Chapter Text
Wednesday
July 1st
He was at the point in his dreary night where he didn't know if the water streaming in droplets down his face was that of the tears flowing from his eyes, or the cruel, movie-like rain pouring relentlessly from above.
He settled on a mix of the two, and decided not to entertain the thought any further.
Thinking too deep lead to drowning.
Any other day he might have thought about each water droplets’ placement on his cold nose and cheeks, or their origin.
But today was not that day. It was night, and it was possibly the worst night for Regulus to sit and let himself drown.
He knocked on the door twice, then a third time just in case someone mistook it for an accidental brush by of the wind—or Casper the Ghost.
He was quite shocked when footsteps sounded from inside not even five seconds after the knock sang its hollow sound. Honestly. Only complete heathens were up at this time of night. But then Regulus remembered that he had, in fact, just knocked on the door to a house that belonged to a boy whom Regulus considered a heathen himself.
Then he realized that he too happened to be very much awake at this hour.
But before he could even attempt to swim in the thought, the door opened, and pooled yellow-orange light onto Regulus’ wet shoes.
James Potter himself practically flung the door wide open, greeting the nighttime air with that obnoxiously bright smile of his. It dimmed when he noticed whose thin frame was before him. “Regulus?” he blinked, reasonably dumbfounded.
Regulus tried for a nod, but his head got stuck somewhere between the up and down motion. “That’s my name,” he said flatly, reaching a hand up to swipe bits of water off his face like James could pick out which were tears and which came from the unfortunate storm.
“Shit,” James breathed out, suddenly frantic. He pushed the door further open. “Um- Come in.” He swept an arm out, gesturing for Regulus to step inside. He did, his trunk catching slightly on the little lip that separated him from danger and a safe haven.
A shiver ran down his spine at the immediate warmth, and as James slowly closed the door—still a tad bit in shock, Regulus assumed—he took the opportunity to look around. While he knew he stepped into a literal cottage, he hadn’t expected it to feel so…cozy.
Shoes were discarded in the corner like time needn’t be wasted on those few seconds it took to set them out in a neat row and lay the laces just right. To the right, the sitting room branched off and spilled laughter. To the left lead to somewhere probably equally as inviting. Even the stairs—which were sitting comfortably under darkness that seemed to have its own warm undertones—looked as though they belonged on a movie set. Pitch perfect on first glance, but shaded with minor imperfections that made them feel real.
This was most definitely real. Real and very much unlike the stiff foyer he had run out of hours before.
Regulus felt James approach from behind. “Is my brother here?” he swallowed, staring at Euphemia Potter’s low, messy bun that bobbed at the back of her head from where she sat in the sitting room.
“Sirius is at Remus’,” James said, quietly.
Regulus gained the ability to nod again.
James stepped around him to stand in front. He was so close that Regulus had to tip his head up a smidge to look at him properly.
The idiot had the audacity to be taller than him.
James let his fingers hover in the air between them then. Like he was about to do something stupid and ridiculous, like brushing a damp curl that hung low on Regulus’ forehead. This, of course, didn’t happen, because while James was incredibly stupid, it seemed he wasn’t as ridiculous as Regulus’ imagination. He sort of just let his fingers hang in the air. “Reg—”
“James, sweetheart,” James’ mother cut him off. “Who was at the do—?” Euphemia looked over her shoulder and caught who James was standing with. She instantly rose to join them. “Regulus,” she said, not as surprised as her son. She cupped his cheeks as she scanned his face with those big brown eyes of hers.
It was work for Regulus to not stiffen.
He'd never met James’ parents before. He'd heard about them plenty from Sirius, of course.
He knew that they were kind, and loving, and that Euphemia could never say no to strays—specifically ones with dark hair and sharp grey eyes and wit with the last name Black. He was even sure he had enough intel to write a thirty page essay on Fleamont Potter’s love for spaghetti and meatballs.
Still. This paternal kindness was quite new to him. But it wasn’t unwanted. He just didn’t know how to accept it yet.
“Oh, darling,” she cooed. “You’re not well.” She stated it as fact. No questions asked, no nothing. Just that simple mother’s instinct that everyone’s mother besides his own seemed to have embedded in their DNA. “Come,” she said, pulling away from his cheeks. She started to walk into the sitting room, and Regulus followed because it seemed like the right thing to do in that moment. “Leave your trunk,” she waved off the sound of wheels scraping against the hardwood floor. “James’ll take care of it.”
