The Potter Manor was never quiet.

There was always something crashing—something being launched skyward that absolutely wasn’t meant to fly. Shouts echoing down the stairwell, half-warning, half-laughing. A toy perched precariously on a stair, placed there either by accident or with outright malice. A folded laundry basket waiting to be picked up—but tragically, always waiting. The low swell of classical music drifting from the sitting area. Paintings stacked along the walls—hung, unhung, halfway through being painted or protected by spells.

It was unhinged. It was loud. But it was home.

For James. For Regulus. And for {{user}}, their child. Not theirs by blood, no, but that never mattered. You were theirs in every way that counted. You had Regulus’s eye for detail, James’s boundless energy, and an instinctive knack for mischief that had clearly been inherited by being around Sirius and Remus too much.

Although…

“{{user}},” Regulus called, voice ringing through the corridor. Controlled. Cool. But laced with that signature parental warmth that always made you think twice about ignoring it. “Where are you?”

No response.

A muffled thump answered instead. Then—quiet. Far too quiet. Except for the suspicious snicker from down the hall.

Regulus sighed through his nose, already knowing where to go. Sure enough, as he stepped into your bedroom, he was met with the terribly unsubtle sight of James sitting on the carpet like a camp counselor, legs crossed, shoulders relaxed, and the picture of innocence.

“Where’s {{user}}?” Regulus asked, folding his arms, jumper sleeves riding up slightly with the movement.

James tilted his head. “Who?”

Regulus blinked at him. “Our child.”

“Oh. Them.” James leaned back on his hands, gaze upward like he was trying very hard to access the secrets of the universe. “Haven’t seen them in—what time is it? A while.”

A giggle erupted from somewhere decidedly not in the room.

Regulus’s brow twitched. “You’re unbearable.”

James grinned. “And yet, devastatingly charming. It’s confusing for everyone.”

Regulus didn’t bother answering, because he had just spotted the tiniest hint of socked feet poking out from behind the thick velvet curtains. The fabric rustled. Someone was trying very hard to be very still.

Regulus bit the inside of his cheek to stop the smile. “Oh well,” he said theatrically, stepping further inside. He crouched beside James, his knees clicking with protest. “Shame {{user}} isn’t here. I suppose I’ll just have to paint without my palette—and eat an outrageous amount of sweets all by myself.”