Hadrian!" Lina's voice sounded alarmed as she swooped past him. "What's going on? You're off your game."
"I'm fine," he repeated, the words grating even to his own ears. His pride stung, and he couldn't shake the growing sense of wrongness. When the Snitch reappeared, darting near the far side of the pitch, he gritted his teeth and surged forward. But the effort left him winded, his vision dimming at the edges.
"I can't do this," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind.
The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but there was no denying the truth. For the first time, Hadrian Rosier pulled back. He slowed his broom and descended, ignoring the startled calls of his teammates.
When his feet touched the ground, the world tilted slightly, and he had to steady himself against his broom. He braced for anger, mockery, perhaps even disappointment from his cousins. Instead, they landed around him, their expressions filled with concern.
"Hadrian, what's wrong?" Lina demanded. Her earlier smirk had disappeared entirely, replaced by a frown. "You've never backed out before."
"It's nothing," Hadrian insisted, avoiding her gaze. "Probably the weather."
Felix snorted. "It's not the weather. You look like you're about to kneel over."
"Leave it, Felix," Hadrian snapped, sharper than he intended. "I'm fine."
The perfect morning had soured into a bitter disappointment by the time Hadrian trudged back to the castle, the German Branch residence, where he was staying during his visit. His cousins had been unnervingly quiet as they watched him leave the pitch, their usual banter replaced with awkward murmurs. For months, they had idolised his skill, showcasing him at every opportunity. To falter now—to retreat—was nothing short of humiliating.
The path leading up to the castle's grand entrance felt longer than usual. His legs dragged with each step, and the lingering dizziness made the world tilt slightly if he moved too quickly. He straightened his posture when he saw Amalia near the flower patch. Her dark green robes swished elegantly as she stepped forward, clearly concerned.
"Hadrian," she greeted, her voice soft as usual. "What happened out there? Where's the other?"
"It's nothing," he said quickly, brushing past her. The last thing he needed was to be interrogated by his uncle Nathan's ever-observant wife and sort of his mother figure here. "I was just tired. The match took more out of me than expected."
Amalia's eyes narrowed slightly. She wasn't one to let things slide easily. "Tired enough to leave mid-game? That doesn't sound like you."
Hadrian paused, his hand resting on the cool bannister of the staircase. "Maybe it's the weather," he replied flatly. "Or the Floo. Who knows? I'm fine, Amalia. Really."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "If you say so," she said, her tone carrying just a hint of doubt. "But if you need anything, you know where to find me."
He nodded curtly, grateful she didn't press further. Amalia's concern, while genuine, had a way of feeling suffocating, especially now when all he wanted was solitude. He climbed the staircase slowly, the grandeur of the castle's architecture blurring in his peripheral vision. His thoughts churned, bitter, and restless.
Hadrian's room, tucked into one of the castle's quieter wings, welcomed him with its understated luxury, in a true Rosier's style. Deep green drapes, dark wooden furniture, and a fire already crackling softly in the hearth. He shut the door firmly behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he exhaled heavily.
What's wrong with me?
The question lingered as he crossed the room, shedding his robes carelessly onto a chair. His own body felt foreign. His abysmal performance earlier added to his growing frustration. Hadrian Rosier had never voluntarily backed down from a match before, not even at Hogwarts, not with the Rosiers, not ever. He hated this. He hated this feeling of incompetence.
He collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even remove his boots. His body sank into the plush mattress, but his mind refused to settle. The memory of Lina's voice, cutting through the wind with uncharacteristic concern, looped endlessly in his mind. He had spent months earning their respect, proving he was more than just the son of their disgraced aunt. And now? One match, one mistake, and he could feel their judgement returning.
The bitterness curled in his chest, hot and insistent. It wasn't just about the game. It was about what it represented. Quidditch was his refuge, his escape, the one thing in this convoluted, politically charged world where he felt entirely in control. To falter there, in his sanctuary, made the sting all the worse.
Hadrian turned onto his side, staring blankly at the flickering firelight on the wall. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavier, and despite his racing thoughts, exhaustion claimed him swiftly. Tomorrow, he whispered to himself. Tomorrow, he would shake this off, return to the pitch, and prove that today was just a fluke.
This time, Lady Magic wasn't on his side. He tried—Merlin, he tried— getting on the broom. But after a few disastrous attempts, Hadrian finally conceded defeat. He wasn't improving. No matter what he did, every attempt to shake it off: extra rest, potions, even forcing down food like a maniac, all failed. He hated feeling weak. Worse, he hated the humiliation of being benched for the remainder of his visit.
The news had spread quickly among his cousins. Felix, tactless as he was, had loudly announced, "Hadrian's sitting out for the rest of the visit. He doesn't feel well," during their afternoon tea. Hadrian had flushed red with embarrassment, bracing himself for the inevitable ridicule. After all, this was the same group who had once called him the "runaway Rosier's runt" before grudgingly accepting him. Surely, his failure to hold his own on the pitch would reignite their judgement.
Instead, the response was... unexpected. They all looked at him with quiet concern as Hadrian excused himself, muttering apologies. Just watching him, no sneer nor pointed remark yet.
In the evening, someone knocked on his door. Hadrian, lounging in his room with a book he wasn't really reading, looked up as Lina poked her head in. She was balancing a tray laden with steaming bowls, bread rolls, and a small bottle of what looked suspiciously like one of her mother's infamous "restorative brews".
"I thought you might be hungry," she said, setting the tray down on his desk without waiting for an invitation. "You missed dinner."
"I wasn't hungry," Hadrian replied, eyeing the brew with a mix of suspicion and dread. It had a faintly greenish tinge, and he swore it was bubbling.
"Yeah, well, you should eat anyway," Lina retorted. "And drink this. It'll help."
"Help me into an early grave, maybe."
She smirked. "It's not that bad. Probably."
To his surprise, she didn't press him further. After a few minutes of sitting quietly in his armchair, nibbling reluctantly at the bread rolls, she excused herself with a cheerful, "Rest up, Seeker. We'll have you back in the air in no time."
Hadrian snorted but said nothing. Once she was gone, he glanced at the tray again, his irritation softening into something akin to gratitude.
The visits quickly became a routine. Felix and Milo dropped by the next day, bearing an assortment of fruits and chocolates alongside a stack of Quidditch magazines.
"You've got to keep up with the plays," Felix declared, tossing a magazine onto the bed. "Can't have you getting rusty."
Hadrian rolled his eyes, biting back the urge to snap at them to leave him alone. But he couldn't deny the warmth that crept into his chest when Milo offered him a quiet, "Get well soon, mate," before leaving.
Amalia also made an appearance, bringing with her some basic, more practical healing tonics and a stern lecture about taking care of himself. "You're allowed to rest, you know," she said, her gaze softening in a way that made him feel like a scolded child.
By the third day, Hadrian's room had turned into something of a miniature sanctuary. His desk was piled high with treats, remedies, and magazines. Felix had even left behind a stack of Quidditch strategy diagrams, which Hadrian couldn't decide whether to appreciate or resent.
The gestures warmed him, even as they bruised his ego. It was difficult to reconcile his cousins' genuine care with the sharp-edged first impressions he'd once held of them. They weren't mocking him, as he'd feared. If anything, their concern felt almost... familial.
Hadrian frowned at the thought, his chest tightening. It was unfamiliar, this sense of being looked after, and he didn't quite know what to do with it.
By the end of the week, he finally relented to their care. Lina brought more of her strange brews, which he choked down with a grimace, and had a surprisingly soothing effect. Milo spent an hour teaching him a complex ancient runes variation that made his head spin. Felix, to Hadrian's surprise, had commandeered a house-elf to deliver the latest results from the British Quidditch League, complete with commentary.
