Anakephalaiosis

Barty can only describe Regulus Black as a freak; truly, words are lost on him when it comes to the small boy. The most fucked-up things can be spoken by him in the softest, quietest voice.

He has met Walburga Black, and he can only assume that’s where Regulus picked up the subtle and unsubtle jabs.

The loud voice has obviously been bestowed on Sirius Black, which Barty can hear from across the halls; deep and proud.

Barty looks around the room, taking in the silence and the radiating pulse humming against his skin. No one would have guessed that this is what Regulus’s room feels like, given the way the teen can barely pass his classes and the way his wand seems to be in a never-ending battle against him.

The scent of blood and black dust coating the walls stumps on Regulus’s citrus scent. it barely had a chance anyway.

Being the only two omegas, Barty had come to know that, unlike others, Regulus makes people (though most of Slytherin doesn’t care) uneasy, not just from his large eyes and lifeless hair, but from the way he passes through life like a wisp of wind.

Barty hates him and his careless words, but he’s intrigued beyond belief and that has always been his Achilles’ heel. Having an alliance with a Black never hurt… much.

“Are you done?” Barty shouts, arms crossed and his feet tapping on the ground.

“Yes, one second,” Regulus calls out from behind the curtains of his bed.

Barty has to strain his ears to hear him. He watches as something glows briefly just as Regulus closes his leather bag. Barty opens his mouth to ask before shutting it; he doesn’t want to hear what Regulus might snap back.

With the sleeping baby (what the actual fuck) propped on his hip, Regulus looks at Barty with light grey eyes, the color adding to the tiredness beneath them as he blinks slowly.

“We need to be unseen.” Barty nods, grabbing Regulus by his biceps and pulling him toward the door. He stops, eyeing the sigil on it.

“Am I going to blow up opening this?” Barty point at it wearily.

Regulus didn’t answer right away. He just gave a steady Barty, then said, “No,” before adjusting the sleeping baby on his hip, his cheek squished against the child’s Potter-esque hair.

Barty tugs at Regulus’s cheek. “You’re not fucking with me, are ya?”

“Ng,” Regulus whines before gently moving Barty’s hand away, muttering “Stop it.”

“Why are you coddling the kid?” Barty teases.

Regulus pauses, shifting his gaze slightly, almost as if he were considering the question himself. Then, quietly: “Not coddling.”

Barty watches as Regulus nuzzles the baby’s hair with his nose, earning a nuzzle back from the baby, its small mouth opening and smacking its lips together.

“You sure about that?” Barty raises an eyebrow.

“I’m so tired,” Regulus yawns instead.

Right. Occam’s razor and all.

“Why? Didn’t sleep well?” Barty asks as he opens the door, waiting for Regulus and the baby to come through before closing it.

“Woke me up,” Regulus explains, his hand running through the kid’s riot of hair in a soothing manner. “A bit more than that, honestly.”

“Well, aren’t you just a natural,” Barty mutters, his lips twisting to keep a smile as he raises one eyebrow and points at Regulus’s hand resting awkwardly on the baby. He earns a blank stare from Regulus as they move through the halls, his hands on his wand as he walks.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Regulus frowns. “I didn’t.”

“Right, well, you are now.”

“You’re the one making the sound.”

“Would you shut up?”

“I don’t—”

“Black.” The sound is like sandpaper against nails, the only way Barty can explain that voice. “Crouch.”

“What?” Barty turns toward Snape, his hand on his wand in his pocket. So much for being discreet.

“What?” Snape raises an eyebrow at him before his gaze lands on Regulus. “Is that…”

“A baby, are you blind?” Barty mocks. Right, the baby he doesn’t want to think about and is being extremely nonchalant about because Regulus rubs off on you like that.

“And pray tell, why do you have a child?”

“And pray tell, why do you have a child,” Barty mimics in an obnoxiously high-pitched voice. “Fuck off.”

Snape’s eyes darken, his hand reaching for his wand. Barty wants to groan; the way this boy needs to piss over anything to assert himself and feel big. He and Potter are two sides of a coin—one is admired, while the other is shat upon.

“Um, hi, Severus,” Regulus murmurs, tugging at Barty’s robe. Barty steps back with a sigh—right, Regulus’s weird alliance with Snape. He’d forgotten about it and he still can’t figure out why Regulus bothers with Snape. He barely bothers with anyone yet doesn’t mind keeping Severus around.

“Black,” Snape drawls with disdain. “Must I repeat myself?”

 “Well… no.” Regulus’s voice is soft, almost passive, his shoulders relaxed, his stance subdued. He rests a hand on the baby’s cheek, saying, “I just wanted to get your attention.”.

“It’s been grabbed,” Snape says, pointing at the baby. “Children aren’t allowed on school grounds.”

“Well, I do know that.” Regulus nods, his eyes looking up at Barty, he raises his hands because if it were up to him, he would’ve just tied Snape up and thrown him in a cabinet somewhere, letting the idiot four take the blame.

“It’s not up to me because I woke up, and it was sleeping on me.” Regulus walks closer to Barty, who startles as he suddenly finds himself holding the child.

“Oi,” Barty whispers.

Regulus ignores him, kneeling down and opening his green leather bag. Barty’s eyes widen as he watches Regulus’s elbows dig deep into the bag. His attention is stolen, his hands fumbling when the baby digs its fist into his cheek.

“No, no, no,” the baby whines, smacking Barty’s face.

“It does that,” Regulus tells him.

“You little brat,” Barty says, holding it by the armpits away from his face. “Hold this.”

Barty hands the baby to Snape, who only grabs it because it’s falling. The moment Barty lets go, Snape’s face contorts with disdain.

“This is unacceptable. Why am I handling this child?” Snape hisses. “Take this, Crouch, take it.”

“Shut up.” Barty kneels next to Regulus. “Is this an Undetectable Extension Charm?”

“Yes,” Regulus nods, his whole arm swallowed by the bag. “Found it.”

Snape is kneeling now too. “Take it, take it before I kill it.”

Regulus frowns. “You would do that to a wixen child?”

