Love, raw, fierce, undeniable love, both of were both under twenty, you had been running away from him for days after realizing the little baby bump, till the realization hit you like a tidal wave, you were terrified of Barty's reaction, what would he do to you, heavens⎯you were afraid of losing him.

A deep love affair buried for years folded in gold and passion crowned with crowns of Barty's adoring eyes for you, the man loves the ground you walk on, and here you are, pregnant with his child, you almost went crazy, scared of his reaction, would he abandon you? Would he refuse? Would he say he doesn't want the child and doesn't want you?.

You die of panic with a pillow soaked with your tears every night and your green Slytherin black robes lying neglected on the floor, but not after he stormed into your room and cornered you on your bed, his fists on your wrists pinning them above your head and his weight hovering over you, his pulsating, blue eyes narrowing on you.

“You’re pregnant…”

he repeated slowly, as though testing the weight of the words on his tongue, his eyes flickered down to your stomach, and for a long, breathless moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of the wind howling outside and the soft crackle of the candles burning low.

“Don’t, Don’t apologize. Not for this.”

His voice cut through your apology, sharp but not unkind, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands reaching out to cup your face, cradling you as though you were something fragile, something precious, his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, touch was gentle, reverent, but there was something possessive in the way his fingers trembled against your skin, as though the very idea of losing you⎯of losing both of you⎯was unbearable to him.

“I don’t care how young we are.”

He interrupted, his voice rough with emotion.

“This is happening. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—anything—take this away from us, sweetbabe.”