Chapter Eighty
Regulus finished off the last of what was left on his plate – glancing in the direction of the timepiece as he did – and got a frown, when he noticed it was almost ten and Julia still hadn't roused.
He'd wait a little longer.
Even if he had indulged them both, by not going into the Foundation at all, the day before.
Regulus tossed aside the Prophet.
He had read enough of that doom and gloom for the day, the battles on the field raging ferociously, as both Voldemort and the Ministry picked up the pace.
Regulus reached into his robes opting, instead, for something a little more heartwarming – to him, at least, for it was somewhat serious material, itself – and pulled out the article that Malachi had sent to him earlier that week.
He got a little smile as he skimmed it, not for the first time. He'd re-read them all, repeatedly, since the day Severus had brought the first to his office.
This one was the fifth to be displayed and distributed by the Foundation – so far – with the promise of more to come.
A fact that Voldemort was none too pleased about, judging by the increasing numbers of individuals who were failing to satisfy the security checks coming into the building as well as the increasing number of post that was now failing to make it to his desk – a growing pile marked as 'suspicious' – and sent the Ministry's way, instead, for further investigation.
Regulus got a little smirk.
More than a little satisfied at Voldemort's aggravation.
Narcissa would have throttled him for this.
The thought wiped the smirk from his face in a flash, his eyes lowering.
Provoking the Dark Lord at every turn.
He shook off the guilt that followed.
It was beyond time for this. To make a stand.
Regulus' eyes went to the bottom of the parchment he held – the sign off – where his son's name – Malachi R. Black – was boldly written and he got a proud smile once more, marveling – not for the first time – at how this remarkable boy could truly be his.
His son.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his attention from the article and his eyes met Julia's as she walked into the room.
"Aha!" he exclaimed, grinning and putting the article aside on the counter, before turned on the stool to face her; "Good morning, my love!"
Julia gave him a bleary smile, with a little chuckle and a look that belied her surprise at seeing him still home, before she covered a yawn with her hand, trying to speak round it.
"You're still here."
"I am that."
Regulus drew her into his arms as she reached him, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before giving a nod at the plate of – no doubt cold, by now – food he'd prepared for her; "Breakfast?"
He cast a warming charm, to heat it back up for her.
Julia eyed it, looking less than thrilled by the greasy offering – she looked a bit queasy, come to think of it – but she gave him another smile, obviously appreciating the effort; "Thank you."
"It is – in fact – tempting to not go in at all –" Regulus told her, eyes twinkling, " – after the wonderful time you showed me yesterday, Mrs. Black."
Julia chuckled and gave him a kiss.
"I'm glad you stayed."
"Oh?"
"Mhm."
She nodded, with an impish smile.
And then she bit her lip, looking at him, consideringly, and when he shot her one of his cheeky grins back, she chuckled.
"Yes. Listen –"
She took his hands in hers, giving them a squeeze, and Regulus immediately frowned, quickly realizing something was up.
"What's wrong?"
She gave him a reassuring smile – even if it were a little uncertain – and said, "Nothing. It's just…"
Regulus felt a rise of uneasiness within him, suddenly becoming concerned.
Julia had been asleep every night he'd come home all week – sometimes even when he'd been home before nine – and, he now realized, slept long into the mornings after he'd left for the Foundation. And with her reaction to the plate of food…
"Are you sick?" Regulus asked, worriedly, his eyes scanning her, quickly, for any visible signs of ailments.
"No," Julia said, immediately, putting that worry to rest; "I'm fine –"
She reached up, caressing his cheek, and – feeling reassured – he got another smile, just as she told him.
"I'm pregnant, Regulus."
Regulus simply stared at her.
Barely able to comprehend the words.
Pregnant.
She – they – were pregnant.
Another child.
Another Black.
"Oh."
It came out more as a gasp – breathed out – than any sort of coherent response. His mind offering nothing coherent in that moment, other than a quick flash of thoughts and fears and memories, all in quick succession.
He drew in a breath.
Aware of Julia's eyes upon him, he tightened his hold on the hand he still held, even if he was still looking at nothing.
Regulus was sure his smile was gone.
