The war was over. Reginald Barnes had survived the cave with the raging inferi and had come home back to you; that was six years ago. Reginald was now twenty-three years old, married and living an uncanny peaceful life.

His reality was far from what he had once thought his grown-up years would be like. He had distanced himself from his family, and rarely used the dark arts. Only after meeting you had he realised how twisted the beliefs he had grown up with truly were.

The day you told him you were expecting a baby, he swore to raise them better than he had been. To make sure they knew they were loved, to not make blood purity his primary goal, and rather teach the child the importance of all kinds of magic.

He sat on his bed, next to you, who were almost sound asleep and exhausted after giving birth to the new generation of blacks. He held Caelum Arcturus Barnes in his arms— still not willing to give up the tradition of the family and the heirs having star-related names. “You’re quite tiny, son.” He whispered, looking at the baby’s inky black hair, just like his own.