“That child is as paki as Potter. Fucking disgusting,” Snape snaps, practically throwing the baby at Barty, who tilts his head, lips quirking slightly.

“Is that a Muggle remark, Severus?” Regulus asks, a book in hand.

“What does it mean?” Barty asks.

“It means someone of Pakistani descent,” Snape sniffs.

“Is that a bad thing?” Barty raises an eyebrow.

Snape stutters. “What have you got?” he says, turning to Regulus, who is blinking at him.

“Oi, don’t ignore me,” Barty says, adjusting the sleeping baby. He turns to Regulus. “Is this thing even alive?”

Regulus turns his head slowly, looking at Snape with calm, unblinking eyes. He says softly, “Is that a bad thing?”

Snape looks flustered, caught.

“How awfully Muggle of you, Snape,” Regulus murmurs with a tilt in his voice that means he’s about to say a cunt of a comment in the lightest voice. Barty winces prematurely.

“No matter how much scrubbing you do, you can’t wash that stench of Mudblood off. It clings like a cursed scar,” Regulus shrugs. “what a sad sod you are, Maybe it seeps into your hair.”

Barty whistles, turning to Snape and waiting for his reply. Disappointment creeps in when the boy only turns even redder than he already is.

“Black wins,” Barty says cheerfully, standing up with the dead baby. Regulus and Snape follow, Regulus sighing.

“I guess this isn’t needed anymore.” Regulus tucks his book away, his voice low. “This is all forgotten if we both stay quiet about our slip-up.”

Snape looks at Regulus with frustration, his hand clenching. “Fine.”

Regulus nods and turns away, with Barty following. “Take this demon back.”

“It’s just a child, I checked.” Regulus glances at the baby, then reaches to take it back. His eyes flicker toward Snape, catching his gaze. “And Snape, Potter is of Indian descent. His family was among the first to be blessed by the god of samsara. You wouldn’t know how significant that is.”

Barty turns to see Snape bristle. “I’m guessing karma would’ve been too on the nose.”

Regulus hums thoughtfully. “Not exactly. It depends. Samsara is the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. A person’s rebirth is shaped by their karma, with the goal being liberation from the cycle… moksha.”

“So karma’s the good and bad—fuck—basically, the relationship between Potter and Snape will keep happening until they fix it?” Barty is amused and half buying this bullshit.

Regulus rests his head on the baby’s scalp, absentmindedly rubbing its back. “True liberation is the end of karmic cycles. If Snape and Potter leave a deep mark on each other’s lives without resolution, it leaves bad karma, and they’ll meet again to settle it… or maybe they’re doing that now. It’s not the way Muggles or some wixen understand it—it’s a universal law of cause and effect, with everything, good and bad, influencing why your life is what it is.”

Barty barks a laugh. “You and Potter are stuck together.”

Snape looks as disgusted as Barty would expect. “That’s not real, anyway.”

“And your Christian god is?” Regulus raises an eyebrow. “A man to save humankind? How original.”

“He’s not my god,” Snape defends himself, eyes narrowed.

Regulus hums. “Potter would know more about this; he studies it, anyway. He knows all about the stars.”

“Assyro-Babylonians?” Barty hums.

Regulus nods. “Yes. His ancestors married into the line that lived and breathed the zodiac. In a way, astrology interprets karmic influence on a person’s life.”

“Are you obsessed with Potter or something?” Snape snaps.

“Not obsessed,” Regulus sighs. “I had to study pureblood families my whole childhood. Potter comes from a strong Light family. He’s not what you think—he’s greater than you are,” Regulus says, his tone faintly detached, “at least for now. Truly, Severus, how many times do I have to remind you to shake off your Muggle ideologies? It’s unbecoming for someone with your blood.”

“Even if it’s dirty,” Barty adds for fun

“Everybody is staring at us,” Regulus whispers to Barty, who looks at him like he’s stupid.

“Probably because you have a baby,” Barty replies. Regulus huffs, adjusting the sleeping baby in his arms, his hand instinctively reaching to catch the baby’s small, incoming fist.

“This baby isn’t polite at all,” Regulus whispers, frowning as he inspects the tiny hand. “He hit me.”

“Right, because that’s top on a baby’s to-do list: politeness.” Barty laughs, and Regulus pouts at Barty.

“Turn that pout upside down—I got hit too,” Barty huffs, rubbing his cheek.

“Do you think the headmaster will find anything?” Regulus murmurs, adjusting his grip on the baby’s weight, his arm beginning to tire

He’s sure a baby shouldn’t be this sleepy. They sleep a lot, yes, but not this heavily, especially with all this jostling around. Barty had called it “dead,” but Regulus checked its pulse, and it’s fine. Probably just Barty joking again.

Did the journey to get here tire him out? Or is it the scar? he wonders, looking down at the baby drooling on his shoulder. He glances up and finds himself locking eyes with Robin Greengrass.

“Looks like your captain is mad,” Barty notes.

“She’s always mad,” Regulus mutters. “I don’t like it when she’s mad at me.”

“Black.” Robin’s voice is stern, her black, choppy hair swinging as she walks over, the Slytherin prefect at her side. “What is happening? Why do you have that?”

“Um…” Regulus whispers under his breath. He’s already tired of that question—he doesn’t know! Avoiding her glare, he lets his gaze drift to Sirius and his friends sitting by a large window, oblivious to the chaos around them.

“Goodbye.” Regulus turns and walks away, shifting the baby to his right arm as the left one begins to lose feeling.

“Black!”

Barty joins him as he strides toward Sirius and his friends. The shortest one is in a headlock with Potter, looking hopelessly defeated. Regulus is focused on Potter, the massive chaser whose clothes are in an unacceptable state, his hair as messy as ever.

Finally, they notice him approaching, murmurs spreading among the students around them. The four look up, eyes moving from the baby to Regulus, confusion growing with every step he takes.

“Regulus Arcturus,” James Potter cocks his head to the side, the motion oddly familiar. It hits Regulus then—that was the exact head tilt he saw the baby do. “And Crouch.”

