"Living in Sin" 4/5 (Lucius/Regulus, NC-17)

[skellywag]

Title: "Living in Sin"
Author: Skellywag
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Regulus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Alternate timeline. Regulus's life is not progressing as he had expected, and an arranged marriage to Lucius Malfoy is only the beginning.
Warnings: Unapologetically long, underage? sex (Regulus is 16 to Lucius's 23), dubcon, creative use of made-up magic, public sex, mPreg, bloodplay-after a fashion, gore, torture, violence directed towards both children and adults.
A/N: Written for hp-yule-balls. First and foremost, my everlasting gratitude to my lovely beta fitz-y, who has been a wealth of support, advice, and cheerleading. This wouldn’t be half the fic it is without her, and I don't mean in terms of word count. Also a big thank-you to jaylee-g for the info about pregnancy, who helped me (I hope) make this a much more realistic mPreg than it would otherwise be. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Thanks also to the wonderful mods at hp-yule-balls and their patience; this monster took a little longer than I'd expected to get written, and I hope it's worth the extra time it took me.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5



Even in a crowded train station, Lucius Malfoy was conspicuous, his blonde hair-a few inches longer than Regulus remembered it being-the first thing Regulus noticed stepping out onto the platform. The bustle of reunited parents and students parted before him-an interesting side effect of his ever more prominent belly-but Regulus ignored the staring and was gratified as he watched Lucius get his first eyeful.

The man's jaw slackened in surprise, eyes widening. Apparently a written description of Regulus's pregnancy couldn't compare to the real thing. Lucius composed himself quickly when he caught Regulus grinning at him, and then Regulus turned beet-red when Lucius leered at him, and winked. "Stop looking at me like that," Regulus hissed when he got close enough, and then stepped even closer to reach up and wrap his arms around Lucius's neck, just because he could, and because, for the sake of appearances at least, Lucius would hug him back. Which would have been worth it even if it hadn't felt amazing and warm and reassuring, because some of the plebes closest to them looked like they felt incredibly uncomfortable at the sight of a pregnant teenage boy hugging his husband in public.

"Clearly you have no idea," Lucius rumbled quietly into his ear, "no idea how incredibly satisfying it is to see you looking like that, carrying my sons." The tone of voice sent a shiver up his spine, a spike of arousal down low in his abdomen. It really wasn't fair, Lucius using a voice like that in a public place, even if Regulus's belly stuck out enough that no one would be able to tell he had gone half-erect, the trousers under his robes unbelievably tight.

Regulus had been a little nervous about this reunion and how it would go; the letters they had written had not been terribly personal since owl post could be quite easily and indiscriminately intercepted and read by aurors or, theoretically, anyone else. Regulus had had no real idea if Lucius might change his treatment of Regulus, or even have been seeing someone else for the months the boy had been absent. But there was no evidence of any of that in Lucius's throaty purr, and Regulus smiled into the man's chest where he wouldn't be able to see it-he'd been feeling incredibly self-conscious about his swollen belly, too, but Lucius liked it.

"No idea at all," Regulus agreed bashfully. And then, all in a muffled rush, "Perhaps you could take me home and demonstrate." He felt Lucius laughing at him before he heard it.

"Wasting no time, I see," the man chuckled. He mouthed lightly over Regulus's ear, lapped wetly into the shell of it as though he were oblivious to their potential audience. "I trust your elf is managing your luggage?"

Regulus choked a whimper in the back of his throat, trying not to pant too obviously. "Probably already at the manor," he confirmed.

"Splendid." Lucius's arms tightened, and he apparated them into the mansion, but not into his bedroom or anywhere Regulus recognized. It was an arbitrary corridor, and when they materialized it was with Lucius already pressing him against the wall, so hard that Regulus was amazed he wasn't stuck halfway inside it.

There was a quiet clatter and Regulus glanced to the side to note the walking stick he hadn't realized Lucius was carrying had been leaned against the wall, and then he could think of nothing else but the searing path of Lucius's lips along the side of his throat, dexterous, long-fingered hands working his buttons, parting robes. They were shoved down his shoulders to his forearms and left that way, with his hands trapped within. And since he hadn't worn a shirt for weeks-they would no longer button properly-his belly was laid bare for Lucius's eyes and fingers.

"Stay there," the man murmured, taking a step backwards. Regulus pulled his shoulders back and stood a little straighter, humming softly with pleasure at the intensity with which Lucius was staring at him. That gaze lingered heavily on his midsection, his belly button just beginning to pop out a little, the sides lined with the pale white of older stretch marks and the jagged purple of more recent ones. Regulus was almost self-conscious enough of them to use an ointment to vanish them, even though it was pointless to bother before the babies were born. In the next two months he stood to gain a great deal more weight.

But there was nothing approaching disgust in Lucius's eyes, and when the man stepped forward again and pressed both palms lightly to Regulus's stomach, the boy's sigh of pleasure echoed Lucius's. He smoothed the soft pads of his fingertips in reverent circles across Regulus's taut skin, and Regulus tried to will one of the babies to kick, because that was something truly special. The boys were uncooperative; nonetheless Lucius was still quite impressed. Or, at least he seemed to be impressed, because he was still touching, his fingers dropping lower, teasing at the waist of Regulus's trousers.

And then Regulus went completely breathless as Lucius sank gracefully to his knees before him. He froze, tried to keep utterly silent, because the last thing he wanted was to do anything that might make the man change his mind. Lucius smirked up at Regulus as if he could tell what the boy was thinking. "You wanted a demonstration, hmmm?" He took down Regulus's trousers and pants, both at once. "Allow me to show my appreciation."

The head of his cock brushed against the lower swell of his belly, smearing precome there, and Lucius lightly grasped him by the root, moving his length from side to side to spread the fluid around. Regulus panted shallowly through his nose, squirming a little as he leaned back against the wall behind him. He knew what was coming-or hoped he did-and tried valiantly to brace himself for it. Turned out, Lucius's lips were the best thing Regulus had ever had wrapped around his cock. Hot and wet, Lucius tongued his slit, took only about an inch of Regulus's length into his mouth and sucked it slowly. His lips were tight and perfect as they dragged softly against the veins. The boy hiccupped a gasp, shuddering as his hips fought to buck. He wrestled with the sleeves still wrapped around his forearms, overcome with the indescribable need to sink his fingers into Lucius's thick hair.

