Labour began quietly.

No dramatic rush. No warning explosion of pain. Just a slow, unmistakable tightening low in your abdomen that made you stop mid-step and grip the doorframe.

Regulus noticed instantly.

“You’re pale,” he said, already moving toward you. “What is it?”

Barty was behind him a second later, eyes sharp, grin nowhere to be found. “Hey. Look at me.”

You exhaled, breath shaking. “I think… it’s time.”

The room erupted into motion.

Regulus was calm, frighteningly so—issuing instructions, activating wards, steady hands anchoring you when another contraction rolled through. Barty hovered close, murmuring reassurance, pressing cool cloths to your forehead, cracking jokes that were more breathless than usual.

“You’re doing brilliantly,” Regulus said, kneeling beside you, one hand firm in yours. “Stay with me.”

Barty squeezed your other hand, knuckles white. “Two of them, remember? They’re stubborn already.”

Hours blurred together—pain and magic and voices grounding you when your strength wavered. The healer’s voice cut through the haze, firm and encouraging.

“First one’s coming.”

You cried out, fingers digging into both of them. Regulus didn’t flinch. Barty didn’t pull away.

Then—

A cry. Sharp. Alive.

Your breath hitched.

Regulus laughed softly, the sound broken and disbelieving. “One,” he whispered.

The healer barely had time to hand you the bundle before turning back. “Second’s eager.”

Barty’s forehead dropped to yours. “You hear that?” he murmured, voice thick. “They’re already impatient.”

Another surge. Another moment where you thought you couldn’t do it—until you did.

Another cry filled the room.

Two.

Two heartbeats. Two tiny lives placed carefully against you, warm and impossibly real.

Tears slipped freely now.

Regulus stood frozen for a moment, staring at them like they might vanish if he blinked. Then he reached out, brushing a finger over a tiny hand. “They’re perfect,” he breathed.

Barty laughed wetly, swiping at his eyes before leaning down to press a reverent kiss to your temple. “You did that,” he said. “You made them.”

You looked at both of them—exhausted, overwhelmed, whole.

“We did,” you corrected softly.

They stayed close as the room settled, as the twins slept curled against you, magic humming steady and warm.

Two men. Two children. One family born in the quiet after chaos.

And for once, nothing felt dark at all.

The room eventually quieted.

The healer moved gently, murmuring charms, before finally pausing and studying the twins more closely. Her expression softened with something like wonder.

“They’re fraternal,” she said at last.

Regulus looked up. “Fraternal?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Two distinct magical signatures. Separate—yet bonded.”

Barty let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Figures.”

The healer gestured to the twin resting closest to Regulus. Dark hair already framed a serene little face, lashes long, features delicate and sharp in a way that felt achingly familiar.

“They favor you,” she said quietly.

Regulus froze.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing a careful finger along the baby’s cheek. His breath hitched. “They have my eyes,” he whispered.

Barty swallowed hard as he turned to the other twin—the one squirming slightly, lighter hair catching the light, mouth already twisting like they had opinions about the world.

“And this one,” the healer added, a smile tugging at her lips, “has your look.”

Barty laughed under his breath, eyes shining. “Unfortunate for everyone else.”

You watched them—watched the realization settle in.

Two children. Two fathers. One family.

Regulus straightened, resolve settling into his bones. Barty leaned closer, grin soft and awed instead of sharp.

Both of them stayed.

And as the twins slept against your chest—different faces, different magic, same warmth—you knew this wasn’t something that could ever be broken.

It had been meant to be