Rodolphus slowly drifted back to consciousness, the relentless pain that had consumed him for days now nothing more than a distant memory. The world around him felt strangely quiet, surreal, as if he were caught between dreaming and reality. His body felt weak, but the absence of agony was a welcome relief.
Blinking groggily, he turned his head, searching for Harry. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Hey… is that her?"
Harry nodded, his smile gentle, though his eyes held a sorrow that sent a sharp pang through Rodolphus's chest. "Yeah. Do you want to hold her?"
Tears welled in Rodolphus's eyes as he extended his trembling arms. "Yeah. Hi, baby."
The moment she was placed in his arms, something inside him shifted—his heart swelled with overwhelming love. He cradled her carefully, as if afraid she might break, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at you… all cute and sweet." A soft, awed smile touched his lips, but it faltered as his gaze drifted over her delicate features. A strange unease took root in his chest, his stomach twisting as realization dawned.
His breath hitched. "Harry… what's wrong with her eyes?"
Harry's expression darkened, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to shield Rodolphus from the truth. But there was no avoiding it. His voice was barely above a whisper. "She's blind, Rodolphus. The near-miscarriage… it affected her." He swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry."
The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the breath from Rodolphus's lungs. His grip tightened slightly around his daughter as his vision blurred with tears. Guilt and sorrow clawed at his chest, suffocating him. "I'm sorry, baby," he choked out, his tears falling freely onto her soft blanket.
Rabastan stepped forward, his presence solid, grounding. "Rodolphus… she's perfect. We'll love her just the same, no matter what."
Despite the love and support surrounding him, Rodolphus's heart remained heavy, the weight of his daughter's condition pressing down on him. He traced a gentle finger over her tiny cheek, his lips trembling as he exhaled shakily.
Then, with a quiet strength, he whispered, "Hope. Her name is Hope Lestrange-Potter."
Harry's smile returned, tinged with sadness but filled with pride. "That's perfect, Rodolphus. I'm so proud of you."
Rabastan nodded, his voice steady, unwavering. "So proud, brother."
But even as warmth filled the room, Rodolphus couldn't shake the ache in his heart. Hope was beautiful, precious—perfect to him in every way. But the road ahead would not be easy. And no matter how much love surrounded them, he knew he would carry this sorrow with him, woven into the very fabric of his love for her.
