To Find a Home

To describe the word happiness, Regulus likes to think of light. The way it filters through leaves on a summer day, or the way the sun catches on the water’s surface, making everything shimmer. It perfectly sums up the expression on Pandora’s face when he told her—well, wrote down—that he could come to her and Evan’s birthday sleepover.

It had been Wednesday, during lunch. He had been sitting in the library, at their usual table, waiting for Barty and Dorcas to show up. The invitation had been tucked safely inside his notebook, the edges slightly curled from how many times he had unfolded and refolded it, just to make sure it was real.

Pandora had been the first to arrive. She had slid into the seat across from him, setting her lunch down with a familiar, gentle presence. Regulus had hesitated, fingers twitching slightly as he reached for his pen. He had already thought of how he was going to say it—or rather, write it—but that didn’t make it any easier.

His hands were a little unsteady as he wrote out the words on a scrap piece of paper. Simple. Direct. Just enough.

I can come.

He had barely finished setting the pen down when Pandora picked up the paper. Her eyes skimmed the words, and for a moment, there was nothing. Just silence.

And then—

Her entire face lit up.

Her mouth parted in a quiet gasp, her eyes going wide with excitement, and then a beaming, unmistakably joyful smile stretched across her face.

“Yay!” she had all but squealed, bouncing slightly in her seat. “That’s amazing!”

Before he could process it, she had shot up from her chair, practically vibrating with excitement. “Evan is going to freak out when he hears—” She cut herself off with a giddy laugh, pressing her hands against the table to ground herself.

Regulus hadn’t known what to do with all of that. He had just sat there, blinking at her, watching as that pure happiness radiated off her in waves. It had been…

Strange.

Not a bad strange, just new.

He wasn’t used to people reacting like this to him. Wasn’t used to his presence, his choices, making people happy. But watching Pandora—seeing the way her joy was so genuine, so bright—made something warm settle deep in his chest.

Evan had come storming into the library not long after, and the second Pandora had told him—“He’s coming to the party!”—Evan had looked at Regulus like he had just declared he’d discovered the meaning of life itself.

“No way!” Evan had nearly shouted, before immediately lowering his voice when the librarian glared at him. He had rushed over to the table, dropping into the seat next to Regulus, his grin wildly enthusiastic. “Mate, that’s—you’re—this is awesome!”

Regulus had barely been able to nod before Evan reached over and clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him slightly, like he couldn’t physically contain his excitement.

It was overwhelming.

It was also kind of… nice.

Regulus had tucked that feeling away, unsure what to do with it.

But now, walking through the halls towards his next class, he replays the moment in his head, letting the warmth of it sink in.

They were happy.

Because of him.

Regulus isn’t sure he’s ever been the cause of someone’s happiness before. Not like this. Not in a way that feels so… pure. Uncomplicated. Like it isn’t attached to expectation or obligation, like it isn’t something he’s supposed to earn.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

The idea that he, just by existing in their lives, by showing up, by saying yes, could bring someone joy—real joy—is foreign. Unfamiliar in a way that makes his stomach twist. It feels too big, too impossible.

And yet, he had seen it so clearly on their faces. Had watched the way Pandora’s eyes had gone wide with excitement, how she had beamed at him like his answer had been the best thing she’d heard all day. Had seen the way Evan had thrown his arms in the air, barely restraining the urge to cheer.

And Regulus had just stood there, staring at them, completely at a loss.

Because what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?

The tightness in his chest had made it hard to breathe, the sheer weight of their happiness pressing down on him, unfamiliar and overwhelming in equal measure. But there had been something else beneath it too. Something softer. Something warm.

Something that lingered long after they had moved on.

It’s strange to think about, realistically. That one simple act—one tiny decision—could have that much impact. Could mean that much.

The thought stays with him as he reaches for his bag, lifting it from the floor. His fingers brush against the folded paper on the desk—the packing list Pandora had given him, sitting right where he left it.

He hesitates for only a second before picking it up.

The Potters had had this conversation with Regulus the night before he told Pandora and Evan he could attend their birthday party.

They had waited until after dinner, after the table had been cleared and the dishes were nearly done. Regulus had been lingering in the kitchen, hovering at the edge of the room, when Mr. Potter turned to him with that easy, warm smile of his.

“Regulus, why don’t you sit down for a minute?” Mr. Potter had said, nodding toward one of the kitchen stools. “We wanted to talk to you about the party.”

Regulus had frozen slightly at that. He had expected some kind of follow-up, of course—he knew things like this had rules, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what they were—but the idea of actually sitting down and discussing it made his stomach twist.

Still, he had nodded and cautiously perched on the edge of the stool, hands clasped together tightly in his lap.

Mrs. Potter had given him a soft smile before speaking. “We just wanted to go over a few things, sweetheart. Nothing bad, I promise.”

Regulus had nodded again, barely breathing, bracing for whatever was coming next.

Mr. Potter leaned against the counter, folding his arms in a way that made him seem relaxed, not intimidating. “So, first things first—you know our house rules still apply when you’re staying somewhere else, yeah? Just the basics: be polite, be respectful, and if anything makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to go along with it.”

Mrs. Potter had picked up where he left off, her voice gentle. “And we mean that, Regulus. You don’t ever have to do something just because everyone else is doing it. You can always say no.”

Regulus had swallowed, nodding stiffly. That made sense. That was reasonable.

Mr. Potter continued, “We’d also like you to check in once, just so we know you’re okay. A quick text will do—doesn’t have to be much, just a simple ‘all good.’”

Regulus had felt his muscles tighten at that. It wasn’t that he minded checking in—he just… wasn’t used to people wanting him to.

Mrs. Potter must have seen the way he tensed, because she had reached across the counter and lightly tapped his wrist. “It’s not about checking on you, love. It’s about making sure you’re safe.”

Safe.

The word had lodged itself somewhere deep in his chest.

He had nodded again, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his own hands.

Mr. Potter had exchanged a glance with his wife before saying, “And bud, listen—if, for any reason, you need to come home, you can. It doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night, or if you feel silly about it, or if you don’t know why you feel off. If you need to leave, get either, Pandora and Evan’s Mum and Dad to call us. We will come get you.”

Mrs. Potter had nodded firmly in agreement. “It doesn’t matter what time it is, sweetheart. We’d much rather pick you up than have you stay somewhere you don’t feel comfortable.”

Regulus had stared at them then, really stared, searching for any hint of something else. A trick. A test. A hidden condition.

But there was nothing. Just open sincerity. Just understanding.

Just… care.

It had been overwhelming in a way he hadn’t expected.

And now, thinking back on that conversation, Regulus still isn’t sure how to process it.

Because they meant it.

They really, genuinely meant it.

And that realization settles inside him like something solid, something warm—something safe. 

Because for them, Regulus being safe is their main priority.

Which, in Regulus’ opinion, is odd.

