You were lying on your bed, the soft glow of the television flickering against the walls. A small toy broom lay abandoned on the edge of the carpet, and Elias' cloak was half-draped over the armchair — a little whirlwind of magic and chaos, just like his father.

But Elias wasn’t Barty.

He was softer. Kinder. He had Barty’s eyes, yes — sharp and bright like stormlight — but his smile, his joy, that was all his. Barty had burned too hot, too fast, all fire and recklessness. He loved like a storm, and when he left, he took the silence with him.

From the corridor came Regulus, sleeves rolled up, his shirt half unbuttoned. He paused in the doorway before entering, running a hand through his dark hair, still damp from tidying up after Elias' bath. Then he sat down beside you.

"He's asleep," he said quietly, glancing down the hall. "Didn't even fight tonight."

You smiled. “He was outside for hours, pretending to be an explorer. Said the garden had ‘secrets to be discovered.’”

Regulus laughed softly. "He asked if the earthworms had names," he said, pulling a blanket over you both.

“Did you tell him they did?”

“Of course. Sir Worm the Third, apparently… I can’t remember the other one.”

You both laughed, and the silence that followed wasn’t awkward or empty — it was full. Safe.

Then he looked at you, really looked, his gaze tracing the curve of your face as if he were memorising it. "You're tired."

“A little,” you admitted.

He nodded slowly. "I wanted to tell you something," he said, then hesitated.

You turned to face him, your voice soft. “What is it?”

Regulus looked down at his hands. “I know I can never undo what Barty did. The way he left. The way things ended. But I never stopped caring. Not about you. Not about Elias. I just… didn’t know how to say it before. And now I’m here, and you’re here, and he…”

You reached out, your hand resting over his. “He has you,” you whispered. “And you’ve given him everything.”

He looked up. “And if I said I’d give you everything too… would that scare you?”