In fact, yes, he was frowning, as he sat there, still struggling as he tried to make sense of what Julia had just said and all that it meant.
He pushed aside the logical – entirely unwelcome – thoughts and worries that immediately tried to drown him and willed himself to focus on what mattered.
On this new life that he and Julia had created.
A baby.
Regulus had joked about this, some months before – at the time wishing it hadn't been a joke – that they'd have one. One of many, in fact.
Brushing it off – his own forbidden yearning for it – and insisting it would be for Malachi.
For his son who'd grown up, just they two. And while, true, neither had ever been lonely while the other was there, a sibling might just have brightened things up that little bit more.
At the very least, given his son someone to commiserate with, when their dad did something particularly infuriating or embarrassing.
Regulus got a little smile, imagining it.
Easily.
Malachi with a little brother or sister.
Despite it all – his father's sins – his son had grown into one of the most –
No.
The most incredible person that Regulus had ever known.
His own son.
Raised in shadows.
Shadows filled with joy and laughter and love.
Julia shifted where she stood, and Regulus met her gaze, seeing the concern that was in her eyes now, when his silence stretched.
Concern, believing she knew exactly what he must be thinking. How he was sure to just spiral.
Maybe before – certainly before – he would have.
Another child.
Regulus swallowed.
What had he done to deserve that?
He got to his feet before her, suddenly awash with an elation he barely knew how to deal with.
Julia's eyes were still on his and then he smiled, warmly, and touched his forehead to hers.
She shimmered in his vision.
"Oh," he whispered, before a little breath of a chuckle left him.
Julia's concern left her eyes, then – replaced with a little bit of surprise, a little bit of delight, rising with each second – before she got a slow smile for him in turn, a little laugh of her own, as they looked at one another.
And then Regulus drew in a breath – a feeling of amazement coming over him – and he released it with another little laugh and pulled her close.
The two of them holding on tight as they giggled, then, quietly.
Hushed murmurs shared between them.
Giddy with delight, in one another's arms.
"Ugh, there's people up there," Daphne told him, when Harry ran into her in the Tapestry Corridor, having been on his way to meet her in the Astronomy Tower.
Harry fought down his disappointment, having been looking forward to spending some time alone with her that morning. Especially after what had happened at the dance in the middle of the week.
And the next morning – Sunday – was another legillimency session and, after what had happened at the last one, he wasn't sure if he'd be in all that great a mood, afterwards.
Certainly not one conductive to getting all cuddled up with Daphne, as he was more than keen to do.
But then, part of why he was so keen to do so, now, was because they had done a bit more that just hold hands and kiss and make teasing jokes at one another.
They'd really talked and, Harry found, he liked that just as much.
Daphne talking to him.
He guessed they could go and do that, now, by the lake where most of the rest of the school were out enjoying the Saturday afternoon.
Still, that didn't lessen the sting of disappointment that some other kids had gotten to their spot first that day.
"Oh," Harry said, in obvious disappointment, glancing around, trying to muster up some other alternative – somewhere they could be alone, other than the lake – but the library really didn't seem all that appealing.
And Malachi would probably be in there, hiding up the back from the girls who were already trying to bag an invitation from him to the upcoming Hogsmeade visit, and so then it wouldn't become a date anymore just a hang out.
Daphne started giggling, then, and Harry realized she found his visible disappointment highly amusing and he grinned, reaching for her hand, and pulled her close and just kissed her there.
Daphne went with it – they weren't hiding anything from anyone – and ignored the odd stray student that passed them, eyeing them without shame.
But then, when she drew back and noticed that the corridor was empty except for the two of them, her smile turned impish and she grasped his hand and tugged him a little further up the corridor.
She stopped at what Harry recognized was the Potions Store Cupboard.
She lifted her wand, uttering an incantation under her breath, and Harry's eyes widened.
"How do you know Snape's password?"
"Prefect privilege, Potter," Daphne grinned at him over her shoulder, before she pushed the door open, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him into the narrow space behind her.
Harry barely had a chance to think about whether or not this was a good idea, all good sense leaving him when Daphne turned to look at him with that coy little smile of hers, once he'd kicked the door shut behind him.