"Fuck," he choked as the man began moving faster on his dick, drawing more of him in. He struggled harder with his sleeves, but they'd managed to twist tightly at his wrists and he wasn't quite sure how. The more he squirmed, the less effective it became, until Lucius noticed his problem. The man reached out to grasp one of his sleeves and give it a hard yank with the hand that wasn't fastened around the base of Regulus's cock. It left Regulus's wrist red and sore, but his hand came loose and with a mind of its own stroked the hair back from Lucius's temple and forehead-the only part of Lucius he could see well-burying his fingers deep in the silky strands.

Lucius moaned quietly, and Regulus felt it in his balls. He couldn't quite see what Lucius was doing with his mouth because his belly obscured the view, but it only made each sensation sharper, more poignant, not knowing entirely what to expect. The man began stroking the base of Regulus's cock in concert with the rhythm of his mouth on the head, and the boy nearly lost his mind with the intensity of the sensations.

And then, out of nowhere, Lucius took him in deep, lips nearly meeting the fingers wrapped around him. Regulus's muscles all tensed, his hand clenched in Lucius's hair. Lucius pulled his mouth away but stroked Regulus faster, and angled his cock upwards so that when the boy came with a harsh, wordless cry, it spattered his distended stomach.

Regulus leaned heavily against the wall, panting, but Lucius wasn't finished with him yet. He quivered as Lucius licked clean his softening length, his hips jerking compulsively with hypersensitivity. But then, Regulus moaned, his legs nearly giving out completely. Lucius was licking his stomach, cleaning off the semen in slow, flat strokes of his tongue, and it was something Regulus never realized he could want so badly. For months now, he had agonized over the fact that he and his husband had never kissed; he had debated half a dozen times asking the man about it in one of their letters, aurors be damned, but each time could never work out the courage or the words to do so. And now this was more special than any kiss ever could be.

He stroked through Lucius's hair, traced the side of his face from temple to jaw, and though he flushed faintly when the man glanced up to meet his eyes-and was that a little bit of red staining Lucius's cheekbones?-he didn't look away. Lucius was going to make an excellent parent, he decided.

Regulus opened his mouth to tease Lucius about the blush he was sure he saw, but what came out was a bloodcurdling scream. It felt like his arm had been dipped into a vat of boiling oil up to the elbow, and he couldn't pull it out. He dropped to the floor without noticing, writhing though it could do no good, because he stared at his left arm and there was nothing physically wrong with it. Tears streamed down his face, and he tried to claw at Voldemort's mark with his right hand, but that was the one still trapped in its sleeve and he couldn't do anything save howl in pain.

Lucius all but dropped on top of him, and Regulus instinctively tried to fight against the weight, against the arms wrapping around him, trying to hold him still. He beat at Lucius's shoulders, lashed out with his legs, might even have managed to jam his knee somewhere sensitive, but the man just held on tighter. With a sudden crack of displacement they were outside lying on the grass, a mess of limbs and clothing. The pain abruptly dissipated into something manageable, almost. His arm felt like it had after he'd first been marked, touchy and sore, but not near as bad as it had mere moments ago. It was a little like coming up for air after a deep dive, and Regulus gasped for breath the same way.

Lucius immediately rolled off Regulus once he registered the boy had gone still and silent. His smooth fingers slipped up Regulus's pregnant belly, and the touch felt distinctly possessive. Regulus was sure the babies were fine-Lucius hadn't put any weight on his stomach, and the pain had been localized to his arm. However, though the babies wouldn't have felt any pain, it seemed they might have gotten a dose of his adrenaline, because both of them began to kick, an internal staccato offset by the hammering of his heart. Lucius's fingers twitched, spread wider as if he sought to collect the vibrations. And Regulus couldn't work up the enthusiasm for more than a weak smile in response to the man's behaviour.

"What just happened?" Regulus groaned. "I think I was this close to chewing my arm off." He contemplated pulling his trousers up, but that would have required both hands, and even if one hadn't still been trapped in his sleeve, he wouldn't have quite felt up to it.

"We were summoned by the dark lord," Lucius replied. He sat up, but his hand stayed on Regulus. "It shouldn't have hurt that much. The pain has never been debilitating; there wouldn't be a point in it." Lucius frowned in thought and Regulus did, too. He didn't like the sound of that at all. Was there something wrong with him; why would he have felt so much pain? Did it have something to do with his pregnancy? After all, Bella was the only female death eater he'd seen, and she'd never been pregnant. Maybe he was an anomaly. It wasn't a comforting thought.

Regulus pushed himself up, rose to his feet a little unsteadily, and then had to release his right hand from its sleeve before he could pull up his pants and trousers. "Where are we?" he asked, rather futilely trying to straighten his robes, and finally pulled his wand from its sheath and muttered an incantation that stopped just short of starching the robes for him.

"Not far from your cousin's house." Lucius stood and, once Regulus pulled on the robes, took over buttoning them himself. Regulus wasn't sure why he permitted it, heart in his throat at the thought of this protective behaviour from Lucius that he'd honestly never expected. It could only be because of the children, but he thought he might allow himself to enjoy it anyway. Lucius continued on as though oblivious to the path of the boy's thoughts-Regulus was not optimistic enough to believe the man actually was. "Given the circumstances, I thought it best not to apparate directly into Bella's front yard."

"Yeah, thanks for that," Regulus agreed. Already, too many people had seen too much of his body. Sharing his bare stomach with Lucius was about as far as he wanted to take that. "Um. You don't suppose the dark lord is angry with me for some reason?" he mumbled hesitantly. It would explain the overwhelming pain from his mark, when Lucius had experienced nothing of the sort, though he could not imagine what he had done to warrant such displeasure. Though his role at Hogwarts was not an active one, Lord Voldemort had made it very clear it was not expected to be. He supposed it was possible that he had failed to meet even those lowered expectations, but it was a confusing thought to have because he'd behaved exactly as the dark lord had ordered.

"He never intimated as much to me when I gave him your information." But Lucius's hands had balled into fists, and it wasn't something that inspired Regulus with much confidence. "Let's get moving; everyone else has probably already arrived."

They had, and there were quite a few more than Regulus remembered, all assembled in Bella's dining room. He couldn't tell if that was because these strangers were recently initiated during his months at school, or if they had been excused from his initiation to perform other assignments-he assumed it was probably a combination. There were at least two dozen people in the room, but somehow Regulus immediately zeroed in on two individuals.

