Anakephalaiosis

Regulus wakes up with a grunt, trying to adjust himself in his half-asleep state and failing. The heavy curtains around his bed keep all light out, except for the faint glow coming from his jar. He frowns, confused by the absence of his wand alarm waking him, but the mystery of his awakening is soon discovered when he tries to move again;a strange, unfamiliar weight is resting on his chest.

Regulus blinks down and sees a baby with squished chubby cheeks sleeping peacefully on top of him, sucking on its thumb as if it had every right to sleep there.

He blinks again to clear his blurry vision before squinting to get a better look at the creature. With the help of the glowing light, he slowly drags himself and the baby up before gently shifting it so he’s more comfortable with the unfamiliar weight.

Regulus tries to stay awake and focus, to figure out what’s going on (if this is a prank or some creature in disguise) but the more he blinks, the sleepier and heavier he gets, his thick black lashes clumping together.

The baby, meanwhile, makes sleep look heavenly.

Regulus’s mind is far too fuzzy and tired to rationalize anything. The baby squirms before nuzzling up to him, and he hears a small sigh escape its tiny lungs before it settles once again. Regulus sighs along with it, then moves the baby completely off of him and to his side.

Face to face with the mystery, Regulus goes right back to sleep. 

When he wakes up, the baby has somehow wriggled back on top of him, its small arms wrapped tightly around his neck, warm breath tickling his skin. The heat in the enclosed space of the bed is unbearable. Regulus grumbles, moving the covers before carefully disentangling himself from what he doubts is a child.

The thing lets out a small grunt at the disturbance, its fisted hand moving toward him with the intent of smacking him before he dodges it.

"Keep those things to yourself," he whispers to it, his voice tired and raspy. It only grunts in its sleep in response.

Regulus shakes his head and sighs, lifting the baby by its armpits. The thing doesn’t try to hit him again, its little head lolling back as drool drips down its chin. Regulus scoots back, propping himself against the headboard, and holds the child up to the fairy light for a better look. He hears the fairies mumbling behind him.

"Mmm…?" Regulus hums.

He’s wide awake now, fully aware that he didn’t just dream up the baby lying on top of him. It’s real...somehow, inexplicably, here in his room instead of in the arms of a parent. Questions flood his mind, one after another, but he forces them away, knowing the only way to find answers is to take it step by step without letting panic overwhelm him. That would leave him on the ground, rocking back and forth.

He watches the baby's head fall to the right, its hair messy and fuzzy, its skin glowing faintly. The sight reminds Regulus of Potter; brown skin, messy black hair. The resemblance is uncanny under the soft golden light, a flash of Potter playing Quidditch flickering in his mind. He remembers the sun hitting Potter’s face as he threw his head back, laughing at someone’s misfortune. that person was him failing to catch the snitch after Potter threw a quaffle his way to stop him. Regulus had three stitches

"Um…" Regulus hums again, cocking his head to the side. The questions roaming in his mind are making him shiver.

He turns the baby around, left and then right, checking it for any mistakes in its design, making sure it’s real and not a doll. He sniffs it (smells like a baby) and then places it against his chest, its chubby cheek pressed against his shoulder. He starts poking its cheek, wondering how something can be so squishy.

He looks up at his jar and sees the fairies with their faces pressed against the glass, trying to get a better look.

"Pick you up?" He signs with one hand over the child’s back to the fairies, who nod in sync. He nods back and carefully places his hand around the lid of the jar, taking it off the headboard and placing it on the duvet.

Regulus then grabs the back of the baby's head and places it on the bed beside the jar before reaching for his wand from under the pillow.

"Revelio," he mumbles. The wand flickers for a second, making Regulus's eyes widen before the flickering dies down. He ignores the small high-pitched giggles coming from the faes, mumbling, "Revela te mihi."

The wand flickers again before finally staying on. The glow from it makes the baby squeeze its eyes shut tighter, opening its palms and slapping the wand away with a grumble.

"Hey!" Regulus exclaims at the baby, who immediately drifts back into deep sleep now that the light is no longer blaring in its face. "who raised you"

Regulus tries the spell again, but the wand seems to have taken offence to being smacked, not even blinking anymore as he waves it around. His nostrils flare as he catches, from the corner of his eye, one of the faes falling on her side, laughing along with her friends at his failure.

Regulus bites his lip, gripping his wand with one hand while the other works to open the jar. The faes inside point and snicker, clearly amused by his fumbling.