“Hello?” Lupin says, reaching out as though he’s ready to catch the baby in case Regulus drops it.

“Is that a bub?” the shortest one asks.

“Why do you have a bub?” Sirius joins in.

Regulus hasn’t spoken to his brother since third year, and his stubbornness won’t let him break that streak now. He simply grabs the baby by the armpits and holds it up next to Potter’s face.

“Regulus Arcturus...something you need from me?” Potter’s arms are crossed, his gaze shifting between Regulus and the baby.

Same hair, same skin tone, same nose. Objectively, they must be biologically related. Nodding to himself, Regulus shoves the baby into Potter’s arms.

“Hey! What the hell?” James whisper-shouts, conscious of the baby, who stirs slightly in his sleep.

“I found this. It must be yours—it looks like you.” Regulus adjusts his robes and turns away, ready to leave. He has a class, he’s very busy, and frankly, the baby is a bit of an odd thing to carry around.

A strange heaviness settles in his chest as he leaves the baby behind, but he dismisses it, blaming his “omegan instincts.” His mother had always told him that was what held him back.

“Come back here!—hey! What the fuck?” Sirius yells after him, his footsteps getting closer.

“Come on,” Barty says, grabbing his hand and tugging him into a run toward class.

That pang of worry... It’s just the omega thing, he tells himself, brushing it off like his mother always told him to

“Can I please have Mister Black?” Professor McGonagall interrupts Professor Slughorn mid-sentence, much to Regulus’s relief; Slughorn had been going on about some party instead of discussing their lesson.

The entire class turns to look at Regulus, who sighs and glances at Barty, who only shrugs.

“Oh—of course, Minerva,” Professor Slughorn says, looking at Regulus. “Mister Black.”

Slughorn clearly isn’t aware of the baby situation; otherwise, he’d probably cancel the class just to accompany Regulus and catch all the gossip.

“Can I take Barty with me?” Regulus asks, pointing at Barty, who glares at him.

If Regulus had to leave, he wasn’t about to let Barty sit comfortably in class, either.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mister Blac—”

“He’s my witness.”

“Witness?” Slughorn’s eyes gleam, one brow lifting as if already piecing together a good story.

“Yes,” Regulus nods confidently.

“I didn’t witness anything,” Barty starts, crossing his arms.

“Yes, you did.” Regulus places his hands on his hips—he’d seen a girl do that once and figured it must mean business.

“Alright, Mister Black and Mister Crouch,” a very exasperated McGonagall sighs, rubbing her temples slightly. Regulus can’t imagine what she’s already been through today—and he’s not sorry. Maybe a little extra trouble was good for her.

“Who the hell does that? ‘This is yours,’ and then leaves a baby?” Sirius exclaims, pointing at the child in James’s arms. James is holding the baby’s feet, aiming them at Remus, making “pew pew” noises.

“This is just like Clint Westforest,” James remarks.

“It’s Clint Eastwood,” Remus groans. “What in the name of Merlin is Westforest?” He sighs, reaching over. “And stop handling him like that! He could slip and fall and—die.”

“Calm your tits,” James grins, unperturbed. “He’s just fine.”

“I mean, that’s just not right,” Peter shakes his head. “And giving it to James?”

James feigns hurt. “I’m amazing with kids.”

“You think he’s a gun,” Remus points out flatly.

“Every gun makes its own tune,” James drawls, attempting a Western accent. “Ain’t that right, mate?” He looks at Sirius.

“Huh?” Sirius glances at the baby, then back at James before snapping his gaze back to the baby. “Huh?”

“We are not on the same wave at all,” James says, bristling.

“Forget your damn wave.” Sirius grabs the headband from his wrist, tying up his hair. “What the hell is going on here?”

James finally turns to Dumbledore, who’s been silently watching them, a bemused expression on his face.

“I don’t know what to do, Headmaster.” James holds the baby by one ankle, flipping him upside down, the child’s head wobbling slightly as he presents him to Dumbledore. “Is he still alive?”

Remus darts forward, his face scrunching in horror as he grabs the baby’s head and pushes it upright. “Don’t fucking do that! The blood’s rushing to his head! He could get nosebleeds!”

“Remus, for the love of God.” James pulls the baby close to his chest. “Would you relax?”

“Of course he’s still alive,” Sirius adds. “He smacked you when you tried to wake him up.”

“I am relaxed,” Remus hisses.

“No, you’re not,” James points out.

“Lay off Remus, James” Sirius says, sidestepping James and moving closer to Remus.

“Thanks,” Remus sniffs, crossing his arms.

Peter steps closer, examining the baby with a frown. “Mate, doesn’t he—”

“No,” James cuts him off, then turns back to Sirius and Remus.

“And you need to relax,” Sirius tells Remus. “It’s fine; kids are resilient. We could smack it across the table, I mean, hammer him in” two hands in fist making a smacking motion “ and they would be just fine.”

“Dear God,” Remus whispers, wondering how he’s even friends with him “this absolute lunatic.”

“That can’t be right.” Peter looks confused.

“No, it’s not right,” Remus says, staring at Sirius like he’s crazy. “Who told you that?”

“My mum,” Sirius shrugs.

“Right…” James looks at Sirius, weariness in his eyes. “Right.”

“Let’s try it,” Sirius says, reaching for the baby before being stopped by Remus, who grabs him by the shoulders and tries to pull him away. He tries, really, but Sirius is too bulky for Remus’s thin frame.

Sirius turns, grabbing Remus’s shoulder and tilting his head slightly to look him in the eyes. “I need you to unclench.”

“What?” Remus frowns.

“I can’t handle this,” Peter whispers to James, who nods sagely.

“Unclench your bum, Remus.” Sirius rubs Remus’s shoulders. “Relax.”

“Sirius!” Remus smacks Sirius’s ponytail. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you!” Sirius yells back, grabbing Remus’s hair and pulling him down.

“Get off me, asshole!” Remus shouts, pushing at Sirius’s broad shoulders.

“Hey!” James yells. “Can someone take this child off me?”

