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Chapter 18
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It is exceptionally strange, waking up to find company in her bed. Company not of the baby variety.
She hasn't exactly grown use to Sol's existence outside of her stomach quite yet, nevermind his very irritating father and his sudden presence in her life.
Stretching out her legs beneath the covers, Poppy's toes brush up against the tops of Regulus' feet, the pureblood grumbling into his pillow and attempting to shuffle free of the contact. He's still fast asleep, clutching at the pillow as if it's a lifeline. Honestly, she's just glad they didn't wake up clinging to one another. Child or not, that'd have been awkward.
It's not like there's been a whole slew of intimate moments between them to cushion such a thing. Well, emotionally intimate moments that is.
Despite how honest they'd been with one another, and despite the attraction they share for one another… they're not exactly emotionally close, are they?
Lying back in the soft fabrics, Poppy traces the sharp angle of Regulus' jawline, taking note of the dark hair that falls before his ear. There's not a lot, but the half curls are longer than she's seen them before, without the usual product (be it spells or potions) that usually keep it effortlessly styled. It looks good on him, natural. Like he's not even trying.
Hiding that simmering emotion away in the little smile on her lips, Poppy tucks a rebellious lock back behind Regulus' ear, watching the skin upon his brow bunch together, eyebrows pressing down hard as his frown deepens. Of course, even in his sleep he'd frown at her; she'd touched his hair after all.
Huffing, Poppy forces herself into motion, turning to the side of the bed where Sol slumbers away.
She'd made no comment when Regulus had brought the little Moses basket into her room, their little child tucked gently inside.
A quick look shows that Dolly has been by twice in the night, ensuring Sol's been fed. Which means she can leave him here in Regulus' care and start getting ready for another busy day of caring for an infant. And plotting Voldemort's downfall. Hopefully she'll actually make some progress on the latter.
A smooth flick of her wand summons the dressing gown from the wall and she's quick to pull the material on, sinking into the soft fluff.
At the door to her bedroom, Poppy pauses, turning back to get a better look at the man sleeping on her bed. He's kicked the covers down until they drape across his waist, leaving his naked upper half exposed. Her eyes linger on the bold stain of the Dark Mark, her teeth grinding at the very sight.
Then again, one cannot attempt to blow Voldemort up and still claim any form of allegiance to that mark. She wonders if Regulus has managed to block the connection it forms, or if that's something he's gone to his Aunt for help with.
Sucking in her lower lip, the redhead throws her hands up in the air, striding back across the room and gently lifting Sol into her arms, only to deposit him on the bed by Regulus. Some quick spell-work ensures the Slytherin won't roll onto the little tyke, nor that Sol will somehow manage to miraculously wiggle his way off the bed.
Glancing down at the two, Poppy sighs, sitting herself back down upon the bed, her fingers smoothing first Sol's fine baby-hair and then, after a moment of hesitation, Regulus' too.
They both frown in their sleep. Is it wrong of her to be upset by that? To know Regulus shares something like that with her gorgeous little baby?
She shouldn't- Poppy knows she shouldn't be jealous, but she cannot help it.
Lying side by side, even with the colouring issue, it's so abundantly clear that Regulus and Sol are father and son.
There's just something about them; like calling to like, perhaps? Both bright constellations; Regulus a fierce blaze so very distant, Sol so blindingly beautiful and the closest star she can reach.
Poppy peppers a kiss to Sol's forehead and leaves it at that.
She might… feel something for Regulus, but she sure as hell isn't at the tenderly-kissing-his-forehead-as-he-sleeps stage yet.
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Making breakfast is easy.
Making the decision to cook for two people significantly harder.
She does it though, puts the second portion under a stasis charm and then meanders into the living room, intent upon continuing to figure out a way to off Voldemort.
She's utterly forgotten that she's no longer a hermit, that there's going to be people checking up on her.
In her defence, Poppy thinks it's Bathilda at the door.
The six-foot-one, broad shouldered frame that she finds upon opening the door is near dwarfed by the presents they're carrying, but there's no way in hell that it's her mentor on all things history.
"Hey, Pop. I hear that there's congratulations for a baby boy in order?"
"Ah, er, James… good morning?"
Peeking around his obnoxiously large collection of presents, James Potter grins at her, an expression that only brightens as he takes in her much smaller form.
Quickly scanning the surrounding area yields no results as to why it is James alone on her doorstep. A James with no Lily to restrain his reaction whatsoever.
"Oh, right. Something came up and it was supposed to be me and Lils that went but Sirius volunteered to go in my place. Let me get to know my nephew and all."
He grins, sheepish and pleased and Poppy's has a heavy stone sitting in her stomach right now.
Technically, Sol is more Sirius' nephew than James. Never mind that she has Regulus passed out upstairs.
Well, small mercies; at least Sirius isn't here.
"Okay. You wanna come in? I'll make some tea."
James grimaces at the drink on offer but Poppy ignores it by sheer principle alone. Honestly, a grown English man disliking tea.
Then again, she does have a rather big bombshell to drop on him... maybe it's in her best interests that she caters to James' beverage preference, just this once.
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A screaming baby is not the way Regulus had been expecting to wake up.
One would think that sleeping in bed with a lover beside him would mean a far more pleasant wake up call. But alas, here he is.
In truth, he'd probably been a fair bit too optimistic on a pleasant wake-up call from Evans, but it has been so long; no one else has ever gotten to him quite like Evans. They fight like, well, a Slytherin and Gryffindor. Urgh.
Scooping Sol up into his arms, Regulus takes a moment to marvel at that tiny little face, features hidden beneath the thick layer of baby fat. Perhaps he'll never know if Sol will have his high cheekbones, if he'll ever have the fierce curve of Evans' eyebrows. Maybe his ability will never allow such a thing.