His face flushes, but he ignores them, dipping the tip of his wand inside the jar to collect their dust, disregarding the inappropriate moaning the faeries make in response to the wand touching them. Once he gathers enough, he shuts the lid with a sharp click.

Golden dust now coats his wand, making it more responsive to his command. He draws a rudimentary revealing schema around the baby. A golden light shimmers over the small figure. Regulus taps his wand against the schema, watching as the light begins to swirl around the outline, searching for any tricks. He watches with a scowl, and he needs to make sure this isn’t an elaborate, hyper-realistic prank played at his expense. Barty had warned him to be on guard for such things, they apparently happen all the time.

As the swirling light moves, Regulus guides his wand across the baby’s face, pushing its fringe back. His frown deepens when he notices a scar running from the baby’s forehead to the tip of its nose. The mark is thickest on the forehead, tapering off as it reaches the button of the nose.

Regulus hums, his wand hovering over what he’s sure is a cursed scar. He stares at the mark: red, angry, and pulsing faintly with residual magic.

Regulus hums, his wand hovering over what he's sure is a cursed scar, he stares at the scar; red, angry and pulsing faintly with the residual magic.

'Baby in pain?' Regulus cocks his head to the side as he signs to the fairies. They respond with a synchronized nod, five of them lying naked on top of each other.

'Calm sleep. Disturb must,' one of them signs. The rest nod again in agreement. Regulus nods along and hums softly.

With that thought, he draws back the green curtains, letting the room fill with light. The baby's face scrunches up so quickly that it makes Regulus chortle softly.

He glances at the fairies, still intently watching the baby. Waving at them to get their attention, he manages to alert only one of them.

Regulus signs, 'Want to go or stay?'

The single fairy who notices him shakes her head no, and promptly goes back to cooing at the frankly boring, sleeping baby that’s doing nothing to warrant their engagement.

He sniffs at the fae, closing the curtains with a sharp tug, ensuring there are no gaps so the light doesn't wake the baby before he knows what to do with it. What if it cries what will he do then cry with it? Regulus wonders, feeling a wave of apprehension as he heads for the coat stand next to his bed.

Reaching for his robe, he slips it on over his nightdress, his hand absently pushing his braided hair inside the robe. so it doesn't bother them, He sighs after tying the belt, stretching his arms up, and wiggling them around before bending over to touch his toes. A soft moan escapes his lungs as his muscles pull.

Regulus walks across the marble floor, cold and white beneath his feet, making him walk on his toes. The space is pristine and almost stark, with every surface impeccably clean. The walls are painted a light shade of green, accented with darker silver trim. From the small fireplace with the sofa he barely uses to his bed, his studying area isn’t as tidy, crowded with books and notes. A tall, slim bookcase looks like it might break under the pressure of the books it carries. The books that aren’t on it are stacked on top of the black desk against the wall, piled on top of each other. Three empty ink bottles, which he needs to refill, sit alongside feather pens scattered across the desk. A single lamp was thrown in between the books, with sticky notes placed as reminders on the walls.

He stole them from a Mudblood; his poor mother would have a fit. But the way the Ravenclaw had been drawing on the notes and sticking them to the parchment had almost made him drool. She should be grateful he’s not using the notebooks he often sees them carry around. They seem so disposable, unlike his leather reptilia journals, most made from dragon hide and rare snakes.

Regulus tiptoes toward the large window to the left, positioned between his desk and the window bench where his journal rests. He picks it up and lifts his gaze to the slightly dark green water outside. The sun is slowly rising, pushing away the darkness. He watches as a group of small fish flicker by, their fins moving so fast it looks like a gust of wind has passed. The seaweed trembles slightly, just at the edge of his vision, and his eyes snap toward it.

He finds the mermaid poking her head out of the seaweed, watching him as intensely as always. Her fin-like hair floats around her, and her yellow eyes glisten against her greyish-blue skin. She opens her long mouth wide, revealing sharp canines. So used to the sight, Regulus doesn’t react. The colony never bothers to come by the Slytherin windows, but she does. Sometimes she sings by his window just to annoy him.

It’s an odd power move that Regulus experiences every couple of days. Barty often tells him she’s interested in him, but he highly doubts that. he doesn’t want any problems with her. Especially not after the hand gestures she sends his way now and then. He looked them up in a book about Merpeople culture... and promptly placed a reminder on his wall never to go near the lake. It sits beside the ‘WANDS DON’T LIKE YOU’ note and the final words he plans to say to every person who’s wronged him.

