The tiny quill in your hand hovers over the thin strip of parchment. Waiting. You already knew, didn’t you? The weeks of strange fatigue, the way the house elves kept appearing with tea you didn’t ask for, the way your magic felt—warmer. Fuller. Like something had taken root.

The result blooms across the parchment in curling silver letters.

Positive.

You stare at it.

The most feared witch in the wizarding world—the woman who makes entire rooms go silent when she walks in, whose surname carries centuries of old magic and whispered legend—is standing frozen in a bathroom, holding a pregnancy test like it’s the most terrifying thing she’s ever seen.

You tuck the test into the pocket of your robe.

Outside, the sun is starting to set, casting the estate in warm gold. The wards ripple softly as four familiar magical signatures cross the boundary.

They’re home.