James cuts off his friends, moving his body between them and holding the baby out to Sirius and Peter, who both shake their heads with a disturbed look.

“No fucking way,” Sirius shudders, fixing himself. Before James can turn to Remus, Dumbledore finally speaks from behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. His eyes twinkle with barely-contained amusement, the corner of his mouth quirked as if he’s watching the best part of a play.

“I’m sure we will find his parents, Mr. Potter.”

“Just keep your hands like that, Prongs,” Remus says, arms stretched and ready to catch the baby if needed. “Just… don’t move.”

“Why don’t you take him, then?” James says, rolling his eyes when Remus shakes his head repeatedly. “Fine. Then I’ll move if I want to.”

James shrugs and finally looks down at the child, his stomach twisting as he takes in the baby’s features. The kid looks just like James in his baby pictures. For a split second, James’s heart pounds. Could it really be his? He tries to recall anyone he’s been with who might have disappeared for nine months... no, that can’t be right. Disappearances is all everybody talks about for three years so he couldn’t have missed that

“There he is!” Sirius shouts.

“Honestly, a baby is sleeping,” Remus hisses at Sirius as if he hadn’t just been yelling himself a few seconds ago.

“I don’t think he would’ve woken up,” Peter says to Remus.

Sirius ignores them. “What the fuck, Regulus?”

James turns, seeing the door open by itself and then close. Regulus Black and Crouch enter, with McGonagall right behind them, her face pinched.

James takes a deep breath.

Regulus Black—his personal nightmare, the best Seeker in the school, and somehow completely oblivious to everything except what he has his eyes set on. James has studied him for two years, compiling a list of weaknesses (many) and strengths (few), all leading to one conclusion: Regulus Black is a fucking weird wanker.

Every morning, Regulus eats exactly one slice of pancake and three strawberries; every lunch, a slice of ham and cheese; and for dinner, a single chicken breast. Every single day, as if there’s some unspoken rule about it. And then there’s the cup of dark, strange liquid he brings with him, something James is convinced has to be dark magic, but he lacks the proof.

He favors his left hip while flying, is oblivious to his surroundings during matches, and walks in a perfectly straight line, looking people dead in the eye when he speaks. The worst part? The kid was bloody good. Too good. Last match, James knocked him clean off his broom—there was no way he’d let that little Seeker keep him down this season. They lost last year, and James still hasn’t fully recovered from it, all thanks to that demonic little pest.

The day Walburga Black allowed her omega son to play Quidditch was the worst day of James’s life. He remembers it vividly: a February morning match, a small figure with a broom, staring straight at Marlene before dashing away.

Of all the conservative values Walburga Black insists on, that’s the one she decided to skip? Making James’s life harder? He even sent her four letters detailing the supposed shame of a pureblood omega playing a “crude” sport that could lead to infertility. Every letter came back unanswered. That’s when Sirius let him know that his mother had banned any correspondence from the Potter family, so James got Remus and Peter to send letters instead… also unanswered.

Finally, Sirius told them the whole gang was banned by some ward circling the Black household.

“Surprised the owl’s alive,” Sirius had commented, tilting his head as he looked at James’s owl.

Remus had whipped his head around, glaring at Sirius. “And you didn’t think to tell us that before?”

Sirius shrugged, “Funny watching you lot fail.”

“You send them, then,” James retorted. “You’re not banned, are you?”

“Are you thick? Fuck no,” Sirius stuck his tongue out in disgust. “That’s a can of worms I’d rather keep closed… full of maggots, that one.”

Typical. Sirius, king of maggots, shrugs and leaves James to suffer.

“You’re full of maggots,” Remus replied, throwing a pillow at Sirius, which led to Sirius throwing it back, landing it squarely on James, who promptly threw it at Peter because why not.

James watches as Regulus’s eyes snap to him, then shift to the baby perched on his shoulder, facing forward. Just seeing him made all of it—two years of odd habits and untouchable air—seem twice as annoying.

When James was nine, his dad took him to New York for a MACUSA meeting and brought him along to an antique shop to pick up some collectables for his broom collection. On one of the pristine shelves, James spotted an old doll from the 1700s with pearly skin, short brown hair, and enormous eyes. He felt the familiar urge to break it and, being true to himself, didn’t resist. His father had scolded him and had to pay a hefty bill of $5,000.

Now, looking into Regulus’s eyes, just too big and lively he feels that same urge. He squeezes the baby closer for a second before releasing it when the child lets out a small whimper. Regulus’s ears perk at the sound, and he glares at James, who returns the glare with a raised brow.

“Sit down,” Professor McGonagall says, interrupting Regulus and James’s staring contest. “All of you.”

James throws himself and the baby down on the corner of the couch, Remus sitting beside him and dragging Peter along, Sirius doesn’t move standing close to the sytherins.

The baby stretches out, its tiny hand swatting James’s chin.

“It’s got a problem with me,” James whispers to Remus, rubbing his chin before setting the kid between his spread legs, one hand resting on its tummy to make sure he doesn’t slip.

Regulus walks in and sits down, Barty following suit and taking the seat beside him, looking irritated. But Regulus does need a witness, after all.

“Mister Black, Mister Crouch, good morning,” Dumbledore greets them, nodding with a small smile and pointedly ignoring the Gryffindors. “Seems like we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a pickle this morning.”

“A pickle,” Barty mutters under his breath, but Regulus isn’t listening. He’s looking at the baby, noticing how the scar is hidden by its hair and the quick spell Regulus concealed it with, but it’s becoming faintly pink where it peeks through the brown Regulus’ spell is wearing off quicker than he thought.

“Can you stop ignoring me? I’m talking to you,” Sirius says, standing in front of Regulus and pointing and James and the child “What’s this then?”

“Black,” James says, “I don’t know this kid.”

“I don’t know it either,” Regulus replies. He wasn’t sure what he hated more—the staring, the questions, or the fact that everyone seemed to expect him to have answers.

“Right. And it’s my problem because…?” James huffs. “Take it back.”

“No… look at you two,” Regulus says, pointing at James and the child.