Regulus just stares at the siren as those thoughts pass through his mind. His eyes widen slightly when her gaze snaps towards his bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He tries not to show any emotion, a strange instinct of alarm passing through him. Does she know about the baby?Did she see where it came from? As soon as he opens his mouth to speak, she turns and swims away. Regulus shakes his head. It's a stupid thought, even if she saw where it came from, she wouldn’t say anything, not with the merpeople's hatred for wizards.

With the journal in his hands, he goes to the desk situated between the two windows, placing it on the table before searching through his bookshelves for any relevant information about babies falling from the sky something he’s never cared much about. He’s never had much interest in books about children or children in general, much like his mother. Despite this lack of interest, he knows he will eventually have to, as it’s expected of him, though it feels too early now.

He finds some books on skin curses, dark curses, and malicious intent. Placing the collection in his arms, he takes a few steps away from the bookshelf.

“Wait,” Regulus mumbles, backing up to the bookshelf again and picking a book on magical creatures. Who knows? Maybe this baby is not a baby. Maybe his schema failed, and it's an extraordinarily powerful creature in disguise. Maybe there’s a ritual that could help him, instead of relying on spells from his wand or golden dust.

He throws the books on top of his journal, eyeing them hard as he frowns, lost in thought. Regulus hums absently, his gaze drifting over the titles of the books he’s collected: Marks of the Gods, The Threads of the Fae, Symbols of the Unknown.

He taps his fingers on the wooden desk, his mind drifting to the various kinds of literature that might help him.

Something is missing.

Regulus tiptoes over to the trunk beneath the dark green chaise lounge in front of the bed. Kneeling in front of the chair, he bends down to grip the edge of the heavy trunk. He strains, trying to pull it out, but it’s too heavy and feels glued to the ground.

With a grunt, he lifts his knees off the floor, his back still bent as he continues to battle the weight of the trunk. Finally, with a sharp tug, the trunk slides free, sending him stumbling backwards and landing on his butt with a surprised yelp.

"Ouch," Regulus mumbles, wincing as he accidentally sits on his long hair.

"Ouch!" he yelps again when his head snaps backwards as he tries to adjust himself.

Huffing, Regulus crawls back toward the relentless chest. Reaching into his robe pocket, he pulls out a dagger with a green leather casing. The ruby gem on the handle glimmers as he handles it with casual, practised ease. He places the sharp silver tip against his skin and slices the palm of his hand open, from his pinky to his thumb.

Stone-faced, Regulus clenches his fist before pressing it against the sigil on top of the trunk. He squeezes his hand, watching as maroon droplets dribble onto the mark. As soon as the blood hits it, the sigil glows briefly before being absorbed, accompanied by a soft clicking noise.

Regulus opens the trunk, closing his eyes and coughing as black smoke spills out. He sneezes before dipping his hand inside, feeling around for the book. After pulling out three wrong ones, he sighs and summons his wand from the stand into his palm.

"Lumos," Regulus whispers.

He purses his lips when his wand barely emits any light. Frustrated, he slams it against his palm repeatedly, watching the light flicker. It takes a minute for it to respond to his command. When it finally brightens enough, he bites down on it, holding it horizontally between his teeth, grumbling before lowering himself into the trunk. His knees catch the edge, stopping him from falling all the way in.

The space is dark, with only the white light from his wand illuminating the cramped, dusty interior. He’s been too lazy to clean it. In front of him, there’s a small shelf filled with jars and books he’s not allowed to bring onto school grounds, stacked haphazardly to the left. To the right is a small desk that barely holds a potion he’s been brewing for a week. He knows he needs to enlarge the space so he can stand inside again, but that would require too much work and blood magic that might send him into a coma so he’s been putting it off.

His eyes land on a jar. He picks it up, examining the contents: hair, leaves, and now maggots beginning to eat away at everything inside. He whistles through the wand in his mouth as he turns the jar around.

No wonder Travers fell off his broom and broke most of his bones yesterday! He had forgotten about the ill wish he made three months ago. Feeling slightly (maybe) guilty, he shakes his head. Placing one hand on the floor of the trunk to balance himself, Regulus vanishes the jar with three clicks of his wand.

A soft humph leaves his lips when he finally spots the book he’s looking for, hidden behind the now, vanished jar. Placing the wand back in his mouth, he reaches for the book. He misses it a few times before finally grabbing hold and bringing it closer to his eyes to inspect the title

Fates and Fortune: A Goodbye to the Old Earth.