One of them, Regulus had never seen before, but he knew instantly whom he was looking at. Fenrir Greyback, who had not been present for Regulus's initiation, made burly, barrel-chested Walden Macnair look thin and frail. He might have been the tallest person in the room, and certainly he was a muscular and massive presence, but he stood hunched somehow, his broad shoulders drawn forward so that, even though technically he took up less space, he seemed all the more dangerous and menacing for it. Especially when he grinned, baring too-sharp teeth. Regulus wrapped an arm protectively over his two boys, who would never, if he had any say, lay eyes upon a werewolf, let alone get close enough to see its teeth.

And then, in forcing his eyes from Greyback, Regulus found Lord Voldemort, who thankfully did not appear to be angry or displeased. The man's eyes looked like blood that was just beginning to dry, no green at all left in them, and not really brown anymore either. He dropped his gaze quickly, but no foreign voice invaded his thoughts nor seemed to pick through his memories.

"Troubles, Regulus?" The dark lord's smile was a razor, and Regulus thought he might have to revise his judgment that the man didn't seem displeased, because Lord Voldemort clearly knew what had happened when they'd been summoned.

"My lord, when we were summoned, my mark burned with what Lucius told me was abnormal pain. I took a few minutes to collect myself before we came inside," Regulus admitted. His voice was soft and steady, but he worried his lower lip between his teeth, betraying his nerves. His arms were still wrapped around his belly, and Lucius stood just behind him, not touching, but close.

Lord Voldemort nodded. "It is the price you pay," he said matter-of-factly. "For almost six months, you have been exempt from my summons, because of the risk involved in your position. But my mark is not forgiving, and it remembers what is owed. You weren't truly exempted; the summons were merely postponed. You'll be prepared for it next term."

Regulus swallowed and nodded though he knew there was really no preparing for an agony so intense, especially when the summons could not be predicted. He had certainly not expected to attend the dark lord this soon after arriving home. It was a relief when the man turned away to focus upon the room at large, so that Regulus and Lucius could find a place to stand against the wall beside two of the death eaters Regulus hadn't recognized: a brother and sister who later introduced themselves as Amycus and Alecto Carrow. Incidentally, this put them as far from Fenrir Greyback as it was possible to get while remaining in the same room.

"I have arranged an amusement for this evening, now that our youngest is back with us," Voldemort told them. "It is not intrinsic to the success of our plans, but I am certain you will enjoy yourselves; I know I will." That earned a few chuckles; Regulus wondered if those people were already privy to the dark lord's plans. He glanced up at Lucius, raised an eyebrow, but got nearly the same expression as an answer: Lucius wasn't giving anything away, if he even knew.

Lord Voldemort was spreading a map on the dining room table, and he gestured them all closer, until they had all gathered around to see it. It was a basic street map, likely of muggle make judging by the half a dozen folds and thin, bleached paper. "This," he said, pointing with a long, thin, blue-veined finger to one of the larger buildings marked on the map, "is where we are going." Then he turned back to Regulus and casually wove a spell. "I've obscured your Trace, but don't use any magic until we're done and you return home, or it will break. You can still watch, or participate if you're feeling creative. Fenrir likely won't use magic, either, but of course no one is expecting you to take a leaf from his book." More people laughed at that, Bella among them, and Regulus forced a rather sickish smile though it really wasn't amusing at all. He could almost feel Greyback trying to catch his eye and refused to look.

"Masks, everyone," the dark lord commanded. Most of the death eaters pulled these from within their robes, but several conjured them as Lucius had to, since he and Regulus had been otherwise engaged even before Regulus had been lambasted by the summon itself. Regulus put on the one Lucius handed him and then crowded close to the man, ready to be apparated.

"Stay by my side at all times," Lucius instructed gruffly, his voice low in Regulus's ear. And if Regulus pressed closer, the full line of his body against the man's side, well, that was just following orders.