Euphemia waited for him to sit down on the plump, maroon couch that occupied the room before she came to crouch in front of him. Fleamont Potter was sat in one of the two same maroon armchairs across the room with a mug in his hand. He caught Regulus’ gaze and nodded once before rising to leave his wife and Regulus alone.
“I’m sorry to intrude so late at night, Mrs. Potter,” Regulus began fidgeting with his fingers in his lap when Euphemia didn’t say anything. So he continued. “It’s just that- Well, I’m afraid I had no other place to go, you see.”
Euphemia hummed. “Effie, please,” she said gently, rubbing her thumb into his knee. “And don’t ever apologize for what you’ve done tonight. You needed us, so you came. That’s all I can hope for, honestly.”
(Regulus would not be taking her up on this request, however. Mrs. Potter was formal, and clean, and something Regulus was familiar with. Just “Effie” had too many meanings that he couldn’t think about right now.)
“Would you like to tell me what happened?”
Regulus brought his gaze from his lap to her face. He shrugged after a moment. “I ran away.”
Euphemia nodded and gave him a small smile, hand still on his knee. “Are you hurt?” she asked. “Physically, I mean,” she said softly, “I would imagine that an environment like that one would do harm to your mental state.”
Regulus shook his head. “I’m alright,” he said, then added quietly; “Physically.”
Euphemia stood, bringing her hand up once more to cup his cheek. She tilted his head up before planting a small kiss against his forehead. “I’m so proud of you, Regulus,” she whispered against the skin. When she pulled away she was smiling. “Right,” she clapped her hands together. “You’re soaked to the bone, and I can’t let you freeze to death, now can I?” She winked, turning on her heel and mumbling a tune Regulus didn’t recognize as she swept out of the room.
In the silence of the room, he found his eyes wandering to the wall opposite him.
Three pictures were hung, the one in the middle bigger than the two flanking its sides. It was just three simple photos, but somehow those three moments perfectly summed up the beautiful chaos that lived inside these walls.
The first was of Euphemia and Fleamont on their wedding day. Euphemia’s elegant white dress shimmering in the black and white film as her new husband dipped her. Their faces held so many big things, like love and joy. He couldn’t hear it, but the laugh was evident, set in the dimples that fought their way onto Fleamont’s face, and in each notch in Euphemia’s straight row of teeth.
The one on the right was of James, maybe around the age of one or two, chunky bread roll arms and all, on the beach. He had on a rather large, floppy bucket hat, his unruly dark curls peeking through its underside. The sight of him giggling so hard until he probably fell back into sand made something flip in Regulus’ chest, which was quite rude—it had no business weaseling its way inside his ribcage.
He tore his eyes away to look at the largest, and most bizarre, picture of all.
It was clearly alive; though not a single appendage had moved in the past minute.
Four people stood outside the cottage in wonderful daylight. James had his arm hooked around Sirius’ shoulders, and Sirius had his around James’. Their eyes glinted with a kind of mischief so alike, you’d think they were the same person. Euphemia stood next to Sirius with her hand resting comfortably on his shoulder like it was always meant to sit there. Fleamont was on the edge, his hand wrapped around his wife’s waist as he beamed at the camera.
Regulus didn’t wonder how they managed to take the picture, or if James had tackled Sirius to the ground the moment after the shutter had clicked.
He wondered how the word “family” was able to form itself into one singular picture. And he wondered why it felt like this was the first time he was understanding what the word meant.
The only pictures hung back home were painted. And they were quite boring. No emotion was held in their strokes.
“I was a cute baby, huh?”
Regulus turned his head and found James leaning casually in the door frame, a pile of clothes folded in his hands. Regulus sunk back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Don’t boost your ego too much, Potter,” he muttered, something along the lines of a smirk tucked almost invisibly in the corner of his mouth.
James crossed the room and settled beside Regulus. He was looking at his profile; Regulus didn’t look back.
“What were you guys doing up so late,” Regulus asked after the silence floating between them became too loud. “It's almost midnight, you know.”