He nods to himself, regretting it instantly as a wave of dizziness hits him from his awkward position. With a groan, he pulls himself out of the trunk, his stomach muscles protesting with the effort.

"Ouch," Regulus whines as the ledge of the trunk presses into his stomach. He glares at his closed curtains and mumbles to himself, "You’d better be grateful."

After tightening the tie of his robe, he walks over to the desk and places the book alongside the others. Dusting it off with his hands, he grimaces at the dirt now covering him. He sighs, he can’t touch the baby with dark magic dust all over him. With a long, silent groan, he checks to make sure the baby is still sleeping before heading toward the bathroom connected to his dorm.

Inside the bathroom, Barty is already there, brushing his teeth, completely unconcerned about his lack of clothing.

"Hey, Regulus," he says casually, glancing over. "You look dusty."

"I do," Regulus nods, shivering as he removes his robes. He glances at the door connected to Barty's room. "Could you close your door, please? The draft is sweeping in."

Barty reaches for his wand and, with a quick flick, closes the door. Regulus takes off his nightwear, tossing everything into the laundry basket before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind him.

"So," Barty says, very rudely pulling open the shower curtain and stepping in as naked as the day he was born, "why are you dusty?"

Regulus hums calmly, unbraiding his hair from its tight knots, spreading it out with his fingers until it cascades down to his lower back. He tries to suppress a shudder, but Barty's snicker lets him know he failed.

Taking the soap from the recessed shelf that holds all his products, Regulus notices the new logo on his cleanser and feels his eye twitch.

Dark Matter Cleanser! Now strawberry-scented for the little uppie lift we all need!

"Still not sure what the Soviets were thinking with that slogan," Barty says, bending over slightly to inspect the products more closely. "You can't get it anywhere in good old England, and the stuff in Spain is absolute garbage."

"Stupid omegas still need their dark matter soaps with a happy message," Regulus mutters, glancing at Barty, who laughs. Regulus frowns at him until he stops.

"It’s funny because you said it seriously," Barty explains.

"It was serious," Regulus replies.

"Maybe, but you meant it sarcastically, right? Like, haha, we're not actually stupid?" Barty points out.

"Yes," Regulus agrees, opening the bottle and getting hit with the overpowering strawberry scent. He lathers soap over his body as Barty grabs the shampoo to help with his hair. Since Barty is taller, Regulus stands still and lets him work.

"Thank you."

"So, why are you covered in dark matter so early in the morning?" Barty asks, pretending to be disinterested while being anything but.

Regulus shrugs, unsure how to explain the baby that appeared out of nowhere. He doesn’t feel like talking. he needs to get clean and figure out what's happening without Barty’s disruptive behaviour.

"Take your hands off me, please," Regulus says as he steps under the water. Barty complies, though he remains standing in the shower with him.

"So?" Barty asks again, earning another shrug from Regulus as he steps out of the water.

Regulus grabs a towel, wrapping it around himself. He heads to his designated sink, eyeing his hair for a moment. long, curly, and all over the place. He feels a wave of discomfort as it brushes against his lower back.

For a moment, Regulus considers drying it with his wand, but the memory of the last time he did stops him. Snape had said he looked like an "unkempt bush," and Pettigrew, standing in for Sirius, had delivered the message, "You look like a hairy elf, with how buggy your eyes are."

Regulus takes his toothbrush from its stand, along with the toothpaste, and starts brushing his teeth, ignoring the glowing eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.

"Barty," Regulus says, taking the toothbrush out of his mouth, "while I understand your child-like wonder at dark magic—since your father smacked you into oblivion every time you mentioned it, it is completely normal to do dark magic in the morning. "

Barty’s smile evaporates, and Regulus tilts his head, observing him. "The Twilight Zone. You understand? "

Barty doesn’t get it at all, from what little detail Regulus can gather from Barty’s expressive expressions, which are lost on him most of the time.

"Right, I’ll just write that in my notes," Barty mutters, nodding toward the door leading to his room.

"Good." Regulus spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth. He takes off the towel, tossing it into the laundry basket, and grabs the clean robes hanging on the left before leaving.

Regulus sits on his desk chair, the blanket that had been draped over it now resting on his lap. His legs are crossed, and his feet tap in the air as he highlights a section in the cursed and alive book. It’s alive, alright, he thinks, recalling the baby’s flared skin. Alive and swirling in the baby. The Thanatos mark is most likely the curse, the way it’s jetted into a lightning effect, angry and red.