Everyone turns to look at them, and honestly, it’s almost like someone miniaturized James and handed him to Regulus. Regulus is out of his depth with the whole situation, and it’s written all over his face.

“I mean…” Remus starts, glancing at James, who raises a hand in surrender.

“So? What’s that got to do with me? I was with you lot all day.” James Turns to Remus

“Well, you could have—” Remus scratches head

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sirius snaps at Remus, who flips him the bird, carefully hiding his hand from the professors. Sirius ignores him, turning back to Regulus. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he insists.

“I don’t understand,” Regulus frowns.

“You don’t have to,” Barty says, pulling Regulus close. Regulus pushes him off with a muttered, “You’ve got nothing to do with this.”

“Right, so do we,” James interjects, “and it’s your problem. Don’t dump it on us.”

“Would you all just quiet down! Mister Black—the elder! Please sit down!” McGonagall snaps, pointing firmly at the chair, her face red with irritation. She gives them all a weary look as if silently wondering how she always ended up in the middle of these ridiculous situations.

Surprisingly, Sirius doesn’t argue and sits, giving Regulus a sneer, which Regulus returns with a cold glare. He wants to tell Sirius that sitting isn’t so hard, but his tongue feels heavy. Too many people are talking, and he just wants to leave, maybe go back to the quiet routine of yesterday.

“So, where did you get him?” Remus asks, glancing between Regulus and the baby.

“I found it this morning in my bed. It was sleeping on my chest,” Regulus tells Dumbledore, folding his hands in his lap.

“That's quite interesting,” Dumbledore says, his face thoughtful. Regulus finds him odd and a little annoying, and he wonders if people find him just as strange. He isn’t sure if Barty is his friend or just an ally, and he can’t tell if he’s the one who keeps people away or if they just don’t like him.

“It’s a ‘he,’” James interjects, looking pointedly at Regulus. His legs are spread, the baby perched between them as he raises its tiny arms up. “The baby. It’s not an ‘it.’ It’s a ‘he.’”

“Alright,” Regulus nods.

“That flew right over your head, huh?” James raises an eyebrow.

“Unlike your ball,” Regulus replies smoothly.

“You still mad about that?”

“Yes,” Regulus blinks, which only makes James smirk, the expression twitching at his composure.

Sirius exhales, “Everything flies over his head.” He turns to Regulus. “You know how we figured it out”

“figure what out?” Barty crosses his arms.

“That the fucking baby you gave us is a boy,” Sirius says, deadpan.

“You pulled his pants down?” Regulus asks.

Sirius looks at him as if he’s an idiot.

“He pooped,” Remus answers, matter-of-factly.

“And since he pooped, we had to clean him,” Sirius continues.

“I mean, it was stinking,” James whistles. “The nastiest smell I’ve ever smelled.”

“Oh, get over it, it’s just poop,” Barty waves a hand dismissively. “You cast nastier spells on the daily.”

“It’s human feces,” Remus says, looking a little pale. “It’s… different.”

Regulus doesn’t respond, thinking to himself that compared to everything he deals with in Slytherin, a little poop hardly ranks as shocking.

“He didn’t even wake up when we changed him. We thought you gave us a dead baby. We shook him awake, he just hit James in the face and went back to sleep,” Sirius explains, looking slightly frantic, with Remus nodding along.

“This isn’t exactly a child-friendly group,” Remus mutters, shaking his head.

“No shit,” Barty scoffs.

“You need to calm down, mate,” James snaps at Barty. “No one is attacking you.”

“Right, you freaks will attack anyone from our house,” Barty drawls, arms crossed.

“Who you calling freak?” Sirius yells.

“You,” Barty yells back. “Do you need hearing aids?”

“You need to stop yelling at him before I mop the floor with you,” James says dryly.

“Aww, your boyfriend—” Barty begins with a smirk, but Regulus’s gaze drifts to the teachers. He catches McGonagall pressing her lips into a thin line as she glances between the baby and James, her arms crossed tight, as if each student were getting a silent reprimand. Meanwhile, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle as he looks at Regulus, as though waiting for the punchline to an elaborate joke.

“Is this a prank?” Pettigrew frowns, cutting off Barty. “Are we getting pranked?”

“Who do you think he is? Does he look fun to you?” Barty snaps at Pettigrew, with Regulus adding a quiet, “Hey.”

“Just asking,” Pettigrew squeaks, and Sirius elbows him, causing the shorter boy to stand a bit straighter.

“I only gave it to Potter because it looks like him,” Regulus explains, looking at James, who’s glaring at Barty.

“He,” Remus corrects him.

Regulus shrugs, and Lupin sighs, glancing at James, who’s inspecting Regulus closely from behind his glasses. Regulus stares back, wondering if this is what he looked like before he decided to smack him with a ball.

“He’s not a baby kidnapper,” Barty chuckles nervously, placing a hand on Regulus’s shoulder and shaking him. “I mean, look at him—the baby could overpower him.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sirius says offhandedly, inspecting his nails, while James laughs beside him.

“I am not,” Regulus replies flatly, looking at Dumbledore and McGonagall. “He appeared out of nowhere.”

“We didn’t think you stole a child, Regulus,” Dumbledore nods, with McGonagall beside him, pinching the bridge of her nose as though steeling herself. “But it is a peculiar situation.”

Regulus frowns at Dumbledore’s use of his first name and wonders if he can now call him Professor Albus. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

“Nooo!” The baby screeches, suddenly awake.

Everyone’s heads snap toward the sound, startled, as the baby’s cries grow louder. Potter reaches to steady him, preventing a complete tumble off the couch.

The baby shakes and thrashes, wailing, “No! No! Mama! Mama!”

“Oi! Calm down!” Potter yells, looking completely flustered. Of all the things he thought he’d be holding by the ankles in his life, a screaming baby was not one of them.

“Don’t yell at the baby!” Remus shouts back. “don’t hold him like that!”

“Why not?” Potter yells back, holding the squirming child. “He’s loud!”

“No!” the baby screams, tears pouring down its face as it thrashes against Potter’s hold.