“Mm,” James hummed. “Family game night,” he explained, “I had lost too many times at Chess to Dad than I would like to admit, and we had a pretty heated game of Uno going on before you showed up.”
“Sorry,” Regulus said, because there was nothing else to be said.
James was still looking at him. “Don't be,” he shook his head in Regulus’ peripheral. Then, he tapped his shoulder twice, for no reason at all. The contact made Regulus’ gut twist—for no reason at all, obviously. “I'm glad you’re here, actually.”
Regulus felt his eyebrows knit together. Those words tumbling from James’ mouth quite frankly irked him.
The only people who might be glad to have Regulus in their presence were his friends.
And he and James weren’t friends.
They weren’t enemies.
They were merely…acquaintances?
Their relationship was built through Sirius. He got them close, but not too close, because Sirius was selfish like that. Their relationship was based on sarcastic quips and simple “thank you”s or “please”s when one of them passed the other a napkin at lunch. They were most certainly not close enough to enjoy each other’s company—having never really been alone in it.
Regulus had only shown up at the Potter’s because he knew his brother had done the same. Not because James was his friend. And definitely not because he’s had the most embarrassing crush on James since he was nine. He’d shown up tonight because here was safe, and he really needed to feel safe.
James cleared his throat. Regulus eventually rolled his head on the back of the couch to look at him. “You’re not going back, right?”
A startled puff of air that might’ve been a laugh if laughing was something Regulus did with James came out of Regulus’ nose. “No, James,” he assured him, watching as the uncertainty melted from James’ hazel eyes, and was replaced by relief. “I’m not going back.”
James nodded. “That’s good.”
“Mm.” Regulus lolled his head back up towards the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at James’ devastatingly beautiful eyes that were magnified by his gold rimmed glasses.
“Here,” James spoke after a beat.
Regulus glanced down to see that James had deposited the pile of clothes in his lap.
“They might be a bit big, but it was all I could find.” James sat upright and pointed down a hallway when Regulus didn’t say anything. “There’s a bathroom down there—first door on your left. There should be a towel or something for you to dry off with, but if there’s not,” he stood from the couch, gesturing vaguely around the room,“just shout or something; I’ll hear.”
With that he left Regulus on the sofa, quite stunned to be honest because—again—he and James were not friends, and last time he checked, non-friends didn’t just lend each other clothes.
However, James had the exact hero complex to do just that to a stranger in need on the street, so…
He blinked down at the red bundle of fabric James had given him.
That was approximately the moment when the night’s events really caught up to him.
Regulus abruptly rose, starting down the dimly lit hallway as the lump in his throat got harder and harder to swallow around. With the clothes still clutched desperately to his chest, he went to shut the bathroom door behind him with enough force for it to slam, but slowed it down at the last second before he leaned his back against it, head tilted up at the ceiling.
His throat constricted further and his vision became fuzzy, and before he knew it, a choked sob forced its way out of his trembling lips. Regulus slid down the length of the door, the square indents of the wood getting caught on his shoulder blades and the slots in his spine as he sank.
He knew it was quite pathetic to cry in the dark, but he couldn't help the way he naturally curled in on himself, eyes buried in his knees, soaking them even further. He should be happier. He should be jumping up and down like a fool because he escaped that wretched house and his mother’s cold grasp.
But instead, his shoulders shook, and his eyes stung with hot tears, and he couldn't breathe—fuck, he was hyperventilating—and he wondered what it really was that was prying open his ribs, because he couldn’t be sad about leaving, could he? Not really.
But with one last tug on his bones, it whispered its name:
Fear.
Regulus was afraid.
Maybe more than he’d ever been.
More than he’d been at dinners when Sirius lashed out and got a hand to the face.
More than he’d been when his mother did the same after Sirius wasn’t there to stand in the way.
More than he’d been when he’d snuck down the creaky manor stairs that night.
More than he’d been when he’d successfully picked the front door’s lock with fumbling hands.
More than he’d been when he’d fled with just his trunk for company.
More than he’d been when he’d checked over his shoulders too many times just in case because, oh would you look at that, paranoia had followed him out and decided to be his running buddy for the night.
He was more scared than he’d ever been, because he didn't know what was to come after this night.
Would his mother look for him? He doubted it—she hadn’t bothered when Sirius ran away, just burned him off the family tapestry with a lighter—but still.