Not because safety itself is strange, but because his safety has never been anyone’s top priority before. Not like this. Not in a way that feels like a promise rather than an obligation.

The Potters had told him, if, for whatever reason, you need to come home, it doesn’t matter what time, we’ll be there.

And they had meant it.

It’s a concept so foreign to him that he doesn’t quite know how to process it. The idea that he has a safety net now, that there is someone—two someones—who will always come for him if he needs them. Who want him to be safe, simply because he is.

His fingers tighten around the packing list, the paper crinkling slightly in his grip.

He has never really had this before. This feeling. This certainty.

And he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Instead, he focuses on something else. Something simpler. Something easier to understand.

A gift.

Because he needs to get Pandora and Evan the perfect birthday gift.

Only—he doesn’t know what the perfect gift would be. Because he doesn’t know them well enough to make that kind of decision on his own.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, anxiety curling tight in his chest. They’re his friends. He should know these things.

But he doesn’t.

And the last thing he wants is to get them something meaningless, something that will make it obvious how little he really knows about them.

So, he had decided on the next best thing.

He had asked.

Specifically, he had asked Evan.

Not because he didn’t care about finding the right gift. But, because Regulus already had an idea for what he was going to get Pandora. 

It had taken him longer than it should have to do it. He had spent the better part of their lunch break staring at the blank page in front of him, tapping the end of his pen against the table, trying to come up with the right way to phrase the question.

Because he needed to get them the perfect gift. That was just how birthdays worked.

Right?

Eventually, he had scrawled out the words in neat, deliberate handwriting:

What do you want for your birthday?

And then, after another moment of hesitation, he had slid the paper across the table toward Evan.

Evan had looked down at it, blinking, then up at Regulus, before his face split into a slow, confused grin before saying, “You don’t have to bring anything, Regulus. It’s fine.”

Regulus frowned. That was not an acceptable answer.

He took the pen back, pressing the paper flat as he wrote:

Tell me, or I won’t go.

Evan read it. Then read it again. His smile dimmed slightly, brows furrowing.

“Jeez, okay,” he muttered, a little put off.

Regulus smiled, satisfied, because he was getting his way.

Barty, who had been flipping idly through a book beside him, leaned over to peek at the note. He scanned the exchange, then shot Regulus a sideways glance.

"Was that a joke?" Barty asked, voice light, but with an edge of something careful.

Regulus nodded.

Barty looked at Evan. Evan looked at Dorcas. Dorcas looked at Pandora. Pandora looked back at Regulus.

And then, just like that, the tension in the air vanished.

Regulus didn’t quite understand why, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Evan rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a small laugh before stating, “Fine.” Evan paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I’d like whatever you pick out, Regulus. It’ll be perfect because it’s from you.”

picking up the pen again. 

Fine. I’d like whatever you pick out, Reg. It’ll be perfect because it’s from you.

Regulus still wasn’t sure what to make of that. He looked out at Pandora, who gave him a weird look. It’s the kind of look his brother used to give him as if to say ‘I’ll tell you later.’

At least now, he had an answer.

Regulus swears that conversation with Evan had been normal. But just before he was about to enter his English class, Barty had—very politely—asked if Regulus would like him to teach him when and how to use jokes.

Any other person might have been offended by that. And Regulus was, for all of three seconds, before he quickly accepted Barty’s help. It’s not like he could say no, because, truth be told, he had sensed some weird tension in that conversation—he just didn’t know what had caused it.

For him, sometimes, it’s hard to communicate with others. To understand when someone is upset, or hurt, or happy, or experiencing any other possible human emotion.

And Regulus wouldn’t lie and say he doesn’t care—because that would be a lie. He does care. He cares enough about people, about the people around him, to want to understand them.

Regulus guesses that, when he has the confidence, he should probably ask his friends if they could help him in social situations. Or even express to them what he feels. Maybe they would understand him. That’s what friends are supposed to do, right?

Pandora, of course, did eventually tell him what to get Evan.

Regulus had found out that Evan was a hockey player. And, like all good-natured athletes, he wanted more equipment. Specifically, he wanted more hockey pucks. According to Pandora, Evan kept losing his, and whenever he wanted to play, they were nowhere to be found.

Which is why, now, as Regulus is packing for the sleepover, he carefully sets the two neatly wrapped presents onto his desk. 

Regulus hopes that both Evan and Pandora like their gifts. He doesn’t want to disappoint them. As, after all, they are one of his first ever real friends, and all he wants is for them to be happy. 

Pandora had even reassured him. Telling him, “Trust me, it’s perfect. He’ll love it.”

That was enough for Regulus.

With a quiet exhale, he turns back to his bag, checking the list Pandora had written for him. The items are neatly listed out—clothes, pajamas, toothbrush, socks, pillow, blanket. She had even added “yourself” at the bottom, followed by a little smiley face.

Regulus isn’t sure why that makes his chest feel lighter, but it does.

He folds his pajamas and places them carefully into his bag, then adds everything else one by one, double-checking that he has everything. The last thing he wants is to show up unprepared.

For the first time in a long time, he feels… excited.

It’s a foreign emotion, one he’s not quite sure how to handle. But as he glances at the presents sitting neatly on his desk, the feeling settles into something warm, something steady.

It’s also, the same feeling he got when he purchased their gifts—especially Pandora’s. 

The guilt had settled in his stomach the moment he and Mrs. Potter stepped into the store. It coiled around his ribs, tightening with each step he took past the shelves lined with books, trinkets, and various items he wasn’t sure Pandora would even like.

Because it wasn’t his money.

Mrs. Potter wasn’t his mother.

And yet, she had insisted on taking him shopping, smiling warmly as she pushed a cart down the aisle, giving him all the time in the world to pick something out. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like spending money on him—on his friends—was just something that people did.

Regulus wasn’t used to that.

“What about this one?” Mrs. Potter asks, holding up a dark leather-bound book with intricate gold detailing on the spine. “This could be something she might like.”

Regulus shifts his weight slightly, fingers curling into the hem of his sleeve as he stares at the book. It’s beautiful, expensive-looking, the kind of thing he never would’ve considered before.

He hesitates, before glancing away.

Mrs. Potter tilts her head, studying him for a moment before setting the book back on the shelf. “It’s not about the price, sweetheart. It’s about finding something that feels right.”

Regulus swallows. He doesn’t know what feels right.

He barely knows what Pandora likes outside of her love for art. He barely knows how to navigate the world of gift-giving at all.

But he tries.

He spends far too long scanning the shelves, running his fingers over the spines, hesitating over each choice before moving on to the next.

Mrs. Potter doesn’t rush him.

She waits patiently, occasionally pointing something out but never pushing. And somehow, that makes it worse. Because she’s letting him take his time, letting him make this decision, and Regulus doesn’t know what to do with that kind of freedom.

Eventually, he stops in front of a book with a deep blue cover. The spine and front cover are embossed with an intricate silver flower pattern, and when he picks it up, the weight of it feels… right.