Harry immediately stepped in further, closing the tiny distance between them, with a little smile of his own, before he claimed her lips with his.
Daphne's hands went up, tangling in his hair – something she'd never done before – pulling him in closer, and he liked that a lot.
He'd always been very careful to be considerate, as his Uncle Remus had once said to him, a couple of years ago – obviously put up to it by his Mum – and he'd had no idea what that meant at the time but now, he guessed, it just meant let the girl take the lead.
And Harry was more than happy to follow in this case.
Daphne had always been way better at this than him – obviously he wasn't the first guy she'd kissed, a thought that made him feel irrationally jealous – and, this time, things started to get heated really, really fast.
He guessed it was how dark it was in the cupboard – how daring, even, to be sneaking in here for this – and because he liked her so much more, today, than he had just a few days before after how she'd cried upon him and told him the hurt she was feeling. Offering comfort, to him, in return, when he'd finally spoken, for the first time to anyone other than Malachi about what had happened.
Daphne made a sound – a breathy little moan – against his lips and Harry felt an odd jolt of something within him when he heard it – the first time he ever had – and he instinctively moved his lips more insistently against hers while he bumped up against her, trying to get closer – abandoning all thoughts of being considerate – and Daphne giggled, making him chuckle too, the two of them laughing against one another's lips.
When she didn't object to him being pressed so close, he pressed in even more – returning to the kissing – and she stumbled back – by accident – and he went with her.
He heard a little smash – a jar being knocked down behind her – when they bumped into the shelf. Another smash followed. And then another.
Harry ignored them – enjoying this far too much to be bothered about some old potions ingredients – and he felt a little bit braver, his hands inching slightly higher on her waist, emboldened by her hands tightening in his hair.
The cupboard door suddenly swung open with a bang, light flooding into the room.
Harry and Daphne sprung apart.
It took a moment for Harry's brain to get back into gear. For him to catch his breath. To make sense of what had happened and realise who had interrupted them.
Well.
Who else?
"Mr. Potter."
Harry had never seen Snape look so shocked – his jaw almost slack, as he regarded them – and it would have been funny, normally, if Harry were not so mortified.
Harry felt a little bubble of nervous laughter rise up, caught in a little snort, that he only just managed to suppress.
But Daphne heard it – getting a little twitch of a smile – and Snape did too – his eyes narrowing – before the man turned away.
Turned his whole body, in fact, so that it faced the doorframe.
"Miss Greengrass. Return to your dormitory."
Daphne looked surprised – Snape was her Head of House, after all, and obviously the one of the two who'd known the password for the cupboard – but, knowing Professor Snape was not one to be messed with, she gave Harry an apologetic grin, before she headed from the cupboard.
Harry quickly made to follow.
A hand grasped him by the shoulder as he tried to pass.
"Not so hasty, Mr. Potter."
Harry reluctantly turned, meeting Snape's gaze, neither of them speaking until Daphne had left the corridor and they were alone.
Even then, Snape remained silent – eyeing him – with far more awkwardness than Harry felt, and he almost grinned, at how the tables had turned.
Snape deserved it after what Harry had seen in the summer, he thought, fighting a snicker.
"Mr. Potter…so help me."
Snape's eyes lifted to the ceiling.
Harry jaw dropped, slightly.
Wait.
Was Snape about to give him…the talk?
Harry blushed, furiously, regretting his previous thought, instantly.
He did not want to have this talk.
Snape cleared his throat, meeting Harry's newly mortified gaze, and going on more confidently, when he noticed Harry's horror.
"There is a certain manner in which a young man must conduct himself when engaging with members of the opposite sex."
Harry's eyebrows lowered. Past his horror, he wondered why Snape always sniped at him for quoting from textbooks.
"Do you think that this is an appropriate manner in which to conduct oneself?"
Please discuss, Harry's mind added, almost making him snicker.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"We were just kissing. We weren't about to –"
"I should certainly hope not," Snape interrupted him, nostrils flaring at the implication; "There is a time – many years from now – and a place for such engagements, Harry, and I should hope it goes without saying that that place will not be in my cupboard."
Harry pursed his lips together, fighting a smirk.
"Noted, Sir."
Snape rolled his eyes.