“Stop, I’m gonna drop you if you keep that up!” Potter yells, struggling to keep hold.

“Do it, James! I’m telling you—resilience!” Sirius shouts over the baby’s cries, while Pettigrew has his hands over his eyes, barely peeking.

Regulus glances at Dumbledore and McGonagall, making no moves to intervene. Lupin is shouting at Sirius, something about resilience and “crazy mothers,” while he holds Potter back from dropping the baby.

Regulus sighs, standing up, the back of his hair prickling at the sounds coming from the baby. He pulls Barty’s hand away when Barty tries to hold him back.

The baby throws his head back, slamming it into Potter’s chest, causing the older boy to grab him by the armpits instead and lift him above his head, facing Regulus.

That snaps the baby out of his crying session. Blinking his teary, gray eyes, he locks onto Regulus, who’s coming toward him. For a moment, he looks confused, but then a wide smile breaks across his wet face. He stretches his arms out.

“Mama!” he calls, dimples showing on his glossy cheeks, mirroring the very ones Potter has when he thunders down the halls.

“I’m not your mother,” Regulus says, taking the baby from Potter’s hands, his mind spinning with the sheer oddity of it all. Of all the things he’d dealt with, this ranked at the bottom. He’d had entire duels less exhausting than this... and they required far less patience.

“Ma,” the baby repeats, nestling his head into the crook of Regulus’s neck, inhaling his scent with a sigh of relief as he wraps his small arms tightly around Regulus’s neck.

“Not mother,” Regulus whispers, rubbing the baby’s back slowly, trying to steady the racing heartbeat against his chest.

“Why is he calling you that,” Sirius whispers, looking between his friends and Regulus, who merely shrugs.

Sirius mimics the shrug, which prompts Regulus to stick his tongue out. Sirius does the same, because he’s annoying, but the movement seems to calm the baby further.

Silence fills the room for the first time since Regulus stepped in. He feels the baby hiccupping softly against his chest and glances at Potter, who’s sprawled across the couch, watching him with a look that could burn through stone. Regulus meets his stare, half-expecting a Bludger to come flying his way if he looks away.

“That’s very kind of you to pick him up, Regulus,” Dumbledore says with a nod, his gaze assessing Regulus from head to toe. “He seems quite comfortable with you.”

“Children love him, that one,” Sirius quips, sarcasm dripping.

“Mr. Black,” McGonagall’s voice cuts through the room, thin and stern, “for the last time, can you explain how you found this child?”

Regulus sighs. “I was asleep, and I woke up with it on my chest.”

“Right, I think we got that part,” Potter says mockingly.

“He,” Sirius and Lupin correct him at the same time.

Regulus glares at Potter, “You’re so bloody rude.”

“Ohhh, ‘bloody,’” James whistles, mockingly scandalized.

Regulus points a finger at him, about to respond, when he gets smacked in the chest by small, determined fists.

“Milk!” the baby yells, grabbing at Regulus’s chest and tugging at his robes. Regulus pulls at the determined hands that seem intent on tearing his uniform off.

“I do not lactate,” Regulus tells the baby, a hint of patience in his voice as he tries to peel him off, but the baby frowns, not letting go, evidently fueled by some baby-sized conviction.

“Milk, Ma,” the baby shouts, spit dribbling down his chin, his large eyes pleading. “Please.”

“That’s so fucking weird” Sirius whispers, clearly disturbed.

“Milk. No,” Regulus says, ignoring the question as he tries to pull the baby away from his chest.

“Mama, no!” the baby cries, reaching back, his face twisting as he reaches desperately for Regulus. “Ham-ham,” he adds, pointing to his mouth and showing off his tiny teeth.

“I don’t know what ‘ham-ham’ is,” Regulus explains, baffled.

“Ham-ham,” the baby insists, frowning.

“I think he’s saying he’s hungry,” Lupin says thoughtfully, hand on his chin. He adjusts his stance, arms crossed, looking as though he’s solved a great mystery. “That’s definitely what ‘ham-ham’ means in baby language.” He turns to the others, as if expecting applause for the translation.

Just as Regulus opens his mouth to ask how Lupin knows, the baby takes the liberty of biting his cheek.

“H-Ham-ham,” the baby mumbles through his bite.

“Alright—” Regulus pulls the baby away, who looks up at him with a curious smile. “I don’t have food.”

The baby frowns, unsatisfied.

“So, what do we do?” Potter asks, glancing between Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Regulus. “Can we leave?”

“Not yet, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore says, folding his hands. “For now, we need to return the child to his parents. I do have a few theories.” His gaze lingers on Regulus, his eyes twinkling as though waiting for the punchline to an elaborate joke. “I do have a few theories,” he repeats, his voice cryptic.

“Why do we have to be here for them?” Potter grumbles.

“I want to know,” Lupin chimes in, elbowing Potter.

“Is there anything you’ve noticed while spending time with the child, Mr. Black?” McGonagall asks, tapping her fingers against the table.

“He has a scar, and it’s very inflamed,” Regulus replies, positioning the baby to face the others as he carefully pushes the hair back, avoiding putting pressure on the scar, he feels the weak spell disappear as he does so

Potter leans in to get a closer look, frowning. “It’s really red.”

“It’s a dark curse scar,” Regulus explains, looking down at the baby.

“Merlin’s fuck, did you curse a baby?” Sirius asks, his face twisting with concern.

Regulus glares at Sirius, not dignifying that with a response.

Barty rolls his eyes, throwing a look at Sirius “Of course he didn’t, shithead.” He wondered if Gryffindors could even function without stirring up trouble; they seemed to thrive on it.

“Mr. Crouch!” McGonagall’s fingers visibly twitch on her wand, and she taps it sharply against the table. Her face grows sterner, and she glances quickly at Dumbledore, who hums eyes locked in on the baby pulling Regulu’s hair out of his scalp.

“No, actually, who the fuck says that? Regulus wouldn’t use dark magic on children—only on dickheads like you,” Barty defends, standing up. His move prompts Sirius to stand up too, which in turn leads his friends to do the same.