A few days later, he went back to Britain feeling both relieved yet frustrated at the same time. The Floo Network abruptly deposited him into the parlour of Rosier Manor in Britain, but instead of brushing soot off his robes and stepping gracefully into the room as he usually managed, he stumbled forward, his stomach lurching violently. For a moment, he stood still, gripping the arm of a nearby chair to steady himself.
"Bloody Floo," he grumbled, willing the nausea to subside. He had half a mind to ask the house-elves if the network needed recalibrating. Surely, that explained his dizziness.
Lady Rosier bustled into the room, her sharp eyes instantly assessing him. "Hadrian, darling, you look pale. Are you unwell?"
"I'm fine," he replied quickly, waving her off. "Just the Floo. And a long visit, Grandmother."
She raised her elegant eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Very well. Dinner will be served shortly. Do freshen up, dear."
Hadrian nodded and made his way to his quarters. His reflection in the mirror didn't inspire confidence; dark circles framed his now dulled green eyes, and his usually messy hair looked more unruly than ever. He splashed water on his face and took a thorough bath. It was that strangeness again. The temperature made him flinch, as if his body had decided to turn its sensitivity to the highest setting, and every touch of the bath scrub made his skin feel like burning. But he must go on. Hadrian forced himself to dress for the evening's dinner and looking at least presentable, ignoring how even the robe felt more stifling than usual.
He needed to muster all his strength to go down to the dining room. It was, as usual, a spectacle of noble grandeur. Long candlesticks flickered along the edges of the richly adorned table, their soft glow reflecting off polished silverware and crystal goblets. The heady aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and elaborate sauces filled the air, the family mingling with soft and familiar conversations.
Hadrian slid into his seat quietly, nodding politely at his distant relatives as the first course was served. The sight of the food—the rich broth glistening in the fine porcelain bowl before him—made his stomach churn unpleasantly. He forced himself to pick up his spoon, hoping the first sip would settle his queasiness.
It didn't.
Every flavour, no matter how delicate or refined, felt overwhelming. He took another small sip, his throat tightening as his stomach threatened to revolt. He forced the spoon down, carefully placing it back onto the edge of the plate as he reached for his water goblet. The cold liquid soothed him briefly, though the nausea still lingered.
"Not hungry tonight?" Nathan's voice drifted to him, curious.
Hadrian offered a faint smile. "Just the Floo travel catching up with me," he replied smoothly. "And perhaps a touch of whatever had me under the weather in Germany."
His eyes lingered on him a moment longer before he asked, "Are you really? Do I need to call the healer? Amalia told me you've been feeling unfell for a while now."
Hadrian immediately shook his head, forcing down a bite enoguh to avoid suspicion. Nathan just raised his eyebrow before nodding and returning to his conversation with another guest. Hadrian resumed his performance of casual indifference, drinking as much water to douse down the taste. The effort left him lightheaded, his temples throbbing faintly by the time the final plates were cleared.
He excused himself the moment it was polite to do so, making his way back to his room with measured steps. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he sagged against it, his breath escaping in a ragged exhale. The tight grip he'd held on his composure cracked, and within moments, he was stumbling towards the adjoining bathroom, his hand clamping over his mouth as his stomach heaved violently.
The meal came back up in a wave, leaving him gasping and trembling as he clutched the edge of the sink. The bitter aftertaste burned his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His mind raced, grasping for an explanation.
Had someone tampered with his drink or food again? The thought clawed at him, dredging up memories of the aphrodisiac-laced tea. It had been months since that incident, he had killed Bogdan, but it still left him with paranoia.
Hadrian staggered back, leaning heavily against the wall. He forced himself to breathe deeply, the sour tang in his mouth doing little to calm his swirling thoughts. His fingers brushed his wand where it rested in his robe pocket, the familiar weight grounding him.
He didn't want to believe it. The Rosier kitchens were meticulously managed, the house-elves loyal and thorough. No one here had reason to harm him, yet the suspicion gnawed at him all the same.
It's just the Floo, he told himself, though the words rang hollow. Or mild illness. Nothing more.
Hadrian slumped onto the edge of his bed, curling himself small. He hated feeling clueless. Everything was wrong, his own body colluded against him, protesting to things seemingly the most trivial things. His previous illness had never been this bad. Or maybe... There was? That bloody monthly thing...
Before his mind could try connecting the dots, exhaustion lulled him to sleep. He didn't have time to decipher his symptoms even the following day. His grandfather, Lord Rosier, had insisted they attend a gathering in Italy, and while Hadrian would have preferred rest, declining the man's invitations always felt impossible. Lord Rosier had a way of wrapping requests in such warmth and gentle authority that refusal seemed ungrateful.
"My boy, it will be a simple event," his grandfather had said, his hand resting lightly on Hadrian's shoulder. "An evening of good company and excellent wine. You've been cooped up far too much from these kinds of gatherings. You'll feel better once you're out."
Hadrian hadn't had the heart to argue, though the mere thought of Floo travel made his stomach churn.
The journey itself, despite lasting very quickly, was gruelling. No sooner had he stepped into the fireplace and muttered the destination than he felt a surge of nausea overwhelm him. By the time he stumbled out into the grand parlour of the Italian estate, he was heaving violently. He barely managed to brace himself against the nearest chair as bile rose in his throat, spilling onto the polished floor.
"Hadrian!" Lord Rosier was at his side immediately. His usually steady, unshakeable composure cracked with worry. "You're unwell. We should leave."
Hadrian shook his head, swallowing back the lingering taste of vomit with a glass of water the house-elf hurriedly brought him. "It's the Floo," he said hoarsely. "Ever since Germany, I've been more sensitive to it."
His grandfather's expression didn't lighten, though he let the matter drop. "If you're certain. But you'll tell me if it becomes too much?"
Hadrian forced a faint smile. "Of course."
Still, as they made their way into the grand hall, Hadrian could feel Lord Rosier's watchful gaze lingering on him. He could rarely enjoy the gathering because of that. Well, not that his condition allowed him in the first place.
Everyone around him was chattering and laughing. The estate was stunning, its marble floors gleaming under the light of enchanted chandeliers, and the guests dressed in fine robes adorned with gold and jewels moved through the space with practised poise. People here were either noble, rich, influential, or all three at once.
Lord Rosier and Hadrian were soon swarmed by some ladies and even older men. Hadrian offered polite smiles and nods, dodging some blatant suggestion of having a more private conversation with him. But Hadrian couldn't care less, his mind was elsewhere.
It started as a faint craving. He sipped his pumpkin juice, offered around by the delicate-looking server. Lord Rosier had gently discouraged him from alcohol, judging from his earlier nausea. And Hadrian himself had no interest in anything that could cloud his mind further. Instead, his mind drifted to treacle tart—the tantalising crust, the sweet, sticky filling. It had been a childhood favourite, one of the few small comforts, picking the leftovers during his miserable years with the Dursleys.
But now it's not just a want. Hadrian needed it, desperately so. It became a fixation his mind refused to ignore.
Hadrian practically floated towards the pastry table, paying no attention to the curious glances of nearby guests. His heart lifted as he spotted the treacle tart. Perfectly golden and glistening under the chandelier's light. Only one slice remained, perched delicately on the edge of a silver platter.
Just as his hand reached for the plate, a sharp, manicured hand snatched it away.
"Ah, my favourite!" chirped Lady Rosier's second cousin, a woman Hadrian had only met twice before. She didn't even glance at him as she placed the tart on her plate and turned away, chatting animatedly with a nearby guest.
Hadrian froze, his hand still hovering over the empty platter. A rush of heat surged through him—anger, disbelief, an irrational sense of betrayal. He blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the wave of frustration that threatened to boil over.
It's just a tart, Hadrian. Pull yourself together.
But his hands clenched into fists, and before he could stop himself, he muttered, "Greedy hag."