There was a crack when Lord Voldemort apparated from the room, but no other warning. However, nary a second passed before a second crack-louder, and not at all uniform-followed, as every death eater in the room apparated, more or less simultaneously.

~~~~~~~~~~

Cold marble dug into Regulus's knees as he crouched on the floor. His stomach lurched, tears sprang to his eyes as he gagged, and then he expelled another stream of mostly-fluid into the toilet bowl, as quietly as possible. Half an hour ago, he and Lucius had returned to the manor from the dark lord's field trip, and for half an hour now, Regulus had been throwing up his guts-it was primarily bile at this point-and he was still heaving, his mouth watering unpleasantly.

Regulus wasn't often ill, but the sensation reminded him of once when he was younger. He might have been eight. Bending over the toilet with this same furtiveness. Mum hadn't liked it when they got sick. But there had been a hand to wipe back his sweaty fringe, unpracticed but gentle. Small, awkward fingers through his hair. "Here, rinse your mouth," Sirius had whispered, handing him a glass of water, without Regulus even having to ask.

"Kreacher," he croaked around another spasm, knuckles white as he gripped the porcelain bowl, reaching up to flush.

"Master Regulus needs something?" The elf's voice quavered a bit, and Regulus winced-he knew he must look ghastly, pale and sweaty, throwing up even after he'd informed his servant the morning sickness had finally gone and that there would be no more need of ginger tea or soda crackers.

"I'd like some water now, and ginger tea-no crackers-in my bedroom in ten minutes." He watched Kreacher nod out of the corner of his eye, and in the span of about five seconds the elf had gone and then returned with a tall glass of cool water and a pitcher, in case more was needed.

"Would Master Regulus like Kreacher to be telling Master Lucius that he is not feeling well?" the elf rasped.

Regulus spat a mouthful of water into the toilet, his head coming up fast. "No!" he all but shouted, and instantly regretted it when Kreacher cringed. "No," he repeated more quietly, and a little guiltily. "Only if Lucius asks should you tell him anything, and even then, only that I am exhausted and have retired early. This," he gestured to himself and included the toilet, "is not the morning sickness, nor am I ill. I will be fine after a night's sleep." I have to be, he added grimly to himself.

Kreacher nodded and vanished, and Regulus set about trying to make his mouth taste a little less like half-digested pumpkin pasties, with limited success.

He made it halfway through his second cup of tea before Lucius swept into his bedroom, eyes the colour of summer thunderheads, lips thin and flat, and Regulus knew it had been too much to hope for that the man might have overlooked his absence. Regulus was wrapped in the thickest blanket he could find, all but buried in a corner of his couch. He fought to keep his mind carefully, perfectly blank, but his cup rattled the saucer when he set it down. His arms wrapped tight around his belly, Regulus stared into Lucius's eyes, but it was someone else he saw.

Blue eyes… Far bluer than his own. More bloodshot, too. The whites of her eyes look more like pink, and her cheeks are wet with tears. The girl is not much younger than Regulus, and not terribly remarkable-not even her eyes, though that is where he lingers.

The first time he sees her, it is barely more than a glance, her mousy brown ponytail streaming out behind her as she runs, clutching shopping bags and a purse. She is not the only one running, but she is the only one to pass Regulus so closely that he can count the freckles on her cheeks, catch a face full of the fresh citrusy scent she is wearing.

She meets his eyes, briefly, and Regulus feels it like a punch to the gut. He is not a legilimens, but her terror is something tangible, and for that heartbeat of a second, he sinks into her eyes as if he can read something behind them. For that moment's span, Regulus hates the girl more than anything else he can think of. He did not want to know her fear, certainly did not want to feel it for himself. He's wearing a mask; she shouldn't want to look at him, let alone actually meet his eyes.

Regulus's heart beats again, and the moment breaks. The girl is gone in a crush of bodies, and Regulus can't even smell her outside the stench of sweat and piss. There is nothing left but screaming.

He watched as Lucius knelt on the floor in front of his couch, rested large, warm hands on his blanket-covered thighs. Never was there a man who looked less like a frightened muggle girl.

Regulus stands at Lucius's side as chaos reigns around them. Lucius's left hand is a fist around his father's walking stick-Regulus didn't recognize it before, but it is definitely Abraxas's because Lucius's wand is now adorned with its silver serpent head, the wand usually carried concealed within the stick. Not concealed now, though. Lucius's wand is in his right hand, and so Regulus holds on lightly to the man's left wrist, more because he's forgotten to let go than because he's concerned either of them might move. They're in the same spot Lucius apparated them to, and in nearly the same positions.

There are shrieks and screams and a lot of crying, and amidst that Regulus hears giggles and laughter; his cousin's voice rises above the rest. The thunder of pounding feet throbs inside his head, spells explode against concrete and plaster, metal and glass. It is a miserable cacophony, and Lucius adds to it, destroying storefronts and window displays, bringing down the skylight in a rain of glittering shards.

But for Regulus, it is like listening to the mess from under water. He can hear it and associate the sounds with their causes but they are far away and cannot touch him-maybe not Lucius, either, who destroys with careless abandon but seems so unaware of the people around them.

It is as if Lucius is running on autopilot, the flick of his wand curt and aggressive as he hurls spells, but the cool almost-blue of his eyes is so far away. They stand out against the white of his mask, and Regulus wonders if there would be any expression in the man's face if it were showing. Perhaps this is simply what Lucius is like when he's performing tasks for the dark lord: all business.

Regulus rests his cheek against Lucius's shoulder, feels through his own body the slight tremor as the man startles. "Your father's walking stick?" he asks, not loudly, but enough.

Lucius doesn't look at him, but Regulus can see his jaw tense around the edge of his mask and the man changes targets from a nearby fountain to a man who has the misfortune to cross his line of vision-Regulus sees no real forethought to his husband's choice. The spell is nonverbal, a vicious slash of Lucius's wand, but Regulus winces when the muggle begins to shriek at an unnatural octave. Every inch of the muggle's skin has gone a livid red, perspiration beading on his face and soaking his hair and clothes. "Dragon pox," Lucius murmurs in a low, raw voice. "He died two weeks ago."

He has asked knowing at least part of Lucius's answer, knowing what it would be, but he hasn't planned it further than this, and now there is nothing left for him to say. Regulus has never experienced death, but he knows even losing Sirius is nothing close to the permanence that Lucius is experiencing. Lucius has no parents now, and Regulus is mute.

And anyway, dragon pox is a ridiculous thing to kill a man like Abraxas Malfoy. Dragon pox is only truly dangerous to the very young and the very old and infirm. But Abraxas could have expected to live another hundred years at least, and "infirm" is not a word Regulus would have used to describe the man he had eaten breakfast with the morning he left for Hogwarts five months ago. It is so dreadfully wrong that Regulus doesn't even try to comment on it. He doesn't have to. Devastation is in the unyielding set of Lucius's shoulders, the white of his knuckles as his grips his wand. It is in the colour of his eyes, and how did Regulus not notice any of this when Lucius was on his knees, sucking Regulus's cock? (He supposes this is a question and its answer all at the same time.)

"I'm sorry," Regulus murmurs, because he has to say something, even if it is grossly inadequate. Lucius nods as if accepting his awkward sympathies, but without looking away from the muggle he's torturing. Then Lucius does turn, back toward the fountain, but Regulus is completely unsuccessful at catching his husband's eyes though he's been trying this whole time. Regulus tries not to flinch as the fountain is obliterated in a magnificent spray of stone, dust, and water. Lucius's muggle victim staggers to his feet and slinks away quickly, but only Regulus notices; Lucius is already seeking new targets.

Regulus opens his mouth to speak, but the words are forgotten as his thoughts are arrested by a pair of blue, blue eyes, catching his despite his mask.

Regulus stared at the hands on his thighs as though he'd never seen them before, let alone fantasized about them. He wondered if they'd ever been covered in blood, thick and caked under the nails. Was torture a method of mourning? Causing pain to mitigate your own? But no, not everyone had Lucius's excuse. A weak spasm rocked his body, but there was nothing left to bring up. Lucius's fingers tightened, slid up to lightly grip his hips.

Lucius and Regulus walk hand in hand through the ruins of the muggle shopping mall, surveying the damage. Lucius has put away his wand, and somehow that makes Regulus feel a little more at ease, though aurors could show up at any moment.

There are a lot of corpses, most of them the intact and unmarked remains of the killing curse. Regulus thinks he ought to feel more squeamish, stepping over the bodies of people who look like they could be asleep, but aren't. They didn't ask for this, but Regulus doesn't know who they were, either. It is easier, not thinking of them as people. They aren't people now-just bodies. Empty, unblemished husks.

Lucius is walking them through the mall only because Lord Voldemort bid Regulus to watch, and Lucius insists upon being thorough despite Regulus arguing they ought not risk getting caught by aurors. Many of the others have gone already for this very reason. The Carrows are still around, though, ferreting out muggles who have tried to hide, and Regulus is certain he can hear Bella somewhere nearby, singing some made-up song off-key-he can't make out all the words, but it seems to feature blood and worms quite prominently. Regulus wonders if those remaining are the 'cleanup crew,' or simply unwilling to leave while there is still fun to be had.

