide down onto the ground, and with a breathy laugh, Hermione turns to Ron, sticks out a finger and swipes some of the cake off of his cheek.

"Best birthday ever," Hermione grins as she pops the finger in her mouth. Ron lets his head drop against hers, and he feels Harry's hand loops through his.

Out of Ron's line of sight, Regulus is standing on the outskirts, hiding by Minerva, Narcissa, Lucius and Molly. The latter has been giving him strange looks for an uncomfortable amount of time, but he purposely avoids her gaze. There's a heat burning a hole in his chest as he stares at the trio covered in cake. They look ridiculous, but, in spite of that, Regulus finds himself wishing he was over there.

An unknown force pushes at his back, and Regulus opts to leave the party. He slips out unnoticed, his mental state a mess. Regulus fingers brush against his bottom lip as he determinedly heads for the sanctuary of his room. What am I doing? Ron's electric blue eyes darkening with sapphire as he toyed with Regulus's hair flashes through Regulus's mind. If I had stayed any longer, would I have kissed him? Or if he'd kissed me, would I have let him?


Wednesday, September 19th, 1979

Thornbury Hospital

312 Fulwood Road, Sheffield, United Kingdom

Across the country, whilst the festivities were in full swing at Potter Manor, Richard and Helen Granger were welcoming new life into the world.

The Hospital had a rich history, once a private residence. Vast, bold, made of stone with curving two storey bay windows. Built over a century ago, with two wings, a balustrade parapet, a steep pitched roof, tall chimneys and gables.

The Granger's private room was modest: big enough for the hospital bed, a cherry wood bedside table, and a few chairs against the wall adjacent to the door.

Helen Granger's wild, bushy hair was thrown into a messy bun, her hairline slick with sweat, her skin flushed, her breathing heavy. An infant lay on her chest and tears slid from her eyes as she held her child for the first time.

"You did it, sweetheart," Richard says. The man is tall, of medium build with dark hair. He is leaning over the bed, and he holds his wife in one arm, the other is hovering over his child.

Almost three and a half kilograms, with a tuft of dark hair, the baby fusses against his Mother's breast. Their babe had a set of lungs on him, wailing mere moments after he'd left the comfort of his Mother's womb. Seventeen minutes after six o'clock in the evening, Henry Jasper Granger was born.