The insult was quiet enough to be missed by most, but the guest beside him, a wide-eyed young witch, stifled a giggle. She leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I didn't know the charming Hadrian Rosier could say such things."
Hadrian turned away quickly, his cheeks burning. Brilliant, he thought bitterly. First, I embarrass myself in front of my grandfather, and now this.
By the time the evening drew to a close, Hadrian's irritation had faded into a dull exhaustion. Lord Rosier noticed, of course, and suggested they leave early, but Hadrian brushed him off, unwilling to cause more fuss. Still, as they returned to the Rosier Manor via Floo, the nausea hit him harder than ever.
"Hadrian," Lord Rosier began as they stepped into the parlour, "perhaps we should call for a healer—"
"I'm fine," Hadrian said quickly, his stomach still twisted in protest. "Just tired."
Hadrian fled into his room with the remaining energy he still had. He couldn't quite remember how he fell onto his bed. His body still trembling with exhaustion, the nagging suspicion refused to leave him. Something wasn't right, and he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever it was, it wouldn't let him ignore it for long.
…
Hadrian sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands as he tried to piece together the puzzle of his own body. He had spent the better part of the week either hunched over the sink, vomiting, or battling waves of nausea that seemed to come at the most inconvenient times. His fatigue was unrelenting, and the memory of the treacle tart fiasco still made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Something was wrong. No—different.
His mind wandered back a few weeks, to that stolen stretch of time he had spent with Orion Black. They hadn't seen each other since, life and duty pulled them in opposite directions, but their letters had been a constant thread of connection. Orion's crisp handwriting, always so precise and formal, yet carried an understated warmth that Hadrian couldn't help cherish.
But oh, Hadrian buried his face in his hands, blushing deeply. He had lost count of how many times Orion's low voice had murmured filthy promises in his ear, their bodies entwined, passionate, disregarding all reasons.
The things they had said to each other...
"You'll bear my child, and everyone will know you're mine."
Hadrian's blush deepened furiously. Orion's voice, rough and commanding, declaring his intention to leave Hadrian... pregnant. The words had been spoken with a carnal intensity that made his knees weak even now. At the time, it had seemed like nothing more than a thrilling indulgence, a playful extension of their desire.
But now...
His head snapped up, eyes wide as realisation struck like a lightning bolt. No. It couldn't be. Could it? His hand instinctively drifted to his stomach, resting lightly over the fabric of his robes. All these symptoms—vomiting, fatigue, irritability—they were absurdly similar to the tropes of those terrible telenovelas Aunt Petunia used to watch. Hadrian—Harry—had often been stuck tidying the living room while Aunt Petunia sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in tales of wealthy men and their hapless, love-struck mistresses. Without fail, after they had spent a night of passion together, the love interest would start vomiting one day, leading to a dramatic pregnancy reveal.
Hadrian's stomach lurched again, but this time, it wasn't nausea. It was panic.
"Oh, Merlin," he whispered to himself, his voice cracking. I've been vomiting all day! And while I'm not remotely poor, Orion is definitely richer than half the wizarding world combined. This is insane.
He shot to his feet, pacing the room like a caged animal as his thoughts spiralled. Male pregnancies were quite rare in Britain's magical community, but not unheard of in other countries. And it was almost seen as normal in his family. Moreover, he had consciously undergone that ritual for this sole purpose. He just realised now that he hadn't had his period these past two months. And I had sex with a Orion! How can I miss the possibility?!
He had dismissed it as a hypothetical. Something he had wanted, yes, desired even. But that might happen one day. Was that one day already here? Is he and Orion that compatible? Well, that beast definitely made sure that he came directly into his poor womb…
Hadrian groaned, running a hand through his ever-messy hair. How do wizards even confirm pregnancy? Calling a healer was the logical choice, but that was absolutely out of the question. The mere thought of explaining this to a stranger made his skin crawl. He could almost hear his grandmother's fainting figure if she knew. She was married into the Rosier, yes, but she was a traditionalist, expecting a chain of flashy courting rituals before a couple could even so much as touch the tip of each other's fingers. He knew because Nathan never stopped complaining about it in secret.
For one absurd moment, he entertained the idea of a Muggle pregnancy test. He could almost picture himself sneaking into a shop, hood pulled up, scanning the shelves for the telltale boxes he'd seen in his childhood. Then he remembered—those wouldn't even exist for decades.
"Oh, fantastic," he muttered bitterly, collapsing back onto the bed. "I can't even panic in peace."
His heart raced as conflicting emotions swirled in his chest. Panic, yes, but also... an unmistakable thrill. Could it be true? Could his body really be carrying the result of that night? The idea sent a shiver down his spine. Pure, unmistakable joy.
A child.
Orion's child.
Their child.
Everything was overwhelming, and yet...
This was what he wanted, wasn't it? He had finished every important business here. Voldemort was dead, and the biggest threat to his identity was gone. So... perhaps this life could truly be his?
He pressed a hand to his stomach again, his fingers trembling. The panic hadn't subsided entirely, but it was softened now, tempered by a growing determination. If this were real—if this child were real—then he would do everything in his power to protect it.
His lips curved into a shaky smile, whispering to the empty room, "You're so eager to come, aren't you?"
Hadrian felt a strange sort of calm settle over him; days of confusion and restlessness finally cleared, giving way to his body to actually feel tired. Eventually, he lay down on the bed. And before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep.
The first time Hadrian did the following morning, as the pale sunlight streamed through the tall windows of his room, was to write to Orion. He turned the parchment again and again, re-reading the whole thing to make sure he didn't sound too pushy. The content was straightforward, almost cautious, though his thoughts while penning it had been anything but. He had simply asked if Orion might have the time for a visit, hinting that he missed their easy companionship.
To his surprise, the reply had arrived far faster than he expected. A sleek, black owl had swooped into the Rosier manor's parlour that same evening, dropping the reply into his lap as if impatient to deliver its message. Hadrian had been grateful over the fact that his family were not home, otherwise they would definitely caused a commotion over the arrival of Orion Black's personal owl, reserved only to carry his most important letters. Glancing at the graceful envelope, Orion's handwriting was bold and elegant, as always, and Hadrian's heart had raced as he unfolded the letter.
Hadrian,
Your letter was a welcome distraction. The Black family, as you might guess, is gathering for another of its tedious meetings, and I find myself in desperate need of better company. In fact, I was just going to extend you an invitation personally.
Come to the Black manor this weekend. My study, as always, is yours.
O.
The letter had made Hadrian heart thumped uncontrollably that he nearly fumbled it back into the envelope. Orion's words were casual, but there was an undeniable intimacy in them. Better company. It lingered in Hadrian's mind for hours, as did the promise of returning to Orion's study.
Oh, the weekend couldn't come fast enough.
…
When the day finally arrived, and Hadrian found himself standing before the towering entrance of Black manor. The house was as imposing as its owner, a dark and brooding structure that seemed to loom over the surrounding grounds. Its heavy, ornate door opened almost as soon as Hadrian knocked, revealing a house-elf with large, bright eyes.
"Master Orion is waiting for you in the study, Master Hadrian" the elf squeaked, bowing deeply before vanishing with a faint pop.
Hadrian's steps were measured as he walked through the grand corridors. When he reached the study door, it swung open before he could knock. Orion stood there, tall and commanding, his sharp grey eyes softening as they landed on Hadrian's pair of emerald. His lips curved into a familiar smile.
"Hadrian," he greeted, his voice warm and low. Before Hadrian could reply, Orion stepped forward, his left hand resting lightly on Hadrian's waist, while he brought Hadrian's hand to his lips and kissed it. He dwarfed Hadrian with ease, but not overwhelming. If anything, it felt safe and comforting.
"I've missed you."