They move further on down, and Regulus can't hear his cousin any longer, but he can hear something else, and it is far worse. Screaming, high and thin, tears through the air, and Regulus begins pulling Lucius along though he's absolutely certain he doesn't want to see. He can't tell if he's hurrying or if Lucius is lagging, trying to hold him back. He wishes Lucius had tried harder.

Greyback has appropriated an alcove that leads to the restrooms, is crouched on the floor-Regulus wonders if he is capable of standing erect, or if he likes the menace that hunching affords him. He isn't wearing a mask, and it's pretty obvious why: His mouth is ringed in blood; it clings to the unshaven scruff on his cheeks and stains his teeth. His hands are covered in it, too, and he lifts one in a gruesome wave Regulus doesn't even think about returning.

It's a little boy who is screaming, thrashing as Greyback holds him pinned to the floor with only the one hand. Regulus can see where the man's fingers disappear in the soft, wet red of the boy's belly. It's only a momentary distraction from the fact that Greyback is surrounded by children; they litter the floor around him-alive, despite the damage this man has done. Covered in blood, scratches, and bites, their bodies lie like limp, discarded ragdolls. Regulus stares at their chests, watching for the rise and fall of their breathing because he certainly can't hear it over the screams of the boy in Greyback's claws.

"Admiring my handiwork?"

Regulus presses closer to Lucius on pure instinct, but is stunned by how normal Greyback sounds. There are goosebumps on the back of his neck, but somehow his voice shakes only a little bit when he responds, and not with an answer to the man's question. "Why do you prefer children?" It's a terrible question, because Regulus has no idea what the answer might be.

Greyback grins, and it's clear he's worked that out, too. "Does it bother you, Mummy?" he purrs. "I could tell you it's because they scream so sweet, that it's more fun when they struggle with their weak little bodies. Would you believe that innocent blood tastes better?"

"How about the truth?" Lucius's voice is a surprise; Regulus wasn't expecting any support. "I can tell him, if you don't want to admit to your pragmatism."

"All of those things are true," Greyback insists, "but you're right, of course-there is a more practical reason. I am building a pack. Not only are young, undeveloped bodies more receptive to the change, but children are easier to train and mould." This, more than anything else he's seen, convinces Regulus he's looking at a monster, and he nods his understanding because he doesn't trust himself to speak.

He drops his eyes from Greyback's face, and that is when he notices. The blue-eyed girl lies to the left and slightly behind Greyback. Her ponytail is slick with blood and there is hair plastered to her face and neck, too. Her clothing is all shredded, and it looks like the flesh beneath is as well. She is breathing, shallowly, and she's conscious, but she pays no attention to Greyback, her attacker. Regulus doesn't think it's a coincidence that she's staring at him, focusing right into his eyes-his belly makes him conspicuous despite his mask. Guilt is an animal curled low in his stomach, and the babies shift a little and kick, maybe because of the way his heart speeds with adrenaline.

"I've seen enough," Regulus tells Lucius quietly.

"Your description didn't do him justice," Regulus muttered coldly. He forced his eyes up, glaring into Lucius's face, in an effort to divert his thoughts from blood-soaked hands. He didn't clarify whom he meant, but that didn't seem to be necessary in the face of Lucius's scowl.

"I didn't pretty him up for you, either," the man snapped. "The beast maims children. I should not have to describe every detail in order for you to understand how gruesome that is." He gave Regulus's hips a squeeze. "It is not your place to question."

Regulus gritted his teeth, bit back expletives, because Lucius was right, of course. He'd joined Lord Voldemort without knowing the man's methods, and now it was much too late to question them. But he couldn't help himself. This was viscerally wrong, and he hated Fenrir Greyback for making him wish he could run away like his brother had suggested.

"This isn't politics, what he's doing," Regulus ground out. "I thought this was about limiting the rights of mudbloods and halfbloods, about keeping the magic pure. How does a pack of muggle werewolves achieve that? Common sense dictates they should be exterminated, not proliferated. But what happens if the dark lord decides muggle werewolves aren't sufficient weapons? Probably he's already got Greyback infecting as many witches and wizards as he can, too. I understand it isn't near as effective when he's in human form, so he's got to attack more."

Slowly, Regulus sat forward, draped his arms over Lucius's shoulders in imitation of an embrace. He rested his forehead against Lucius's, and still the man stayed silent, waiting. And finally, Regulus allowed himself to address the heart of the matter. "What about our boys?" he all but hissed, in a soft, deadly voice. "If Voldemort can condone the maiming of muggle children, of wizards whose lineages Greyback probably doesn't check before mauling them… Where do you suppose he'll draw the line? Are you so certain there is any price too great for asking? Would you give him our boys if he demanded them, without question, no matter his purpose?"

Lucius made to back up, to pull away, and Regulus locked his arms though he shouldn't have been strong enough to keep the man still. But Lucius frowned and let himself be immobilized. "It is treacherous even to speak like this," he muttered, but his voice was not the condemnation it should have been.

"And yet you will answer the question." There may have been nowhere for Regulus to run, but he refused to stay with Lucius if he couldn't trust the man to make what seemed to him the instinctive choice. Given no other option, he even preferred the idea of returning to his parents.

The man was quiet so long that Regulus began mentally cataloguing his things, wondering if Kreacher had unpacked his school trunk yet. Their faces were still touching, and he startled when Lucius spoke. "My loyalty is to family first," he said, and that was even more shocking, because it exceeded Regulus's expectations by an order of magnitude. "I made a mistake when I told you that Lord Voldemort's wishes were the most important. Then, I hadn't yet seen you out to here," his hands slid up to envelop Regulus's belly. "I hadn't yet felt our sons kicking. I may not find Greyback's actions as objectionable as you do, but I will never let anything happen to our boys."

Heart racing but committed, Regulus leaned forward centimeters, brushed their mouths together in a dry, chaste kiss that was nothing like what his imagination had supplied him for their first. Lucius didn't exactly return it so much as move his lips a little, but in all fairness Regulus hadn't really expected him to, either. The boy swallowed thickly, and then whispered right up against Lucius's mouth, "You'd best not be lying to me."

"There was no benefit to admitting that," Lucius countered softly.

Regulus grinned radiantly, and then bit down reprovingly upon Lucius's lower lip. "Your husband might have decided he likes you. A little."

"What a relief," the man responded dryly, but his eyes were smirking. Regulus kissed him again, and this one was better. Lucius licked wetly into his mouth once, twice, before the man pulled away, and this time Regulus let him.

"You know I won't be able to follow him with both eyes shut, right? I don't think I ever could have, but now I know there's more to watch for, and I have responsibility for our sons, too. I have to think of what's best for them." The words felt strange in Regulus's mouth; he couldn't picture his own parents having anything resembling this conversation. Of course, if they had, Sirius might not have felt the need to run away, might not have been ostracized for getting sorted into Gryffindor, either. Personally, Regulus could think of a lot of things more vital than his sons' house at school.

Lucius pulled him carefully to his feet, rested hands on Regulus's lean shoulders. "It seems to me, you're talking about two different things," the man said, and if his tone was stern, it was, at least, not unkind. "The boys' safety, and yes, mine too, is dependent upon your actions. The dark lord's punishments range toward the indirect, if you take my meaning. You may not be able to follow him blindly, but you will still follow him, for all our sakes."

Regulus couldn't argue it, and hated that he couldn't. "I'll be careful," Regulus muttered.

"You'll do better than that. You'll focus upon your distaste for Greyback, so that the dark lord catches not even a hint of your distrust for him. If he ever sees cause to use legilimency on you again, I'm not sure even that will help." Lucius's tone was distinctly lacking in optimism, but just the fact that he was still in the room, making plans instead of turning Regulus over to the dark lord, was fairly reassuring in itself.

"And what will you do?" Regulus asked.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I am not as squeamish as you, nor do I find myself particularly bothered by Lord Voldemort's present methods. I don't care about anyone else's children, and as long as the dark lord's plans do not affect ours, I see no reason why I should act any differently than I have been. I may, in fact, be forced to take more brutal action in order to draw attention away from you. So I suppose the more appropriate question would be, 'What won't I do?'"

Regulus was struck with the mad impulse to kiss the man again, which was not the response he'd ever expected to have after he'd been told someone would kill and torture, essentially for his benefit. Not that he'd ever expected to be told someone would kill and torture people for his benefit, either. In the end, Regulus opted for a better choice. He reached up, draping his arms around Lucius's neck, and smiled a sleepy, flirtatious smile at his husband. "Take me to bed," he hummed, "so that I can demonstrate my appreciation."

