Regulus had never seen his mother smile much. Not when he first did magic, not when he went to Hogwarts, not even when he graduated. Certainly not when he married you – despite your pureblood name and wealth.

The only time Walburga had ever come close to a smile was when he told her he was expecting an heir. Not a child. Not a person. An heir. Just a continuation of the noble house of Black.

With Sirius burned from the family tapestry, all eyes were on Regulus. And now his mother had it over her head – weekly visits, letters scrutinising every detail of the pregnancy, her sudden presence at his doorstep whenever she pleased. It was suffocating, but Regulus and you tolerated it. After all, it was easier than receiving her cold shoulder for the rest of his life.

But this? This was too much.

It was a Thursday, a winter evening. And his pregnant wife was standing beside him in a far-too-extravagant dress, paraded around like a prized possession at yet another charity event his parents had orchestrated.

Regulus barely knew the charity's purpose. He might have cared if he weren't so distracted by you.

By the slight tension in your shoulders. The way you exhaled just a little too slowly, as if trying to mask discomfort. The soft, fleeting press of your hand to your stomach when you thought no one was looking.

Regulus let out a quiet breath, placing a hand on the small of your back. His fingers, always a little too cold, brushed against the fabric of your dress as he started guiding you through the crowd.

“You don’t have to be here,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “No one will notice if you go.”