The words, simple as they were, sent a rush of warmth through Hadrian. "I—it's good to see you too," he managed, voice slightly unsteady.
Orion laughed softly, his thumb brushing against Hadrian's knuckles in a gentle, teasing way. "Come in. I'd rather not have the house-elf tattling about us standing in the hallway."
Hadrian let himself be guided inside, and the door clicked shut behind them. The study was just as he remembered it—rich mahogany shelves lined with books, the faint scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air. But all of it faded into the background as Orion turned to him again, the intensity in his gaze making Hadrian's breath hitch.
"You've been on my mind," Orion said softly, his fingers tracing the edge of Hadrian's jaw, tucking his wild strands of hair to the back of his ear. "I thought about writing to you first, but I didn't want to presume."
Hadrian's blush deepened. "I wasn't sure if you'd have the time."
Orion's smile turned mischievous, then he leaned in closer, whispering right beside his hear. "For you? Always."
The words sent a shiver down Hadrian's spine, and he barely had time to respond before Orion's lips were on his, warm and insistent. The kiss was slow at first, a gentle exploration that quickly gave way to something deeper, more consuming. Hadrian melted into it, his hands finding their way to Orion's chest, where the firm planes of muscle beneath his fine robes made Hadrian feel even smaller in comparison.
Orion guided them backwards, his hands moving to Hadrian's waist, manoeuvering them toward the desk that dominated the centre of the study. The surface was scattered with papers and books, but Orion swept them aside with one graceful motion, never breaking the kiss.
"Do you remember?" Orion murmured against his lips, his voice rough with desire. His hands slid beneath Hadrian's robes, touches searing against Hadrian's skin. "What we did here?"
Hadrian's reply was a soft whimper, his face burning as he nodded. Of course he remembered. Every detail was etched into his memory, and the thought of it now only made the moment more intoxicating.
Orion's lips curved into a smirk. He claimed Hadrian's mouth again, rough and possessive. The study became their world once more, a space where nothing existed but the two of them.
Hadrian could feel himself surrendering completely. For a moment, his worries faded. The nausea, the fatigue, the lingering panic about what was happening to his body, all of it was eclipsed by the warmth of Orion's touch.
As the space diminished between them, Orion realised something was amiss. "You're burning up," he murmured, pulling back slightly to study Hadrian's flushed face. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Hadrian hesitated, biting his lip before offering a faint smile. "I'm fine," he said softly. "I just... missed you."
Orion's gaze lingered, his expression softening into something almost tender. "And I you," he replied, his voice low. He kissed Hadrian's forehead tenderly, "always."
But as expected from the Orion Black, his gentle words and expressions were totally detached from the rest of where his hands's ventured.
Hadrian barely registered the movement as Orion's hands slid beneath his robes, claiming and teasing all the same.
"Let me see you," Orion murmured sensually. His fingers deftly worked the clasps and ties of Hadrian's robes, peeling away the layers until they fell to the floor in a silken heap. Hadrian shivered as the cool air of the room kissed his now-exposed skin, though the heat pooling between his legs was quick to overwhelm it.
"Beautiful," Orion whispered, his hands trailing along Hadrian's sides, mapping the curve of his hips and the soft expanse of his stomach. "You always are, but like this..." He leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, "I'll never tire of this view."
Hadrian's blush deepened, but he tilted his head to allow Orion better access. "And yet," he teased, trembling with a mix of anticipation and playfulness, "you're still fully dressed."
Orion smirked, eyes glinting with desire. "Consider it an apology," he murmured, hands slipping lower to cup Hadrian's thighs. "I hate to rush, but I've got a meeting soon."
Hadrian raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his voice. "So now I'm being punished for your poor time management?"
Orion chuckled, his grip tightening as he hoisted Hadrian further onto the desk, parting his legs with ease. "Careful," Orion whispered, lips brushing Hadrian's ear. "Push me, and I might just keep you here all day—but hey, I'll keep you, regardless."
Before Hadrian could reply, Orion's mouth found his jawline, planting kisses and playful nips that left behind soft, stinging marks down to his neck and collarbone. A sharp gasp escaped Hadrian's lips. He could only clutched Orion's hair, pleasure flaring through his entire body. Pleased, Orion trailed lower with smouldering need, lips drifting down Hadrian's neck to his chest.
"Orion—ah!" Hadrian moaned as Orion sucked at the sensitive skin. His hands moved to Hadrian's chest, cupping his soft, slightly plump breasts with reverence before his mouth followed, teeth grazing tenderly.
"I want you covered in me," Orion murmured against his skin. One mark bloomed, then another, and more, followed by a soft kiss, as if to ease the sting. "Everywhere I touch, I want it to show that I was here."
Hadrian whimpered, hips lifting instinctively into the touch. He barely had time to breathe before Orion's fingers moved again, slipping between his thighs, brushing against the slick heat there. A soft, breathy gasp escaped him as Orion worked with a confidence that left no room for doubt. Those large hands swallowed him whole, every motion drawing out another helpless jolt of pleasure.
"You're already dripping," Orion said, voice low and thick with pride. His fingers slid in easily, curling just right as his thumb circled his clit, then the head of his cock. Hadrian moaned louder, breath hitching, back arching in response. The desk creaked beneath him.
"Orion—ah—please!" His voice cracked as Orion's thumb pressed harder, pace quickening. Each thrust made Hadrian shudder, hands clutching the desk edge, pleasure rising fast, almost too much.
"Listen to you," Orion murmured, mouth brushing his ear. "So eager." His free hand slid down, wrapping around Hadrian's cock for a few slow strokes. Hadrian let out a broken moan, thighs trembling, his whole body quivering under Orion's touch.
"W-wait—!" Hadrian's words dissolved into a breathless cry as Orion drove him closer to the edge. Just as he was about to come undone, Orion withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the thick, unyielding length of his cock.
"Aaaahnnn!!!" Hadrian cried out, raw and unrestrained as Orion stretched him fully, the sudden, overwhelming fullness shoving him over the brink. He came with a loud, broken moan, release spilling between them as his body shook violently.
"Hnn—Fuck, Hadrian," Orion groaned, gripping his waist tightly. He stopped entirely, half to let Hadrian adjust to his size, half to savour the heat. "You're incredible." His deep, gravelled voice sent another shiver racing down Hadrian's spine, and Hadrian could only let out a soft whimper, head tipping back as Orion decided it's time to move.
His pace quickly turned relentless, hips snapping against Hadrian's with force that knocked the air from his lungs. Wet, lewd sounds filled the room, punctuated by Orion's low grunts and Hadrian's ragged gasps. But as Orion thrust deeper, Hadrian felt a sudden pressure deep in his abdomen, sharp and unmistakable.
The baby.
The thought hit like a tidal wave, panic sparking in his chest.
What if I'm really pregnant?
"Orion—stop, wait—" Hadrian gasped, palms pressing shakily against Orion's chest in a weak attempt to push him back. But Orion only growled low in his throat, mistaking the resistance for a playful challenge.
"Still playing hard to get?" he grumbled, voice rich with amusement. "Not this time."
In one swift motion, he caged Hadrian's smaller frame, pinning his wrists above his head with a single hand. His other lifted Hadrian's chin, forcing their mouths together in a fierce kiss that swallowed his protests whole.
Hadrian whimpered into it, panic fraying at the edges of his thoughts, but Orion's thrusts broke through everything, each one forcing another shuddering wave of pleasure through his already sensitive body. He twisted, breath caught, trying to hold on, to resist, but his body betrayed him.
The pressure built too fast. His muscles clenched, breath hitched, and before he could speak again, Orion groaned deeply and slammed into him once more, movements ragged, desperate. Then he stilled, buried to the hilt, and Hadrian swore he felt every hot, heavy release gushing, pooling deep within him.