~~~~~~~~~~

Everything hurt, and had for days. Regulus's ankles were puffy and swollen, and the skin and muscle of his belly were stretched and sore, distended for eight months' gestation. The rest of him had no reason to hurt, but ached anyway, either due to the strain of the magic that sustained his pregnancy, or maybe just in sympathy for the parts of him feeling the most pain. Unfortunately, any potion strong enough to numb what he was feeling was too risky to subject the babies to-he would be allowed something when the time actually came to have them, but until then, he would have to suffer.

For four days, he had been suffering, and barely able to sleep through it despite his growing exhaustion. The pain was a sign that his body was beginning to reject the pregnancy, that the babies had to come out. But the medi-wizard he'd spoken to at St. Mungo's had insisted they wait the full eight months, standard for male pregnancy, and didn't bother to elaborate what difference a few days would make.

But now, today, he was officially eight months pregnant and the people at St. Mungo's would have to take the babies out. Except now, Lucius wasn't home yet to take him. The man had inherited his father's position on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, something that strengthened his value in Voldemort's eyes, since the dark lord had been as yet unable to take the school. There had been some meeting that morning that Lucius had to attend, but he'd told Regulus he would be back around noon.

Regulus lay curled on his side because it was the only (relatively) comfortable position-lying on his back made him feel a little like he was suffocating, but mostly like he'd been transfigured into a beached whale, floundering to move. Not that he could move any more effectively on his side, but he felt less useless. "What time is it?" he whined, having learned a week ago not to attempt to roll over to see the clock for himself.

Rabastan was at his side in an instant, offering a damp cloth Regulus gratefully took and used to wipe the pain-sweat from his face. "It's a quarter past twelve. He should be back any time."

"But I want him back now," was Regulus's miserable and plaintive reply, and then he winced when the sound of his voice reached his ears. There would be time to threaten Rabastan for silence later, though, and he had no doubt he'd be sounding more pathetic before this ordeal was finished. "Can I have some water?" he asked, and that came out a little stronger.

He would have preferred Kreacher, or any of the other house elves, to be the one who handed him the glass (equipped with a bendy straw, so he didn't have to sit up). He didn't like his best friend acting like a servant when there were plenty around, probably feeling guilty they didn't have more work to do, in fact. But he'd been confined to bed rest for almost two weeks now, well before the pain had become debilitating, and during that time he could count only hours total that he'd been left alone.

He supposed if he hadn't complained about the bed rest to Rabastan in the first place, the other boy wouldn't have come to the manor to entertain him. And then Lucius, when he came home that evening, wouldn't have found Rabastan keeping Regulus company and decided Rabastan was a better option than a house elf for taking care of his pregnant husband. And Rabastan had actually gone along with it, which had shocked the hell out of Regulus. If Lucius was at work, then Rabastan was at the manor, trying to fluff Regulus's pillows or some such-Rabastan was worse than a house elf, honestly, because he hadn't the first clue how to take care of anyone. Shockingly enough, even Walburga-a wealth of unasked-for advice-had said a house elf would make a more than adequate nursemaid for him, but Lucius (and Rabastan, whose opinion should not have counted) had not been satisfied with that.

The babies shifted, kicking and squirming, and that didn't help anything-they'd been growing progressively more active. Regulus gritted his teeth and curled into a tight fetal position, arms wrapped around his bulge, as if that could be any help at all. It wasn't. He moaned when it became clear they weren't simply turning in their sleep. "Please stop," Regulus whispered, rubbing his belly lightly despite its soreness. "You're coming out today, okay? Then you can move around all you want, I swear. Do you understand? You're coming out today." Every kick was fresh agony on top of an already wracking pain; it felt like they were trying to split open his tautly drawn skin.

He wasn't sure how long it went on; he swam in and out of consciousness, blackness and swirling colours, red pain dominating the misty shadows, but the next thing Regulus was fully aware of was a cool hand, fingers combing through his sweat-soaked hair. "Are you ready to go?" Lucius asked, and was that apology in his voice? How late was he?

"I thought you'd never get here," Regulus croaked, hoarse and nearly unintelligible. Maybe it was an exaggeration, but guilt was such a rare thing to see on Lucius Malfoy's face that he felt compelled to milk it for all it was worth. However, it wasn't difficult to make himself sound pitiful, either. "Can we go now?" Rabastan stood behind Lucius's left shoulder, holding Regulus's abandoned water glass as if he hadn't quite known what to do with himself. But now the other boy caught Regulus's eye, gave him a knowing grin, and Regulus flushed at being caught attempting to manipulate his husband.