What would people at school say after summer? He assumed it would be floating in the halls by then—gossip traveled like an uncontrollable wildfire at Hogwarts.
Would Sirius be proud of him like Euphemia—for some strange reason—was? Or would he be disappointed that it had taken him this long to break free? Sirius had run away two years prior.
Sirius had asked him to go with him, and Regulus had said no and shut his bedroom door in his face because he was scared. Even back then, he was scared of what would happen if his restraints had simply melted away.
It was quite irrational to be scared of freedom. Regulus told himself this repeatedly; all the way from the Black Manor to the cold bathroom tiles beneath his hands.
Still, he cried.
He didn’t know how long it had been, maybe five minutes or five years, but when his sobs had eventually subsided to sniffles and the occasional hiccup, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Regulus?” James’ voice carried through from the other side.
Regulus picked his head up off his legs and looked up at the ceiling, which was hazy under his gaze. He looked back down at his fingers where golden light seeped between from the crack below the door. He splayed his fingers out, gently tapping them up and down to play with the shadows created by James’ feet.
He let his head thunk softly back against the door. “Yes,” he whispered, just loud enough for James to hear his voice, but not loud enough for him to hear the underlying, crackling tears straining his vocal chords.
“What kind of tea do you like?”
That simple question was almost enough to make the tears come flooding back. “Oh, I don’t—” Regulus bit his lip. “You don’t have to make me tea, James,” he settled on after a moment.
“Don’t worry about it,” James replied. “I’m making myself coffee anyway.”
Regulus snorted. Honestly, who drinks coffee this late at night? He asked as much.
“Me I guess,” James laughed softly.
Regulus pulled his legs into his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins, and resting his chin on his knees. He chewed the inside of his cheek until a faint metallic taste coated his tongue. “Earl Gray.”
There was a pause. “What?” James asked, clearly confused.
“My favorite tea is Earl Gray,” Regulus mumbled into his knees.
“Why am I not surprised,” James chuckled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Regulus tried to shoot back with the same amount of cold confidence that he usually had, but a helpless crack in his voice managed to break through and enter the dark world.
“Are you alright, Regulus?” James asked, liquid sincerity dripping off his words and stabbing Regulus’ heart like a solid sword.
“I’m—” he coughed. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” James pressed.
“’M just…tired.”
James didn’t say anything in response to that, and after a moment, the bathroom fell silent once more.
Regulus rolled his chin to look at the discarded clothes waiting patiently beside him. He sighed, reluctantly hauling himself up, taking his clothes for the night with him. He stayed against the door the entire time, listening to his repeated pattern of inhale exhale, while he blinked in time with the chirp of the crickets outside the open window.
Eventually, when his clumped eyelashes constantly got tangled together from lack of moisture, he sniffed, and called out, “James?”
“Mhm?” was James’ immediate response, and Regulus felt his shoulders jolt upwards; he hadn’t expected James to still be there.
“Just—” Regulus breathed out. “Just thank you.”
“Of course,” James chirped. “It’s just what friends do,” he said simply, and before Regulus even got the chance to point out that this was quite far from “just what friends do”, he was gone.
Regulus continued to lean up against the door, messing with the frayed edge of the hoodie James gave him. Even when James’ footsteps fell faint in the distance. Even when they faded completely.
He only pulled away when the wet fabric of his own clothes against his skin became too much of a sensory overload.
He tugged his black t-shirt over his head, and stepped out of his jeans. Uncomfortability peeling away like a second skin.
Regulus did find a towel, but he felt out of place to use it, even though James said he could, so he just shoved a hand through his tight wet curls and settled with the way they hung low in his face, occasionally dripping water.
He laughed once and quietly once James’ hoodie settled over his body. It wasn't just a little bit too big as James had said, it was rather big. He wiggled his fingers which were hidden by the cuffs—it was quite a comfortable hoodie, he’d say that.
Before he left, he stole a glance in the mirror, catching the way the moonlight shone in his bloodshot eyes. He blinked once, then spun on his heel to open the door and walk out, too afraid of what analyzing his now puffy face would do to his brain.
Back in the sitting room, Regulus stood still. He could hear James humming—somewhere in the kitchen, he presumed. He caught sight of the little spot on the couch cushion where he’d been sitting, the rough shape of his curls staining the maroon a red so dark it was almost black.