"Nn—ahhh!" Hadrian desperately cried between their fervent kiss, his body wracked with another climax. His back arched, full-body trembling, overwhelmed by the fullness.
Orion leaned in, pushing deep, voice hoarse with satisfaction. "You took it all. Every drop. You're perfect, Hadrian."
Hadrian couldn't speak. His head spun, thoughts scattered.
If I wasn't pregnant before… I definitely am now.
Hadrian's head lolled back against the desk, chest rising and falling as he fought to steady his breath. His mind was still clouded with pleasure, too dazed to respond to Orion's teasing. A soft moan escaped him, his body trembling with lingering aftershocks.
Orion chuckled, the sound lower now, gentler. He brushed a stray lock from Hadrian's flushed face. "You're exquisite," he murmured, helping him shift into a slightly more comfortable position. "I hate to leave, but I'll be counting the minutes until I can have you again."
Hadrian remained sprawled across the desk, slowly regaining awareness. The quiet that followed Orion's departure felt hollow, the room far too still. He let out a long, exasperated sigh, cheeks burning with disbelief.
Of course, he thought dryly. He gets to walk off to his all-important meeting while I'm left here. Naked, aching, and probably carrying his child.
He shifted, only to wince as the thick warmth of Orion's release slid from between his thighs. The sensation was humiliating—and yet, disturbingly satisfying. His body clenched around the emptiness, as if trying to keep every last drop inside.
It would've been laughable… if he weren't almost certain now that he was pregnant.
A dazed smile tugged at his lips as his hand drifted to his lower abdomen. He pressed his fingers lightly against the flat plane of his stomach, a silent apology forming in his mind. Sorry, little one, he mused internally, thumb brushing over the skin. Your parents are... well, we're a work in progress.
He stayed like that for a while, hand resting over his belly as he gathered himself. The warmth of the room still clung to his skin, mingling with the faint traces of Orion's scent that lingered on him. Eventually, Hadrian pushed himself upright, muscles immediately aching in protest. He glanced at the desk and winced at the chaos left behind.
"Well, that's not embarrassing at all," he muttered, voice edged with dry humour.
Still naked, Hadrian padded into Orion's private bathroom, hoping to find something to wear. He opened a drawer and froze, heart skipping when he saw a neatly folded black shirt, unmistakably Orion's.
Without hesitation, he tugged the shirt over his head. It hung far too big on him, brushing mid-thigh, but he didn't care. The fabric wrapped around him like it belonged there. Then he pulled the fabric close to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent hit him at once. sharp, familiar, and so entirely Orion it sent a slow heat curling low in his stomach.
"Merlin, I'm hopeless," he murmured, shaking his head, trying to chase the thoughts away.
Later, he told himself. Focus.
Hadrian returned to the desk and flicked his wand. The stains on the desk and floor vanished, papers snapped back into order. He ran his fingers along the polished surface, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.
This is your fault, he sighed, sinking into Orion's chair without a charm to clean himself. The leather was cool against his skin, and the slickness between his thighs dripped freely onto the priceless whatever-creature-it-was leather. Leaving a trace felt like petty revenge. "Hope this haunts you, Orion," he murmured to the empty room. "Every time you sit down."
With nothing else to do, he toyed with the hem of the shirt, fingers tracing the seams. He considered freshening up or at least doing the buttons, but it felt unnecessary. He might've drifted off right then if the door hadn't burst open.
It slammed against the wall hard enough to rattle the shelves.
Hadrian straightened just as Walburga appeared in the doorway, robes billowing, face a storm of outrage. She froze.
Her eyes swept over the scene. How the shirt hanging off his shoulder, the way he lounged in Orion's chair, and the bruises blooming on pale skin. For a moment, she said nothing. Then her fury snapped back, sharp and immediate, like flame meeting oil
Hadrian didn't feel scared, not even surprised. Without missing a beat, he tilted his head, lips curling into a saccharine smile. Ah, we truly meet at last, he mused, resisting the urge to sigh. This might actually be fun.
"You filthy little slut!" Walburga hissed, voice shaking as she stormed further into the room. "You think you can just stroll in, seduce Orion, and take what's mine? You think you can—"
"Take what's yours?" Hadrian cut in, voice smooth and deceptively innocent, laced with mockery. His emerald eyes gleamed. "Ah, forgive me. Where are my manners?"
He straightened slightly, one hand resting on the armrest, the other adjusting the collar the shirt not to cover anything, but to frame it. He offered her a sweet, almost formal smile. "Greetings. We meet again, Lady Walburga Black."
A beat.
"The wife of my man."
Walburga froze, mouth agape. Her rage stuttered, overtaken by disbelief as the words sank in deep, hitting right where it hurt. Her gaze flicked to the shirt, the chair, the bruises on Hadrian's neck. Her breathing ragged and uncontrollable.
Hadrian almost regretted cleaning earlier. The chaos would've made a beautiful backdrop. Still, it was enough. Her hands trembled, so close to snapping.
Good, he thought, smile soft and infuriatingly innocent. Let's see how far I can push before she breaks.
"You—" she choked, face darkening, voice cracking. "You dare—!"
"Oh, I dare, my lady," Hadrian cut in, voice smooth, unapologetic. "And might I say, it's a pleasure to finally meet the real you, Walburga. Funny, I've heard so... little about you during my time with your husband." He intentionally added the emphasis on the last word. The pause hung, pointed and cruel. Her jaw twitched. Perfect.
This is for what you did to Sirius.
She sucked in a sharp breath, fists clenched at her sides. "You insolent brat!"
"Insolent?" Hadrian echoed, brow lifting in mock surprise. "Forgive me, I thought I was being perfectly civil." He reclined in Orion's chair, legs crossing with slow ease, as if her fury were little more than background noise. "I even introduced myself. Isn't that what civilised people do?"
Walburga's lips twisted into a snarl, her expression unravelling fast. "You disgusting little—" The words failed her, rage clogging her throat. Her hands trembled, eyes wild, as if barely resisting the urge to claw at him. Her voice broke into a shriek. "You think you can sit there—in his clothes—like some common whore?"
Hadrian waited until she gasped for breath.
"But my lady," he said calmly, resting his chin on his hand, gaze lazily curious, "can it really be flaunting... if it's already mine?"
He smiled sweetly. "Or is that the part that's driving you mad? That no matter how loud you scream, Orion will still choose me?"
Her breath hitched, face darkening. She stepped closer, hands shaking with fury. "You dare sit there, parading yourself like you've won something. But you're nothing! Nothing but a—a—"
"A what?" Hadrian asked, softly. "Go on. Don't hold back."
Her mouth opened, then shut. Nothing came out. Rage strangled her voice, and Hadrian only smiled, settling back as the shirt slid off one shoulder, revealing other red and purple marks, still fresh. He didn't bother adjust it.
"Speechless?" he asked, faux-concerned. "That's rare for someone who never seems to stop shouting."
"Shut your filthy mouth!" she shrieked, voice cracking. "You're nothing but a cheap little whore! Orion will see it—he'll see you for what you are, and when he does—"
"When he does," Hadrian cut in, voice smooth as ever, "he'll probably thank me for the silence." He waved her off with a flick of his fingers. "Really, Walburga. All this noise—it's beneath you. Or is that the only thing you've mastered?"
Her whole body shook, voice cracking into a shrill, wordless scream. When she lunged, hands clawing for him, Hadrian wanted to groan at the absurdity of it all. Does she really think this will change anything?His lips curled into a smirk as he shifted, fingers tightening around the elder wand, which already pulsing with quiet anticipation.
But she never reached him.
The sharp echo of boots on polished floors sliced through the tension like a blade. Hadrian's gaze flicked to the door—and there he was. Orion stepped into the room, cool and composed, and the air changed instantly. The fury in the room seemed to abruptly halt beneath the weight of his presence.