And, for once, Lucius appeared blissfully oblivious. "We're going," the man rumbled, bending over Regulus, freeing him from blankets and sheets. "You're going to have to get on your feet, though. I can't apparate you like this." It was nothing Regulus wasn't used to: someone was constantly having to help him out of bed so he could use the loo-the boys were sitting right on his bladder. However, this was the first time they'd wreaked havoc on Regulus's body just before he was expected to move. He whimpered as he was manoeuvred to his feet, and that was even with Lucius and Rabastan both taking as much of his weight as they could-after he'd reached fourteen stone he'd stopped weighing himself, so he wasn't sure exactly how much weight that actually was.

Regulus wobbled on his feet, not because he felt weak, but because his ankles were so sore. He had one arm wrapped firmly around Lucius as he leaned heavily against the man, and the other supported his burgeoning belly. His husband was all business and didn't make him stand there long once he was on his feet, either. "Rabastan, if you want to come, you'll have to floo; I'm not risking two side-alongs." And Lucius didn't wait for an answer before he apparated them into the waiting room at St. Mungo's-unfortunately the only room one could apparate into there.

Lucius immediately raised his voice, issuing orders, and it was better magic than Regulus had ever conjured with a wand. The boy was levitated onto a gurney that also levitated, and was then transported directly into the delivery ward, into a private room. His pain wasn't any different, but the relief was still immense, knowing someone was going to finally do something.

After that, everything began to happen very quickly indeed. Regulus was taken out of his bedclothes and put into a hospital gown, which, only a few minutes later a nurse lifted in order to vanish all the hair from his lower abdomen, with no compunction whatsoever. At some point during these proceedings, Rabastan arrived, and though the other boy was essentially useless in the greater scheme of things, his presence was welcome nonetheless.

The nurse ducked out to retrieve a potion that would mitigate Regulus's pain when they opened him up, and temporarily left Regulus, Lucius, and Rabastan alone in the room. "Has anyone contacted my parents?" Regulus asked. It was a calculated and somewhat cowardly move, because not only did he know they hadn't, but also he'd had four days during which he could have owled his parents himself to let them know the exact date when he'd be having the babies, and he hadn't.

Regulus told himself he couldn't be blamed for that, really. Ever since he'd come home for summer, his mother had been popping over to the manor unexpectedly, ringing out advice in sanctimonious tones. No sympathy, however; her pregnancies had of course been far more trying than Regulus's. Regulus tolerated her presence because he had to, because it was too ingrained for him to submit to his mother's orders and advice, but Lucius had made a point to ignore any advice she tried to give him. And when Rabastan and Lucius had both disregarded her opinion that Regulus needed only a house elf to take care of him, it had been the final straw. They hadn't seen Walburga Black for two weeks, and aside from the excruciating pain of Regulus's body rebelling, it had been an absolute dream.

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Since you've already seen fit to wait this long to tell them, we're going to wait until after the boys have been born. Fewer people in the room, and perhaps a little less stress."

"Less stress now," Regulus corrected with a weak grin. "More stress later." He reached out for Lucius's hand, and after only a beat of hesitation, the man gave it. "My mother is going to be furious," he sing-songed softly, but with the pain wracking his body and the thought of the two boys who wanted out of it, he couldn't find enough focus to care how put-out his mother would be. It wasn't as if she could actually do anything about it, and Lucius had said as much.

Rabastan took a seat in one of the chairs next to Regulus's bed, and lounged in it-Regulus might have resented his friend a little for looking so damned comfortable, too. "So, explain to me how this is going to work." Rabastan waved a hand, and it seemed to encompass the whole room.

Regulus's brow furrowed. "What, the birth?"

"They cut him open, take out the babies, and heal him up," Lucius supplied abruptly, and it was not at all helpful because Regulus was almost immediately furnished with an image of himself gutted, which then made him think of Greyback and the child-werewolves, and he absolutely could not afford to throw up right now, not when his whole body was one enormous ache.

"No, not that-it's pretty straightforward, yeah? I'm curious what happens after. I mean, one's a Black and one's a Malfoy, right? How do you decide, them being twins and all, and have you picked names?" Rabastan waggled his brows at Regulus. "Will you breastfeed?"

Despite the discomfort it caused him, Regulus seized one of the pillows supporting his back, tugged it out from behind him, and smashed it into Rabastan's face. It barely muffled the other boy's laughter, and even Lucius was smiling-though he also still had a firm grip on Regulus's other hand. "No, I'm not breastfeeding," Regulus snorted.

"The contract between our families stipulates that the firstborn will be my heir," Lucius added, answering Rabastan's real questions, "and the second will be Regulus's. We each name our own heir, but Walburga insisted that they both be named in the tradition of the Blacks."

"There's a tradition for that?" Rabastan asked, glancing at Regulus, and Lucius raised an eyebrow at him too, though he'd already explained this to his husband.

"The names are taken from stars and constellations," Regulus mumbled, flushing.

"Not presumptuous at all, that," Rabastan laughed, and Regulus tried to hit him with the pillow a second time. "'Walburga' is a star?" he added, pulling a face.

"I don't know," Regulus sulked. "I'm not sure Narcissa is, either, but all the men in my family are named this way. I probably would have done it even if my mother hadn't included it in the marriage contract." He was actually a little surprised these questions hadn't come up before, in between every other-usually uncomfortable-thing Rabastan had asked him. He much preferred talking about the babies rather than discussing sex-Regulus knew his friend didn't have the expertise he claimed to, but wouldn't Rodolphus have been a better choice for vicarious experience? Regulus looked his friend over with new eyes; it had never even occurred to him his best friend might be bent.

His epiphany was interrupted by the nurse, returning with a gobletful of something Regulus later classified as "liquid joy" even though it had tasted strongly of bitter willow bark and poppy juice, and they didn't give him near as much of it as he would have liked. It numbed everything. The large-scale ache of his body vanished, though the soreness of his abdomen persisted because it was so much more severe than his other pain. Regulus wished they could have knocked him unconscious for this, because if he could still feel pain, he was definitely going to feel it when they began cutting into him. When he asked, the medi-wizard-who'd entered the room at some point while Regulus had been preoccupied with the "liquid joy"-gave him an explanation that sounded very medical and probably would have made more sense if he'd heard it before drinking the potion.