That, that is a bit saddening to think about.
It's much easier to be irritated with Evans for leaving this little wakeup call right by him on the bed. Waking up to Evans' sleeping face would've been far less unpleasant than the scrunched up, almost-alien features his baby has right now.
Perhaps he should be worried that the red skin and tear-stricken cheeks don't put him off, that it just fills him with a fondness he would have never thought himself capable of experiencing.
After all, being raised by Walburga and Orion Black doesn't exactly instil one with those fluffy, bubbly emotions the Gryffs and Puffs so adore.
"Would the guest bes wanting to feeds little Master?"
Evans' house elf (at least she's doing something right here) appears with a sly smile and bottle of milk.
A little disgruntled over being addressed as something as lowly 'the guest', Regulus accepts the offering, adjusting Sol until he's cradled within one arm. The concept seems simple enough, but... this is his son. His precious firstborn.
Regulus cannot afford to get anything wrong here.
"Would you walk me through this, Dolly?"
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With Sol fed and slumbering contently within his arms, it's high time he gets some food for himself. Regulus opens the hallway door, only to find James Potter of all people sat in Evans' living room, a wrapped present situated upon his lap and many more crowding his feet. Is it too late to go back upstairs? Probably.
The second Potter's eyes land upon Regulus, he leaps from his contentment and his seat.
"By all accounts, return to lounging about the place, Potter," Regulus mutters, doing his upmost best to ignore how the pureblood scrambles for his wand, his wide hazel eyes nervous and locked upon him.
He's not unaware of how he shifts his body, curls his torso ever so slightly to a side, providing a better shield for the small infant nestled within his arms; it's almost terrifying to realise just how quickly he has come to consider Sol his to protect. He thought the bonding would take a little longer than this. But then again, Regulus has always been rather possessive of what is his.
Funnily enough, the spellfire he's expecting never comes.
Potter has… matured. What an uncomfortable realisation.
"I knew there was a reason you gave me pumpkin juice!" Potter suddenly declares, swinging around to scowl at Evans.
The redhead (Merlin, what is he supposed to call her now? His girlfriend? His lover? Urgh) is perched upon the sofa, that same no-nonsense attitude as always wrapped effortlessly around her form. She considers Potter with icy blue eyes, expression giving away nothing at all. And then, ever so dryly, she spreads her arms wide, as if giving up the pretence and welcoming Potter into the big secret.
"Surprise. Black and I have had a thing for a few years."
Unsurprisingly, Potter chokes, staring between the two of them with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Then of course, despite Regulus best unconscious efforts, he notices Sol.
"Oh bloody Merlin, you're not lying."
"I just-" he cuts himself off, running one hand through his hair as the unsupported present drops from his lap. Yes, there's no way Regulus is allowing this fool to hold his child.
Potter stares between the two of them, jaw working wordlessly, and Regulus waits for it. Waits for the moment Potter denounces Evans for her association with him, waits for the hothead to leap to his feet. Hell, he's prepared for a prank spell (because Potter might be a fool, but even he wouldn't allow an innocent child to be endangered by his spell-work).
Only, it never comes.
Instead, Potter runs both hands through his hair again, nearly dislodging his glasses from his nose, but he doesn't act brashly. He inhales once, sharp and short, before exhaling far longer than should be possible.
"Okay. Right. You're gonna have to explain this to me. Because I thought you-" a finger is pointed in Regulus' direction, harsh and accusing, "-were a Death Eater. So, how- what possessed- just, how did this happen?"
Gesturing wordlessly between them, Potter, runs a hand down his face, eyes round as a bludger.
"And good Godric, does Lily know?"
"Lily found out when I popped sunshine out over there," Evans mutters, waving a hand towards Regulus and he grits his teeth. He might have to put up with his firstborn being called Sol, but his child sure as hell won't suffer a degrading nickname like that.
"I was a Death Eater, Potter. Funnily enough, belief in the cause tends to wither when you find out the Dark Lord is a half-blood."
In true Evans style, the mother of his child just cannot let it go without a little dry comment of, "disillusioned enough to try blowing up said half-blood."
Scowling, Regulus cocks his head back towards her, carefully adjusting his grip on Sol until the tiny human is resting against his chest, face pressing into the crook of his neck and with butterfly breaths ghosting over Regulus' skin.
"What part of 'in hiding, faking my own death, do you not understand?" he hisses, one hand supporting Sol, the other gently running up and down the baby's back, touch feather light. Because fuck, what if he hurts him? He has no idea how much pressure a baby can handle, he knows practically nothing of babies, so gentle as possible it is.
"Oh, for god's sake, James' hardly gonna rat you out, is he?"
"Then you'll feel completely comfortable talking about our last meeting?"
Evans' mouth shuts with an audible snap, disgruntled fury in the sharp lines of her eyebrows and mouth. That is something he still needs answers from; how had she known where that cave was? How had she known what was inside it? He wants to push; the chains of that life debt tighten hard around his chest and leave Regulus hastily sucking in more air. The sharp warning is more than enough to derail that train of thought. Of course, Potter's right here. He cannot goad Evans into explaining right now. Irritating.
"For Merlin's sakes, you two better explain what the hell is going on- fuck it, I can't believe I'm here talking to Sirius' supposed to be dead little brother. I need a drink."
"I was pregnant; there's no alcohol in this house." The look with which Potter graces Evans with is drier than anything Regulus would have ever thought him capable of.
"I am going back to my house. I am going to get a large bottle of firewhiskey, which I will not be sharing. By the time I get back, you two better be able to explain what the hell is going on here, or I'm telling Lily and Sirius the second they get back."
Slow update is slow.
In the physical world, I'm really enjoying my PGCE course; it's fantastic.
Thanks for reading,
Tsume
xxx