"That's enough," he said, voice low, unmistakably final.
Walburga froze, mid-lunge. Her head whipped towards him, face twisted with desperation. "Orion!" she cried, stumbling toward him like a drowning woman. "Did you see that? This—this boy! Sitting there like he has any right—"
"I see it," Orion said smoothly, raising a hand to silence her. His gaze flicked to Hadrian. Just a glance, but enough for amusement to spark in his grey eyes. Hadrian met it with a raised brow. Oh so you're enjoying this too.
Then Orion turned back to Walburga. "And I hear you. Loudly."
"Then do something!" she snapped, voice trembling with rage. "He's mocking me—mocking us! You can't just let him—"
"Let him?" Orion repeated, voice suddenly sharp. The word landed like a slap. Walburga flinched as he stepped past her, slow and steady, until he stood beside the desk.
Hadrian tilted his head slightly, watching him with quiet admiration
"Walburga," Orion said, precisely clear as if to dismiss any chance of confusion, "Hadrian is here because I allow it. He sits there because I allow it."
Hadrian bit back a smile. 'Allow,' hmm? Not that he needed his permission, but it does add a certain charm.
Walburga's mouth worked soundlessly, her outrage stunned into stillness. Orion glanced down at Hadrian again, and something passed between them. Possessiveness, amusement, and perhaps the faintest touch of pride.
"Though," Orion said, addressing Hadrian with a softened tone, "I'll admit, I'm a little surprised to see you still so… lively after earlier."
Hadrian's lips curved into a sly smile, shifting deeper into the chair to find a better position. "You're welcome to try harder next time," he replied, voice light, like a cat playfully challenging its own shadow.
Orion chuckled, low and rich, the sound sending a subtle shiver down Hadrian's spine. "Oh, I will," he murmured, promise simmering beneath the words.
The exchange didn't go unnoticed. Walburga's face contorted with fury. Letting out a strangled scream, she rounded on Orion, fists clenched. "You're just going to let him—"
"I'm going to let you leave," Orion cut in, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "This is my study, Walburga. My space. And you're no longer welcome here. Truth be told, you never were."
Hadrian watched with thinly veiled glee as she faltered, chest heaving, words caught in her throat. Orion's gaze bore down on her—cold, immovable. Her sneer returned, brittle and ugly, but even she seemed to realise the fight was over. She lost.
With a furious huff, she turned and stormed toward the door. Her footsteps echoed sharply and she slammed the door loudly, desperately masking her humiliation.
Orion turned back to Hadrian, brow arched slightly. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, clearly enterntained by the whole circus.
"Immensely," Hadrian replied, voice smooth as silk as he gestured to the chair. "Your seat's surprisingly comfortable."
Orion smirked, leaning down until their faces were level. "It's mine," he murmured, low and possessive. "And so are you."
Hadrian's breath hitched, a faint flush rising, but he didn't look away. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "I never said I wasn't," he whispered.
Orion's hand brushed his cheek, thumb tracing the faint marks along his jaw. "Good," he said quietly, voice steady and sure. "Because I don't share."
Hadrian hummed, leaning into the touch. "Neither do I." His smile deepened. And they'll all know it soon enough.
Orion stepped away, pouring himself a glass of firewhisky. The amber liquid caught the light. Hadrian leaned back, fingers tapping the armrest. But beneath the calm, Hadrian's heart raced. The secret burned inside him. You're carrying his heir. His child.
How would Orion take it? Shocked? Displeased? No. Orion didn't rage against fate, he bent it.
"I assume you heard her yelling earlier. She was furious, especially about the meeting," Orion said at last, leaning against the sideboard. "Though I doubt you need much context. It's exactly what you'd expect."
Hadrian uncrossed his legs, sitting up with his chin resting on one hand. "Let me guess," he drawled, "Walburga's father throwing a tantrum, Vega playing devil's advocate, and the rest of the Black fossils ranting about 'tradition' and 'scandal'?" His emerald eyes gleamed. "Did I miss anything?"
Orion chuckled, sipping his drink. "Not much. Conrad was loud, as usual. Still clinging to the fantasy that Walburga's bloodline is untouchable." A faint smirk touched his lips. "Vega even suggested that if no heir came of my marriage to Walburga, perhaps it was a mistake altogether."
Hadrian's brow lifted, heart giving a thrilled skip. Oh, she's going to love this. "And what did you say to that?"
"I told her, and them, the truth," Orion said matter-of-factly."That the family's decline is no fault of mine. That I've acted where they've stagnated. And that, with or without their approval, an heir will be born."
Hadrian's fingers twitched against the armrest. You've no idea how right you are. He leaned forward, arms resting on the desk. "You enjoy watching them squirm, don't you?"
"Immensely," Orion said, stepping closer, firewhisky casting a warm glow across his face. "But it's more than that. They need reminding of where real power lies. They've clung to relics for too long. It's time they break, so something better can take their place."
Hadrian tilted his head, eyes never leaving Orion's. "And how do you plan to break them in your game?"
Orion reached the desk, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His hand landed on the back of Hadrian's chair, his presence like a looming shadow above him. "Our game," he corrected, voice low. "You're in this with me."
Hadrian's smile softened. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Orion's thumb brushed his jaw, tracing the fading marks he'd left earlier. "The next move is simple. Let their influence fade while ours grows. It starts with the heir. Once they see proof, the child they thought I could never have, they'll fall in line."
Hadrian's pulse fluttered. He leaned back, fingers idly tracing the armrest. "And Walburga?" he asked lightly. "Do you really think she'll slink away quietly?"
Orion's lips curved into something dangerous. "She has no choice. Conrad can rant and scheme, but he knows the truth. Without me, he's nothing. Walburga can scream all she wants. It's over."
His eyes darkened. "And if she tries to interfere… We'll deal with her."
Hadrian tilted his head. "We?" he echoed, sweet but edged with malice. "You mean I'll deal with her."
Orion's amusement flickered. "I wouldn't deny you the satisfaction. Though I suspect she'll crumble on her own. People like her always do."
Hadrian studied him a moment, then smiled slowly. "And the rest of them? They won't move openly, but they'll plot."
Orion shrugged, his hand drifting down to brush Hadrian's bare shoulder, the shirt had dropped loosely. "Let them. They'll waste their lives scheming while we sit here, watching it all collapse. And when the old guard is gone, the future will be ours."
Hadrian shivered beneath his touch, heart racing with the certainty in Orion's voice. "It's almost cruel," he murmured. "You don't even have to do anything. Just wait."
"Cruelty," Orion said, his lips brushing Hadrian's temple, "is perspective."
Hadrian's breath caught. He closed his eyes for a beat before opening them again, gaze steady. "Then let's make it inevitable," he whispered. "Together."
Both of them closed the distance, and as their lips met, the Firewhisky sat forgotten on the desk. Hadrian almost melted into the kiss, surrendering entirely to the only man he allowed to own him—figuratively, at least.
But as he registered the taste of alcohol, his mind rang in alarm. He slowly pushed Orion away. The man looked slightly guilty, then his expression softened again.
"Together," Orion echoed—a quiet promise. He kissed Hadrian's temple and neck, his fingers brushing along Hadrian's jaw before retreating. Picking up his glass, he swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, gaze lingering.
"Care for a drink?" he offered, tone smooth and laced with a playful edge.
Hadrian tilted his head.
Now.
His lips curled into a sly smile. "I'll have to pass," he said lightly, leaning back in Orion's chair, stretching his aching body.
Orion's brow arched, intrigue flickering in his eyes. "Oh?" he asked, swirling the whisky. "And why's that?"
Hadrian leaned forward, voice dropping to a mischievous whisper. "Wouldn't want to harm the bun in the oven."