He sat down and almost immediately regretted it. It felt as though someone had placed some sort of sleeping spell on the sofa. Regulus blinked slowly—sort of like a cat—then he bolted up straight.
No. He was not going to fall asleep. He needed to wait until James brought him his tea.
He slowly looked towards the arm of the couch.
Maybe he could just…rest his eyes until James got back.
He shifted, laying down to rest his head on the arm, eyes fluttering closed.
Regulus was asleep before James could even boil the water.
Thursday
July 2nd
Regulus stirred at the feeling of someone poking his cheek.
Something was mumbled in distance and a second later, a voice broke through his half asleep induced daze.
“Oh, please, Pads,” the person scoffed, and—wait. That was Remus Lupin speaking. Why was Remus here? “You’re just jealous because he sleeps like a fucking cherub whereas you look fucking monstrous—especially when you drool all over your pillow.”
Regulus felt his nose scrunch up as he tried to work out why Remus was here, and where exactly here was. Someone chuckled warmly somewhere behind him, catching the expression.
“I think you mispronounced drop dead gorgeous,” another pointed out dryly, and Regulus’ eyes flew open with recognition.
“No, I—”
Regulus cut off the bickering by bolting upright in record time, flinging himself at his brother opposite him on the couch.
“Holy fuck,” Sirius laughed when Regulus collided with him, but he wrapped his arms around his brother fiercely nonetheless. “I missed you too, baby brother.”
Regulus laughed wetly into Sirius’ shoulder. “I’m literally two minutes younger than you.”
Sirius pulled back with a grin, holding onto Regulus’ shoulder. He brought a hand up to wipe a singular tear flowing from his eye, playing it off as mirth. “And I’ll always be proud of you for those two torturous minutes of pain you caused our dear mother with your fat ass head.”
Any other day, Regulus would’ve whacked him upside the head. But today he was feeling generous and simply rolled his eyes.
Someone coughed and Regulus looked to his left and found Remus standing beside him with his arms crossed. “I think what your brother is trying to say,” he shot a pointed look at Sirius, “is that he’s very grateful to have you in his life, and that he’s happy you’re alright,” Remus’ expression grew soft at the edges. “We all are.”
“Thank you,” Regulus said, then nodded. “Remus,” he greeted properly.
Remus nodded in turn.
Regulus then looked to the mousy looking boy standing next to Remus. “Peter,” he nodded again.
“Hello, Regulus,” Peter waved cheerfully, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Wait a minute,” someone called behind him.
That was when Regulus’ brain caught up to his body and realized, oh, right. I’m at James Potter’s house.
“Don’t I get a hello?” James asked, bright smile and all as he pointed at himself.
“You got one last night,” Regulus told him dryly, fighting back the urge to bang his head against the closest wall and scream stupid, stupid, stupid for showing up at James Potter’s (did he mention James Potter?) door last night in the most embarrassing state humanly possible.
James propped his elbows up on the back of the couch, his chin falling into his palms. He flattened his expression and said, “All I got was a ‘that’s my name’ and a ‘is my brother here’,—”
“Aw, Reg,” Sirius cut in, “You were looking for me? I’m touched.”
Regulus snapped his head to glare at him. “You shouldn't be.”
“Never once did the words ‘hello, James, I’m so delighted to see you, and am forever grateful for your hospitality’ come out of your mouth,” James continued.
“Mm,” Regulus twisted to fold his arms up and rest them across from James’. “Well, have you ever stopped to think that maybe not everybody lives to worship you?” he started sweetly, looking up at James through batting eyelashes. “I mean, I know I certainly don’t, but I understand that that stick up your arse—”
“Hey!”
“Boys! Breakfast is ready!”
Regulus seemed to be the only one spooked by Euphemia poking her head into the sitting room.
“Ooh, I’m starving,” Sirius declared, waltzing out of the room.
Regulus looked back at James and promptly started glaring at him.
James stared back.
After a minute, Peter asked, nervously, “What’s happening?”
“Honestly, Wormtail,” Remus sighed, “it could be a mating technique, for all I know.”
James huffed a second later, breaking eye contact first because Regulus never lost a staring contest; even when his competitor had eyes like no other.
