Watching the movies -Harry Potter AU (WTM)

The Daughter

12 Grimmauld Place, November 24, 1978

The cold, grey skies of November hung heavy over London, casting a muted pallor over the dense streets of the city. The large, imposing house at number 12 Grimmauld Place loomed at the end of a narrow alley, concealed behind ancient wards that kept it hidden from all but a few. Inside, the air was thick with the weight of tension. A chill wind rattled the windows, but it did little to cool the storm brewing inside the house.

"November of this year," Regulus Black murmured, his voice hoarse, barely audible against the sounds on the screen

The camera panned into the darkened hallway, its wooden floors creaking beneath the hurried footsteps of someone racing up the stairs. Echoes of distant, frantic screams filtered through the house as the camera shot upward, tracking past dim-lit portraits of long-dead Blacks whose eyes seemed to follow every movement with silent disapproval. The sense of impending chaos thickened the air, each second stretched like the calm before a storm.

At the end of the hallway, the third door on the left stood ajar. Regulus was there, sitting at the edge of a bed, his hand clutching tightly onto Lucia's. Her pale, sweat-drenched face contorted in agony as a midwife knelt between her legs, her voice soft but urgent as she coached the young woman through the harrowing labor. Regulus's hand, clammy and slick with his own sweat, was crushed in Lucia's tight grip, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His focus was entirely on her.

"You're almost there, love," he whispered, his voice strained with a mixture of fear and encouragement. "Just a few more pushes, you can do this."

Lucia's breaths were shallow, each one harder than the last, her skin glistening with the sheen of labor. She clenched her teeth, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to focus on Regulus's voice, trying to pull herself together through the pain that was threatening to swallow her whole.

"Grimmauld Place? She's giving birth there? Again?" Orion Black's voice, rich with distaste, broke the tense silence.

Walburga, who sat beside him, shot him a withering look. "I prefer it this way," she muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You know I don't trust St. Mungo's."

Lily Potter, brow furrowed in confusion. "Lucia's pregnant?" She glanced at James, "No... no, she's not.Not yet" " It's June. She couldn't possibly be giving birth in November of this year if she isn't pregnant."

Inside, the midwife continued to guide Lucia, her voice steady but filled with urgency. "Alright, Mrs. Blackwell, just a few more pushes and your daughter will be here."

But Lucia's body wasn't cooperating. She gasped for breath, her hands clawing at Regulus's with a strength that made his heart race. "I can't... Something doesn't feel right," she managed to croak, her voice raw and thick with exhaustion. Her lashes fluttered, eyes glazed, and her gaze found Regulus. Sweat poured down her forehead, a mixture of physical and emotional strain.

"You're almost there," Regulus said quickly, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to comfort her. "Just a couple more pushes. You're doing great. She's almost here, just hold on. I'm here, love, I'm right here."

Lucia swallowed dryly, her mouth parched, her throat tight. The pain was unbearable. She couldn't focus, couldn't think past the next wave of agony crashing through her. But somehow, she mustered every last bit of energy in her, pushing with all her might. Her cries, raw and desperate, echoed through the house, reverberating off the walls. Her fingers, slick with sweat, curled tighter around Regulus's hand. Her skin, which had been pale and smooth just moments before, now began to change. Scales appeared in patches across her arms and neck, dark and glittering in the low light. Her fingers began to elongate, growing sharp, dark talons. It was a sign, an unmistakable sign of her struggle—her transformation was happening, and it was a mark of the power that coursed through her veins.

The students in the room and adults alike all exclaimed, loudly surprised at the sudden appearance Lucia took on

Regulus bit down on his lip, his face grimacing at the sight of her pain. Though her grip on his hand felt like it might shatter his bones, it couldn't compare to what she was enduring. He was afraid to let go, afraid that if he did, he would lose her. The agony in her voice, the unyielding terror in her eyes, cut through him like a dagger.

The midwife, sensing the danger in Lucia's tone, looked up, her face pale with concern. "That's it, Miss. One more push... her head is almost out."

Lucia's body was shaking now, and with a final, terrible scream, she pushed. Her entire body felt like it was being torn apart. She felt the pressure increase, a terrible, searing pain, and then the feeling of the midwife's hands pulling the baby's shoulders free.

But there was no moment of relief.

The midwife's face turned from focused concentration to one of horror, and she rushed to the corner of the room, cradling the baby in her arms. She examined it quickly, her hands trembling. The room fell deathly silent.

"What's wrong with my baby?" Lucia gasped, her voice breaking. Her body trembled, but she fought to sit up, abandoning Regulus's hand to push herself off the bed. "Regulus, what's wrong with our baby?"

Regulus, terrified and confused, held her steady as she tried to rise. His hands were on her shoulders, gripping tightly. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing.

"What's wrong with my baby?!" Lucia screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.

Her anguished cries pierced through the walls of the house, and in the hallway, Walburga, Orion, and their six sons rushed into the room. The weight of the moment hit them all at once. The family gathered around the bed, eyes wide and filled with concern, but there was nothing anyone could do. No one spoke.

The midwife looked back at the room, her expression grim. She didn't answer Lucia's question. She didn't need to. The way she was holding the baby, her hands trembling, said everything.

Lucia's voice broke again, louder this time, a sound filled with grief, fear, and helplessness. "What's wrong with my baby?!" she cried.

Outside, the morning sun had begun to rise, bright and hot, casting its rays on the grey, still world. The camera lingered on the sun's harsh light, its rays cutting through the darkness of the room, before pulling upward, leaving the house and panning down toward another street—toward a quiet, unremarkable neighborhood.

The camera's focus slowly shifted to a nondescript house at 4 Privet Drive.