Regulus remembers Pandora mentioning that she needed another sketchbook after running out of space in her current one. When he flips it open, the pages have a soft, yellowish tinge—he’s read that off-white paper can make certain drawings stand out more. That seems like something she would appreciate.

He hesitates, glancing up at Mrs. Potter.

She just smiles. “That’s a good choice.”

Regulus looks back down at the book. It doesn’t feel like a good choice, because it isn’t his money. But when Mrs. Potter places a gentle hand on his shoulder and guides him toward the register, he doesn’t pull away.

The guilt is still there, but beneath it, there’s something else.

Something warm. Something he doesn’t quite understand.

Whenever Regulus needed something, previous foster parents had always told him he’d have to wait until the government checks came in. Even then, a lot of them still refused to buy him anything. Clothes, shoes, school supplies—even the most basic hygiene products were ignored.

It’s tough, living in the system. Regulus figured that out quickly. Kids like him, they learned not to expect much.

Most of the time, the things he was given were secondhand—shoes with worn soles, clothes that didn’t fit properly, notebooks already scribbled in by someone else. Even when he was younger, he had understood that he wasn’t meant to ask for anything. That he should take whatever he got, be grateful, and never expect more.

So when he moved into Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s home, he was shocked at how little he had to do to receive things. They had given him everything he needed. New shoes, new clothes, even a brand-new set of uniforms. They had asked if he wanted to pick them out himself, and when he hadn’t responded, they had chosen simple, comfortable things. Things that fit properly, things that were his.

It unsettles him.

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it—he does—but he can’t shake the feeling that there should be a catch. There always was before.

One of his old foster fathers once told him that if he wanted anything, he needed to deserve it first. That day, Regulus had been forced to mow the lawn in the pouring rain just to get a new pair of socks.

So it’s no surprise that guilt twists in his stomach at the thought of Mrs. Potter buying his friends’ birthday presents. He had tried to protest at the store, had tried to tell her that it wasn’t his money, but Mrs. Potter had waved him off with a warm smile, saying, “You’re allowed to spend money on your friends, sweetheart. That’s what people do.”

He still doesn’t know how to accept that.

Money had never been a problem in the Black family household. As Sirius liked to say, they were completely loaded. Regulus couldn’t disagree. Their family was extremely rich—most of them worked in politics or held prestigious positions. Money was never something he had to think about before.

That changed when he was put into care.

Ever since then, he has never stopped worrying about money. How much things cost. Whether something is worth asking for. Whether spending money on him is a burden. He hates it. The thought of people wasting their money on him makes his skin crawl.

It’s not that he doesn’t want things—it’s that he doesn’t know how to take them without feeling like he has to give something in return.

Now, Friday night, he kneels on his bedroom floor, packing his bag for the sleepover. His clothes are already folded neatly inside, along with his toothbrush and other essentials. The list Pandora made for him is spread out beside him on the bed, her careful handwriting a reassuring presence.

He double-checks the items. Pajamas? Already packed. Extra socks? He tucks them into a side pocket. A pillow and blanket? He grabs the spare blanket, the one that Mrs. Potter had given him, off from where it sits on his desk and stuffs them into his bag as best he can. He decides to leave the pillow too the morning, considering Regulus still needs to use it. 

Regulus had never been to a sleepover before, so he hadn’t known what to bring. He had tried packing on his own when he got home from shopping, but it had been overwhelming. Too many options, too many things he might need but wasn’t sure if he actually did.

That’s when he’d decided to ask Pandora.

Regulus isn’t sure how to ask.

He knows he needs to bring things—clothes, a toothbrush, whatever else people take to sleepovers—but he doesn’t know what exactly he should pack. He doesn’t want to forget something important, but he also doesn’t want to bring too much and seem ridiculous.

So, he does what he always does when he doesn’t have the words. He pulls out his notebook, flips to a clean page, and writes in small, neat letters:

"What do I need to bring?"

Pandora reads it quickly before looking up at him. There’s no hesitation in her expression, no confusion—just understanding. She nods and reaches for her own notebook, flipping it open and carefully writing something down.

A minute later, she tears out the page and hands it to him.

Regulus takes it, scanning the list. It’s detailed but not overwhelming. Clothes, pajamas, a toothbrush, a blanket if he has one he likes, and a note at the bottom: If you forget anything, it’s okay. We’ll have extra.

He exhales, feeling some of the tension in his chest ease. Pandora had thought about this. She had written it in a way that made it impossible for him to misunderstand.

Regulus looks up at her and nods, a silent thank you.

Pandora grins. “Of course.”

He’s grateful for Pandora. Because without her, Regulus doesn’t think he’d be able to be this prepared.

The list sits neatly beside his bag, checked and double-checked, each item carefully packed away. Clothes, pajamas, a toothbrush, the spare blanket Mrs. Potter had given him. The wrapped gifts sit on his desk, untouched since he placed them there earlier. He’s done. Everything is ready.

So why does he feel like he’s forgotten something?

Regulus stands, brushing off his hands, but the moment he straightens up, his chest tightens. His mind starts to race.

What if he did forget something? What if he gets there and realizes he left something important behind? What if he misunderstood Pandora’s list? What if he overpacked? Or underpacked?

What if the sleepover doesn’t go well?

What if—what if he messes up? What if something happens and they realize he doesn’t actually belong there?

What if they don’t actually like him?

His breath catches, his fingers twitch at his sides. He knows these thoughts aren’t rational. He knows Pandora and Evan like him, that they want him there. But knowing doesn’t stop the anxiety from creeping in, wrapping itself around him, sinking into his chest like a weight.

He forces himself to take a deep breath.

The list.

It’s fine. He followed the list exactly. If Pandora wrote it, then it’s right. He can trust that.

Regulus swallows and slowly sits back down on his bed, pressing his hands flat against the mattress to ground himself. He’s okay. Everything is packed. The gifts are ready.

It’s just a sleepover.

He repeats it in his head like a mantra.

It’s just a sleepover. It’ll be fine. It has to be.

***

Sleep.

According to the internet, eleven-year-olds are meant to get approximately 9 to 11 hours of sleep per night. Per night. How ridiculous is that?

Last night, Regulus didn’t get any. Not a single wink of sleep.

He’s exaggerating. It was more like he got two to three hours. But still.

It just didn’t come. Sleep had evaded him all night.

That isn’t normal. Regulus can usually fall asleep with ease. But not this time. Sleep avoided him like the plague.

So, naturally, he’s exhausted.

Regulus had literally tried everything. Relaxing all his muscles, drinking warm milk. But nothing. Eventually, he gave up around one in the morning and opted to read instead.

So, he sat in the living room, right next to the lamp, and read. At some point, he must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, he was covered in a blanket, his book was closed and placed onto the coffee table, and, most obvious of all, the sun was up.