Orion stilled in an instant, the glass frozen mid-air, gaze snapping to Hadrian. The sharp, calculating gleam in his gaze softened into something unreadable, equal parts wonder and raw, unfiltered surprise. "Hadrian," he said slowly, voice low, careful, "are you saying—"
Hadrian's hand slid to his stomach, fingers brushing the soft fabric. "It's been over a month since our first time," he said, casual, though the faint blush betrayed him. "And I may have noticed… a few signs."
Orion's breath caught. He set the glass down gently and stepped closer, hands bracing the arms of the chair as he kneeled down, caging Hadrian in.
"Say it," he murmured, taking Hadrian's hand reverently. "I need to hear you say it."
Hadrian reached, fingers grazing his jaw. "I might be pregnant, Orion," he whispered.
Orion's eyes widened, then narrowed, a flash of fierce possessiveness making Hadrian shiver. He cupped Hadrian's face, thumbs brushing his flushed cheeks as a rare, unguarded wide smile tugged at his lips.
"You're carrying my heir," he said, voice rough with emotion.
Hadrian nodded, his grin widening. "Told you I'd make it happen," he said softly. "You didn't think I'd let you down, did you?"
Orion let out a low chuckle, full of awe and satisfaction. "I should've known better," he murmured, his hands tightening slightly. "You've always been unstoppable."
Suddenly, Orion stood up, taking a glass of water reserved in the tableside and downed, before coruching down again to meet his lips in a searing kiss. Hadrian gawked at the sheer absurdity of it all.
This damn opportunist!
But he couldn't stay angry for long. Before he could even voice a protest, he melted into it, looping his arms around Orion's neck and pulling him closer, surrendering to the weight of joy.
When they parted, Orion rested his forehead against Hadrian's, voice a low, reverent murmur. "My beautiful Hadrian. I planned the long game, but you... you're formidable. This changes everything. The Black family will bow. They'll know who owns their future."
Hadrian smiled, eyes gleaming. "Let them," he whispered. "With you, there's nothing we can't—ouch."
Orion's hands had instinctively tightened around his waist under the weight of the revelation. Hadrian winced, still sore from earlier. Orion froze, his gaze fixed on Hadrian's face, composure briefly cracking.
A flicker of panic in his expression, so rare and uncharacteristic of the Lord Black, passed through his eyes before he turned away for a heartbeat, steadying himself. When he looked back, the mask had mostly returned. But Hadrian had seen it.
"Orion?" he teased gently, head tilted. "You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Don't be absurd," Orion snapped, sharper than intended. He cleared his throat, fingers twitching before he composed himself again.
Then, without a word, he shrugged off his heavy robe and draped it over Hadrian's shoulders. It engulfed him completely, warm and carrying the scent of Orion's cologne. Despite himself, Hadrian felt oddly comforted.
"Really?" Hadrian muttered, adjusting the robe. "Now you're playing the overprotective alpha?"
"Don't start," Orion said curtly, adjusting the fabric so it covered him entirely. "No one's going to see you like this."
Hadrian arched a brow. "Orion, no one else is even here."
"They will be," he replied, already turning toward the door. "Edmund!"
The butler appeared within seconds, as smooth and silent as always. "Yes, Master Orion?"
"Summon my private healer. Now. Tell her it's urgent."
Edmund gave a sharp nod. "At once, sir." He vanished just as swiftly.
Hadrian watched the butler vanished behind the door go, amusement gleaming in his eyes. "You're acting like the world's ending."
"It might, if something happens to you," Orion replied. "Perhaps I was… too rough." He flicked his wand, and Hadrian felt a warm pulse of magic sweep over him. The lingering evidence of earlier vanished, replaced by the clean, rested sensation.
Hadrian snorted. "Now you're aware, beast."
Orion winced, just briefly. "Sorry, dear. I should've listened. But I won't take chances now."
Before Hadrian could respond, the study door opened again. Edmund stepped in, ushering in a tall woman with sharp features and an air of quiet authority. She carried a sleek black bag, her expression poised and unreadable as she approached.
"Lord Black," she greeted with a polite nod, before her gaze shifted to Hadrian. Though her face remained composed, he caught a flicker of curiosity in her sharp eyes.
"This is Hadrian Rosier," Orion said, returning to the ever-commanding Lord Black. "You'll be examining him."
The healer nodded, her attention settling on Hadrian with warm professionalism. "Of course, My Lord. May I, Young Master?"
Hadrian gave a small nod. "Go ahead." He was glad, privately, that Orion had at least made him look presentable.
She stepped forward, wand in hand, and began casting a series of diagnostic spells. Her movements were precise, efficient. Hadrian held still, heart thumping in anticipation, and he could feel Orion watching silently in full alert.
Then, suddenly, she froze. Her wand stilled mid-air. Her calm slipped, just for a moment, replaced by something near reverence. She blinked, mouth parting, before she gathered herself again. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke. "Lord Black... Young Master Rosier... you've been blessed."
Orion straightened, eyes narrowing. "Blessed?" he repeated, voice sharp with tension.
The healer's lips curled into a wide, genuine smile "By Lady Magic herself. Young Master Rosier is pregnant. You're going to be fathers."
Silence followed was thick until the soft rustle of fabric marked Orion's quiet step forward. His cold composure cracked, just barely, as his gaze turned to Hadrian. His voice dropped, wonder threading through every syllable.
"Pregnant," he murmured, as if testing the word. "We're truly having a child."
Hadrian's hand drifted instinctively to his stomach beneath the oversized robe. "Told you I'd make it happen," he said quietly, relief, pride, and warmth colouring his voice.
Before Orion could respond, the healer spoke again, her voice brimming with barely contained joy. "There's more," she traced Hadrian's wrist as if searching for his pulse, or more. "You're not having 'a child', you're having twins."
Orion's composure positively crumbled. His mouth parted, grey widening comically as he stared at her. "Twins," he repeated, barely a whisper.
Hadrian blinked, stunned, his gaze flicking between her and Orion. Then slowly, a grin spread across his face. "Twins," he echoed. "Well. I hope you're ready. This family just doubled."
Orion let out a low, breathless laugh, hands rising to cradle Hadrian's face. "Twins," he said again, like the word itself was a miracle. His thumbs brushed Hadrian's cheeks, then promptly leaned in to level himself and pressed their foreheads together. "You've given me everything I didn't dare wish for."
Hadrian's smile turned tender. His hands covered Orion's. "And you've given me a future worth living for."
The healer stepped back discreetly, her professional composure intact, though a faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips as she took in the scene before her. For years, she had served as Orion's personal healer, witnessing his cold detachment, even in the most private of consultations.
She'd been present when the news of his supposed infertility was delivered, a diagnosis that would have devastated most pure-blood wizards and witches. But Orion had barely reacted, offering nothing beyond mild indifference. Even then, she'd suspected there was more beneath the surface. That suspicion had been confirmed when she'd uncovered the truth about the problem with the Russian prince.
And now here he was, standing beside Hadrian Rosier with an expression she'd never thought to see, equal parts awe, pride, and unguarded joy. It was a sight that stirred something in her, more than she liked to admit. She hadn't believed Orion Black capable of such emotion. But clearly, this boy—no, this man—had unearthed something in him no one else had.
Packing her tools, she allowed herself one last glance at the pair. "Congratulations," she said, sincerely happy for the pair. "Lady Magic's blessings are never given lightly. You've been gifted something extraordinary."
Orion turned to her, grey eyes steady, filled with something even rarer: gratitude. "Thank you," he said, voice low but filled with rare emotions.
The healer gave a small nod. "I'll arrange monthly check-ups for now, just to monitor both your health and the babies' development," she explained. "I'll also send over a list of dietary recommendations and supplements tailored to your condition."