"Dismissed."
Harry bolted.
Lily gave a smile to the other two on the main team – Quinton Gold and Mortimer Littlewood – as she headed into the lab at the Foundation.
They were into the second week, now, of Project Gryffith with most of the background reading done and dusted.
Or so she'd thought.
"What's Goodwin got?" Lily asked when Heart indicated the new pile of parchments that had been gathered and dropped off that morning.
"Oh, far more than we do –" Heart answered, scribbling notes in the margins; " – it does confirm our suspicions that a soul, torn apart by a grave misdeed, will find itself anchored to the living world by a fragment – generally, a single fragment is all that will break off – and prevent the being from moving on to the afterlife. A fate worse than death, as our previous research indicated. Quite odd, actually, that this new information happened to turn up. Someone must have been looking into it, recently."
Lily nodded – figuring that was the case – as she lifted the parchment Cornelia had pointed to.
"How does it anchor without an object readied to sustain it?"
The four of them knew of the name of said objects – horcruxes – but none were ever willing to speak the word aloud.
And none other than Lily knew of Voldemort's collection; that he had even made any at all.
"Without such a vessel," Heart explained, " – the fragment will bind to strongest living being in the room."
Lily frowned.
"Such as?"
"Oh, anything –" Heart said, lightly, with a nod at the parchment Lily held; "Could be a mouse, a common house fly, a cat. It will bind to the strongest, to ensure a more enduring lifespan. The more meagre the available vessel – a mouse, for instance – the shorter the time the soul will be anchored."
"And then they move on? Once the fragments are reunited in death?"
Cornelia got a wry smile then, shaking her head.
"It seems as if – once the soul shatters – there is no afterlife awaiting them. The fragments – including the whole – will simply disintegrate into nothing. Though, I gather by the end of their time being anchored to the in between, even nothingness would be a blessing."
Lily gave a slow nod, glancing away at the grim prediction.
"Oh, I'm sure."
And then she gave Cornelia a smile and pulled out the stool, getting to work reading the new parchments that had been sent down by Regulus.
Severus' lips twitched as his most recent encounter with Harry came to mind.
Amused, now, that some days had passed.
Though he was still by no means impressed with him, after finding Harry and Daphne Greengrass in such a state – in his Potions Cupboard, no less – and even less impressed by the damages caused by their obviously heated embrace, a number of broken jars of ingredients left behind in their wake.
Severus had intended on issuing out a punishment for that – some further detentions – but he had refrained, as he was certain that Harry had very few free hours available to him to even squeeze in a detention, the boy's schedule so packed full with the Duel Club, extra Defence lessons with Lupin and their new Legillimency sessions.
The latter of which he'd had to reluctantly cancel a few days before, following a particularly outrageous prank pulled by a group of his audacious seventh years, which had kept him occupied the entire day, dealing first with those damages and then writing letters to all the soon-to-be-outraged parents of the children involved.
Children, they would be the death of him, Severus was sure of it.
He glanced to the side, eyeing Regulus where he stood – who had been peculiarly quiet, ever since Severus had arrived in his office to continue with their investigation – and, when he did, he noticed a little smile on his friend's face as his eyes skimmed the parchment.
"Something amusing, dare I ask?"
Regulus' eyes lifted, meeting Severus', holding his look for a moment, before he got another smile and simply went back to reading.
It was over an hour later – with only a few odd sentences spoken between them – that Regulus finally revealed the source of his contentment.
"Julia's pregnant."
Severus looked at Regulus sharply, at the lightly spoken statement.
Regulus didn't look up from what he was reading, but – by the way his eyes moved across the parchments he held – Severus could tell he was not really reading.
Severus got a frown, at the obvious undesirable circumstance.
"I see."
Regulus glanced at him, extremely briefly, out the corner of his eye, before he shifted and drew in a breath, saying nothing more. And, for a moment, Severus thought he actually looked irritated.
So, he tried:
"Congratulations."
Regulus smiled – a little bit wry – and met Severus' eyes.
"Well. What's another child in the middle of an apocalypse, am I right?"
Severus lips twitched in a small smile, then – easily seeing Regulus' heart wasn't behind the statement – and said again, more sincerely; "Congratulations, Regulus."