It’s quite obvious why he didn’t get enough sleep.

He was worrying.

Worrying over this sleepover, this birthday party he was supposed to attend today.

Which is how Regulus has ended up here. Standing in front of a mint-green front door, with Mr. and Mrs. Potter standing next to him.

His bag, slung over his shoulder, feels heavier than it should. His hands are tight around the wrapped presents he spent so long carefully preparing. His heart is hammering against his ribs.

The house is large but warm-looking, a soft yellow light shining through the windows. He knows this place. He’s been here before, but only briefly, only in passing.

Regulus hesitates. What if—

The door opens before he can spiral further.

Standing in the doorway is a boy, tall, broad-shouldered, looking nearly identical to Pandora and Evan. His hair is the same pale shade, his features sharp in a way that makes it undeniable that he’s their brother.

“Hello,” the boy says, voice even, polite. “You must be Regulus. Come on in.”

Regulus nods stiffly, stepping inside with Mr. and Mrs. Potter following close behind. The entryway is bright and clean, the faint smell of something floral lingering in the air.

“Felix, who is it?” A voice calls from further inside the house, light, curious.

A woman appears from around the corner. She has long, platinum-blonde hair, the same as Pandora’s, the same as Evan’s. Her sharp features soften when she spots them.

“Ah. Hello there.” She turns to the boy. “Felix, dear, can you go get your father? Then help your brother and sister upstairs.”

Felix nods, offering a small, tight-lipped smile before disappearing down the hall.

The woman steps forward. “It’s lovely to meet you, Regulus. I’m Marguerite Rosier, Pandora and Evan’s mother.”

Regulus inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment.

A moment later, a man emerges from the hallway, Felix trailing behind him. He’s tall, dark-haired, with a sharp but not unkind expression.

“Ah,” the man says. “You must be Regulus.” He turns to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, extending a hand. “Cyrus Rosier.”

Fleamont shakes it firmly. “Fleamont Potter. This is my wife, Euphemia.”

“Lovely to meet you both,” Mrs. Rosier says warmly. “Pandora and Evan have been talking about this sleepover all week.”

“They’ve been very excited,” Mr. Rosier agrees, glancing briefly at Regulus. “Pandora mentioned you might be a little nervous about coming. But she assured us you were looking forward to it.”

Regulus shifts on his feet. Pandora had mentioned something? He’s not sure how he feels about that.

Somewhere in the conversation, the topic of Regulus’ situation comes up. “Regulus is our foster son,” Mrs. Potter says, her voice gentle but firm.

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Mrs. Rosier says easily. “Pandora already mentioned something about that. Our daughter is a very understanding young lady.”

Mr. Rosier nods in agreement, studying Regulus with a calm expression. “She also mentioned you don’t speak much. That you communicate through writing.”

Regulus tenses slightly, unsure where this is going.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Mrs. Rosier assures him. “You can write if you need anything.”

Regulus lets out a small breath, nodding.

Before they leave, Mrs. Potter turns to him. “Do you have everything you need?”

He nods.

She pauses, eyes soft. “Even your stuffed black dog?”

Regulus freezes.

His heart stutters.

He forgot it.

Panic grips his chest, crawling up his throat. He shakes his head.

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Mrs. Potter says immediately, reaching out but stopping just before touching his shoulder. “I’ll go home and get it for you, okay?”

Regulus exhales shakily. He nods, trying to believe her. Wanting to believe her. 

Mrs. Potter smiles, reassuring, and he wants to believe her so badly.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter say their goodbyes and leave, the door shutting softly behind them.

Mrs. Rosier turns to him with a kind smile. “Let’s get you settled, shall we?”

She leads him through the house, past warm-colored walls and neatly arranged furniture, until they reach the living room.

The floor is covered in blankets and pillows, the furniture pushed to the sides to make space. Pandora and Evan are there, laughing as they adjust the setup.

Regulus hesitates for only a second before stepping inside.

He walks over to the small table in the corner, setting his bag down beneath it before carefully placing the wrapped gifts on top.

Then, slowly, he turns to face the others.

Pandora grins at him. “You made it.”

Regulus nods.

Evan nudges Pandora. “Told you he’d come.”

Pandora rolls her eyes but her smile doesn’t fade.

Regulus, standing there, exhaustion weighing heavy but nerves settling just slightly, exhales.

Maybe… this will be okay.

After about ten minutes of him being in the Rosier home, Regulus has come to two conclusions. One: he swears he’s been here before. And two: he’s the first to arrive.

Apparently, Regulus was given a slightly earlier time than the others. Pandora’s justification was to make sure he didn’t get too overwhelmed and to give him some time to adjust to the new space.

Another thing he’s figured out is that Pandora is an excellent host. Almost immediately after he set his bag down, she had clapped her hands together and announced, “Alright, tour time!” before leading him through the house.

As they walk, Evan heads off to help get Barty and Dorcas settled when they arrive. Meanwhile, Pandora eagerly points out different rooms, explaining where everything is—where the bathroom is, where they keep the snacks, even where the emergency flashlights are in case of a blackout.

Regulus listens, nodding every now and then, but he finds himself distracted as they pass a framed picture hanging in the hallway. It’s a family photo. The Rosiers—Pandora, Evan, Felix, and their parents—posed in front of what looks like a lake.

Regulus’ gaze lingers on the father. He knows him. He knows he does.

But… he shouldn’t, right? That doesn’t make any sense.

A knock at the front door startles him out of his thoughts. Mrs. Rosier goes to answer it, and Regulus follows Pandora toward the entrance hall just in time to see Mrs. Potter standing there, holding something familiar in her hands.

His stuffed black dog.

The relief is immediate. His shoulders drop, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he steps forward and wraps his arms around Mrs. Potter in a quick, tight hug.

Mrs. Potter stutters, clearly caught off guard, but she gently pats his back before pulling away with a soft smile. “There you go, sweetheart. I told you I’d bring it.”

Regulus clutches the stuffed animal tightly and nods, not trusting himself to express just how much it means to him.

Mrs. Potter says her goodbyes to Mrs. Rosier, still sounding slightly flustered, and Pandora gently tugs on Regulus’ sleeve, leading him back toward the living room.

As they walk, Pandora tilts her head at him. “Have you ever hugged Mrs. Potter before?”

Regulus stops in his tracks, blinking at her. Slowly, he shakes his head. He cocks his head slightly, silently asking, Why do you ask?

Pandora hums. “She just looked really surprised when you did. Like she wasn’t expecting it.”

Regulus frowns, processing that. Did he really hug Mrs. Potter? He did, didn’t he? But he hadn’t thought about it—hadn’t even hesitated. It had just happened.

The realization makes something in his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

Before he can dwell on it too much, voices from the living room pull him back to the present.

“Hey, Regulus!” Barty calls.

Dorcas grins. “Finally, we were starting to think you got lost.”