Regulus smirked triumphantly, sliding off the couch to join his brother.
That was the extent of James and Regulus’ relationship. Playfully sharp words with the occasional polite conversation. Last night might’ve been a little different, but Regulus wouldn’t say it moved them closer in any way (he was very pointedly ignoring the fact that James had called them friends, thank you very much).
He had to pull the plaid pajama pants James lent him last night higher up over his hips as he sat down beside Sirius at the round wooden table. Like most things James wore, they were red—same with the too big hoodie—and Regulus appreciated the change in color. Back home, he was limited to black, emerald green, and dark black.
Breakfast was definitely…something, for Regulus. It was quite weird to see everyone relax into looseness rather than sit with their shoulders back.
Remus seemed to be the only one besides Regulus who had manners left in him. He kept telling Sirius to close his mouth when he ate, while Euphemia kept having to shoo James’ elbows off the table, all with fondness and without clipped demands.
Fleamont laughed at the right and wrong times while Peter told the story of his latest interaction with his neighbor’s menace of a cat, and none of it was forced out to please someone.
Sirius and Euphemia got into a heated argument over honeydew or cantaloupe (Regulus personally preferred cantaloupe, but was too scared to share his opinion). Regulus was practically on the edge of his seat every time Sirius came at Euphemia with a retort, but was extremely surprised when she just laughed it off.
Regulus found he was quite content to just observe while he pushed his eggs around on his plate. Eggs made him want to vomit, so he stuck with popping pieces of melon and strawberries into his mouth here and there, finally having the freedom to pick and choose what he ate off of his plate.
Sirius noticed. He always did.
But instead of scraping Regulus’ food secretly onto his own like he used to, he pushed away from the table gestured for Regulus to follow.
Regulus looked to Euphemia, who simply smiled and waved him off. “Go on, darling, I’ll clean up.”
Sirius was already sitting on the front porch steps when Regulus met him outside.
Regulus rolled the big sleeves of the hoodie up to the crook of his elbow when summer’s heat graciously greeted him. He plopped down beside his brother, tucking his feet under his legs to sit crisscross applesauce style.
He glanced at Sirius, whose eyes were closed, an almost there smile on his face.
Regulus looked out before himself, squinting up at the fluffy clouds interrupting the bright blue sky like a courteous excuse me.
“What was the first thing you did when you ran away?” he asked quietly, watching as a gentle breeze ruffled the dewy grass.
Sirius hummed beside him. “I kissed Remus,” he said.
Regulus swiveled his head to gawk at him. “Really?” he pressed, Sirius’ lazy smile growing larger. “Honestly I didn’t think you had the balls to—”
Sirius cut him off by laughing loudly, bumping his shoulder into Regulus’. “Oh, tu m'as manqué, Reggie. God, no,” he chuckled, then leaned back on his palms. “The first thing I did was buy a phone,” his grin grew soft at the edges. “Then I kissed Remus two hours after that.”
Regulus shook his head fondly at him before looking forward again. “Was it good?”
Sirius groaned, sinking further into his hands. “Oh, it was brilliant, Reg. He can do this thing with his tongue—”
Regulus yelped, reaching out a hand to cover his brother’s mouth. “I didn’t want to hear that much, you idiot! I meant like, did it make you happy? To kiss him after waiting so long?”
Sirius licked his hand, to which Regulus responded by pulling a face and his hand away, wiping his palm on the fabric covering Sirius’ shoulder. “Oh, it did,” he hummed. “More than happy, I think.”
“Mm.” Regulus tapped his fingers idly on the wood of the step.
Sirius looked at him. “Come on, I think that’s enough fresh air for the day, yeah?”
Regulus snorted and pulled himself up. “Yeah,” he agreed softly, because he and Sirius were truly like vampires.
“You know the first thing you’re gonna do yet?” Sirius asked, swinging an arm around Regulus’ shoulders.
Regulus covered his head with the hood of the hoodie, and pulled the drawstrings tight to hide his face. “I’m gonna take a long ass nap,” he mumbled to Sirius.
“You literally just woke up.”
“So?” Regulus subtly inhaled and found comfort in the lingering scent of James.
Sirius laughed as the trudged inside, and Regulus thought;
If the future smelled like this, maybe he wouldn’t be so afraid of it.