Huh, Regulus thinks, maybe he should actually teach Barty some dark magic in his spare time.

Potter stands as well, his eyes not leaving Regulus or the baby, his whole body tense and focused.

“James, my boy, may I please see the child?” Dumbledore asks, as McGonagall sternly instructs the boys to sit back down.

“Yeah, of course, sir,” Potter says, glancing down at Regulus. “Hand him over.”

Regulus really, really doesn’t want to. Now that the baby is awake and aware, it feels oddly difficult to give him up; it had been easier when the baby was asleep. He’d felt a strange hollowness the moment Potter took the baby.

“Here,” Regulus finally relents, placing the baby in Potter’s hands. The baby looks up at Potter, then smiles widely.

“Da!” the baby exclaims, now aware of the people around him who aren’t Regulus.

“Uh, hi, kid,” Potter says, looking down at the baby, confusion etched all over his face.

“Da! Dada! Milk?” The baby glances back at Regulus. “Mama? Milk?”

“He doesn’t have tits,” Potter waves off dismissively, still reeling from the title the baby has given him. Regulus understands; it’s strange.

“Don’t talk about his tits,” Sirius says, pointing at Potter with a scowl.

“I didn’t—because he doesn’t have any, does he?” Potter defends himself, walking toward Dumbledore.

Regulus glances at Barty, who’s now looking at his chest, nodding in agreement. Why was this even a topic of conversation?

“Do not be inappropriate with other students,” McGonagall sighs, rubbing her temples. “Perhaps we should call an elf to bring some applesauce. It’s good for children his age, and he does look ready for solids.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Professor,” Dumbledore agrees, then calls, “Minty!”

A house-elf pops up next to the headmaster, waiting patiently for instructions.

“Could I please have a small bowl of applesauce, with a teaspoon?” Dumbledore requests.

“Of course, Headmaster,” the elf replies flatly before disappearing.

“Now, may I check on the child?” Dumbledore asks, reaching out his hands. Potter moves toward him, about to hand over the baby, when the child starts screaming bloody murder.

“Merlin,” Potter hisses, pulling the baby back to him, his arms protectively shielding the boy.

“No, no! Mama! Da! Mama!” the baby cries, his voice piercingly loud.

“Stop,” Potter whispers, brushing a hand gently through the baby’s hair, careful to avoid the scar.

Regulus is already by his side, taking the baby back and holding him carefully, hushing him with soft murmurs. The baby settles in Regulus’s arms, his small body trembling as he nestles close.

“There’s no need to cry,” Regulus whispers into the baby’s hair, trying to soothe him. He feels the baby’s heartbeat gradually steadying against his chest, and the odd sense of responsibility he feels unsettles him.

“Mama… no,” the baby hiccups, his small body shaking—the beg is cribbling so soft and sad and confused, making Regulus’ heart squeeze.

“Perhaps it’s best if you keep hold of him, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore suggests, observing the child who now looks calm and comforted in Regulus’s arms. His gaze lingers on Regulus, his eyes calculating as though he’s already pondering the mystery.

“I think—” Sirius begins.

“Should we call the Prophet?” Barty injects.

Sirius glares at him before continuing, “I think we should take some of his hair—”

“Moony!” the baby screeches suddenly, the word coming out with a distasteful ‘W’ sound. The baby reaches out eagerly when he spots Lupin approaching, his crying instantly abandoned as he flails his little arms. Lupin’s eyes widen.

“Did you teach him our nicknames already?” Regulus frowns at Potter.

“No, we didn’t,” Potter says, looking utterly stunned, his mouth hanging open.

“Moony,” the baby whines again, reaching for Lupin.

“Yes, you did,” Regulus says firmly, adjusting the baby who’s squirming in his arms, trying to get closer to Lupin.

“We didn’t?” Lupin echoes, just as confused.

“Maybe he heard you all talking while he was with you,” Barty suggests from behind Regulus.

“No, he was asleep,” Lupin points out, shaking his head.

That’s odd, Regulus thinks, pulling the baby in front of him to look at him more closely. With a stern expression, he asks, “Baby, where did you learn that?”

The baby simply sticks his hand in his mouth and mumbles, “Ham-ham.”

“Wait, wait, just hold on,” Sirius steps forward. “This baby looks like James.”

“Sirius,” James says tightly.

“Pads!” the baby says brightly.

“Pads?” Barty whispers, baffled as he looks between them “that’s a nickname?”

“No, seriously, this baby looks like James, has Regulus’s eyes, knows our nicknames, and calls you two—” Sirius points accusingly at James and Regulus, his eyebrows drawn low in suspicion, his expression a reflection of their mother’s disapproval. “—mum and dad.”

“It’s ‘Mama’ and ‘Da,’” Regulus whispers under his breath, not intending to respond to Sirius directly.

“That’s not the point,” Sirius hisses at him.

“This can’t be ours?” Potter says, shaking his head. “We never—”

“I’m a virgin,” Regulus declares suddenly.

“Salazar, Reggie, you always say the best things,” Barty wheezes.

“Great,” Potter says, his gaze sharp and intense, practically boring a hole through Regulus’s face. Regulus frowns. “Because of the, um…baby. You know, since you can’t have a baby without…you know, doing it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Prongs,” Sirius squeezes his eyes before turning to Regulus. “Of course you are,” he huffs.

“Careful, Black, before he shags with your best friend,” Barty quips from behind him.

“I’ll shag your mum!” Sirius snaps back.

“Oh, is that your mommy issues coming up, Black? Looking for a new mum now that yours doesn’t want you?” Barty hisses.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Sirius sneers. “Everybody knows your dad can’t even look you in the eyes, knowing what a failure you are.”

“Da!” the baby squeaks, echoing Sirius’s insult.

Barty’s eyes light up. “You wanna call me Daddy, then, Black? I call you Daddy; you call me Mummy.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, freak?” Sirius laughs, the crazy in his eyes outmatches Barty’s by hundreds of ancestors.

“Alright,” Remus interjects, coming between them and crossing his arms. “Both of you, shut up.”