Regulus exhales, shaking off his confusion. He waves at them and follows Pandora inside, setting his thoughts aside for now. Right now, he has a birthday sleepover to enjoy.

***

The living room is a flurry of movement as they prepare for the night ahead. Pandora, ever the organiser, is directing Evan and Barty on where to place the blankets and pillows, making sure there’s enough space for everyone. Dorcas, meanwhile, is setting up the snacks, carefully arranging packets of chips, lollies, chocolate, and a large bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. Regulus lingers by the side, watching them move around, trying to figure out where he fits in.

“Regulus, can you grab those extra blankets?” Pandora asks, pointing to a pile near the couch. He nods and moves to pick them up, folding them neatly before placing them on the floor where she’s set up the main sleeping area. He’s never done something like this before—not really. Sleepovers had never been a thing in the Black household, and in foster care, he never stayed anywhere long enough to make real friends, let alone be invited to something like this.

As they finish preparing the space, the scent of warm cheese and freshly baked crust drifts into the living room. Pizza.

“Food’s here!” Evan announces, grinning as he makes his way to the front door. Regulus watches as he disappears down the hall, his stomach twisting—not with hunger, but with the odd feeling of still not quite believing he’s here, included in this.

The others filter into the kitchen, leaving Regulus standing for a moment in the quiet of the living room. He follows them after a beat but pauses when he realises he needs to go to the bathroom first. He walks down the hallway, recognising the door from the short tour Pandora gave him earlier. Just as he’s about to step inside, he hears voices drifting from another room.

“I recognise that boy,” Mr. Rosier says.

There’s a pause before Mrs. Rosier replies, sounding bemused. “Oh, don’t be daft, Cyrus. We’ve never even met the boy before. How could you know him?”

Regulus stills. A strange feeling creeps up his spine, an unease he can’t quite place. Why would Mr. Rosier say that?

He closes the bathroom door behind him, locking it before turning on the tap, letting the water run as he grips the sink. His reflection stares back at him, dark blue eyes searching for an answer he doesn’t have. He shouldn’t dwell on it. It’s probably nothing. But still, the words replay in his head.

After a few minutes, he forces himself to shake it off. He washes his hands and steps out, taking a slow breath as he makes his way back to the kitchen. The others are already seated around the table, opening the pizza boxes.

“Regulus, c’mon, we saved you a spot,” Pandora says, patting the empty chair next to her.

He sits down, reaching for a slice as the conversation flows around him. The pizza is warm, the cheese stretching as he pulls a piece free. It’s good. Better than he expected. He listens as the others chatter about school, upcoming assignments, and ridiculous things that happened in class.

Halfway through his second slice, he remembers. He sets his pizza down, wipes his hands on a napkin, and grabs a small notepad from his pocket. Tearing out a page, he carefully writes:

Could you please message Mr. and Mrs. Potter saying that “I’m alright”? They asked me to message them as a check-in.

He slides the note towards Mrs. Rosier, who reads it before offering him a reassuring smile.

“Of course, dear. I’ll send them a message right now,” she says, pulling out her phone.

Regulus watches her type the message, making sure she sends it before nodding. Satisfied, he picks up his pizza again, finishing the last of his slice before excusing himself to head back to the living room. The others follow soon after, dragging blankets and pillows into a comfortable mess on the floor.

He settles down underneath the blanket he brought from home, curling into its familiar warmth. The others pile in around him, laughing as they argue over which movie to pick. Evan wants something action-packed, Barty is voting for horror, and Dorcas is trying to convince them all to watch a comedy instead.

Regulus doesn’t mind what they choose. Instead, he glances around at his friends, at the way they bicker but still smile, at how comfortable they are with each other. A quiet warmth settles in his chest.

He’s really lucky.

The debate carries on for a few minutes before they finally pick a comedy. Regulus doesn’t mind either way—he’s already feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones. His lack of sleep from the night before is catching up with him, but he doesn’t want to miss anything.

Still, after about thirty minutes into the movie, his eyelids start to feel heavier. He shifts slightly under his blanket, trying to fight the drowsiness, but it’s no use. The sounds of his friends laughing and the movie playing in the background start to blur together. The warmth of the blanket, the soft glow of the TV—it’s all too much, and before he realizes it, he’s drifting off.

Regulus stands at the edge of the lake. The water is still, the surface smooth like glass, reflecting the golden glow of the setting sun. He knows this place. He’s been here before.

But not recently.

He’s small—three, maybe four years old. His shoes sink slightly into the damp earth beneath him, his tiny hands clutching at the fabric of his too-big coat. The scent of fresh pine drifts through the air, mixing with something warm and sweet, like honey.

There are people here. They stand near the water, talking amongst themselves, their voices muffled, distant. Their faces blur when he tries to focus on them, like smeared paint on a canvas.

Except for one.

Cyrus Rosier.

Unlike the others, his features are sharp, clear. He stands among the faceless figures, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as if listening to someone speak. He looks younger, less lined with age than he is now, but it’s undoubtedly him.

Regulus feels small. His chest is tight, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Why is Mr. Rosier here? Why can he remember this place?

Something tugs at his sleeve. A hand, tiny like his own. Another child. Their face is blurred too, but he knows they’re familiar. He just doesn’t know how.

A voice—gentle, warm—calls out his name.

“Regulus.”

He turns toward it, but before he can see who’s speaking, the dream shifts, warping like water rippling outward from a single touch. The sky darkens. The lake distorts. The world fades—

Regulus wakes up with a sharp inhale.

For a second, he’s disoriented, unsure of where he is. But then, the soft chatter of his friends and the flickering light of the TV bring him back to reality. The first movie has ended, and they’re already in the middle of picking the next one.

Pandora turns to him. “Oh, you’re awake! You fell asleep, but don’t worry, we didn’t start another one yet.”

Regulus blinks away the lingering haze of sleep, sitting up slightly. His heart is still beating a little too fast from the dream, but he pushes it aside. It was just a dream. Nothing more.

He glances at the screen just as Evan presses play, and his breath catches slightly.

The opening sequence rolls, and Regulus immediately recognizes it.

It’s one of his favorite movies.

He used to watch it all the time with his cousins when he was younger, back when things were simpler. It’s not a movie a lot of people know about, so the fact that Pandora and Evan not only have seen it but also love it enough to pick it now feels almost unreal.

A crazy coincidence.

Pandora nudges his arm. “You like this one?”

Regulus nods, the corners of his lips twitching slightly.

“Good,” Evan grins. “It’s a classic.”

Regulus settles back under his blanket, letting the familiar sounds of the movie wash over him. The dream still lingers in the back of his mind, but for now, he lets it go.

For now, he just watches his favorite movie with his friends.

***

All things considered, Regulus managed to get a good night’s sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he saw that he was the first one awake. The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from the occasional creak of the floorboards as it settled. He contemplated what to do for a few moments before ultimately deciding to get changed and read his book.