Regulus ignores the water drops falling onto the paper from his unbraided hair. He picks up his journal and places it beside the book, humming quietly to himself. The scar on the baby’s head it was pulsing, with dried blood crusted around the wound.

He grabs a note from beside the candle and sketches the scar from memory, adding it to the corner of the open journal page. He writes down the similarities between what he can recall and what is written about the mark

• Fresh, inflamed, raw, breaking apart (likely to keep growing)
• The child seems accustomed to it; likely happened a while ago and learned to live with it.
• Runes-like, suggesting a strike to the head with a wand, or the touch of a hand-of-glory-like antique. Most dark objects are banned…

Regulus clicks the feathered quill against his chin, tilting his head back to glance at the closed curtains where the baby is sleeping. He wonders if the child came from a dark family.

Kreacher was always two steps ahead of him and Sirius, Regulus recalls, making sure they didn’t touch anything dangerous. They had tutors to teach them about the objects around the house too.

Maybe the family is too poor to have tutors? No, that doesn’t make sense. If that were the case, they would at least have an elf willing to work for them. They couldn’t afford such a high-priced antique, he thinks. Maybe they were just neglectful.

Regulus flips to the healing section and groans when he finds there is only one option for healing.

Tears of the Asclepius serpent

an ingredient that is notoriously difficult to obtain, rarely sold because death marks are so uncommon. He could travel to the highest mountains in Greece, pray here and there, and wait for rain to fall, even though it’s summer. He can only hope the gods will listen.

But he can’t be arsed. 

Regulus sighs, swiping his hands over his face. His head snaps towards the bed as the loud cries of the now-awake child interrupt his thoughts. He looks at it for a second, pondering whether he should even move, but when the cries grow louder and more desperate, he stands up. He rushes towards the door, checking to make sure the sound-cancelling runes are still active before heading to the bed.

Regulus opens the curtains with a huff, his back cold from his wet hair shoved inside his robe. Shivering, he crawls the short distance toward the crying child. On his knees, he looks down at the baby and then at the fairies, who are cooing at the infant as it cries. Regulus turns back to the baby, his hands twitching on his lap.

"What should I do?" Regulus asks the fairies. One of them grabs her friend, picking her up by the armpits and rocking her in her arms.

"Uh?" Regulus bites his lip and, slowly, with one finger, pokes the baby’s wet cheek, his finger denting it. "Fat baby... stop crying."

The baby’s eyes blink open before scrunching at the darkness, its hand reaching toward its scar and rubbing it as it cries out, "Mama."

Regulus stares at the baby, waiting for it to calm down, but when it doesn’t, he sighs and picks it up, slotting its light yet surprisingly heavy body on his hip as he lifts it out of the bed. The baby stops crying as soon as it’s out in the light.

"There is absolutely no need for all this fuss," he tells the baby, whose puffy, red cheeks are squishy with tears streaming down its face. The baby looks around the room with wide eyes before locking its gaze on Regulus.

"Mama," the baby hiccups, grabbing at Regulus’s fringe curls that have escaped his braid and tugging them hard. Regulus huffs and gently untangles the chubby fingers from his hair.

"I’m not your mother," Regulus informs the baby, staring into its unusually large gray eyes; the same color and size as his own, though more vivid against the baby’s dark complexion. "...I think."

The baby breaks into a big smile, showing off its baby teeth. Regulus frowns at him, earning a frown back from the baby before it grins again, tugging Regulus’s fringe with all its might. Regulus goes along with the tugging and the cries of "Ma!" coming from the baby, who seems very happy to see him.

Regulus adjusts the baby on his hip, an arm supporting it under the rump as he walks towards his desk.

"I’m not your mother," Regulus repeats, because he would definitely remember giving birth and going through all that trouble.

"Mama, ham," the baby says, cocking its head to the side, a hand extended in an open question.

"Ham?" Regulus frowns. "What do you mean?" he asks the baby, who keeps a firm hold on his neck with one hand, the other reaching for its scar.

Regulus brushes the unruly hair away from the child’s forehead, taking a closer look at the scar in the light.

"Is it bothering you?" Regulus asks.

The baby hums and nods. "Owie, ma."

"Not your mother," Regulus whispers. "You hit me, you know."

"I know," the baby replies with a smile.

"What do you know?" Regulus doubts the baby understands.

"I no know," the baby chirps, its dimple deepening.

