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Chapter 11
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"I'll marry ya."
"No thanks."
Potter snorts, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. She's glad someone finds this amusing. The two prankster idiots are grating on her last nerve.
"Why would she wanna marry a flea-riddled mongrel like you, Padfoot?"
"Maybe because I took one look at her and knew she was pregnant, not fat, antler-head."
Hiding her snickers behind her hand at the name-calling the two have resorted to, Poppy relaxes back into the plush comfort of Lily's sofa, the Potter's black cat curling up in a ball of lazy contentment by her feet.
The long running joke of Potter not knows about her pregnancy had come to an end the previous week, when Lupin had been present at the dinner table. He'd taken one sniff and blurted out that she was pregnant, turning to a suddenly choking James and hissing that 'you'd told me she was just getting fat!', much to Sirius' delight.
The elder Black had known right from the start, taking one look at her stomach and wiggling his brows in that smug, taunting way of his. He'd not said a word though, instead instantly clicking onto what she and Lily were up to and happily joining in.
Regardless, the whole thing is over now.
Her hands stroke over her rounding stomach, feeling the movement of the baby within as the two continue arguing. The little bud's already kicking away, not-
"Is she kicking?!"
Lily shoves Potter out of the way, swigging sitting herself down beside Poppy and scaring the cat away with her sudden movement.
Not that she's told anyone the kid's moving about yet, Poppy finishes thinking with a sigh, lifting her hand up for Lily to start feeling up her bump.
"Oh my- she's kicking!"
"He's kicking?" Potter squawks, tangled with Sirius who has also made to leap forwards at the same time. Thus, instead of crowding around her, the two end up in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"It's a girl, I can feel it," Lily grumbles, sticking her tongue out at Potter, hand still stroking away at Poppy's belly and it's starting to get a bit strange now.
"Lils! I wanna greet the kid too!"
"Hush, she's my niece which means I'm more important."
"Yeah, well Popsie is gonna name the bratling after me!"
Both Potter and Lily pause, identical looks of 'did I really just hear that' on their faces. In unison, they swing around to glare at Sirius, Sirius who grind utterly unrepentantly at the duo.
"Hell no she's not."
"Keep calling me those stupid names and I'll name it after your mother or something, in hopes the brat'll bring you just as much grief," Poppy grumbles, though she has absolutely zero intention of ever doing so.
The look of absolute horror on Sirius' face is worth the threat.
"Do you actually have any names picked out yet, Pop-a-lee?"
"I've got one or two in the works, but I'm not sharing. Not until I actually slap a name on the kid. Then it'll be too late for the lot of you to try and change in," Poppy grumbles, folding her arms across her chest and sticking her tongue out at Lily.
It is with a very begrudging acceptance that she allows Potter and Sirius to start pawing at her stomach, trying to feel the little bud kick. Potter because he's the brat's uncle by marriage and Sirius because he's the blood uncle. Though in all honesty, Poppy's not quite sure what to make of that. Or how she's supposed to tell him. 'Oh, hey Sirius, but the way, the brat's your niece/nephew. Surprise'. Yeah, she's sure that'd go down well.
"The worst thing about this is going to those antenatal classes. The stares I get because I keep turning up alone are horrid. They looked appalled when I said I was on my own."
Poppy rolls her eyes, recalling memories of a time in which teenage mothers, single teenage mothers specifically, had been far more common than what they were now. Certainly, there'd been a lot less fuss about it, that's for sure.
"Well the muggles won't have a clue what they're on about. You should go to Saint Mungo's."
"And let some uppity pureblood find out and sell that information to the Dark Fools? I think not."
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Leaving the Potter household, Poppy draws in a sharp, tight breath, holding it within her lungs for a handful of seconds. She's no Marauders fan, never will be, but she's willing to admit the three have… calmed significantly since leaving Hogwarts.
Or rather, Lupin and Potter had calmed.
Sirius had just lost his playmates and a good portion of his time. But she doesn't doubt there'll be more than a handful of pranks for her when he's informed of her baby's daddy.
Grimacing at the very thought, Poppy walks to the cottage gate, slipping through the cute little threshold that breaks up the quaint stone walls that surround the property.
The summer sun is warm on the back of her deck and for a moment, Poppy regrets her choice of jeans instead of a sundress. She'd not bothered to shave her legs in the past few days however, and while it'd just take a quick spell, she was planning on using it as an excuse to get a bath later tonight.
"You're Lily's sister, aren't you?"
Palming her wand, Poppy cocks her head to a side, inspecting the elderly woman beside her. She's not someone Poppy recognises on sight, but there's one very notable resident of Godric's Hollow that could be this old.
"And you're Bathilda Bagshot. How can I help you?"
"If your sister is believed, it is more of a how I can help you, Poppy Evans."
Lips thinning, Poppy rolls her wand over between her fingertips, staring at the elderly woman. She'd unquestionably win in a duel, quicker reflexes, pregnant or not. But, despite not knowing the woman's stance on blood status, Poppy doesn't feel like this is descend into violence.
"Okay then, what can you do for me, Madam Bagshot?"
"Dear Lily tells me you've left Hogwarts without finishing your education, and while I can see why, you'll find securing a job difficult."