So, that’s what he did.

When he came back into the living room, he saw that Dorcas was awake. She was still wrapped in her blanket, blinking sleepily as she adjusted to the morning light. Regulus waved at her, and she smiled before waving back.

Regulus sat back down where he had slept, curled up beneath his own blanket, and began to read his book. The silence was nice. Peaceful.

As the morning wore on, the others began to stir. Barty was next, rubbing his eyes as he yawned and stretched. Evan grumbled something incoherent before reluctantly sitting up, while Pandora—somehow managing to look both exhausted and excited at the same time—grinned sleepily at them all before disappearing to change.

Regulus kept reading as the quiet hum of the house shifted into soft chatter and movement. The air smelled faintly of breakfast from the kitchen, and the warmth of the rising sun filtered through the windows, casting golden streaks across the floor.

By the time he finally looked up again, everyone was fully awake and dressed, their tired expressions replaced with the eager energy of a day filled with celebration.

Mrs. Rosier appeared in the doorway, smiling at them. “Good morning, dears,” she greeted, her voice light and warm. “We’re almost finished setting up for the party, but I think you all should go outside for a little while. Get some fresh air.”

Evan groaned dramatically. “Mum, we just woke up.”

“And?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ll wake up faster if you get moving. Go on, out with you.”

Pandora grinned and tugged at Evan’s arm. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Dorcas and Barty exchanged a look before shrugging and making their way toward the back door. Pandora followed, dragging Evan with her. Regulus hesitated, still holding his book, but Pandora turned back and gestured for him to come along.

He sighed quietly, set his book down, and got to his feet.

The backyard was spacious, bathed in the cool morning air, with patches of wildflowers scattered along the fence and a large oak tree casting long shadows across the grass. The sun had fully risen now, warming the breeze just enough to be comfortable.

Barty was the first to suggest a game—something active to shake off the last remnants of sleep. They quickly settled on a version of tag mixed with an obstacle course, weaving through the yard and climbing onto benches, dodging around trees. It was familiar—strangely familiar.

Regulus froze for a moment mid-game, watching as Pandora darted behind a bush while Evan launched himself over a low garden wall.

He knows this game.

Not just in a vague, I’ve-played-something-like-this-before way, but truly knows it. The exact rules. The unspoken strategies. The way Evan and Pandora move as though they’ve been playing it for years.

Because he has played this before.

With his brother. With his cousins.

It’s a game they made up as children. A game that shouldn’t exist outside of them.

How do Pandora and Evan know it?

The thought lingers, a quiet confusion pressing at the back of his mind. But then Pandora grins at him, motioning for him to run before Evan can tag him, and Regulus pushes the thought away. He can figure it out later.

For now, he plays.

And he’s good at it.

“Blimey, Regulus, you’re quick,” Evan remarks as they pause for breath. “Didn’t think anyone could keep up with Pandora, but you’re giving her a run for her money.”

Pandora laughs. “Yeah, you’re actually really good at this.”

Regulus doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just nods, letting himself accept the compliment.

Before long, they hear Mrs. Rosier calling them from the house. “Come inside, everyone! The party’s ready to begin.”

Panting slightly, they all exchange glances before heading back in, still buzzing with the lingering energy of their game.

Regulus wipes his hands on his trousers as he steps inside, his mind drifting back, just for a moment, to that feeling of familiarity. That memory just out of reach.

He doesn’t know why, but something about it feels important.

But for now, there’s a party to enjoy. And so, he lets it go.

For now.

The house is noticeably livelier when they step inside. The faint smell of something sweet lingers in the air, and decorations now fill the living room. Streamers twist along the walls, and a banner reading Happy Birthday, Evan & Pandora! hangs above the dining table. A pile of neatly wrapped presents is stacked on a nearby chair, and bowls of snacks sit on nearly every available surface.

Pandora beams when she sees everything. “It looks amazing!” she exclaims, turning to her mother. “Thanks, Mum!”

Evan, standing beside her, smirks. “I mean, clearly, most of this is for me.”

Pandora elbows him. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Rosier chuckles, shaking her head. “It’s for both of you. Now, who’s ready for a game?”

A chorus of me! follows, and they’re quickly ushered into the center of the room. Mrs. Rosier pulls a small bag from the table and gives it a shake, the contents rustling inside.

“We’re playing a classic—charades,” she announces. “I’ve written down a bunch of things on slips of paper, and you’ll have to act them out without speaking. You can make sounds, but no words!”

Dorcas grins. “I’m so going to win.”

“Not if I win first,” Barty counters, smirking.

Pandora crosses her arms. “Excuse me, but it’s our birthday. Clearly, we should win.”

“That’s not how games work, Dora,” Evan says, exasperated.

Regulus stays quiet, but there’s a small, amused smile on his face.

The game begins, and it’s chaotic in the best way. Barty is over-the-top dramatic, throwing himself onto the floor when acting out a fish out of water, while Pandora nearly chokes on laughter trying to act out a chicken laying an egg. Dorcas is surprisingly good at guessing, and Evan is even worse at acting than Regulus expected—at one point, he’s supposed to be a tree in a storm, but his stiff movements make him look more like a malfunctioning wind-up toy.

Regulus watches, relaxed but content. The energy in the room is warm, buzzing with excitement. When it’s his turn, he hesitates for only a moment before reaching into the bag and pulling out a slip of paper. A cat stuck in a tree.

He blinks at it, then takes a breath and steps forward. Slowly, he mimes climbing up something, carefully balancing as though he’s on a narrow branch. Then he crouches, pawing at the air, his face scrunched in distress.

There’s a moment of silence, then—

“Oh! A cat!” Pandora guesses.

“A cat falling?” Barty tries.

“No—stuck in something,” Evan mutters.

“A cat in a tree!” Pandora exclaims suddenly, and Regulus nods.

Pandora grins at him. “See? You’re good at this!”

Regulus shrugs, ducking his head slightly, but there’s warmth in his chest at the praise.

By the time the game ends, they’re all breathless from laughter. Mrs. Rosier shakes her head fondly at them before announcing it’s time for presents.

Pandora and Evan sit cross-legged in front of the pile of gifts, practically vibrating with excitement. One by one, they tear through the wrapping paper, grinning as they pull out each gift.

Dorcas hands Pandora a neatly wrapped box, bouncing slightly in place. “Open mine first!”

Pandora rips off the paper to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. She gasps. “Dorcas, this is beautiful.”

Dorcas grins. “I know. I saw it and thought it was so you.”

Pandora immediately clasps it around her neck, beaming. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Evan is next, and he raises an eyebrow at his gift—a signed poster of his favourite hockey player. His mouth drops open slightly. “No way—how did you even get this?”

Dorcas winks. “I have my ways.”

Barty hands Pandora a sleek tin. “This is for you.”

She lifts the lid, revealing an expensive-looking set of coloured pencils. Pandora’s eyes go wide. “Barty—these are incredible.”