A second nurse came in, and the two of them were suddenly all business, positioning him at a slight recline so that he could just barely see the room over the mound of his belly, and hiking up his gown to his chest. Regulus was fine with it all, until the medi-wizard picked up the knife. Smaller than a table knife-a scalpel, it was called. Apparently muggles wielded them like they were going out of style, but non-standard births were one of the few procedures for which a wizard would actually have need of one-most magical healing could be done either through potions or via spells that worked on the body without opening it up.

He must have whimpered, because Lucius gave his hand a squeeze and swam into his line of vision, blocking most of his view of what was going on at his abdomen. Rabastan came in on his other side, and with both of them that close, it was impossible to miss the frown lines between Lucius's brow, directed at Rabastan while the other boy was focused on Regulus. Even through the numb haze of the potion, Regulus had to roll his eyes, squeezing Lucius's hand back, harder, to make the man look at him. Before he could see if it worked, he hissed and closed his eyes as the first line of fire cut through his painkiller and across his lower abdomen. The second slice was worse, deeper, and he gritted his teeth around the cry that threatened to escape.

The medi-wizard and the nurses were talking, probably describing what they were doing. Regulus didn't need to hear it-he knew what they were doing: killing him slowly and painfully. "Hurry up," he chanted under his breath, in lieu of screaming or sobbing. "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up." He could feel the warmth of his blood trickling down his hips, and it was not comforting.

Regulus opened his eyes, wet with tears, when he felt his insides being shifted-not painful, but distinctly uncomfortable. Rabastan was turned away, watching what the medi-wizard was doing, but Lucius was right there with him, staring into Regulus's face, and it was enough to make the boy's heart leap despite the pain. And then there was a third cut, inside, and Regulus did scream this time, but there was a smooth, cool hand swiping damp hair back from his brow, too.

A different cry, high and shrill, echoed Regulus's, and it pierced him right down deep, made his heart race. He squirmed, despite how it pulled at the raw wound of his abdomen, trying to crane his neck so he could get a look down his body at the tiny, squalling thing that had just been taken out of him. It didn't bother him that Lucius had turned to look, too, but it did bother him that the man could see when he couldn't.

The second baby's wails joined his brother's moments later, his lungs just as strong, and Regulus knew the greater relief could be attributed to both boys sounding so healthy, though it was also nice to feel the medi-wizard beginning to knit together his flesh. The pain receded completely, as what lingered could easily be managed by the potion he'd taken.

"What's going on?" Regulus asked once the medi-wizard was finished, and he still hadn't seen his sons. "What are you doing?" He tugged Rabastan back, out of his way so he could see the nurses, each of them fussing over one of his boys. Lucius hovered beside him, motion suspended. Regulus could tell he wanted to go over and watch what the nurses were doing, but Regulus still had his hand and wasn't letting go. It wouldn't be fair, after he'd gone through so much, for Lucius to be the first to see them.

"They're cleaning up your babies and taking measurements," the medi-wizard replied, moving over to supervise. "Recording their vital statistics and checking basic health. Since they're twins, it's important to have all this noted down before you hold them, in case order of birth is significant; it usually is in cases of male pregnancy."

Regulus didn't care which was which and who was born first: They were both his and he wanted to hold them. "Give me my sons," he said, slowly and clearly, "before I get out of this bed and take them from you." There was a flurry of action from the nurses, but it still took too long, by Regulus's estimation, before he was handed a bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

"This is your firstborn," the nurse told him as she showed him how to support the neck and head, gently repositioning his arms. Lucius had been handed the other infant, swaddled in white, and the man perched on the edge of the bed facing Regulus, so they both could see.

The babies had gone quiet, now, maybe because they'd been wrapped in blankets and the nurses were done manhandling them. Regulus's babies were not the round, fat babies he was used to seeing in pictures; the ritual magic ensured they would be born strong, but they were still a month premature and thus small-the magic sacrificed weight gain for full organ development.

Regulus stared down at the baby he held, brushed a fingertip lightly along the infant's cheek, and was stunned to breathlessness at how very soft and fragile he felt. Then Regulus glanced up at Lucius, and found his husband looking just as ensnared as he felt. Even Rabastan looked a little gobsmacked and ridiculous: eyes wide, mouth an "o". Regulus pushed the blanket down, angled the baby he held so Lucius would be able to see better. "What's his name, Lucius?"

The man raised his eyes, and Regulus was so shocked by how mild and gentle Lucius's expression was, he thought his heart might actually have stopped. "Draco," Lucius replied, and Regulus wished he could have a photograph of that moment, because he didn't think he'd ever again catch the man looking so unguarded.

"What about this one?" And Lucius pulled blankets aside to fully reveal their secondborn, as if it would make any difference. It did, but not with the name.

It solidified for Regulus that they had two boys. It doubled (at least) the significance of everything-every decision and every action he could possibly make. "His name is Corvus," Regulus whispered, dry-mouthed, as he tried not to regret his life up to that moment. After all, if he hadn't been so hell-bent on joining Lord Voldemort's death eaters, he wouldn't even have these little boys to worry about, and he loved them so much already that not having them was scarcely an option. He brushed his fingers reverently through the fine ash-blonde hair on Draco's head. It was dark, but with no brown at all in the colour-he'd been expecting black like his own hair, but there were blondes in his family too, he supposed. And he couldn't exactly doubt they were his, after all.

The medi-wizard interrupted then, stepping up beside Lucius next to the bed. "It would probably be for the best if you got some rest, Regulus; I'm sure you haven't gotten much sleep in the past few days. We'll be keeping you and the babies overnight for observation-standard procedure."

The medi-wizard looked expectant, and the nurses did, too, and Regulus realized, "get some rest," also included, "hand us your babies," and he wasn't ready for that yet, even if he was feeling tired. "Actually, it would be for the best if my parents were informed, first. I know they'll want to see the boys directly." Regulus gave the medi-wizard his most innocent and unassuming smile. "Could you do that for me? Their names should be in my chart."

It was an unkind thing, to let a complete stranger be the one to tell Walburga Black her grandsons had been born. And, Regulus supposed, he wasn't being very nice to his mother, either. He snuggled Draco closer, determined to make the most of his quiet time before his mother showed up-he knew it wouldn't take her long, and then he'd pay for not telling her to meet them at St. Mungo's beforehand. And maybe it was okay to let Rabastan hold Draco, but only because Lucius immediately handed Corvus to Regulus, and then proceeded to watch the other boy like a hawk.

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