Regulus' smile turned genuine in turn, a little bit smaller, as he lowered his eyes.
And then he cleared his throat, stepping around the back of Severus as he said; "It is selfish of me? To be so glad about it."
Regulus reappeared at his other side, not meeting Severus' eyes and, instead, he reached back into the box that was upon his desk.
"My first turned out rather well, wouldn't you say?"
"Indeed. You've done well with him, Regulus."
Regulus eyes narrowed, slightly, as his movements stilled. And then he drew in a breath.
"Hm – despite what people may think of my son and I and the jolly mischief the two of us get up to – you and I both know the truth of it," he said, quietly, his tone laced with bitter regret when he went on; "That I wouldn't even know my son, had he not been forced upon me against my will when his mother died."
Severus said nothing to that.
He remembered, of course, and he knew it was an unwelcome truth – a fact – that Regulus struggled with, even to this day.
Severus never spoke of it. Neither of them did. Not anymore.
Not since Regulus had embraced it – fatherhood – and had admitted, when drink loosened his tongue, that life without his son would be entirely unworthy of living.
Regulus turned his head slightly in Severus' direction – not meeting his eyes and the rest of him still turned away from him – when he asked.
"Do you think he remembers? Malachi?"
Severus eyed him. Easily sensing the self-loathing that was lingering there, beneath the surface, ever so close to making itself known.
Malachi had been six when he and Regulus had gone on the run.
Of course, he remembered what had come before that.
"I think your son has grown into an admirable young man of whom you should be proud. And I am entirely convinced, that that is a sentiment your son would turn upon yourself, knowing all that he does of you."
Malachi adored his father.
No doubt in either of their minds about that.
Regulus gave a slow nod, eyes on the items before him, knowing it was the truth.
Anyone who had seen them together – Regulus Black and his son – could see their devotion to one another. A camaraderie and a deep affection neither ever tried to conceal whenever they were in one another's company.
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut.
"I did wrong by him, Severus."
There was such remorse in the statement that Severus almost – almost – reached out. But he didn't – didn't have the chance – because Regulus suddenly composed himself.
His friend drew in a breath, that he released in a quick exhale, as he said, assertively.
"Well. Not this child."
Severus got a slight smile.
Another little flicker of pride felt by him, just as it had the day Regulus had first spoken the Dark Lord's name some weeks before, throwing his weight behind his son and his articles.
Regulus lifted out some more parchments from the box before him, before he went on, changing the subject with a shake of his head.
"These are all dead ends, Severus."
Severus took the parchments from him; "There will be something."
"I want to pull the Research Department in," Regulus told him, turning to face him.
Severus stared at him.
"Are you mad –"
"Obviously, we won't tell them why. But they are working on exactly this right now."
"You're referring to Project Gryffith," Severus crossed his arms, eyes narrowing; "Lily is on that project."
Regulus nodded, with a frown; "Well, yes. Isn't this why she proposed it?"
Severus lifted his chin, before he averted his eyes.
Regulus' eyes widened, slightly.
"Oh – she doesn't …"
Regulus glanced away, clearing his throat.
"Lily doesn't know?"
Severus could tell by the tone that Regulus had attempted to keep any judgement from his tone when he said it – but he picked up on it all the same, his underlying disapproval – and Severus shook his head.
"Tell Lily that all that we have fought and suffered has been for nothing but further loss – the loss of her own child – and that the hope we have built our entire future upon will soon amount to nothing. Putting our children through hell for … No, Regulus. I have not told her that. How could I?"
Regulus gave a slight nod, with an expression of sympathy, but he went on, regardless.
"Lily hunted horcruxes with me," Regulus reminded him; "Everything I've been giving you – Lily already knows. We need her. We need them – we have some of the best minds in the field downstairs, working on precisely the issue at hand. And time is of –"
Severus shook his head and Regulus cut off in what he was saying.
Severus was still unable to bear it, himself, the burden only increasing in weight with each passing day that no solution could be found.
"Wars are not fought by single men," Regulus eventually went on; "You and I have said that countless times."