He grins. “Figured you’d put them to better use than I ever would.”

Evan unwraps his gift from Barty and pulls out a pair of black hockey gloves. He whistles lowly. “These are nice.”

Barty smirks. “Gotta keep you from getting your fingers broken, mate.”

Regulus reaches for his own gifts, hesitating slightly before handing Pandora a neatly wrapped package. She pulls at the paper, revealing a deep blue sketchbook with silver flowers embossed on the cover. She inhales sharply, running her fingers over the design.

She looks up at him, eyes bright. “Regulus, this is beautiful.”

He shifts slightly but nods, watching as she carefully flips through the crisp blank pages.

“I love it,” she says firmly, hugging it to her chest. “Thank you.”

Regulus hands Evan his gift next, stepping back slightly as Evan pulls off the wrapping paper. Multi-coloured hockey pucks spill into his lap.

Evan blinks at them, then picks one up, turning it over in his hands. “These are so cool.” There’s something unreadable in his expression as he glances at Regulus. After a pause, he nods. “Thanks, Regulus.”

Regulus nods back, relieved.

Once the presents are unwrapped, Mrs. Rosier claps her hands together. “Alright, who’s ready for cake?”

A resounding yes! fills the room.

Two cakes are brought out—one for each of them. Pandora’s is chocolate with blue icing, while Evan’s is vanilla with caramel drizzle. Candles are placed on top, and the lights are dimmed.

As they all start singing Happy Birthday, Regulus finds himself quietly watching Pandora and Evan, their faces glowing in the candlelight. They both look genuinely happy. Carefree.

Something about it makes his chest ache in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

The twins squeeze their eyes shut, make a wish, and blow out their candles. Everyone claps, and soon, slices of cake are passed around.

Regulus takes a bite, and the rich chocolate melts on his tongue. It’s good. Comforting.

As the party carries on around him, he lets himself relax.

He’s not used to this—to birthday parties, to games and laughter, to the warmth of being surrounded by friends.

But he thinks he likes it.

***

The party is over faster than Regulus can say thank you for having me.

It had been fun. The cake—chocolate, rich, and perfectly soft—had reminded him of his ninth birthday. That year, he had only wanted one thing: the exact same chocolate cake Narcissa had a couple of months prior. It had been perfect, just like this one.

Now, the house is quiet again. The remnants of celebration linger in the scattered decorations, the faint scent of frosting in the air. Most of the others are off doing their own thing—Evan and Pandora have retreated upstairs to put away their gifts, and Dorcas and Barty are outside talking in hushed voices.

Regulus, already packed, moves through the dining room, picking up the last bits of rubbish left behind. Wrappers, paper cups, stray napkins. It’s something to do, something to keep his hands busy.

That’s when he sees it.

A picture frame, partially buried under a pile of discarded wrapping paper. He almost doesn’t notice it, but the corner catches the light just right, drawing his eyes to it.

Curious, he picks it up.

Three children. A girl with dark curls, another with sharp, mischievous eyes, and the third—blonde, composed, smiling softly. They look familiar. Too familiar.

Regulus’ breath catches.

Narcissa. Bellatrix. Andromeda.

His cousins.

They look younger—maybe seven, nine, and eleven—but it’s undeniably them. His stomach twists as he stares at the image, his mind racing.

Why do the Rosiers have this?

His aunt and uncle had never mentioned them before. His parents had barely spoken of the Rosiers at all. So why—?

Regulus doesn’t realize he’s gripping the frame too tightly until his fingers start to ache. His heart pounds in his chest as he abandons the bag of rubbish and turns on his heel, marching toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Rosier looks up from where she’s wiping down the counter, her brows knitting together in confusion. Mr. Rosier, seated at the table with a cup of tea, glances up as well.

"Regulus?" Mrs. Rosier asks, noting his expression.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his notebook, and quickly writes:

Why do you have this?

He holds the notebook in one hand, the photo in the other, turning both toward them.

Mrs. Rosier steps closer, peering at the picture properly for the first time in what must be years. She frowns, tilting her head slightly. “Why do we—?” She trails off, looking between the photo and Regulus. Then she glances at her husband. “Why do we have that photo?”

Regulus nods sharply, waiting for an answer.

Mr. Rosier sighs, setting his cup down. “It’s the last photo we have of them.”

Regulus furrows his brows. Quickly, he writes:

Them? Who are they to you?

Mrs. Rosier hesitates, exchanging a glance with her husband. Then she turns back to Regulus. “Who do you think they are?” she asks gently.

Regulus doesn’t understand the question. He flips to a new page and writes:

My cousins. Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa Black.

He underlines their names for emphasis before showing them the page.

Mr. Rosier blinks. His face shifts—just slightly—but Regulus notices the way his eyes narrow in thought, how his lips part as if a puzzle piece has just clicked into place.

Mrs. Rosier is staring at the picture again, like she’s seeing it in an entirely new light.

Regulus, still confused, writes:

Why do you have a picture of them?

There’s a brief silence. Then, Mr. Rosier exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well. That explains a lot.”

Mrs. Rosier looks at him sharply. “Cyrus?”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, almost to himself. “I told you I knew him.”

Regulus tilts his head slightly, his confusion deepening.

Mr. Rosier rubs his face, then looks at Regulus more seriously. “They’re my nieces,” he says simply.

Regulus freezes.

His mind stutters, struggling to process the words.

He looks between them, his grip tightening on the frame. Then, with slightly trembling hands, he flips back to the notebook and writes, pressing down a little too hard with his pencil.

What?

Mr. Rosier leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Druella,” he says, slowly, deliberately, “is my sister.”

Regulus feels his pulse in his throat.

His aunt. His cousins. His family.

And all this time, he never knew.

He swallows, his hands clenched into fists around the notebook and the frame. Then, after a long moment, he writes:

No one told me.

Mrs. Rosier sighs. “I suppose that doesn’t surprise me.”

Regulus flips the page, his thoughts spinning too fast.

I don’t understand. They never said anything about you.

Mr. Rosier leans back. “We haven’t spoken in years. Druella and I—” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “We were never particularly close, and after she married Cygnus… well, it was easier to let the distance grow.”

Regulus stares down at the photo. His cousins—young, happy, untouched by time.

His chest tightens, and before he can stop himself, he writes:

I miss them.

His vision blurs. He blinks rapidly, but the stinging in his eyes doesn’t go away.

I used to see them all the time.

The words come slower now, as he fights against the lump rising in his throat.

Even as they got older, I still saw them. Not as much, but enough.

He swallows hard, gripping the pencil tighter.

But since I was taken away, I haven’t seen them at all. Not once. I don’t even know if they know where I am. I don’t know if they tried to find me. I don’t know if they care.

The last word is shaky. His hands are shaking.

