Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Summary: Reyna Cybele Black did everything she could for her brothers. She wondered, if maybe one day, they would see that too.

Status: Incomplete

A/N: I'm sorry for the tardiness, please stay with me!

Orion was besotted, which was, in itself, an interesting phenomenon to experience.

If it were any other thing—any other person—Walburga would have smiled; perhaps, she would have even cackled (rather insanely) at the absolute delight she would have felt coursing through her.

Orion had a weakness now, she'd crow, head thrown back, madness crackling in her dark eyes.

Orion wasn't untouchable; and she'd hide that kernel of knowledge away, underneath the bitterness and anger and rage until it was time to use, to exploit it. She would lull him into complacency, into comfort, until he would look at her with soft eyes and a gentle edge to his mouth, and trust her.

Then, and only then, would she strike.

But it was not any other thing. Any other person.

It was…the child.

In her opinion, Walburga did not hate everything…quite so much. She disliked, rather strongly at that, and she criticized and scathed and made apparent that which was not acceptable, but she did not hate.

(Hatred, her mother would sniff, was not appropriate for a lady.)

She was a patient wife, a patient woman, but this child, this abomination was trying that well-worn patience.

Walburga did not even glance upon her child's face when she came out. She did not name that thing. She did not breastfeed it, nor did she change it or look after it. She knew regardless, that she would have to present it to society when it was old enough, and that she would have to teach it how to comport itself so that it wouldn't embarrass her in front of their allies, but that was all.

But that would come in time, and until then—the thing was Orion's child—definitely not hers; not a moment sooner.

So why did it frustrate her so that Orion looked upon it with such warmth. She had been passing by the child's room, and she'd heard a cry. Normally, she wouldn't have done anything about it. She would've ordered Kreacher—who was bursting with joy at the newest Black child and doted upon it with a love that bordered on obsession—to take care of it, but for some reason, she stopped and lifted a hand to push inside.

That's when she heard it.

The gentle, deep baritone voice that belonged to her husband, hushing the child to sleep. She had peered in, curiosity ('curiosity does not become you, Walburga.' She remembered the scolding, 'you are a lady; not a common whore.') building up in her until it burst out of her with a startling clarity.

The door barely made a sound as she slipped in, and the sight in front of her took her breath away.

Orion rocked the child in his arms, a crooked, choppy melody slipping from his lips as he crooned to it. The imposing shoulders and severe stance had softened to a hunched over figure. His face was soft, gentle in the light that filtered in through the open window.

The uncompromising mouth, the stoic features, the grim silver eyes; they had all softened. Looking at the child, he was…tender. Affectionate. His silver eyes gleamed with something untouchable. His uncompromising mouth curved at the edges, and the stoic features edging away from the rigidity she was so used to.

"Go to sleep, little one," Orion sang, barely a hush, "when you wake, you shall have, all the pretty horses,"

Something edged its way up her throat, and Walburga blinked, once, twice.

"Blacks and bays, dapples and greys," she listened, ears stretching, "go to sleep you little baby,"

Then she turned away with a click of the door and swept down the hall. No one bothered her the rest of the day, and no one even dared to ask her why her mood was so black.

The child was something that she was still getting used to. The cries at night were hushed by either Kreacher or Orion, but she made no move to stop or interrupt them, even as she lay awake at night and listened to the hushing movements her elf or husband made, pretending not to hear.

It had become an art—to remain so unaffected at the cries of her child.

There was still something inside of her that yearned for that little warmth. That wanted to feel the babe's against her breast, and stroke it's soft downy head, and murmur sweet nothings to it, and calm it's strangled cries.

But Walburga was nothing if not controlled, and so she pushed that part of her deep, deep down, until she could no longer hear its tempting melody.

This one, she knew, was Orion's child.

(And so, Walburga hated.)

~.~

Orion adored her. There was no other way to explain the love and devotion that filled him at the sight of his newborn daughter. The way that she crinkled her nose when she was fussy, the way that she yawned, tiny rosebud mouth stretching, and her eyes creased at the corners; it made the blood rush through his veins, thunder through his head and mind, and he swore that he would protect the little one from anything.

He'd had to name her.

It had been a crushing blow, at first, to ask Walburga, only to realize that she had already left the hospital. At least until he remembered that this was his daughter. That she would have the rest, but this one was his.

Reyna. It was a name that his Mother had wished to name her own daughter, if she'd had the choice. In Latin, it meant queen, as it did in Spanish; a derivative of reina. His little daughter was royalty, of a sort, but Orion wished for her to have a name that she could be proud of. A stunning, noble name that would encompass her entire being, and guide her to become the best of herself.

Reyna, his little queen, was a gentle child. She did not fuss outside the necessary, and she smiled easily, dimples grooving deeper into her cheeks as she beamed up at him. Her hair fluttered from color to color, but her favorite was a bright, electric blue that reminded him of the hottest flame underneath his cauldron.

No matter how much her hair and eyes changed—from silver to blue to green to pink to red—or her skin—from pale to dark brown to black so dark it was blue to tan—she still kept those six little freckles stretching over her snub nose.

It made him smile at the sight, despite the trepidation in his stomach.

A metamorphmagus was something to be proud of, Orion knew. It was a rare and appreciated talent, one that was highly valued. People dreamed of their children being metamorphmagi—it was a surefire way of their children being magical and not filthy, disgusting Squibs.

He'd been overjoyed at his daughter being everything he wished—a High Lady from birth, the majestic features of the Black House already prominent in her ever-changing face. The sculpted cheeks, the curved mouth, they were all unchanging.

But when he'd introduced the new child to the Patriarch, he'd seen the naked spark of needy greed flicker in his unseeing eyes. He had seen the way that Irma and Pollux had begun to scheme, to plan, how his wife's parents looked at their granddaughter and cooed over the accomplishment of pleasing the Ancient and Noble House of Black. He had seen the way Cygnus and Druella looked at Reyna will badly-hidden want.

They'd had another daughter, Narcissa, a quaint fussy little thing, a year younger than little Reyna, and the Patriarch had not been happy.

He did not want anyone using his daughter. No, no, that would not do. She was his child and no one took from Orion Black, not even his own family.

So Orion kept her hidden. He covered her head with the little hats that Kreacher knitted, covered as much of her skin as possible, and made sure that no one would see that she was so talented at such a young age.

Walburga…she did not care about little Reyna and at the viciousness he'd seen pass through her eyes at the sight of her daughter, Orion had no doubt that she'd sell Reyna to the wolves in a heartbeat.

But this was his daughter. His responsibility. So he would take care of her, and teach her all he knew about keeping one's talents hidden, how to be a snake under a flower until the very last moment.

He'd teach his little Reyna how to survive.

Walburga could take care of the rest.

aoijdoeijdejw i hope you enjoy, sorry for the complete lack of updates, I'm working hard!

hope you like it :)