They ignore him

The baby squeals again, giggling, wiggling in Regulus’s arms. Regulus glances up at Potter, expecting him to actually put a stop to his friends’ bickering, but Potter’s still staring at him with that same burning, confused look—sharp and calculating. Regulus shifts back, feeling that same tension knotting in his stomach, but it only makes Potter lean closer.

Regulus doesn’t understand why his declaration about being a virgin is causing such a fuss. It’s simple, really: he hasn’t engaged in that particular act, which should logically rule out any possibility of this child being his. No baby, no connection, no misunderstanding. Yet Potter’s stare doesn’t waver.

Dumbledore finally claps, breaking the tense atmosphere and silencing both Barty and Sirius, whose insults had become mere background noise.

“This isn’t making sense,” Lupin says, pulling Sirius down beside him, away from Barty’s provocations.

“Would you say something?” Professor McGonagall sighs, glancing at Dumbledore. “It’s far too early in the day for all of this.”

The baby coos at Lupin, smiling as though expecting him to come closer, but Lupin only looks mildly uncomfortable under the baby’s intense gaze.

Regulus moves to sit, feeling Potter’s stare practically etched onto the back of his neck as he follows and sits beside him, too close for comfort. Barty tries to catch Regulus’s attention, but Potter’s positioning and bulk effectively block him.

Settling the baby in his arms, Regulus absently strokes the baby’s hair, which is softer than it appears. He catches himself comparing it to Potter’s hair and wonders if it’s just as unruly. Regulus’s fingers trace gentle circles over the baby’s back, feeling his small, quick breaths slowly steady. A protective instinct stirs in Regulus, surprising him.

He catches the chaser’s hand clenched into a tight fist on his lap before he looks up, meeting Potter’s gaze.

The chaser just stares at him, his brown eyes pulling Regulus in. The darkness in Potter’s eyes seemed to deepen, swirling. Regulus leans forward, pulling the baby closer, trying to glean more from Potter’s expression.

He has never seen it in anyone’s eyes before; he feels a flush creeping into his cheek.

“James—” Whatever Sirius was about to say next gets interrupted as a house-elf pops in beside Regulus, holding a small bowl.

“For the baby,” she says, handing it to him with a drawl. Regulus smiles and thanks her, ignoring Potter’s continued stare.

He begins feeding the baby, who eagerly devours every spoonful as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Regulus frowns, pausing between spoonfuls to watch the baby chew with intense concentration. “You were really hungry, weren’t you?” he murmurs under his breath.

The baby simply looks up, wide-eyed, then opens his mouth for another bite. Regulus absently shakes his head, wondering who taught the baby to eat this way, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the spoon with surprising familiarity.

“Now,” Dumbledore begins, clearing his throat, “Regulus, please tell us what happened after you first found the child.”

“I made sure he was real and not some prank,” Regulus explains, spooning more applesauce into the baby’s mouth. “Then I checked him for injuries. That’s when I found the scar, and I left him in my bed to research possible dark curses.”

“What kind?” Potter asks in a low voice. Regulus nods, feeding the baby another spoonful.

“I believe it’s tied to Zeus’s protection, though I’m not entirely sure.” Regulus pauses, glancing at Potter as he continues, “It’s a mark only left by those favored or cursed by the gods. You wouldn’t understand unless you knew their reach.”

Potter’s jaw clenches at the mention of the gods. It’s not surprising—many wizards have distanced themselves from the old deities, considering it dark or taboo. But Regulus thinks that’s ridiculous; the gods are woven between universes and suns, their essence rooted in the ancient magic that’s always existed, whether they’re acknowledged or not.

“Then I came in,” Barty picks up, seeing Regulus preoccupied with the baby. “Found him hunched over some parchment with the kid. Told him it’d be best to give it to the Headmaster. Regulus decided to hand it to Potter, and that’s that.”

“Because it looks like Potter,” Regulus adds as he feeds the baby. “But we need to give him a name; he can’t remain nameless. It won’t protect him.”

“My head hurts,” Peter whines.

“Right, James, pick a name!” Sirius scoffs, leaning into Lupin.

“Why’s it gotta be me?” Potter exclaims, brushing his hand against Regulus’s, large and rough.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sirius challenges.

“No. Spell it out for me,” Potter replies with a tight, forced smile.

Regulus tunes them out. Leaning down, he looks at the toddler as he gives him the last scoop from the bowl. The baby's dark eyes blink at him, a smile spreading across his face, showing off his few teeth and gums.

Regulus smiles back softly, running a hand through the black hair, moving it back before settling his hand on the back of the baby's head, his thumb resting on the scar.

"Hi," Regulus whispers.

The baby reaches for him with his small hands, leaning closer to Regulus. He holds him closer, letting the baby's hands touch him. he baby’s nose nuzzling his hand as if seeking something familiar. Regulus's body is telling him something; he's looking for it, the scar pulsating under his fingertip. He frowns, leaning in closer and closer, feeling as if roots in the ground are holding him, pulling him downward.

"Regulus," Potter whispers. Regulus looks up, not noticing how the room had gone quiet. The baby is just as silent, his eyes are wide and looking at him when Regulus adjusts his hold, almost begging him.

Potter leans down, using the back of his hand to wipe away the tears. "We've been calling you for a while."

Regulus blinks at the gesture. "I didn't realize I was crying."

"Are you alright?" Lupin asks, his brother frowning as he looks at him.

“I’m—” Regulus pulls the baby closer, his hands trembling. Glancing around the room, he sees everyone watching, but their stares blur, insignificant compared to the weight of the child in his arms.

For the first time, Regulus feels like something belongs to him. Everything he’s ever had felt distant, borrowed—even his own body never truly felt like his own. But this baby... This baby is his. He can feel it in every instinct, every quiver of his hands. He looks down, eyes fixed, heart tight. It's his.

He’s so stupid

“Reggie?” Sirius rises slowly, extending a cautious hand.

Regulus blinks, looking up, his emotions raw. And he knows, with a deep, unshakable certainty—

He’s not staying here.