"If you're here to rub that in the my face, then save it. I won't have a problem finding a job," Poppy grits out. Worst comes to worst, she can retreat into the muggle-world and magic her way into a job over there. Though that is a last resort kind of thing; she despairs the very idea of having to hide part of herself, all just to get a job.
"You've got bite, girl," Bagshot mutters, a smile crossing her weathered lips. "I like that. Work as my assistant for my research. These old eyes are not what they used to be."
What.
"What?" Poppy hisses, head coiling back slightly, neck straining as she stares down at the shorter woman. But, but this would solve a multitude of problems for her. Something to do during the hours unoccupied by the Potters, the hours that're becoming mind-numbingly boring. And it's a way for her to earn some money. There has to be a catch.
"History of Magic is far from the boring drivel that Binns'll have been filling your ears with."
"Of that, I'm aware. I just want to know why I should put my trust into the last remaining relative of Grindelwald."
"Oh, know about that do you? Seems I have made the right choice then. Come to my house nine o'clock sharp tomorrow."
And then she's gone, hobbling off up the street and leaving Poppy with a grudgingly amused smile on her lips.
Because, should she manage to live to a ripe old age, Poppy can rather see herself acting in a similar manner.
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"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"Excuse me?" Regulus Black snaps, putting down the glass tumbler that he'd been about to take a sip from.
"We have a Marvolo Gaunt, sent to Azkaban and his daughter, one Merope Gaunt, disappeared. Never officially declared dead but there was all that crap happening with Grindelwald at this point so the Ministry wasn't exactly on top of the whole 'who's alive right now' business. Poor handling really. Of far more interest to us however, is a muggle certificate of marriage to one Tom Riddle Jr. A muggle. A pureblood, claiming to be Salazar Slytherin's descendant, and given how her brother was reported to hiss at snakes perhaps a rather valid claim, married a muggle. And nine months later, we get a Tom Marvolo Riddle. Prefect, Head Boy, and present during the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco."
"What."
Aunt Cassiopeia stands with one hand proudly upon her hip, a smug grin on her face, evidentially quite pleased with herself. As if she hasn't just locked Regulus' whole world in the Quidditch chest to take a battering with two over excited bludgers.
"As if that weren't enough," she flicks her wand in the air, writing the former Hogwarts student's full name out before easily rearranging the letters. "He probably thought he was so smart," Cassiopeia proclaims even as Regulus chokes, inspecting the 'I am Lord Voldemort' that is wrote out in the air before him.
Is his Aunt joking? No, she'd never do that.
But the Dark Lord is… a halfblood. A halfblood. Not even the offspring of a pureblood and mudblood, but a pureblood and an utter muggle. A muggle!
Goggling at his aunt, Regulus slouches back into his seat, supper near completely forgotten about, to Kreacher's evident distress.
Well, perhaps the house elf is distressed for the same reason Regulus feels like he's had his broom pulled out from under him.
A halfblood, preaching pureblood ways.
This is even worse than Snape trying to wiggle his way into being considered one of them. This is, it's utterly ridiculous.
Even worse, he's duped everyone. No one else knows this.
When Cassiopeia had come barrelling into his dining room looking absolutely frazzled, he'd been sure she was overreacting.
But she really wasn't.
This, this changes everything.
Fucking hell, he has to reconsider every damn thing he's ever been told.
Because now it's fact that the three most powerful wizards of the 20th century have all been halfbloods. Dumbledore and Grindelwald born from unions of a pureblood and a mudblood, the Dark Lord born of a pureblood and a fucking muggle.
By Merlin, is he actually dreaming? This cannot be real, can it?
"Still willing to go through with your plan, Nephew?"
"Yes."
There's no question about that. Regulus wants his life back.
He's not going to let a halfblood (but are they really beneath him if they're proving that much more powerful? Where are they as purebloods going wrong?) take that from him.
But there's now so much that doesn't make sense. Three ridiculously powerful half-bloods…
Has his family had it wrong, all this time Is pureblood truly not the preferred state?
He's struggling to recall someone with the capabilities of Dumbledore, of the Dark Lord, who also possesses pureblood. Bellatrix is exceptional with the dark arts, but only the dark arts. He can still recall her struggling through her charms homework, hissing and cursing the 'filthy half-breed' of a teacher.
Filius Flitwick had been a duelling champion, Regulus recalls, staring unseeingly at the food upon his plate, a deep frown straining his mouth. But if it is half-blood wizards whom magic touches the most… then the pureblood agenda is wrong.
Because for there to be halfbloods, there must be purebloods and mudblo- muggleborns. Purebloods and muggleborns. Muggleborns… the word tastes wrong, even just voice within the safety of his mind.
As if he's not questioning all the teachings of his house.
"Regulus Arcturus Black!"
Jumping, Regulus swings his attention back to Cassiopeia, spine straightening beneath her weighty glare.
"Yes, dear aunt?"
"I was asking after your murder plan." Yes, this is something he's had time to think about. He'll come back to the mudbl- muggleborn issue later.
It can be put off, in the same way those blue eyes haunting him can be pushed back for a little while longer.
Not much to say for this one I don't think, enjoy,
Thanks for reading,
Tsume
xxx