A tear slips down his cheek, hitting the page, smudging the ink slightly. He rubs at his face quickly, frustrated at himself, but he can’t stop the burning behind his eyes.

Mrs. Rosier’s face softens, and Mr. Rosier exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and for once, he sounds like he actually means it.

Regulus doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Mr. Rosier watches him for a long moment before glancing at the photo still clutched in his hands. “Here,” he says, nudging it forward. “Keep it.”

Regulus’ head snaps up, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

He hesitates, but then, slowly, carefully, he takes the frame and pulls it against his chest. He doesn’t write another ‘thank you,’ but it’s there in the way he clutches it, in the way he swallows hard and nods.

Mrs. Rosier offers a small smile. “I hope it brings you good memories.”

Regulus looks down at the image of his cousins.

The memories aren’t good, not exactly. But they’re his. And that’s all that really matters. 

“Regulus?”

The soft call makes him flinch slightly.

Regulus quickly wipes at his face with his sleeve, trying to erase the evidence of his tears before Pandora steps into the kitchen. But he knows it’s pointless—she’s always been observant, and the tear tracks staining his cheeks are impossible to hide.

Pandora stops just inside the doorway, her brows furrowing as her eyes land on him. Her gaze flickers from his reddened eyes to the way he clutches the photo frame tightly to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, stepping closer. “Is everything okay?”

Regulus nods. It’s automatic, instinctive. But Pandora doesn’t look convinced.

She hesitates, then glances toward her parents. Regulus watches as she looks between them, searching their faces for any kind of explanation. “Mum? Dad?”

Mrs. Rosier offers a small smile, her voice gentle. “Everything’s fine, love. Regulus is alright.”

Pandora’s frown deepens slightly, her eyes flicking back to Regulus. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible, lowering the frame slightly, but her gaze lingers on him like she’s trying to piece something together.

After a moment, she lets out a small hum, clearly unconvinced. But she doesn’t push. Instead, she tilts her head slightly. “Hey,” she says, voice lighter now. “Would you like to play one last game before you leave?”

Regulus blinks.

A game.

It’s a simple offer, an easy distraction, but it makes something in his chest unclench just a little.

Slowly, he nods.

Pandora grins. “Great! C’mon, let’s go before Evan gets bored and starts something without us.” She steps back, gesturing toward the living room.

Regulus hesitates only a second longer before tucking the photo frame carefully under his arm and following her out.

***

Coincidences are a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without an apparent causal connection.

It’s a crazy concept to think about. Coincidences.

It’s like the universe’s way of telling you something. His parents would have called it “God’s doing,” but Regulus has never truly believed in God.

He enjoys reading some of the stories in the Bible, interpreting their meanings, analyzing them like puzzles waiting to be solved. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty of it, he never had faith.

He only ever attended church on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings to appease his parents. He’s always been more of a science guy. Because science is based on facts. Christianity—and any other religion, for that matter—are just stories.

Faith is important, though. He won’t deny it. It brings people together. It builds communities. Sometimes, it benefits a whole group or society to believe in a higher power. Because if they didn’t, too many people would be left questioning life, and at least this way, people have closure.

On the topic of religion, does Regulus believe in coincidences?

If you had asked him before today, the answer would have been no.

But now…

Now, he isn’t so sure.

Because what are the chances that he woke up this morning, only to discover, hours later—at a birthday party, of all places—that he is related to the birthday boy and girl?

If science had its way, the odds would be something like 0.0000000000001%.

So, henceforth, coincidences.

Unless there’s something else that could explain this. Which, as far as Regulus can tell, there isn’t.

Another possibility, besides coincidences, is fate.

Fate, in Regulus’ opinion, would also fit this situation perfectly—however touchy the subject may be.

Fate is known as the development of events outside a person’s control, regarded as predetermined by a supernatural power.

Thanks, Google.

See, Regulus doesn’t believe in a higher power. But if supernatural forces are controlling his life, then he supposes there must be something out there, something unknowable.

Or, maybe, he should just lean into ancient Greek mythology. The Moirai—often known in English as The Fates—were the personification of destiny. Three sisters: Clotho, the spinner; Lachesis, the allotter; and Atropos, the inevitable.

Regulus remembers, in The Lightning Thief, when Percy saw the three sisters cutting a blue thread—a symbol of life, severed in an instant, a quiet reminder that fate is inescapable. It had unsettled Percy, and now, thinking about it, it unsettles Regulus too. Because if fate is real, then that means some things are already decided, already written. And if that’s the case… what does that mean for him?

He’s going to have to do more research on fate later.

For now, Regulus hands Pandora back her phone, settling back in his seat in the living room as she and Dorcas chatter nearby. Evan and Barty are outside playing, but Regulus had opted to stay inside. He wanted to read. To think. To try to make sense of everything.

His eyes flick to the clock on the wall. Exactly 2:30 PM.

The Potters had said they wouldn’t be late.

As if on cue, a shadow moves in the doorway. Regulus glances up to see Mr. Rosier standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at him.

“The Potters are here,” he announces.

Regulus straightens, closing the book in his lap.

Pandora jumps up immediately. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Regulus doesn’t protest. He follows her out of the living room, his bag already waiting by the entrance. The murmur of conversation reaches his ears before they even step into the foyer—Mrs. Rosier speaking lightly with Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

“Oh, he’s been wonderful,” Mrs. Rosier is saying, smiling warmly at Mrs. Potter. “Truly, a pleasure to have here.”

Mrs. Potter beams, her eyes flicking to Regulus with fondness. “That’s lovely to hear.”

Regulus, meanwhile, feels a tug at his sleeve. He turns to find Evan standing beside him, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “Bye, Regulus,” Evan says, before grinning slightly. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Regulus nods. Then, he glances at Pandora, who’s watching him carefully.

“Take care, okay?” she says.

He nods again. Lifting his notebook, he scribbles something quickly and holds it out toward Mrs. Rosier.

Thank you for having me.

She takes the note with a soft smile. “It was our pleasure, dear. You’re welcome anytime.”

Regulus swallows. His fingers tighten slightly around the strap of his bag before he lifts a hand in a small wave. Pandora and Evan wave back, and he catches Mr. Rosier giving him a brief nod.

“Goodbye, Regulus,” Mrs. Rosier says warmly. Mr. Rosier managing a simple wave.

Mrs. Potter places a gentle hand on Regulus’ back. Her and Mr. Potter saying there goodbyes as well. 

And then, they step outside.

The air is warm as they walk toward the car. The moment Regulus slides into the seat, closing the door behind him, Mrs. Potter turns to look at him.

“Did you have a good time?” she asks.

Regulus nods.

His hands rest in his lap. He feels something solid beneath his fingers and looks down.

The photo.

He’s still holding it.

For a long moment, he stares at the faces in the picture. At the frozen moment in time, where his cousins were young and happy and untouched by the years ahead.

If fate is real, he thinks, then maybe, one day, it will bring us together again.