"Do you think she'd thank me for it, Regulus?" Severus raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting in a grimace, belying his own grief, "For telling her – now, when there is still no hope of an alternative – that when the times comes, her son must die? That we can find no way to save him from neither death nor from the corruption of the Dark Lord's soul within him?"
"I –" Regulus shook his head, glancing away, knowing – Severus could see – that there was no good answer, here; "I don't think she'd thank you either way. But I know that if it were Malachi…" he met Severus' eyes, "We need everyone on this. And you're wrong when you're saying that there isn't hope. We're not giving up. Lily would never give up."
Severus shook his head, making to protest.
But he knew, now, that to argue the point – his fear – was fruitless.
Perhaps it always had been.
Perhaps that was all it had ever been. His own fear and pain.
The idea that Lily – who would fight until her last breath for each and every person that she loved – couldn't handle this…
"He's her son, Severus," Regulus went on, quietly, "She could help him. You have to tell her."
Severus lowered his eyes.
Knowing – all along – that it was true.
The mattress dipping behind her made Julia stir.
She glanced over her shoulder, knowing it was still early – barely even ten, but she'd been unable to keep her eyes from drifting – and Regulus gave her a small smile when their eyes met, as he settled down behind her, clearly intending on joining her well before his usual bedtime.
Regulus' arm slid around her waist and drew her close, tucking her up against him, with her back to him.
"Early bed for you," she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep, "You just in?"
"Mhm, did I wake you?"
He perched his chin on her shoulder, lifting his eyebrows, in a cheeky wiggle, and she shot him a grin.
Regulus chuckled, touching his lips to her shoulder, before asking – fussing, as he'd taken to doing these past few days – "Can I get you anything?"
"I'm pregnant, not incapacitated, Black," she chuckled, rolling her eyes, before feeling his lips press to her cheek and then his nose nuzzling into the spot behind her ear.
"Anything my lady wants, my lady gets," he said, teasingly, before his lips pressed another kiss, this time to her neck; her husband having become increasingly affectionate – even more so than usual – in addition to his clucking around her, ever since he'd learned that they would soon be hearing the pitter patter of tiny feet on their floorboards.
Julia felt his fingers trail circles against her abdomen.
"Could do with a yacht, now you mention it."
"Done."
Regulus' hand moved downwards, fingers tugging at the hem and pulling up her nightgown, and then she felt his fingers go back to her stomach, stroking the skin with reverence, before his palm splayed against her – there when their child grew – his thumb continuing to slowly stroke back and forth.
Julia felt herself smiling.
She was still surprised – pleasantly so – days later, at how well he had taken it. At how awestruck and overjoyed Regulus had been by the news that she'd been half-convinced would send him running.
Julia glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow.
"Feel something?"
Regulus gave her a smile.
A smile full of adoration before he nodded and moved in closer.
He pressed his lips to her ear, before speaking softly against it in a murmur.
"Hope."
And then the hand upon her stomach reached up, cupping her by the cheek, and he turned her head, claiming her lips with his.
Kissing her deeply.
Making her breathless.
Before she turned and they reached for one another.
Draco crept deeper into the Room of Requirement.
He knew – already – that it had worked.
That his father had done it. The instructions he had provided Draco with the previous month had been flawless. Precise.
No room for error.
The sound of animated chirping was so loud that Draco could hear it all the way from the other side of the room when he'd stepped through the door.
He paused in his steps when he saw it – a feeling of unease rising within him – before he slowly made his way over to it.
To the Vanishing Cabinet.
He took a hold of the handle when he reached it, hesitating – foolishly, as if that might make the tweeting stop - before slowly pulling it open, and the little bird didn't wait until it was more than a crack, before it came flying out – fit as a fiddle – and making Draco jump back – crashing into and almost stumbling over all the junk behind him – as the creature soared higher up in the room, chirping away.
Entirely well and in one piece.
It had worked.
A birdsong touting their success.
Draco felt sickened rather than satisfied by it, as his eyes followed the singing bird that flew overhead, knowing what this meant.
It had worked.
He swallowed, eyes lowering, before glancing back at the Vanishing Cabinet.
The cabinet through which he and has father had now created a doorway between Hogwarts and Borgin and Burkes.