Hadrian's smile returned, gentler now, as his hand rested on his still-flat stomach. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll take care of it."
The healer inclined her head and moved toward the door. As she left, a flicker of satisfaction bloomed in her chest. For all his cold calculation, Orion Black had found something real. Someone he didn't just protect, but cherished. Someone he trusted to start a family with.
For the first time in years, she was certain. The future of the Black family was in very good hands.
…
Hadrian stepped through the gates of Rosier Manor, a spring in his step and a box clutched tightly in his hands. He could barely contain his excitement; for once, everything felt like it was going right. Inside the box were slices of treacle tart, golden and perfect. Orion had insisted on ordering an entire pie from the best bakery in Diagon Alley after hearing about Hadrian's craving. He'd devoured nearly all of it in one sitting, his body finally accepting food after weeks of being fussy.
He'd refused to stay overnight at Black Manor, much to Orion's frustration. Hadrian couldn't imagine what to say to his family as an excuse, explaining why he spent the night in the Black Manor without a clear relationship with Orion, at least publicly. But even the familiar walls of home didn't ease the nerves creeping through his chest. If anything, they made them worse. He'd told Orion, yes. But what about his family?
As he crept toward his room very, very discreetly, hoping to avoid any encounters, a voice startled him.
"Hadrian!"
He froze, heart leaping. Slowly, he turned to find Amalia at the end of the corridor, sharp eyes narrowing as she approached.
"What are you doing sneaking around?" she asked, tone clipped but curious. Her gaze dropped to the box. "And what's that?"
"Treacle tart," Hadrian mumbled, holding it up like a shield. "I... wasn't hungry earlier, so I brought it home."
She tilted her head. "Earlier? Where were you?"
The question caught him off guard. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "The Black Manor."
Amalia blinked, surprised. "Black Manor? So, you're having tea and dessert with Lord Black now?"
Hadrian swallowed, regretting the slip. "He's been... kind," he said cautiously. "We get along."
"Clearly," she replied, tone light. She didn't press, though her eyes lingered on him. "Still, you've been acting strange. What's going on?"
"Nothing," he said too quickly, voice cracking. His awkwardness hung heavy in the air.
"Hadrian, don't lie to me," she said firmly. Her gaze swept over him—his flushed cheeks, the way he clutched the box, his tense posture. "You don't just look tired. You look... different."
"I'm fine," he insisted, though his voice lacked any conviction.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding something. Sit down. I'm calling the healer."
"No!" he burst out, panic rising. "Please, Amalia, don't call the healer. It's not serious. I swear."
Her brow arched at his outburst, lips thinning. "You're begging me not to call the healer? That's new." She studied him, unreadable, then sighed. "Fine. But we're going to my study. You're going to talk."
Hadrian hesitated. Part of him wanted to refuse, to bolt for his room and lock the door. But her stare left no room for that. Swallowing hard, he nodded and followed her down the hall.
His thoughts raced. Is this the right time? Should I tell her? Will she understand? He wanted to believe she would. Amalia was like a mother to him, if he ever had one. She was strict, sharp, and fiercely protective. But that was exactly what made this so daunting.
In her study, she gestured to the chair. Hadrian placed the box on the table beside him before he sit—sank, into the plush armchair. His fingers fiddled with the lid in an attempt to soothe himself.
Amalia leaned against her desk, arms crossed, studying him. "Alright," she started, "out with it. What's going on?"
Hadrian stared at his hands, mind spinning. If he didn't tell her now, when would he? Orion already knew, and eventually, he'd want to make it public. This couldn't stay a secret forever. But what if she reacted badly? What if she was angry about the ritual... or disappointed in him?
His fingers clenched around the hem of his sleeve, nerves clawing at him. He wanted to bolt. But a quieter voice whispered in the back of his mind—She's family. If anyone would understand, it's her.
He drew a slow breath and looked up. "Amalia," he said, voice shaking but steady enough. "You're right. I've been hiding something. But it's... not bad. At least, I don't think it is."
Her expression softened, though her focus remained sharp. "Go on."
He hesitated, hand drifting to his stomach as he searched for the words. "I found out today..." He paused, heart racing. "I'm pregnant."
Amalia froze.
Not a blink. Not a twitch. Nothing. Hadrian stared at her, unsure if she was even breathing. The silence stretched so long it made him shift in his seat, fingers fumbling with the edge of his robe.
"Amalia?" he asked quietly, the nervous edge creeping into his voice.
She didn't answer.
Hadrian swallowed hard, leaning forward. "Are you, uh—alright?"
Amalia finally blinked, and he flinched at the sheer intensity in her light blue eyes.
"You're what?" she snapped, voice like a whip. "Did you just say… you're pregnant?"
"...Yes?" Hadrian offered, voice thin, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Amalia looked as if her brain had stalled. Her hands flew to her head, fingers tangling in her hair like she could physically stop her thoughts from exploding. "Pregnant," she echoed, then louder, "Pregnant?!With who?! How—? No, don't answer that! I don't want the details! Merlin's beard, what have you done?"
Hadrian opened his mouth, but she barrelled on, pacing in wild circles. "Wait—wait. A few weeks ago, you said you were staying at a friend's house after visiting the Black Manor. You weren't with a friend, were you? You were with him!"
His cheeks burned. "...Yes."
Amalia let out a strangled noise and threw her hands in the air. "Hadrian Rosier! You were off gallivanting with a grown man—a thirty-three-year-old man! What on earth were you thinking?! Do you knowwhat people are going to say?!"
"I—"
"No, don't talk! Oh, the main family is going to be ecstatic—No! Stop! I'm not done!" she snapped, pacing faster, her robes swishing with each sharp turn. "First of all, you're barely twenty. Second—Orion Black?! Really?! The man radiates corruption! You think this is romantic? He's twice your age and utterly morally bankrupt. He's corrupted you, hasn't he?!"
Hadrian grimaced. "It's not like that," he said quietly. "He didn't—"
"Oh, I'm sure he didn't force you," she said, dripping with sarcasm. "But look at you! Sitting there—pregnant—clearly not ready for any of this!" She gestured wildly at him, exasperated. "And you didn't think to tell anyone?! You just thought, 'Oh well, I'll wing it'?!"
Hadrian winced. "It's not exactly something you bring up over breakfast, Amalia."
"Don't get cheeky with me!" she snapped, pointing a finger at him. "And twins?! Pregnant with twins?! Do you have anyidea how much work that's going to be?!"
She threw her arms up again, turning back into her pacing storm. "And Orion Black. Of all people. The man probably plotted his way into your life with that smouldering, brooding face—don't give me that look, I know he has one, and now here you are, carrying his children."
"Amalia—"
"No! Let me finish!" she snapped, whirling on him. Her voice softened, concern slipping through. "Have you seen a healer? Do they even know the risks? This isn't exactly... a typical pregnancy, Hadrian!"
"Yes, I've seen a healer," Hadrian said, firmer now. "Everything's fine. The babies are fine. I'm fine."
She stared at him for a long moment before letting out a groan and collapsing into the chair across from him. "And Orion? What does he think of all this?"
"He's thrilled," Hadrian replied with a small smile, warmth rising in his chest at the memory of Orion's stunned joy.
"Thrilled?!" Amalia screeched. "Orion Black?! That man barely blinks when an attempted cruciatus fling right to his chest, and you're telling me he's thrilled?!"
Hadrian barely held back a laugh. "He's already planning the nursery."
Amalia's jaw dropped. She looked moments from fainting. "Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be? Let's just abandon all logic! I'm losing my mind!" She buried her face in her hands, muttering before shooting him a glare. "And your grandmother? The rest of the family? What are you going to tell them? Because you are telling them."
Hadrian experience a full-body tension once again. "Can we... not? At least not yet? Please, Amalia. I'm not ready."