Regulus pokes the dimple with a finger, whispering, "Dimple," earning a loud laugh from the baby.

Regulus frowns at him before sitting down at the desk, placing the baby on his lap, facing him. "I will continue my research about this scar of yours."

"Owie," the baby yawns, settling against Regulus’s chest.

"Yes, I know. I will help you, but you must not make a sound."

The baby blinks up at him, cocking its head before babbling nonsense, a little spit dripping down its chin.

"That’s absolutely undignified," Regulus tells the baby, who continues babbling anyway. "Do you know where you came from?" Regulus tries again.

"Ma!" The child points at him.

"What’s your name?" Regulus asks.

"Hawie," the baby says, its tongue heavy, the words more gibberish than clear.

"Henry?" Regulus repeats. The baby screams, "No!" before reaching for a paper on the desk. Regulus grabs it first and points it at the child. "What is this?"

The baby tries to say "paper," but it sounds more like "bapar."

"Huh." Regulus bites his lip and sighs, scooting closer to the table. He makes the child face forward and tilts its head back to get a good look at the scar, then grabs his quill and draws it more accurately. 

"It looks like Zeus’ work, the thunder of the scar leaving his mark. I think we need to pray to him, although I’m not a fan of his," he tells the baby, who yelps a "Yeah." "I have always preferred Astraeus, if you must know. He’s very good at his work, always answers me. I think it’s because of my name, but I’m not sure."

The baby nods its head before pointing at his notes and blabbering some more. Regulus thinks he’s talking, but he’s not sure because the baby is just not making sense.

An hour later, the baby falls asleep on Regulus’s lap, its head resting in the crook of his arm, feet thrown across his lap. Regulus continues writing because if he tries to move the baby, it would wake up, talk Regulus’s ears off, and try to eat his stuff again.

"Black!" Barty bursts through the door, smiling ear to ear before stopping dead in his tracks, looking at the child in Regulus’s arms.

"Hello." Regulus looks back at Barty before going back to his writing. "Get out, please."

"Is that a baby?" Barty completely ignores his demand, walking in with his hand in his pocket and getting into Regulus’s space as he looks down at the baby.

"Yes, it is." Regulus adjusts the baby slowly when it fusses at Barty’s loud voice. Thankfully, Barty doesn’t say anything else. Silence fills the room, only the sounds of the baby sleeping and Regulus scribbling on the paper.

"Why do you have a baby?" Barty finally breaks the silence.

"I woke up with it on my chest," Regulus hums.

"Right… that’s normal," Barty whispers.

"I don’t believe it is," Regulus says, looking up at Barty. "How did you get in here?"

"I opened the door," Barty points at the bathroom door with his thumb. "I had a few questions about dark arts."

"Now is not the time," Regulus says as he adjusts the baby when it throws itself across his lap with a mad huff.

He places its back between his thighs, its messy hair somehow even messier. Regulus places his pointer fingers in each small hand, pushing them backward.

"Perfectly balanced," Regulus whispers with an amazed expression.

"Looks like Potter," Barty breaks his thoughts.

"It does, doesn’t it?" Regulus couldn’t believe how well the baby is sitting on his lap.

"Think he fathered a bastard?" Barty leans down, careful not to touch Regulus's space.

"I’m not sure," Regulus hums, taking his finger away and watching as the baby sits perfectly still.

"You know, he doesn’t put his dick in as many holes as your brother, but he does do it a lot."

"Did he put it in you?" Regulus looks up with a frown.

"No, said I’m too crazy-eyed and would become obsessed," Barty laughs. "He wishes."

"It’s quite old anyway," Regulus says, looking down, ignoring Barty’s answer. He’s not sure why he even asked. "About two. I’m not sure fourth years would have been able to keep it a secret."

"His dad, then," Barty tsks. "Honestly, that’s not important. You don’t just wake up and find a baby in your bed. How did a baby get into Hogwarts?"

"I don’t know."

"Yeah, okay. I can’t leave you alone for two seconds, can I? Get up."

"I’m very busy," Regulus pulls the baby up and onto his chest, "and I would love for you to leave me alone for a few seconds, also."

"What we need to do is go to the headmaster and tell him you found a baby in your bed so you don’t get charged with kidnapping."

"That’s unjustified. Why would I kidnap a child?"

"I don’t know what you do! You creep people out, yeah? They would assume that of you, so come on, get up, we need to wash our hands clear of this."

"We?"

"I’m going to get dragged alongside you."

"Wait, let me finish—let me grab my bag."